Tales of the City 06 - Sure of You

bulbous belly—and it struck her again how much single parenthood would have suited Connie.
    When Shawna had repaired to her room with Connie’s python, Mary Ann dragged out her suitcases and made a few decisions about the stuff she would take to New York. Burke had reserved her a suite at the Plaza, and Lillie Rubin was furnishing her wardrobe, so she resolved to pack light and ship the rest of her things later. Anyway, Chloe had promised to take her shopping as soon as she arrived.
    It would be cold, of course, so she went mostly for the tweed and cashmere. She made choices that were businesslike and neutral, so they would see she was an empty canvas, not the finished product. She would work on her look later, after she’d been able to analyze the setting they had planned for it.

    Shawna seemed to sense that this was a good time to ask for the moon. It was by her decree that they drove to Mel’s Drive-In for chocolate shakes that night, following a roller coaster of a route, which included the steepest slope of Leavenworth.
    “Look!” said Shawna, pointing, as they passed the Barbary Steps. “There’s Daddy and Michael.”
    “Sit down, Puppy.”
    “Look, there…see?”
    “I see.” They were trudging up the steps, their backs to the street. She saw Thack’s pale, feathery head under the streetlight at the top. She decided that Mrs. Madrigal must be back from Greece.
    She felt a brief pang of paranoia, knowing they would talk about her tonight—distorting the facts, no doubt—making her seem like an unfeeling monster. It wasn’t a bit fair.
    Shawna made a lunge for the wheel. “Honk,” she ordered.
    She held the kid back with an arm. “Sit down, Puppy. That’s very dangerous.”
    “Honk the horn.”
    “No. This isn’t the time. Put your seat belt on.”
    The child threw herself back against the seat and pushed out her lower lip.
    “We’ll call them when we get back.”
    Silence.
    “O.K.?”
    “When is he coming home?”
    “Soon.”
    Shawna turned and looked out the window. “I want extra malt,” she said.

Not That
    S HE SOUNDED FUNNY ,” SAID MICHAEL , AS THEY PICKED their way along the ballast stones at the head of the lane. “Didn’t you notice it?”
    “Not particularly,” said Thack.
    “Well, she did to me.”
    “It’s probably jet lag,” said Brian. “Unless you mean funny about…?”
    “No,” said Michael, knowing he meant Mary Ann. “Not that. Something else.”
    As they passed through the lych-gate at Number 28, a cat leapt from the mossy roof, clambering for safety up an ivy-wrapped tree. The windows of the old shingled house seemed to glow with gratitude for their mistress’s return.
    There was music—a pleasant sort of new age ragtime—coming from Michael’s old apartment on the second floor. He had never met his successors and really didn’t want to now. Tonight he hoped it would just be family. He didn’t want to share Mrs. Madrigal with people he didn’t know.
    When the landlady opened the door, the first thing that struck him was her tan. Her Wedgwood eyes went wide and actressy as she hugged them one at a time, in order of their appearance: Michael, Thack, Brian.
    “You all look gorgeous!” she said, leading them into her parlor. “Sit down. There are joints on the table there. Some sherry if you like. I have a few adjustments to make in the kitchen. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
    Brian and Thack took the sofa. Michael remained standing, unconvinced and a little unsettled by this flurry of ferocious hostessing. “Can I give you a hand?” he asked.
    The landlady seemed to hesitate. “If you like.”

    In the kitchen, after slipping several cottage pies into the oven, she gave him another hug and said: “That was from Mona. She made me promise.”
    “How is she?”
    “Lovely. A very charming, grownup person.”
    “ Mona ?”
    The landlady smiled and closed the oven door. “I tried to get her to visit us, but, as usual, she’s completely wrapped up in that house of hers.”
    “Can’t imagine where she gets that.”
    Her smile turned a little wan. “I’ve missed you, dear.”
    “I’m sorry I didn’t call before you left.”
    “Don’t be silly.”
    “No,” he said. “I promised.”
    “Well, you had so much on your mind. Oh…here, before I forget.” She dashed off to the bedroom and returned with a small cardboard box. “Lady Roughton said to tell you this is the last trace of Sappho on the island.”
    It