The Mephisto Club

question.”
    “Why? If she’s good-looking, it helps you understand the guy’s motive.”
    “To
kill
her? Jesus, Frankie.”
    “Jane,” said her dad. “It’s Christmas.”
    “Well, Janie has a point,” snapped Angela.
    Frank looked at his wife in astonishment. “Your daughter cusses at the dinner table, and you’re getting on
my
back?”
    “You think that only pretty women are worth killing?”
    “Ma, I didn’t say that,” said Frankie.
    “He didn’t say that,” said his father.
    “But it’s what you think. Both of you. Only good-looking women are worth the attention. Love ’em or kill ’em, it’s only interesting if they’re
pretty.
”
    “Oh, please.”
    “Please what, Frank? You know it’s true. Look at
you.
”
    Jane and her brothers all frowned at their father.
    “Look at him why, Ma?” asked Mike.
    “Angela,” said Frank, “it’s Christmas.”
    “I
know
it’s Christmas!” Angela jumped to her feet and gave a sob. “I
know.
” She walked out of the room, into the kitchen.
    Jane looked at her father. “What’s going on?”
    Frank shrugged. “Women that age. Change of life.”
    “This isn’t just change of life. I’m going to go see what’s bothering her.” Jane rose from her chair and followed her mother into the kitchen.
    “Mom?”
    Angela did not seem to hear her. She was standing with her back turned, whipping cream in a stainless steel bowl. The beater clattered, sending flecks of white spraying across the countertop.
    “Mom, are you okay?”
    “Gotta get the dessert started. I completely forgot about whipping the cream.”
    “What’s the matter?”
    “I should have had this ready before we sat down. You know your brother Frankie gets impatient if he has to wait too long for the next course. If we make him sit there for more than five minutes, next thing you know, he’ll turn on that TV again.” Angela reached for the sugar and sprinkled a spoonful of it into the bowl as the beater churned up the cream. “At least Mikey tries his best to be nice. Even when all he sees are bad examples. Every which way he looks, just bad examples.”
    “Look, I
know
something’s wrong.”
    Angela shut off the beater and, with shoulders slumped, she stared at the cream, now whipped up so thick it was almost butter. “It’s not your problem, Janie.”
    “If it’s yours, it’s mine.”
    Her mother turned and looked at her. “Marriage is harder than you think.”
    “What did Dad do?”
    Angela untied her apron and tossed it on the counter. “Can you serve the shortcake for me? I’ve got a headache. I’m going upstairs to lie down.”
    “Mom, let’s talk about this.”
    “I’m not going to say anything else. I’m not that kind of mother. I’d never force my kids to choose sides.” Angela walked out of the kitchen and thumped upstairs to her bedroom.
    Bewildered, Jane went back into the dining room. Frankie was too busy sawing into his second helping of lamb even to look up. But Mike had an anxious look on his face. Frankie might be thick as a plank, but Mike clearly understood that something was seriously wrong tonight. She looked at her father, who was emptying the bottle of Chianti into his glass.
    “Dad? You want to tell me what this is all about?”
    Her father took a gulp of wine. “No.”
    “She’s really upset.”
    “And that’s between her and me, okay?” He stood up and gave Frankie a clap on the shoulder. “C’mon. I think we can still catch the third quarter.”
             
    “This was the most screwed-up Christmas we’ve ever had,” said Jane as they drove home. Regina had fallen asleep in her car seat, and for the first time all evening Jane and Gabriel could have a conversation without distractions. “It’s not usually this way. I mean, we have our squabbles and all, but my mom usually wrangles us all together in the end.” She glanced at her husband, whose face was unreadable in the shadowy car. “I’m sorry.”
    “For what?”
    “You had no idea you were marrying into a nuthouse. Now you’re probably wondering what you got yourself into.”
    “Yep. I’d say it’s time to trade in the wife.”
    “Well, you’re thinking that a
little,
aren’t you?”
    “Jane, don’t be ridiculous.”
    “Hell, there are times when
I’d
like to run away from my family.”
    “But I definitely don’t want to run away from
you.
” He turned his gaze back to the road, where windblown snow swirled past their headlights. For a