—
The cake was a big success, especially with the young ones. Of course it was only a sheet cake, because they’d told him at the Giant that that would be the most practical for such a crowd, but “Happy 50th Anniversary” was written in flawless cursive across the top and there was a yellow sugar rose at each corner. Alice asked, “Shall I do the honors?” and Mercy said, “Yes, please,” and waved a hand. So Alice started slicing the cake and passing it around. Even before she was finished the two little girls were ready for seconds, so the people at the Giant had been right.
Greta, meanwhile, went out to the kitchen and fixed a pot of coffee without being asked, which was something of a surprise. While it was brewing she retrieved her plant from the kitchen counter and carried it into the dining room and set it in front of Mercy. “This is what we brought you,” she said in that blunt way of hers.
“Oh, how pretty!” Mercy said, and then, “Robin, did you see?”
“Yes, very nice,” he said.
“I think we should put it in a south-facing window,” she said. “Right, Greta?”
“The light there would be too strong,” Greta said.
“Oh, I guess east would be better, then. Say the east window in the living room,” Mercy told Robin.
“Okay,” he said.
He was grateful she had spoken as if she still lived here.
That little Candle! Such a live wire. She had polished off her second piece of cake now and she wanted all her cousins to come outside with her again, even though they were still eating. “Please? Please?” she said, and she and Serena nagged Emily into laying down her fork. In no time all the young ones were gone, and their section of the table was silent but somehow still raucous-seeming, with the messy plates they’d left behind and the balled-up napkins and crumb-littered tablecloth.
Morris was telling Mercy how his clients admired her paintings. （He had two of them hanging in his office.） “I always say, ‘Well, her card’s in there with your paperwork,’？” he told her, and Mercy said, “Aren’t you nice.” Alice was quizzing David about his classes; it seemed he was teaching a summer-school course in improv. And now Greta brought the coffeepot in from the kitchen, walking with that little hitch of hers and looking a bit weary.
Robin had asked Mercy, once, “How old is she, do you think?” （This was back when they first heard that Greta was pregnant with Nicholas.） “Forty-two,” Mercy said promptly. “I asked her.” Eleven years older than David, therefore. Well, it could have been worse. And they did seem happy. Although who knew, really? How did anyone know what was really going in their kids’ lives?
He had long ago accepted that his experience of fatherhood was not what he used to envision. The girls and he got along, thank heaven, but girls were more a mother’s business and so he couldn’t take much credit for that. David, on the other hand…For some reason, he and David had never seemed quite in step with each other. He couldn’t put his finger on it. He had certainly tried his best. It would have helped, maybe, if David worked with his hands. That would have given them something to talk about. But he didn’t. Which was okay! Better than okay! Robin was fine with that. He was proud of David’s profession, in fact, and somewhere he still had a news clipping about a play of his that a local theater group had staged.
The women were beginning to bestir themselves—reaching for plates, stacking them, collecting silverware. Even Greta had risen to help. “Oh, don’t fuss with those,” Robin told them, but he didn’t mean it. How could he ever have dealt with such a mess on his own? Alice said, “You and Mom just go settle yourselves in the living room,” and so they did, along with David and the sons-in-law. But instead of sitting down with the others, Robin went to the TV and squatted on his haunches.
“What are you doing?” Mercy asked, instantly alert. （She always objected when the men watched a game instead of conversing, although Robin had explained several times that watching a game was conversing, in a way.）
But he said, “You’ll see!” and proceeded to load a tape into the VCR.
“What is that?” she asked.
“A movie,” he said. “Home movie.”
“What?”
“Remember those movies your dad used to make?”
“Yes…”
“I had them converted.”
This caused the sons-in-law to perk up. They were always game for a little tech talk. “Is that so!” Kevin said, and Morris said, “They can do that?”