Grant shrugged without sitting back in his seat. “I’m being mythelf.”
“You know, it’s one thing if you throw my own words back in my face, but do not throw Oscar Wilde’s. Now sit up like human beings or at least use a straw.” Patrick picked up one of the paper-wrapped drinking straws Barry had left for them, tore off one end, and blew a puff of air through the straw so that the wrapper hit Maisie square between the eyes. Grant erupted in laughter. “So what do you think?”
“About what?” Grant managed as he tried to control his giggles.
“About brunch!” Patrick said. “It’s growing on you, isn’t it?”
“I can only eat thoft foods.”
“Why?”
“Loothe tooth.”
“WHAT?”
Maisie translated. “His tooth is loose.”
“What sort of Dr. Seuss nightmare is this?” Patrick muttered under his breath. “So?”
“What if it falls out?”
“I do not like a loose tooth, I do not like one in this booth. I do not like a tooth at brunch, I do not like foods that crunch.”
“Be therious!” Grant implored. “What if my tooth falls out?”
“Then we’ll just shove it back in.” He took a long sip of his champagne, ignoring Grant’s stunned expression. He let the bubbles evenly coat his tongue before letting them slide down his throat. Maybe they weren’t so hard to manage, the kids. “Perhaps you can come visit. You know. For a few days. You could even invite Audra what’s-her-face.”
“Brackett.”
“That’s right.” If they brought a friend, they might even amuse themselves.
“Actually, we can’t,” Maisie replied.
“You can’t?” Patrick was surprised. Relieved, somewhat. But surprised. “You have other commitments?”
“No.”
“Then why not?”
Maisie looked down at her plate. “I don’t want to leave Mom.”
Patrick placed his silverware on his plate, the knife carefully between the tines of his fork. He recognized their grief, how untethered they were from the life they had known. He reached out and pulled the kids close to him, until he had one nestled under each arm. It was his job now to give them something, anything, to hold on to. “Let me tell you something. You can’t ever leave your mother, just as she can never really leave you.”
Maisie looked up at him, pleading for more.
Patrick inhaled, hoping the oxygen would give him the stamina to continue. Sara was very much there, in Maisie’s expressions, or Grant’s stoicism. He’d never had any interest in children himself but suddenly recognized some small appeal; Sara had found a way to live beyond death. “She’s half of you and you’re half of her.” He looked at them both, hoping this made sense, hoping that it would sink in. He saw Sara’s eyes staring back at him. “So . . . yeah. Just like brunch. Half breakfast. Half lunch.” He smiled; they seemed to like this. “We’re going to figure this out.” Patrick kissed the top of each child’s head before pushing them off of him and back toward their own place settings with a sudden nagging that they were in danger of becoming too attached. There has to be another way. “Now,” he began, picking up his fork and knife to resume eating. “Who here has heard of a snappetizer?”
Both kids stared at him blankly.
“Are you being serious?” he asked. “Boy. You’re lucky I got here when I did.”
THREE
Patrick could feel his sister approaching before she emerged from behind two enormous parked cars, boatlike sedans they used to give away on The Hollywood Squares that seemed no longer to exist in California. His blood chilled ten degrees. He stood his ground in the parking lot between the church and the cemetery as Clara marched toward him with the sense of purpose she’d exuded since childhood—rigorous posture, heavy steps that fell just shy of stomping, always a little bit pained—and with an almost masculine energy that Patrick, in his adolescence, had been jealous of. Her clothing was a pastiche of Style sections in midlist women’s magazines （publications perhaps better suited to cookie recipes than fashion）， and the sunglasses she wore on top of her head had taken root somewhere in her scalp.
“It was a nice service,” she said when she arrived at his side.
Nice. Patrick looked at the sky; the nimbus clouds were gray but not threatening. “Rain held off.” He didn’t know how to behave at these things any more than she did.