“Good, good.” Laura nods, holding the front door for both of them. “And I’m glad to see you’re on the mend! Mom told me about your fall.” She arches a brow at Tova’s foot.
“It was only a sprain.”
“I know, but at your age . . .”
A chipper greeting from the young lady behind the hostess stand spares Tova the need to respond. Hoisting an impossibly tall stack of menus, she leads them through the restaurant to a long, empty table abutting a bank of windows overlooking the water. The view, at least, is lovely.
“Your server should be over in a couple minutes. I can grab you a drink in the meantime,” the hostess offers as she circles the table, placing a menu at each setting. There must be at least thirty places. Good heavens. How many people did Laura invite?
“Hell yes. Gin and tonic, please.” Laura drops her purse onto the table and sighs. “I’ve spent all morning helping my mother pack up the house she’s lived in for half a century. Better make it a double.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Tova lowers into a chair near the end of the table, picturing the menagerie of porcelain figurines and polished crosses that have always lived on the shelf over Mary Ann’s kitchen sink wrapped in tissue and loaded into a cardboard box, where they’ll likely stay for years until some unfortunate younger family member happens upon them and must decide how to get rid of them. She forces a smile at the hostess, who seems to be waiting for her drink order. “Just a coffee, please. Black.”
The hostess whisks away with a nod, leaving the two women in the sort of silence that makes Tova wish she’d brought her knitting along. Finally, she asks, “How are the girls?”
Laura’s daughter, Tatum, and young granddaughter, Isabelle, live with Laura in Spokane. Now Mary Ann, a great-grandmother at only seventy, will live with them, too. Of course, the situation with Tatum and her baby hadn’t been planned, but Tova can’t help feeling wonder at how it’s shaken out. Four generations of women under one roof.
Laura nods. “The girls are good. Great. Isabelle’s walking now.”
“Wonderful,” Tova says.
“Yes.” Laura smiles, but doesn’t elaborate, in the way that people often don’t elaborate when it comes to discussing children around Tova, which is sometimes a mixed blessing.
The uncomfortable silence descends again, so Tova asks, “How’s work, dear?”
“It’s . . . work.” Laura lets out a genuine chuckle before launching into a tale about the technology update happening over the summer at the state university, where she teaches psychology. Tova nods along. It does, indeed, sound like a nightmare. Laura sighs sympathetically, then explains, “So that’s why we had to get Mom moved so quickly. Before the start of fall term, anyway. I feel terrible that you ladies don’t get much of a goodbye. I know how close you’ve all been. For decades.”
“There’s always the telephone.”
“We’ll get Mom set up with a tablet. That way she can virtually attend your Knit-Wit meetings!” Laura beams, looking very pleased with herself at this solution, whatever it means. “And what about you? When will you go back to work at the aquarium?”
Tova straightens and recounts to Laura her recent conversation with Terry. He agreed to allow her to come back and “help out the new guy,” as he put it. Tova couldn’t be more pleased with this arrangement, which allows her to mentor him in the proper way to do things, and she should have plenty of time to do that before her move to Charter Village at the end of the month. She doesn’t mention that she also rather likes spending time with the boy.
“Mom! Over here!” Laura hollers to Mary Ann, who waves from across the restaurant, trailed by Barb Vanderhoof and Janice and Peter Kim.
“Yoo-hoo!” Barb flutters her hands as they approach the table. She’s wearing a sequined top that’s far too snug across her chest. “Look at this! How fancy!” She wraps Laura in a hug.
Janice slips into the seat next to Tova. “How goes it, Tova?”
“How’s that ankle?” Peter Kim sits next to his wife.
“Very well, thanks,” Tova replies, hoping her injury won’t be the topic of conversation this afternoon.
“Excellent news. But what happened to your arm?”
Tova tugs at her sleeve, trying to cover the newest line of sucker marks. “That’s nothing at all. Must be from the sun.”
Peter frowns, and Tova can tell he’s putting on his doctor hat, about to push the issue, but he’s mercifully interrupted by the guest of honor.