Formez vos Bataillons
by Uther Pendragon
nogardnePrethU@gmail.com

If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else.

This material is Copyright, 2010, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous permission.

All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination; any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Formez vos Bataillons
by Uther Pendragon
nogardnePrethU@gmail.com

"Maman," Cat called from the train aisle. A woman ahead of them was nursing a baby.

"Come back here, mon chat. Yes, it is a beautiful sight." Jeanette wasn't going to let the poor woman think that she was doing wrong. "But it is a private event. When I fed you that way years ago, other people left us alone. Come back to your seat. Maybe when they are quite finished, she will let you see her baby then."

"Sometimes, Cat," Bob added, "curiosity is good. Sometimes it is wrong." He pulled his feet back so that Cat could get inside to sit beside him. The train was far from full, and they had taken two facing seats for the three of them. "Curiosity about the world is wonderful. Curiosity about other people sometimes makes them feel bad." He was much more concerned about his daughter's keeping the curiosity about the world. But child rearing is a joint task, and Jeanette was in charge. She had more tact than he ever had, and she was likelier to be blamed for Cat's not acting tactfully.

'Now,' Jeanette thought, 'he's teaching her that one shouldn't watch a woman nurse when it makes her uncomfortable. Too bad he didn't practice what he now preaches. Oh well, it's better than now preaching what he'd practiced. And, after all, he'd only leered at us in private.' She waited until the woman had burped the baby and put him to the side before she got up and nodded to Cat.

"I'm really sorry," she said. "Cat has great curiosity and no manners. Wait six years. She does want to look at your baby."

"I heard. That's quite all right." The woman moved as far back as she could in the seat. When Cat stood against the seat back, she moved her knees to allow her closer. Cat stared; the baby seemed indifferent to the attention. He was in a car seat with some toys dangling from the rim, and those were taking his attention now.

"I think this is enough, mon chat."

"Thank you for letting me see your baby."

"You're welcome." And they trailed back to their seats.

"Happy Cat?" asked Bob. He was less worried than Jeanette that Cat would annoy another passenger. Passengers who were easily annoyed by first-graders deserved little consideration. He was more worried that Cat would explore some mechanical device on the train that would hurt her.

"Elle est tres belle."

"Vraiment, a moins qu'il soit tres beau." Actually, Jeanette didn't think the baby was particularly cute, though it was a cuter boy than a girl.

"Maman! est-ce-que vous croyez le bebe est un garcon?" Actually, Jeanette hadn't any evidence. The clothes looked more like a boy's baby clothes, but it wasn't as if he were dressed all in blue.

"Je ne sais pas." And when Cat looked about to go ask. "Nous avons gene la bonne dame trop. Peut-etre je, ta maman, demandai plus tard. Tu ne demandas jamais." As Bob said, inquisitiveness was all very well, but it could easily become rudeness. Bob and she tried to keep the rule that Cat could ask them anything, but she would have to learn that she couldn't ask other people too many questions. The problem was that once that was established, what you could ask whom was a whole universe. Anyway, she'd told Cat to let that one woman alone.

They'd brought some books, both old and new, to read to Cat to keep her amused. Bob was reading one of the old ones and Jeanette was deep into a mystery from the library when Cat's attention wandered.

"Can we go eat now?"

"Are you hungry?" There was a snack car on the train. While they had brought their own food, the tables were probably necessary. "We can eat when Maman gets to a stopping place." Jeanette found a stopping place before Cat started to nag her. She took Cat to the ladies' where they both relieved themselves and washed their hands. When Bob and Cat got to the snack car, the mother and the baby were there.

"Is your baby a girl or a boy?" Cat asked. So much for 'jamais.' 'Never' had come quite soon.

"He's a boy. His name's Billy."

"Hello, Billy. My name is Cat."

"And my name is Bob Brennan. I'm sorry our daughter has been bothering you."

"I'm Grace Johnson. It hasn't been a bother."

"Vous avez eu raison, Maman," Cat told Jeanette on her arrival. "Il est un garcon."

"English, mon chat. It is not polite to speak a language in front of other people which they do not understand."

"You were right. He is a boy. His name is Billy."

"Hello Billy."

"And this is Mrs. Johnson," put in Bob. "My wife Jeanette."

"Hello," said Jeanette. "If you can tolerate us a bit longer, do you mind if we join you? Pulling Cat from this table would be a struggle."

"Go right ahead."

"We have carrot and celery sticks. You're welcome to them. They're not on Billy's diet right now, I can tell." Mrs. Johnson accepted some carrot sticks. Cat, who was much more interested in Billy, did not. She waved a finger within his reach.

"Cat, no!" Jeanette said, pulling the arm back. "You don't touch another person without his permission."

"I wasn't touching him. He wouldn't grab my finger if he didn't want to." And, of course, Maman had touched her without her permission. But Maman made rules; she didn't follow them.

"In this case, Mrs. Johnson is the one to ask permission. And ask it first."

"Mrs. Johnson, do you mind if Billy grabs my finger?"

"That's all right, Cat, but don't let him put it in his mouth. He's teething."

"Yes, ma'am." Cat went back to waving her finger in front of Billy. He smiled when he grabbed it. She pulled it back, but only enough to keep the game going. Mrs. Johnson watched for a moment, then checked the change in her purse.

"Do you think you could watch Billy for a minute while I get another burrito?"

"No." Bob thought the checking the change suggested that she might be running out of money. "You watch Billy, and I'll get the burrito. Anything else I should know?" With her head-shake, he went to the machine. In his opinion, nursing mothers deserved all the help they could get. Nursing mothers who could keep Cat amused were worth gold. He brought back the burrito and gave it to her. When she offered him the coins, he shook his head. "It's a small recompense for the intrusion you suffered, and for your graciousness about it. Besides, we invested more in things to keep Cat amused, and they provided less amusement." He nodded towards the car seat.

Billy was finding Cat as fascinating as Cat was finding him. When he tried to pull her finger into his mouth, Bob tapped the car seat to his right, when that caught his attention, Bob tapped the car seat to his left. He let go of Cat's finger to search for the new sounds.

"Two fingers, Cat, like this." He held up two fingers together. She followed his direction, and Billy caught them again. When she wouldn't let them in his mouth, though, he began to get bored.

"Let it go, Cat. Ta memere told ton pepere that one should always quit playing with a baby before the baby gets bored. Then he might be interested next time."

When Mrs. Johnson gathered up her child to return to her seat, Cat started to follow her.

"Mais non, mon chat. You wanted to come eat. Now eat."

Cat sat with ill grace, but the first bites of food tasted good. She ate some carrot sticks, a piece of celery stuffed with peanut butter, and half a tuna sandwich. Jeanette put the other half away for later. Cat was easily filled, but she emptied out quickly. Last, she gave Cat a pickle slice that she'd packed especially for her. Cat accepted the dictum of 'dessert last,' and she enjoyed pickles for dessert. By the time they passed him on the way to their seats, Billy was asleep. The adults nodded to Mrs. Johnson. She got off somewhere in Virginia, and Bob got up to help her get a suitcase down from the upper rack.

By that time, Cat was tired of sitting. Bob would really rather walk, himself, and Cat gave him a perfect excuse. He walked with her the length of the train until they couldn't go forward. When they had walked all the way back, he held her up to see the rails and ties running away from them.

"Sot Papa," said Cat. "They aren't moving, we are." Then she leaned back against his chest and looked her fill. Papa might be silly, but he was also big and strong.

Bob enjoyed the feel of Cat in his arms. Sure, she was heavy, and he wasn't as strong as he had been once. But he could remember holding Cat when she was tiny, so tiny that her diaper in his palm would put her neck in the crook of his elbow. Those days, she used to look up at him in absolute trust. He'd never betray that trust, even if she called him silly now. The problem, of course, is that fulfilling that trust meant letting her run free. And, when she ran free, he couldn't really protect her. Well, he'd enjoyed her infancy. He'd enjoyed her as a toddler. He would enjoy her as a grade-schooler as long as she was one.

He had been bitter once -- once? he'd been bitter for decades -- about how his father had gone off on business trips for most of his childhood and Vi's. Now, he saw how much his father had missed. The old man had made his choices, and he'd regretted his choices, but he hadn't chosen selfishly.

By the time they had eaten a second snack -- mostly celery for Bob and Jeanette -- and returned to their seats, they had time for only two books before they pulled into Southern Pines. Kathleen was there to meet them.

"Alone?" Bob asked.

"Catherine Angelique, look how big you are now." And, after the kiss, "There is only so much room in this car, Bob. Charles stayed back so you could have the leg room. Try to get all the luggage in the trunk, though." Almost everything fit. The rest went between Jeanette and Cat except for Cat's back pack. That went behind Bob's legs while he enjoyed the leg room. At home, there were greetings before they started unloading the luggage.

"Je vous aime. Memere," Cat said to her grandmother. Having been warned minutes before, she walked to her decorously and hugged her legs. Kate returned the hug. "Sharl!" Cat then cried. She raced to him and collided with him. It was something between a hug and a tackle, but Charles could handle it. He lifted her for a mutual hug, and she ran her hands through his hair. Charles was one of her favorite people, and his kinky hair was one thing which she enjoyed most about him. When he could set Cat down, Charles helped tote their stuff up to Bob's old room.

"Sorry about this," Bob said. "When you figure that each outfit weighs less than half of what one of mine does, it's incredible how much you have to pack for a little girl."

"Well, the books weigh more than yours do. Maybe not one volume, but one hour's reading sure does." Bob laughed in agreement.

"I'm glad to see you," Kate Brennan greeted her son, "but don't you want to rest after your trip?"

"Sitting down is the last thing I want now. We didn't walk here, after all. I'll move slowly, though. Is it hotter than it was when I was growing up, or has Chicago spoiled me? I feel as if the Carolina sun is punishing me for leaving home."

"It punishes those of us who stay here, too. With all apologies to Chaucer, July is a crueler month than April."

"If I'm going to be moving, is there anything useful I can do?"

"Well, the lawn has been drying out. You know where the sprinkler is."

"I'll get it. You'll have to tell me where to put it."

Bob placed the lawn sprinkler at his mother's direction. Jeanette and Cat came out to join them and appreciate the breeze. Bob turned the water on at the wall spigot he knew well. Cat looked at the water arching up on the hot day.

"Portcullis!" she said. "Maman? ..."

"It's your grandmother's. You have to ask her."

"Memere, my I play in your lawn sprinkler, please?" Cat had been going to ask Memere. Her permission was automatic. Maman was the one who made up all the rules.

"If your mother permits, dear."

"Maman?"

"Change into your bathing suit, and bring a towel. And wear flip-flops in the house." Noting that she'd been right about all the rules, Cat scurried inside.

"Portcullis, dear?" Kate asked.

"She knows the real meaning of 'portcullis,'" Bob said. That hadn't been Kate's question. When, for that matter, had Bob learned the word? It had been after his freshman year in high school that the town library was closed for weeks for some building problem. She'd dug up a "favorite poems" book to save Bob from his print-withdrawal -- to save herself, really. Bob wasn't one to sulk in silence. That had included something about Marmion and a portcullis.

"We have a lot of lawn sprinklers around us in Chicago," Jeanette began. She knew what Katherine's question had been. "People let them cover the sidewalk. When we would go walking, your son would say, 'Let's run to get through while the portcullis is up.' The three of us would rush through while the sprinkler was watering the lawn instead of the sidewalk."

"Dear, really, 'your son'? You know, children are pot luck. You take what you get. What I got was Bob -- and Vi. Husbands, on the other hand, are a matter of choice. I can remember you being quite insistent that you wanted to marry Bob, and he was as bad back then."

"Don't tell him, but I still want to be married to him. That doesn't mean I approve of all his habits."

"My lips are sealed, dear. It would only make his head swell worse."

"Impossible."

"I think, though, that reporting his misdeeds as those of 'your son' is rather implying a blame on my part that I don't deserve. Cat, for that matter, is more your luck than your achievement."

"Isn't life full of enjoyments at that age?" Kathleen asked. She and Charles had followed Cat out the door and were now watching her run in and out of the sprinkler. Charles was holding the towel. "Did I miss anything but my niece's being cute?"

Bob said, "Jeanette just announced that it was impossible for my head to swell."

Kathleen looked a question at Jeanette.

"Any more!"

"Do you remember, dear," Kate asked her daughter, "the summer that the library was closed and I found Bob the book of poems that were not by Kipling?"

"Who could forget?" asked Kathleen. Bob had first learned a poem and then sought an audience. 'Bob's hitting me,' would probably bring protection from a parent. 'Bob's reciting poetry at me,' wouldn't.

"What, warder, ho; let down the portcullis fall," recited Bob. "I'd forgotten."

"I didn't know you could ever forget a poem." said Jeanette.

"You know, dear, you can complain about your brother all you want..."

"No!" said Kathleen. "It bores Charles."

"... But your famous vocabulary only partly comes from reading Britannica. Part of it came from having an older brother with a use vocabulary well advanced for his age."

"Who talked all the time."

"Well, yes, dear. But you weren't exactly a sphinx yourself."

Charles was splitting his attention between Cat's cavorting and what he privately thought of as the ongoing Brennan debate. He tried to defend Kath against any accusations, but 'not exactly a sphinx' was too accurate -- or too great an understatement -- for him to refute. He never understood how his talkative wife could bear to practice Freudian analysis. That involved so much silent listening!

"He forgot the book, dear," Kate explained, "He remembered the poem."

"Not far advanced was morning day," Bob began. He rather proved her point by continuing until "the grate descending razed his plume." The others talked around him without taking notice.

"Isn't she a dear," asked Kathleen.

"Then you can dry her off and get her into her regular clothes," said Jeanette.

"Gladly. Are you sure that you want her out of the swimsuit? The weather is hot."

"Not until she wants to do something else or it's nearly dinner time. And she can really dress herself. It's just that being a mother is a full-time job."

"Yes, dear," said Katherine, "but it is another thing that you wanted. And, I must say, Cat is quite able to find ways of amusing herself."

"True. My job is seeing that those ways don't put her in danger or invade some stranger's privacy. And, for all your 'potluck,' it's the Brennan in her. For all his complaints about faculty meetings, I've never seen Bob actually bored."

"And Cat is starting to read, isn't she?"

"She still prefers to have books read to her."

"Yes, dear. But when the tipping point comes, you'll have more time to yourself. I can remember checking on them both. You realize that there has been silence for hours. Have they snuck off? Have they died? Are they plotting some mischief? Instead they were each lying down with a book. Now, Kathleen would lie on her bed. Bob, on the other hand, preferred the floor."

"A carpet was soft enough at that age." Bob, having finished Scott, was ready to rejoin the conversation. "Probably relates to the square-cube law. And, you've never seen me bored because you're so fascinating yourself. If I don't have something else to look at, I look at Jeanette. One, only one, of the many reasons faculty committee meetings are so dull is that I don't have the option of looking at you."

"Come here and dry off, Cat," Charles called. He thought she was starting to look tired. He dried off face and arms, lifted her onto the porch, and dried off her legs and feet.

"Stay in the sun for the next ten minutes, mon Chat." Jeanette felt that politeness required speaking English in front of the others. Endearments don't count. All of them knew that much French.

"Oui, Maman." The sun felt good; Cat was a little chilly. She sat down on the porch step. Memere, Sharl, and Tante Kathleen were all here. When she felt too antsy to sit, any one of them would come with her to explore the streets outside. And, when they did, Maman would insist she wear the flip-flops, if not shoes. Elle aime Maman, mais elle commande trop. She twisted her toes and listened to the talk over her head.

Cat nearly went to sleep while they talked about Congress and global warming. Her listening was rewarded, though, when they got around to talking about her.

"I still can't believe," said Kate, "that Cat can learn three languages at the same time. I'll admit that her English is still wonderful, aside from silliness like 'portcullis.' I'm not saying that it isn't happening; I'm saying that it isn't possible."

"The ability to learn language is something we don't understand," Bob replied. "One of the Berlitz family was the clear heir to the schools from his birth. They decided that he should have some command of most of the languages they taught. Each member of the family was assigned a single language. He was raised speaking a different language with each person. If Jeanette wanted me to talk with Cat in French, she'd learn Jeanette's accent and my accent. It's happened."

"Which is why I don't want you talking to her in French."

"D'accord, ma femme."

"See?"

"But," Charles asked, "you still have time on task. If she can learn a thousand words of French, a thousand words of English, and a thousand words of Spanish in a given time, why can't she learn three thousand words of English in the same time?"

"A guess?" Bob got nods from the others. "She isn't learning words so much as she is learning concepts. The world is a blooming buzzing confusion when you're dumped into it. That the swing-back-and-forth source of water is the same as the twirl-around-in-a-circle source of water is the same as the other designs is a task. And, remember, when you first see them, they are shiny shapes; it's not at all clear that those shiny arcs are streams of water. Compared to this, learning that they are called 'portcullis' and 'lawn sprinkler' and whatever the French and Spanish are is a minor task. Where Cat's language skills will be truly trilingual is in her thinking of the word meaning the thing. I, sometimes even Jeanette, think of 'chien' as meaning the English word 'dog.' I don't think of it as meaning some animal running down the street."

Cat got up to look at the dog Papa was talking about, but she didn't see it. It must have gone. Her front was dry, but her back was still wet. It, particularly the seat, was beginning to feel bad. She lay down on her front on the porch to get that into the sun.

"See," said Kate gesturing to her granddaughter, "Bob used to lie like that."

"Genes," Jeanette guessed. She looked fondly at her daughter. If they tried to make Cat lie down in a soft bed for an hour, they would have a battle royal. But she was quite content to lie on a hard wooden porch in the way of anyone who wanted to go back in the house. Maybe it was the nickname. She was behaving remarkably like a house cat. "How long to dinner?" she asked.

"Well, dear, if there is something you want to do . . ." Jeanette shook her head and pointed to Cat. "Then, I was planning for an hour and a half from now."

Kathleen saw the problem. if Cat dropped off now, her whole schedule would be off.

"Want to walk the neighborhood?" she asked Charles. He nodded. He managed to suppress his anxiety. Alone, he wouldn't be the only black face out there; with Kath and Cat, he'd be quite conspicuous. Kath never worried, and it was her town. For that matter, he'd seldom had a problem here. And there were bigots in Philadelphia, too. "C'mon, Cat. Change clothes and we'll go out for a walk. Tante K'leen will help you change." Cat got up.

"Flip-flops inside the house," said Jeanette. Cat obeyed, and she and Tante Kathleen went upstairs to change. She didn't need help, and Tante Kathleen didn't insist on giving it. Except for drying her back, she merely watched. And Cat was happy having an audience. When they came downstairs, Charles joined them. They walked together, while Kathleen told Charles -- and Cat were she interested -- her memories of the places they passed. They got back shortly before supper.

At dinner, Cat was hyper to fend off sleepiness. Jeanette, Kate, and even Bob guessed the reason; the other two adults noticed the behavior. For once, the Brennan table had only one conversation. Whenever an adult started to say something on another subject, Cat objected. "Papa, you are not listening!" Bob, figuring it was better than the alternative, listened. The obvious alternative was to send Cat to bed right then. That would mean to stay there keeping her in the room physically until she collapsed into sleep. Which would risk having her wake in the middle of the night, ravenous. That didn't mean that he enjoyed the process. Kathleen, Charles and his mother were seeing a side to Cat he would have preferred that they do not.

"Now, mon chat, it is time for bed," Jeanette said at the end of the meal.

"Pourquoi?"

"Because you need your rest for tomorrow."

"Pourquoi?"

"Because you have had a busy energetic day today, and we got up early." Jeanette had sworn not to tell her child 'because I say so.' That didn't mean that she was never tempted, and it certainly didn't mean that she never cheated.

"Pourquoi?"

"Because we had to catch the train to get here."

"Pourquoi?"

"I keep six honest serving-men," recited Bob,

"(They taught me all I knew);

"Their names are What and Why and When

"And How and Where and Who."

"I can't hear that," Cat screamed. She climbed down from her chair, turned her back, and stuffed her fingers in her ears.

"I send them over land and sea," Bob continued remorselessly.

"I send them east and west;

"But after they have worked for me,

"I give them all a rest.

"I let them rest from nine till five,

"For I am busy then,

"As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,

"For they are hungry men.

"But different folk have different views;

"I know a person small --

"She keeps ten million serving-men,

"Who get no rest at all!

"She sends 'em abroad on her own affairs,

"From the second she opens her eyes --

"One million Hows, two million Wheres,

"And seven million Whys!" As soon as he had finished, Cat unstuffed her ears and turned back.

"I didn't hear that," she said. But her mother was there to catch her hand.

"We are going upstairs now."

"Will Cat walk with Maman, or will Cat be carried by Papa?" asked Bob. Given the choice, Cat limped sulkily towards the stairs.

"Still want?..." Jeanette asked Kate over her shoulder.

"Definitely!" Kate had handled tantrums. She wasn't going to let one deprive her of her granddaughter's company.

"Sorry about that," said Bob.

"She's tired," said Kathleen. "Maybe we shouldn't have taken that walk."

"At that point, all we could do was choose when. Had she gone to sleep, she'd have had the tantrum when we woke her for dinner. And, flexible as young limbs are, I wouldn't have known how much was sleeping on the bare boards. It isn't the exercise; she had little on the train, though she walked the aisle more than she sat in her seat. It's the lack of sleep. When do you respond to sleepiness by heading for bed, anyway?"

"Good question." Charles took that question to be directed to him. He was a pediatrician, after all. "I think it is something you learn slowly over time. Certainly, once you have finished a residency, you head for bed when the opportunity offers." They laughed.

"Sometimes," Kathleen put in, "you even sleep." She had been the baby of the family for far too long. Since nobody else would, she liked to make the point that she was an adult.

Charles kept quiet. He didn't know whether his embarrassment at Kath's mentioning their sexual activities to her family was because they were her family or because they were white. Although it was the 21st century, although they had a marriage license, he still felt a frisson of fear about fucking a white woman south of the Mason-Dixon line. And, really, although her family knew that those activities were part of marriage -- they'd even provided opportunities before the marriage -- it was still something you didn't say. The list of things the Brennans didn't say was quite short.

They shared stories of all-nighters. Some of Kate's stories were ones her children hadn't heard. The matron they remembered had once been an art-history major romantically involved with an older man at the graduate school of business.

"Two years, Mother," said Kathleen.

"Well, two years -- nearer three in age -- was significant back then. He was a grad student, and in business school. I was an undergraduate, and in something pure. My parents weren't scandalized, but many of my classmates were. And, of course, I didn't tell my parents enough to be scandalized until I was enrolled in the MAT program."

"And you complained about me."

"Well, I introduced them to Russ when everyone came to my second graduation. He was out and employed by then. I didn't announce it to them by saying he'd be sleeping in my bed."

"And was he?"

"Now that would be telling," she said. Charles laughed.

"I was just wondering whether there was anything that Brennans didn't say."

"That depends, dear, on the Brennan. And, of course, to whom. Kathleen, as I just said, kept you very secret from us. She may have told her classmates. Bob didn't tell us much about Jeanette, but we never figured out whether that was keeping secrets. He later claimed it was something that should have been obvious."

"You knew I was dating her. If you didn't know it was love, it took me a while to figure that out for myself. And it took longer for me to tell her. Besides, at some point quite early, it became Bob-and-Jeanette. After that, Dad would have been shocked were I to betray a confidence. Even the louts who bragged to their friends 'I got to second base last night' weren't saying that to their parents. What was Dad's memory of my report before I signed the app for road construction?"

"'I really think she really likes me.' Not terribly clear, dear."

"But that was the news. That was what I brought away from the discussion. Jeanette liked me, or I thought she did."

"Well, dear, for someone so articulate, you never actually said anything about how you felt about her. I'm glad you told her. Indeed, the first time that you mentioned love for her within my hearing was when you were addressing her. Now, we did have hints. You told us that you had to get to the track meet because Jeanette was running. Did you ever watch a boys' track meet?"

"They held a couple of joint meets. Otherwise, to echo my daughter, pourquoi?"

"My point, exactly. We were clear, indeed you sometimes told us, that you went there to watch Jeanette run."

"And it was incredibly important that he was there." Jeanette had come downstairs. "Once Greg brought me to a meet, and I fell down. I came in dead last. Greg tried to console me. He was being nice, but all I could think of was that Bob couldn't hug away the embarrassment."

"We were talking about how little Bob told us, dear."

"Well, part of the secrecy was for me. Like when he asked me to go steady."

"I never heard about that, dear."

"Precisement! I told him I didn't want to have dates with anybody else, but my mother would kill me if I went steady with him. They had to know when he took me to the dance. They didn't know about the other times we met. By that time, I was telling my mother as little about my life as possible, but Bob was especially secret. High school was bad enough. You never knew when something your fellow students knew would get back to my parents. After all, everybody went into the pharmacy.

"Anyway," she continued, "Cat is sleeping on the pad in your room. I'm sorry for the behavior."

"Don't worry about the behavior, dear. I've raised two, and seen worse. Believe me. The pad, on the other hand..."

"Do you remember what happened the last time you two shared a bed?"

"It wasn't the last time, dear. And the sheets were washable. So, for that matter, was I."

"The mattress..."

"It's a water bed. You know the cover is waterproof. And Cat enjoys it so much. When you lie on it, the bed jiggles."

"Well, you don't mind, but Cat does. I don't want her strongest memory of this trip to be embarrassment."

"In that case, dear, as the adult who wants it, it's my duty to have a plan to eliminate the occasion for embarrassment."

"Really, she's getting better. But I have fears for tonight. When she finally got to sleep, she went deep."

"And so should we all," said Kathleen. "It's been a long day. Sorry I wasn't more help on dinner."

"You were a great help, dear. That walk was precisely what was needed. And it wasn't a long day for me -- expectations, of course. But I'm not the one who drove all day. Really, I enjoy your presence. I'm not expecting you to entertain me."

Bob and Jeanette stayed downstairs with her, though, while Kathleen and Charles went up to bed. The day had been grungy enough to suggest a shower before bed, though they had showered in the morning before starting out.

"Save water?" asked Charles.

"Not here." Not that sharing a shower really saved any water. At home, the hot sometimes ran out; it never did when one showered after the other. She took her robe with her and headed for the bathroom.

When Charles replaced her, he mused on Kath's odd sense of propriety. They couldn't be in the shower together when her family was downstairs, but she would make suggestive comments to them. Well, understanding Kath was hard enough; understanding Kath when she was dealing with her family was impossible. Actually, there were four interactions. She genuinely loved her mother, but she hadn't quite got over adolescent rebellion. Fighting her brother was too good a sport to abandon. The truth was that she and Bob had enjoyed their childhoods and reenacted them on visits home. She and Jeanette were good friends. Her relationship to Cat was close to adoration -- mutual adoration, often enough. He returned to the room wondering what limits Kath's propriety would place on their sex life. She'd packed her diaphragm. He didn't need sex every night, but his picture of a vacation involved relaxed sex.

"Lock the door," Kath greeted him. He did so before hanging up his clothes. He put his pajamas and robe on the other bed beside Kath's nightie and robe. When he had put his glasses on the night stand, neither of them wore anything but rings. He slid under the covers to touch her everywhere along her length. The twin bed with a footboard was confining after the queen-sized one they shared at home which would let his feet hang over. But the close quarters could be fun, too.

Kathleen felt the familiar warmth of Char beside her. After their kiss he started to speak.

"No words," she whispered. "Let's be absolutely silent." She felt him nod against her head. Then he began stroking her again. She eased back against his warmth while his hand played all over her body. A huge hand as it encompassed her breast as her hand certainly could not -- a clever hand as two fingers rubbed her areola on each side of the nipple while another brushed the nipple very lightly. Their next major purchase had to be a piano, those clever fingers had to play something more than her body, pleasant as it was to have them play her body.

He started to slide his right hand under Kath's body. When it stuck, he stopped. She raised herself to allow him passage. When that hand cupped her other breast, she eased back down. His erection was jammed against her. He used his left hand to pull it up to pass between her legs. She raised that leg, and he took advantage of the easier access to cup her mons with his left hand. When she eased the leg back down, his erection was trapped between her legs and his hand was trapped where he most wanted it to be. He slowly stroked her labia with two fingers.

He and Kath had fallen into a pattern over their time together. He saw that she got hers, and she saw that he got his. After a certain point, of course, he'd get his unless she held a gun to his head. (After a later point, he'd get his unless she pulled the trigger.) But it was nicer to have your lover worrying about you than having her worrying about herself. Even though Kath could be a wicked tease, some of those times had been his most explosive orgasms. Often, of course, they had mutual sex, sometimes even mutual orgasms, (On really special occasions, he could bring Kath to a series of moaning climaxes and then get his relief in her still-quivering body. But that wasn't for this house.) But those times he made sure that she was well on the road before he got close. One complication was that Kath was quite capable of multiple orgasms under the proper conditions. He, on the other hand, had left his teen years far behind. On those nights, he'd see that she got hers; then they'd see that they got theirs. Tonight was probably not a proper condition. Tomorrow night might well be. All the time he was thinking this, he was stroking her to readiness.

She was reveling in the strokes of Char's magic fingers. She'd gone from post-trip tension to luxurious relaxation to quite another sort of tension. The sounds of Bob talking to Jeanette from next door when they had come up only set her back a little. The heat was building. When he removed his hand from her breast to reach for the bag containing her diaphragm, she came almost all the way back. His insertion would be silent. The consequent motion would cause sounds which would be unmistakable throughout the house. She grabbed his arm. Then she held a finger to his lips.

He thought Kath's worries were silly. But making love to a worrying partner was a serious problem. He slid out of bed. His hand was fine for preliminary orgasms. The one orgasm of the night, however, deserved his mouth if not his phallus. Kath moved, trying -- he noted -- for silence, to lie diagonally on the bed with her legs off. He knelt between her feet and kissed up her thighs. When his lips got to her labia, his hands went to her breasts. Lick a labium; brush a nipple; lick the other labium; tweak the same nipple; lick her clitoris. The variations could be endless. He enjoyed them all. That she did too was evidenced by her gripping his hair to pull his face against her vulva.

She enjoyed Char's tongue as much as she enjoyed his fingers. His teasing delay, only stimulating one thing at a time, visiting her clit so seldom, felt frustrating now, but she knew they would take her higher. She even enjoyed his special, wiry, hair. She played with it when she didn't need to pull him into her to increase the stimulation. As she soared, she let go with one hand to grab a pillow. Her last willed act was to pull it over her face. Then the fire burned through her.

He knew Kath was close when she reached for the pillow. He squeezed both nipples while licking her clitoris. When she stiffened, he sucked her clitoris while pinching the nipples. He let go of the nipples when she moaned, but he kept sucking her clitoris as she arched beneath him. When she relaxed, he straightened. He got to his feet and swung her straight on the bed. Then he got in beside her and pressed his length to hers. He held his love as she recovered her breath.

She came back from rapture to comfort. Char was there, and he was holding her. She experienced his gentleness now, only knowing his strength by memory and by the muscular chest against her face. As she recovered her strength, she petted his torso. She knew that he didn't want her hands below his waist until she was ready to do something about the resulting arousal. When she had her breath back, she reached over to turn on the lamp. She'd sworn after the first time she had watched his face while she sucked him off that she would never again do it in the dark.

The lamp light, Kath's mouth on his nipple, her hand on his thigh, all hardened his erection. She got to her knees and edged away. He lay flat as close to the center of the bed as he could get. She climbed over his right leg. These motions, when she was intending only the practical action of shifting their relative position in a too-narrow bed, were more erotic than any poses Playboy had ever printed. Of course, what she was preparing to do might have fed his arousal, too. He scooted up the last inch in the bed and put both pillows under his head. She wanted to watch his face while he came, and he wanted to watch her mouth as she brought him off.

She clipped her hair back again. She didn't want it obscuring her sight. She rested one hand on his hip while she took him in the other. She slowly let herself down until she had the tip of his cock in her mouth. Char's face looked expectant. She bent further until her mouth was full of him. She managed to watch his face as she rose up. He smiled at her, but he was beginning to look concerned. She licked the shaft all the way from the base to the notch in the head. When she swirled her tongue all the way around the head, his look of concern deepened. She was about to tease him with more licks when the sound from the next room penetrated her consciousness. The bed in there was sounding the beat that she'd been afraid her bed would sound. Well, they wouldn't hear her and Char, now. Should she? But, first, she engulfed the head to keep Char entertained while she considered.

Bob and Jeanette had stayed downstairs with his mother. She asked him to turn on the TV for the news. When that program was over, she started watching the next show. Jeanette had a sudden suspicion that Katherine wanted to climb the stairs without witnesses. Was age taking its toll on her? Well, she could allow her her dignity.

"Will you excuse us, Katherine? Cat isn't the only one of the family who had a long day." She'd got up. Bob was not particularly sensitive, but he had to have heard the 'us.' He'd got up too. Which meant that Katherine, the subtle Brennan, almost certainly had heard the hint. But she had made no protestation.

"I'll watch a little more. Have a nice night. It's great to have you all here."

"Nice of her to include us," Bob had said at the top of the stairs. "We know which one she really enjoys."

"Well, while she'd manage Cat if we sent her alone -- not that Amtrak would -- I think our parenting adds to the pleasure of the visit. And, even before Cat, she was always welcoming."

"Y'know, dear, 'You do it because your mother told you to do it' is a perfectly valid reason at this age. Some things have contexts beyond Cat's comprehension. Some things are matters of social convention. I've seen women feed their kids sugary Kool-Ade out of a baby bottle. Now, that is worthy of shame. Breast-feeding is not shameful, but it isn't something that the mother wants strange little girls watching. I don't think you'll be able to explain that to Cat for years; I'm not sure that you can explain it to me."

"Mommy's reason for everything was 'Because I say so.'" In the room, she'd begun to remove her clothes. Bob had followed suit.

"Well, it can be overdone; so can anything else. And in some moods, Cat isn't going to be reasoned into anything."

"I just don't want to say that, Bob. Can you?"

"Yes. Because my wife tells me to do it. Or, rather, to avoid saying that." He'd grabbed his robe and headed for the bathroom. When he got back, she'd taken her turn. She'd locked the door when she'd returned. Cat was good about knocking on doors, but -- in a sense -- this was her room, too. Bob had been lying on his side of the bed. She'd hung up nightgown and robe where she could grab them easily come morning. When she'd crawled into bed, they'd hugged. He'd kissed her deeply.

He'd felt Jeanette's entire length against him. Their mouths had touched as their tongues danced with each other. Her sweet, soft, breasts had pressed into his chest. Her thighs had been firm and smooth against his cock, and he had pulled her butt to press them against it more firmly.

"Oh, I love you," he'd whispered. She had known that he did. If it was more desire than love speaking at the moment, that was okay. She had desired Bob, too. She spent so much time as a student, so much time as a mother; that had been pure wife time, the purer as Katherine was there to answer Cat if she woke. She'd felt Bob's hands on her butt and his erection firming against her legs. He'd held her breast. She'd known he was willing -- as he always was willing, had been willing on their first night -- to tamp down his desire while he built up hers. Her desire had been, though, already quite high. She'd brought his hand to her center to show him.

He'd loved Jeanette, desired Jeanette. It had been only partly the transformation of the tensions of the day into sexual tension. The room, and the years he'd spent in the room in unsatisfied desire for Jeanette Jacobs, was another small part. Her skill with their daughter and kindness toward his family had, perhaps, been another sliver. Mostly, however, it had been that he had always desired her. She was the sexiest woman he knew. And he'd had her sexy butt and her even sexier breasts in his hand. Then she'd pulled that hand to her sexiest part. To crown it all, her cunt had been running. When she'd fallen onto her back, he'd stroked that moisture all along her cunt lips. When his finger had passed over her clit the first time, she'd gripped his shoulder.

Even after she'd signaled her readiness to Bob, he'd taken his time. He'd hissed her breast up to the nipple; then he'd sucked the nipple. All the time, he'd been tickling her clit. She'd had to pull harder on his shoulder to start him moving to kneel between her legs. Then, once in place, he'd moved up above her while he'd moved into her. The familiar warm wedge had parted her lower lips. Then her entry had stretched while it had been rubbed. She felt the shaft glide through the entrance as the head went on to spread her deeper and deeper. Finally, she had been filled, filled with the love of her life. Bob had paused and shifted -- a shifting which had been exciting in its own right -- until his hands were on her breasts. He'd whispered before moving.

"So, warm, so sweet. I love you." And he had loved Jeanette -- loved her all the more for the answering hug of her arms on his back, her legs around his hips. She had delivered an even sexier, more private, hug on his member buried in her. Then he had begun the old rhythm holding her breasts in his hand and gazing into her eyes in the dimness. He'd gone slowly and gently at first, and she'd responded with gentle raisings of her hips to meet him. Then, when his hunger had driven him more strongly, she'd responded more strongly.

Their rocking had driven the bed's rocking that Kathleen had heard.

Jeanette gritted her teeth as the tension rose. She was in Bob's arms. held by him, holding him as he moved above her and within her. Seven years of motherhood kept her from crying out, but her mind cried out as the fire flared within her. As Bob squeezed her breasts, the fire filled her -- consumed her. She was the fire.

He felt Jeanette stiffen under him, then rise against him. Finally, he felt her contract rhythmically around him where he was stroking through her moist warmth. That took him over. He drew out until only his tip was enclosed, He drove down and in and forward. Poised above her and buried deep within her, he pulsed and pulsed and pumped his essence into her. When he collapsed he was able to fall to the side. They were so wrapped together that he brought her with him. They lay panting face to face.

"Love," he managed to say finally.

"Love you," she replied. It was minutes before they restored the sheets and spooned together. It had been a long day, and Cat was a less immediate responsibility. She was with sa memere. They were soon deep in sleep.

Meanwhile, Kathleen had made her decision. With Bob engaged in his own sexual activities-- somehow, she never worried about Jeanette overhearing her, although she was also engaged in her own sexual activities -- they wouldn't be overheard. The diaphragm might take too long, but she had a condom in her diaphragm bag for emergencies. This qualified. Char's expression went from frustrated to puzzled as she rooted in the bag and pulled out the packet. She couldn't spare his face any attention until she'd sheathed him. She crawled up in the bed, decided that putting a nipple in Char's mouth would put her head through the wall, and poised over his center. She watched his face as she grasped him and herself. His expression as she slowly impaled herself on him was as erotic as the sensation of his cock entering her, filling her.

He'd been frustrated when Kath stopped all stimulation. The woman was a terrible tease, capable of starting conversations while he ached for relief. But she'd made in quite clear that she didn't want any love-bed conversation in this house. When she reached for her bag, he was puzzled. Inserting her diaphragm was his task, and they both loved having him do it. She'd said not to. The rubber was another puzzle. Then she was towering over him ready to take him into her. The sight of her nakedness above him, fuzzy as it was, aroused him powerfully. The smoothness as she engulfed him was even more exciting than his entry into her ever was. But he had to bring her along, and that would be difficult considering his present state. He reached his right hand between her legs as his left cupped her breast.

She loved him, and often respected his intelligence. Char could be so smart about so much, and then so stupid about such obvious things. She had already had hers. This was going to be his climax, and her view. She grabbed his hand before it reached her clit and brought it to her left breast. She rested her hands on his shoulders. With her arms straight, she raised her hips until the head of his cock was beginning to spread her vestibule. Then she watched his face as she lowered herself again. The warmth of his hands was arousing, the friction of his cock in her was arousing. The expression of wonder on his face was most arousing of all. She found herself timing the rhythm of her rise and fall around his cock to the sounds of the bed from the other room.

He had to allow Kath her way on this, and her way was remarkably unselfish. As he held her breasts in his hands, he watched -- and felt -- her loins swing up and down over his phallus. Kath was beyond teasing now. She rose and fell around him as steadily as a metronome. As his arousal approached its peak, her pace seemed to increase. He gasped as he rose into her, lifting her entire weight as he shot and shot. She was still above him, engulfing him, her face enigmatic, while he panted in repletion.

She watched Char's expression go from pleasure to concern to worry. In this position, with her arms straight and her hands on his shoulders, their faces were at the same distance while their groins met and parted. Worry turned to agony just before he bucked under her. The agony got even more intense as he throbbed within her. Then she watched it relax into deepest bliss. His hands fell from her breasts. He started to look concerned again, and reached between her legs. This time, she raised herself slightly so he could grasp the condom while he eased out. She took the condom from him, wrapped it in Kleenex, and dropped it into the waste basket. She handed him another Kleenex and took one for herself before she moved off and lay on her side. He turned on his and held her as the sounds from the other room sped again and then stopped with a smack.

"But you didn't," Char said. She had, earlier. And she'd seen him come from a remarkable vantage point. Maybe she should do that more often at home. Anyway, Bob might not be listening -- from the sounds he was probably talking -- but it was no longer safe.

"We'll talk tomorrow, somewhere outside. Get the lamp, will you." He got the lamp and it was dark, darker than it would be in minutes when her eyes readjusted. The magic fingers might be the greatest pleasure of being married to Char, but the long arms were another advantage. She would have had to move to reach the lamp. Life was good. "Thank you, God." It was the last words from either of them that night.

Kate stayed down watching TV. She wasn't ignoring it, was following, even predicting the plot twists. But that didn't take all her attention. Now that she watched more television, she marveled that anyone, however immature and EMH, could have TV fill their thoughts. On another level, she enjoyed having her children sleeping in her house -- and her grandchild. The house was somehow much emptier with Russ in the graveyard than it had ever been with him at the office. And, of course, only her mind told her that five persons were asleep upstairs. But it still was much less lonely.

And, if they had sought their beds for another reason than sleep, that was great, too. Whatever her daughter thought, she did not begrudge her the enjoyment of an active sex life. Russ used to say that each of us carries a little copy of our friends -- even of our acquaintances -- inside us. Our behavior often responds, not to the actual person, but to that inaccurate copy. Well, Kathleen's copy of Kate was a woman who had obviously never explained to Vi how women could masturbate and that it was a morally-neutral but exceptionally private activity. She was reacting against a puritan who was quite unlike the mother she'd actually had. Someday, preferably when Charles wasn't there to be embarrassed, she was going to tell her daughter, "I know you're screwing Charles, dear. I assigned you to the same room, remember?"

Anyway, both Kathleen and Jeanette had led their husbands upstairs. She was not going to supervise her children's sex lives, but she could approve. And wives making the first move brought her approval. Men could chase their wives; Russ had often enjoyed being the instigator. But making them put out more effort to get you than they would have to put out to get their secretaries was asking for trouble. No. Wanting sex, enjoying sex, being honest about enjoying sex, was the first step towards a happy marriage. And those were two happy marriages.

Jeanette was the best thing which had ever happened to Bob -- Cat, of course, but Cat wouldn't have come without Jeanette. And, she realized, the Bob she pictured with Jeanette happening to him had already been partly formed by his earlier relationship to Jeanette. The marriage might have come at an inconvenient time, but they had done wonderfully by it. And -- she reached over to a table to knock on wood -- this was the good life they had earned. Jeanette was finally getting her degree. Bob was teaching at Northwestern and publishing often enough to keep everybody happy.

Cat seemed to be fitting in at school. She was not only learning -- Kate had never worried about her intellectual progress -- she was getting along with her classmates. All Kate's worries about Inter-American had been for naught. Where the student body broke down into Latinos and Yanquis, Cat had been one of the Yanquis most ready to be friends with the Latinos. "I heard her talking French with her mother," wouldn't cause much of a scandal in that environment. Whatever her interests turned out to be -- it would serve Bob right if she decided to major in art history or economics -- having three languages wouldn't hurt.

Bob, who couldn't remember lying down screaming and kicking the floor about being taken from the toy department at Macy's was embarrassed by Cat's insisting on dominating the table conversation. Kate, who could remember the Macy's incident very well, was much less bothered by Cat's actions. And, at least, the worst punishment that had even been threatened was the recital of a teasing poem. And Cat was poor enough a liar that she took the fingers out of her ears just as soon as the poem that she claimed not to hear was over. A girl that bright would tell better lies if she had any experience telling them. So Cat seldom lied and Bob wasn't a secret child-beater. What had he said once about having the negative virtues? Kate wasn't going to supervise child raising, either -- although Jeanette was kind enough to occasionally ask for advice -- but she could approve of that, too.

And, as the program drew to a close, it was time to enjoy Cat's warm body as well as warm thoughts about her. She got up, waited for the last scene, clicked off the first commercial, unplugged the set, and headed for the kitchen to get the timer. She had a remote somewhere around, but Russ had had an aversion to them. The TV had been Russ's, the network news his addiction. Joint property was a legal fiction; so much of what they owned was really one person's -- his TV, her cookware, his books, her books. She climbed the stairs -- slower than she had twenty years before but more rapidly than Cat had the last time. She changed to her nightgown and wore the robe to the bathroom. She made all her preparations including setting the timer for four hours before returning to her room and waking Cat.

"Get up, dear. You need to visit the bathroom. When you get back, you can come to bed with Memere." Cat rose, reluctantly and groggily, but not sulkily. Kate helped her up on the toilet. The raised seat which had made it easier for Russ and still made it easier for her, made it harder for Cat. Cat had to be reminded to wash her hands, but -- when reminded -- washed them with good grace. Kate got into bed first before welcoming Cat into her arms. She turned off the lamp and hugged her granddaughter silently. Cat, who hadn't really been wide awake, settled down into the hug. Soon, they were both asleep.

When the kitchen timer rang, she took a while waking up. It didn't sound like her alarm clock. Once awake, she woke Cat.

"We're going to go to the bathroom again, dear. Do you have slippers?"

"Flip-flops." And she put her flip-flops on while Memere got into slipper. She hadn't needed to go when Memere had gotten her up, but she did need to go by the rime they got to the bathroom. Memere pulled up her nightie and helped her up. When she'd got down and wiped herself off, Memere sat down.

"Wash your hands, Cat, while I use the toilet." She could hear the water gush out of Memere, just like it did out of her. When Memere got up, she wiped herself and washed her hands. "Back to bed, Cat, it's the middle of the night. We've loads more sleeping to do." She didn't really feel sleepy, but the water bed was fun, and so was being hugged by Memere. She yawned. Maybe she did feel a little sleepy.

"Still awake, Cat? Tell me about your trip here, but whisper. We don't want to wake anyone else." Kate turned off the lamp and tried to pay attention to Cat's story about the lady on the train and Billy. She was barely awake, but she lasted longer than her granddaughter did. Cat's pauses grew longer and longer. She fell asleep in the middle of a sentence.

When the alarm woke Kate, Cat was already awake in her arms.

"What's that, Memere?"

"That's an alarm clock, dear. Different ones sound different." And she could never bear to listen to Russ's again. "Let's get up and go to the bathroom." They both used the facilities, both washed their hands. She brought Cat back to the room while she dressed. Modesty was a weird idea; after all, she'd seen Cat naked many times. Changed more than one diaper. Still, Cat's eyes ob her were somewhat disturbing. She decided that Cat gave everything that much attention. She'd watched Kate prepare food as though she were memorizing her moves. But Cat's clothes were in Bob's room. "I'm going to fix breakfast, dear. Do you want to come watch or go get dressed?"

"I'll get dressed." Cat had remembered something. Ordinarily, watching Memere cook was great fun, but this was a special day. "Je vous aime, Memere."

"And I love you, too, Catherine Angelique, ma petite fille." Cat went and knocked at the door of Maman. Hearing nothing, she knocked again. There was stirring and bed noises. She waited.

When the knocking woke her, Jeanette untangled herself from Bob. She got up, put on her slippers and then her nightie and robe. She waited by the door until Bob had his robe on. By that time, she'd awakened enough to know that they were in Bob's old home. The knock, however, was Cat's. She'd recognized it.

"Bon jour, Maman. C'est le quatorze, nest-ce pas?"

"Good morning, mon chat. Do you need to go to the bathroom?" That was an important question. If Cat didn't, Jeanette did.

"I have been. I washed my hands." She showed her hands, although they were completely dry. For some reason, perhaps because Papa was right behind her, Maman was speaking English. She knew to answer in the language used.

"Alors, m'attends s'il tu plait." Jeanette went into the bathroom. When she got out, Bob succeeded her. With six people in the house, the bathroom could be busy in the morning. There was, however, a half-bath downstairs. Waiting for a shower was a minor inconvenience.

"Maman. c'est le quatorze, nest-ce pas?" Yes, she checked her cell. This was the fourteenth of July. Bastille day, which the cell didn't tell her. The next model probably would.

"Mais oui, mon chat. Mais nous ne chanterons pas avant le petit dejeuner." It was going to be the fourteenth all day, but Cat wasn't of an age to wait. At least let Katherine get through breakfast and her first cup of coffee before Cat's song. (Although Brennan coffee couldn't make that much difference.) It would be a good idea if Kathleen and Charles ate first, too, Although she had warned them, at least. "Ta memere, ta tante Kathleen, et ton oncle Charles devront manger avant tu chantes. Tu, aussi, devra manger. Et avale!" Cat was learning, slowly, to swallow before she spoke -- actually, she was better than Bob about that -- but she was quite excited about this song. Jeanette didn't want her singing the entire thing with her mouth full. She gave her yesterday's clothes to wear -- she hadn't bathed, after all -- and sent her downstairs.

Bob checked the hall before entering his room. Charles and Vi weren't up yet, although their door looked open a crack as though they were waiting for him. Jeanette was in the process of dressing. He watched while there was anything to watch; then he began to don his own clothes. When they got down there, Mom was cooking up a storm and talking to Cat. If Cat was antsy, she was trying to hide it.

"Dining room this morning, dear. This table won't hold six."

"Very well," said Jeanette. "I'll be the waiter. You're doing more than your share."

"Well, dear, I know where things are. It's not as if I had somewhere else to go." Bob sat next to Cat and her telephone book -- they'd brought it from Chicago a couple of years ago, the local phone book was too scrawny to help. He poured syrup on her waffle, spread it around with her fork, and then used her fork and his knife to cut it into bite-sized pieces. The sausages on Cat's plate had already been cut into thirds. When Jeanette brought in his plate, he began on it. She joined him, but rose to get filled plates for Charles and Vi -- for Kathleen, he didn't want to make an enemy of Charles who fought his wife's battles. That was totally useless; Kathleen was more than capable of fighting her own. He wouldn't want to meet Charles in a boxing ring, but he couldn't hold a candle to Kathleen when it came to verbal battles. He went back to get his own third waffle. Mom followed him in carrying her own plate. He expected Cat to ask for more. Why not? He'd eat what she left. Instead she sat there looking more antsy but making no effort to get up.

"Have you finished, Memere?" she asked, At her nod, she continued, "Charles? Tante Kathleen?" They both had finished and told her so. She got up. Before Bob could admonish her that she should ask to be excused, she began to sing.

"Allons enfants de la patrie." She was a trifle shaky, and Charles waited until he thought he'd found her key. He did join her on the last word.

"Le jour de gloire est arrive." Now Kathleen was singing along, too. The trio got through the whole song letting the first singer sound the loudest.

"Oh, darling," said Kate at the end, "that was marvelous." And it had been. If Cat wasn't going to challenge Marian Anderson's reputation any time soon, neither was any other grade-school girl. And she sang incredibly well when you considered that she was Bob's daughter.

"Sharl," Cat said. "You can sing! I didn't know men sang."

"Men sing in church," Jeanette said. "You've seen them. Many men sing, just not all of them."

Kathleen thought that 'singing better than Bob' was damning Char with faint praise. But, after all, Cat hadn't said that. She'd merely said that he could sing, and he certainly could.

"You mother told us the surprise you were cooking up, Cat," Charles said. "We thought we should join you."

"But was Memere surprised."

"Surprised, Cat. Flabbergasted. And it was a great surprise. Now, does anybody want anything else?"

"Nothing," said Kathleen. "I think Charles and I should do the dishes." They did. Even rinsing off the syrup from six plates, it was no arduous task. From there, they went out to the yard without anyone else around them to overhear.

"Once. long ago," she said, "when Bob was first married, I found how thin those walls are." She started to pace. Charles matched her. "I don't want Bob hearing me, hearing us."

"Okay. But it's all right when you can hear him?"

"When we can hear him, he is probably too busy to pay any attention to us."

"You've forgotten the singing day bed." That had been in Bob's apartment in Grand Haven. He and Kath had shared it more than six years back.

"I remember it. He could hear it; he knew what we were doing."

"He didn't come in and stop us. He didn't complain that I was despoiling his innocent sister."

"Bob hasn't thought of me as his innocent sister since I was in diapers. Mom claims that he was terribly fond of me then. Either that or he had an audience which hadn't learned to talk. Bob's favorite conversations are one-sided. Anyway, no, he didn't come in and stop us. Instead, he and Jeanette imitated us. Still I don't want him hearing us."

"Okay. But, if it's all right when he can't hear, then why not finish you off. I had mine, and you didn't have yours."

"Short memory. And they trust this guy to do diagnoses of sick children. I got mine. I got mine early on."

"Well, you could have had a second."

"Not at that time, I couldn't. You were too close, and it was my decision. You were perfectly happy to get a blow job after you'd given me one. Why is it different just 'cause you're in me. I liked it, didn't you?" Not that she had much doubt. That was one result of watching his face. When she was having a climax, she supposed he could fake one. She doubted that he knew enough about how he looked during an orgasm to fake one for her. And, of course, there was the detail that something was in the condom when he took it off.

"Of course, I liked it. I just don't want to have you servicing me."

"While, on the other hand, I'm perfectly willing to have you service me. Fingers, tongue, cock, all are the instruments of my pleasure. Haven't you figured that out by now. I keep you around to be my boy toy."

"No, I don't mind that." Really, he rather enjoyed that. He didn't want to be thought of as a gigolo, and her income was creeping up above his, but being told that he turned her on was itself a turn-on.

"So you wouldn't mind if we did it that way again?"

"Not at all. Considering a matinee?"

"I mean at home." But a matinee was an idea. They couldn't at home with work to do. They might here with the others out of the house. Just Bob and Jeanette gone would do. Mom would keep Cat well away.

"Mind if I wear my glasses?"

"You want me to wear my glasses?" Where did that come from? Did he have a kink for librarians or something? He'd never asked her to wear her lab coat, and several were hanging in the closet that she would probably never wear again. On the other hand, she'd prefer him thinking that librarians were sexy than that nurses were sexy. How many librarians did he meet on his duties?

"Me wearing my glasses. You're incredibly sexy like that, but you'd be sexier if I could see more clearly. Or would it be you that would be sexier? I would be more turned on, but you wouldn't be any different. On the other hand, you're definitely sexier dressed like that, and you're still naked under your clothes."

"You have definitely been spending too much time around Bob. You've gone all analytical. I get the idea. You like my looks, and you like them better when you can see." That was fair enough; after all, she turned on the light so she could see his face. "Maybe we'll both wear glasses." That would give her a clearer look at his face.

The Chicago Brennans came out into the yard. Bob and Jeanette kept well away. Cat came racing over. The temperature, which had fallen to quite comfortable overnight, was fast approaching sauna levels again. That sapped Kathleen's energy; it didn't seem to effect seven-year-olds. Which reminded her, she'd need to finish wrapping Cat's birthday present and sneak it to Jeanette.

"Cat, come back," Bob yelled. "Maybe they want to be alone."

"That's all right," Charles answered, "The conversation is over." He picked Cat up, swung her around, and set her down. She raced back to her parents. Charles and Kathleen ambled after.

"Would you mind taking over chid-care duties?" Bob asked. "Five adults showering in the morning is a ridiculous idea, especially when Mom serves a special breakfast. But we feel all grungy after the tip. We thought we'd take our showers now."

"Good idea," said Kathleen. "We might take the after-lunch shift." Charles, who had had a shower the previous night, couldn't see where that was going, but he kept his mouth shut. His devious wife was probably being devious. They stayed in the yard for another half hour, then went inside. Cat's books were in Bob's room, but Kath went up to find some of her old ones. They were beyond Cat's reading level, but she enjoyed having Charles read them to her, anyway. Bob came down in a short-sleeved shirt.

"Like you, I've decided to exercise my second-amendment rights." It took Charles a moment to get 'the right to bare arms.' He decided it wasn't worthy of a groan. "Bored your uncle, yet?" he asked Cat.

"We're never bored with her. Now, she, on the other hand..."

"Looks remarkably content. You're maybe her favorite person, among her favorites, anyway." Mom would be ahead, and he could still remember whose side Cat took when she thought Charles had made Kathleen cry. Of course, his proposal had made Kathleen cry -- just not the way Cat thought.

"Among, certainly. This young woman seems to love all the world." Actually, Cat was easy to entertain. What had Jeanette said? Something about making sure she didn't hurt herself or annoy strangers. When Cat got tired of this book, she would be quite able to think up something new. Then he need only figure whether that was dangerous to her or somebody else. They could always go back to the Marseillaise.

"Snack Cat?" asked Bob. "I think Memere has a pickle." He knew damn well that Mom had a jar of pickles. He'd checked. He'd even checked that they hadn't spoiled. "You can wash your hands down here." Cat ran to the downstairs half bath. "Sorry to take her away. What were you reading?" Charles showed him the Nancy Drew.

"I think it was beginning to bore her. I'll mark the page, maybe finish it myself. Ashamed to say I want to know how it comes out."

"No shame there. Whenever I start a mystery, I finish it. Jeanette, now, reads them all the time. Library. Local branch has a wall of mysteries and some more in the paper-back section. Always use a library for mysteries; they aren't any good second time around. Macdonald, on the other hand, aren't really mysteries -- crime stories, it's fun to reread them."

"The Brennans!" Now, Cat had come back and they followed her into the kitchen. Bob grabbed the telephone book on his way through the dining room. "Did Kath really read all of Britannica?"

"Whatever she tells you. I thought it was all; now she says she skipped parts of articles. It was over years, of course. You get bored. There's only so much to read. It's better than the art-history books and the economics texts. Pictures in the art-history books are better, of course. Though I had a list of pictures in Britannica, too, at one time."

"Pictures?"

"I was post-puberty." He gestured to Cat who was nibbling on her pickle. "Figure out what sort of pictures interested me."

"Right." Cat finished her pickle. She decided that Sharl wouldn't give her another with Papa right there. She wiped her hands on the paper napkin and climbed down from her seat.

"Thank you, Papa. May I be excused?"

"Go wash your hands." Bob picked up the saucer and rinsed it under the faucet before putting it in the dishwasher. "I wonder how often Mom runs this when she is alone."

"I have no idea, dear. When it looks full, I run it. Does it look full." Kate had returned to the kitchen.

"No." He opened it to show her.

"Cat." Charles went back into the living room. "More of the book, or do you want to do something else?"

"Book!" Cat decided. She waited for Sharl to sit down and then sat down in his lap. She was a big girl, but -- as long as Sharl didn't make a point of it -- pretending to be a little girl who sat in laps to have books read to her was fun.

"Cat was telling me," Kate told Bob in a voice she hoped Cat couldn't hear, "something about a 'Billy.' Do you know anything about that. It happened on the train, I think." She hadn't been paying attention, and she felt guilty. Next time, she'd know the context.

"Woman was breast-feeding a baby on the train. Cat was fascinated. Jeanette called her off, hoping the woman wouldn't be embarrassed. Later we talked to them. The baby was named Billy, and Cat was still fascinated when the woman was dressed. Not much interested in her, but fascinated by Billy."

"So it was all right then?"

"I hope so. It would be ironic if Cat dissuaded someone from nursing a kid." Cat, of course, had been breast-fed herself.

Lunch was tuna salad sandwiches. Jeanette hoped Cat wouldn't say that they'd had them the day before. Her father's daughter, Cat ate hers with good appetite. Cat had food dislikes, but she never got tired of something she liked. And, with chopped onions and pickles in her grandmother's recipe, Cat would like these better. Bob added catsup to his, which was less nauseating when it wasn't something she'd prepared. Katherine, who was a much better cook than Jeanette would ever be, looked blithe. Well, Bob was her son; she was used to his foibles. It wasn't as though Bob had been normal and turned weird.

After lunch, she made some calls. She'd grown up in this town, and Bob had spent his high-school years here, too. She'd kept in touch with many old friends; not all of whom had moved away. Bob, pushed, had three friends he'd like to see again. Marcy Thompson Blaire was her first call. She'd been a bridesmaid after sharing many classes together.

"I'd love to see you and Cat. But you know who really needs a visit? Remember Mrs. Groghan?" She'd taught French -- the school's one French teacher. "She is now in a nursing home, and really depressed." So Jeanette called the nursing home. They recommended against bringing out an unrelated child. She and Bob decided to go anyway.

"Can we leave Cat with you?" she asked Katherine.

"Always, dear. Pull out an outfit for visiting, anyway. Many of my friends would like to see Cat." So that is what they did. They borrowed Katherine's car. After the first minutes of the visit, Jeanette was happy that they hadn't brought Cat. Mrs. Groghan was not only depressed, she was anxious to spread that depression around.

"I feel like a bad hostess, dear, leaving you two here alone." Kate told her daughter.

"Don't worry, Mom. We came here to relax. Your friends will love Cat, and vice versa. Take as long as you want. Don't worry about using the car. Bob could have borrowed ours, and you'll put fewer miles on it."

"That's very generous, dear." Actually it sounded like Kathleen wanted some time alone with Charles. Well, aside from the decades when she'd interfered with Kate's desire for some time alone with Russ, why not? And, after all, taking revenge on your grown daughter for having been a child was petty. "In that case, I might take Cat to the library afterwards. Jeanette brought books, but some temporary ones couldn't hurt."

"That's a splendid idea. Char was reading Nancy Drew to her, and her attention was wandering."

So Kate made a few calls of her own. She found three friends who would be home. The first visit, however, was not one she had given warning. She went into a drugstore and stood behind a man picking up a prescription.

"Did you call your prescription in?"

"No, Mr. Jacobs. This is Jeanette's daughter Cat. I'm Kate Brennan." She figured that 'Mrs. Brennan' might bring the response 'Jeanette, you've aged.' She didn't know what she'd expected, but the glance -- furtive glance if she weren't imagining things -- towards the front of the store was a surprise.

"Hello, Mrs. Brennan. Hello Catherine." At least he knew his granddaughter's name, though she was 'Catherine Angelique' when she was 'Catherine.' But maybe that was only in her grandmother Katherine's house. Even if not, knowing what she'd been baptized isn't knowing what she was called. He probably remembered as much as he'd been told.

"Hello." Cat didn't know what to call this man. Memere had called him by name, but only once. She stuck out her hand. The friends of Memere liked to shake hands. He didn't seem to see. He was talking to Memere.

"Does Jeanette know you're here?"

"No. Does it matter? I'm a grandmother, and enjoy my granddaughter's presence. I thought you deserved at least a look."

"She hates us. She rejected us. We never hear from her."

"She feels that you rejected her. After all, you gave her the choice of marrying Bob or going to college. Maybe you'll be happy to know that she's finally finishing her education. If you want to send her a letter -- she's moved several times -- send it to me. I'll be sure to forward it." And, at her request, Jeanette would probably read it instead of marking it 'refused -- return to sender.'

"Moving all the time. Doesn't sound stable." That sounded like a criticism of Bob.

"Well, she married a college student. You wouldn't want him to keep that as a permanent career." Not that Bob hadn't seemed to have made being a student a permanent career for a while. "Bob is now an associate professor at Northwestern. It's a good university."

"Too good for a druggist."

"The two of them don't consider themselves too good for a schoolteacher. As I said, Jeanette doesn't think she's rejecting you. She thinks you've rejected her." And, in front of his granddaughter, an adorable granddaughter who was standing there behaving herself while she was being ignored, he could only think to criticize his daughter. If not rejection, that was certainly grounds for Jeanette's coming to town without calling him. "Anyway, it's not my quarrel. You've seen Cat, and I'm holding up the line. I'll go now." And, go she did. The only interruption was a customer.

"Mrs. Brennan?"

"Yes?" she couldn't place the man.

"Johnny Dedmon. You wouldn't remember me, certainly wouldn't recognize me. I hardly recognized you from this angle." Dedmon was a tall man, taller than Bob or Charles. He held his hands down at about the level of Cat's head. "I had you in third grade. Heard about your loss. Sorry."

"Thanks. This is Cat, my granddaughter. Cat, this is Mr. Dedmon. I used to teach him."

"What Grade are you in Cat? Do you like school?"

"Second. I guess I like it." Cat would be in second grade when school resumed. Kids either hated school all the time or hated it some of the time. Was Cat learning to give polite answers?

"Are you going to be in your Grandmother's room next year?" Kate could answer that one.

"Cat lives in Chicago. Even if she were here, I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Well, she was a good teacher to a lot of us. Probably having her for a grandmother is even better." So, Kate thought, Cat visited the grandfather who'd not seen her in years. She had a longer conversation with a perfect stranger -- a man who had been Kate's student long ago. Well, Jeanette's parents had deserved a chance to see their granddaughter. Both parents had now received their chances. Kate wouldn't make any other overtures.

The next visits went much better. Betty Daniels taught with Kate. You'd think she would have had her fill of kids. Instead, she welcomed them both, fed Cat a cookie, and talked with her. On a later visit, Alice Spiegel inquired after Wot.

"He stayed home. He tears easily now." Actually, Cat thought she was much too old for a stuffed elephant. But, she didn't want to tell Wot that. It was mean to say you'd outgrown someone. Like Tante Kathleen calling herself 'K'leen.' She'd talked like that as a baby, and Tante Kathleen had thought it cute. Being a baby wasn't cute. But she liked Tante Kathleen and didn't want to tell her she was treating her like a baby. Anyway, the lady offered her a cookie. On the way to the library, Memere pulled over into a gas station.

"New car, Mrs. Brennan?"

"My daughter's car. My son is driving mine. Don't ask." Bob had borrowed her car before she had really decided on the trip. Kathleen had been quite willing to lend hers. Which made her wonder again what was happening while she was gone. One returned a borrowed car with a full tank of gas. And, if Kathleen and Charles were making love, she wanted Cat well away until they were quite done. Well, a library would keep her busy.

The library did. The borrowing limit was ten books. When Kate took the ten books to the desk, there was a crisis. She already had one book out. Cat was reasonable. They left one book and took out nine.

"Memere, all those books were in English."

"Yes, dear, but I was getting them for me and Charles to read to you. Do you have French books in the library near your home?"

"I don't think so. Only English and Spanish. Maman says that we'll take out some Spanish ones next year when I read better." Whatever limitations living in Chicago placed on Cat, and the real limitation was that Kate was deprived of her granddaughter, she saw a diverse world. Kate drove home wondering how Kathleen and Charles had fared.

They'd fared much like they had intended. When they'd watched the car out of sight, they'd looked at each other. It was a 'are you thinking what I'm thinking?' sort of look.

"All alone," said Charles. "How can we possibly amuse ourselves?"

"Well you can finish Nancy Drew if you want. I'm going upstairs."

"I'm at a scary part. I don't want to read it all alone. I'll go upstairs with you." And they went upstairs and into their room together. By the time they'd reached the room, Charles had his shirt unbuttoned. Even so, Kathleen had her clothes off before he did. Charles had been wearing laced sneakers. When they kissed, their glasses collided. "Maybe we should have them off for now."

"Maybe." She took her glasses off before kissing him again. Then she took off the bed spread and rolled the top sheet down to the bottom of the bed. She lay down.

"Much better." Kath was enough shorter than he was that even kissing her mouth involved bending over. He started kissing at her ankle, and worked his way up the leg to its junction with the other. He kissed her labia before working up to her breasts. Then he lay down beside her. While he kissed one breast and then the other, his hand stroked her thighs. He parted her labia.

She lay delighting in his magic fingers and ardent lips. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling his head against her whenever her passion ran higher than usual.

"You are so good at this. Those hands are wasted on babies and pianos. But I don't want to share you; I don't even want to share you with the babies. Oh, yes. Right there. Oh, Char!" She was right up there when Char withdrew both hand and mouth. She felt bereft, even though she knew it was temporary. She moved to lie diagonally with one hip on one edge of the bed and her head on the other edge. Char knelt between her legs and kissed upwards towards the lips which were leaking moisture by this time.

He tasted Kath when he licked her labia. It wasn't sweet, but it was intensely arousing. His tongue parted her labia majora, gathering more juice. He swung his arms under her legs and up the bed until his hands reached her breasts. He cupped both breasts as he parted the labia minora. He tweaked both nipples as he licked her clitoris. He wasn't going for teasing; they had had enough foreplay. He was going for her first orgasm.

She felt the sensations from Char's fingers and tongue rushing at each other like three express trains. When they met, the crash sent her higher and higher. She felt her body spasm. But the sensations kept coming. After the second set of spasms, her left breast felt cool. After the third set, his fingers were entering her pussy. When she rose again, she was clasping around those fingers.

He tried to keep in position while Kath bucked under his face and her legs pressed down on his shoulders. He kept licking while he pulled his right hand back. When he could, he inserted two fingers to seek her G-spot. He paused in licking when he found it. After that, he alternated between rubbing her G-spot and licking her clitoris. After she moaned, he went all out; he rubbed her G-spot as well as he could through an orgasm, sucked on her clitoris, and pinched her nipple. He kept those up as long as her orgasm lasted. When it ended, he withdrew.

She soared, and crashed, and soared again. The series of climaxes went on forever. And it ended in one which went on forever all by itself. She was as limp as a dishrag when Char left her, but he wasn't gone long. First she felt him insert her diaphragm. Then he turned her legs up on the bed and helped her straighten up. He walked around the bed and lay beside her, cuddling her. The cuddle felt good, but the insertion had been a total waste of time. She wouldn't be able to move, much less be on top, for hours.

"Darling Kath, lovely Kath, sensual Kath," Charles murmured into her hair. She was all of those things, but he also wanted her to feel safe and cherished. He'd get his, maybe now, maybe tonight. He really needed the occasional orgasm, but the experience of her writhing in his arms and under his tongue was more sensual than any orgasm he'd experienced. The safer she felt after such an experience, the safer she'd feel going into another. When she turned to face him, he kissed her on the lips and then licked between them. "Taste yourself."

Tasting herself didn't do anything for her. For that matter, Char's lips had less of her taste by that time than his chin would. She knew things like that based on past experience. The kiss, however, was nice. And the feel of his cock against her thighs reminded her that this wasn't over. Well, she had her strength back, and they still had the house to themselves. She moved to the edge of the bed and reached for her glasses.

"Don't need the lamp," she noted. "Move towards the foot of the bed." When he raised his knees and scooted lower, she straddled him and leaned over until the tip of her left breast was an inch from his lips. He closed that inch and sucked. She reached behind her to find his cock. With it in her right hand, she spread herself open with her left. Then, she slowly lowered herself onto him. Her butt struck his thighs.

"Hold yourself up," he told Kath. He spread his thighs. "Now lower yourself slowly." As she did, he felt the smooth warmth of her vaginal walls slide over the head and more and more of the shaft of his prick. She was still against his thighs instead of his pubis. "Up a little." When she raised herself, he moved his right foot off the bed-- then he moved his left foot off. His legs were widely split, and his calves were on each side of the foot of the bed. He reached over for his glasses and put them on. Suddenly Kath's sexy-but-fuzzy shape was in sharp detail, and even sexier. The nipple he'd sucked was longer and more deeply colored than the other.

The motions needed to fit themselves to each other and to the narrow bed had been quite practical. They'd also involved Char's cock sliding into her and up and down inside her. Her arousal was rising again. But this one was for Char's arousal. She grabbed her own glasses after he'd put on his. Then she watched his face as she raised and lowered herself on his cock. He was nearly leering as he watched her. Soon though, his expression grew concerned. She leaned over to support herself with her hands on his shoulders. She slowed her motions while watching the changing expression.

He'd been attracted to Kath the first time he'd seen her in class, fully dressed and ignoring him. Now, naked, hunched over, staring at his face, she was the sexiest sight possible. But the sight was nothing compared to the feeling. Her motions were stroking her vagina all along his cock. Slow as she was moving, she wasn't teasing im this time. He was climbing the mountain, and she was leading him up. When she tightened her vaginal muscles while gliding slowly downward, his hips drove upward to meet her and speed that delightful, but tantalizing friction.

She smiled when Char bucked under her. He was close, and his expression showed it. She tried to slow even more for the next three strokes. His expression grew more serious. She did another Kegel on the up stroke, and watched his grimace. He tried to speed their motion by retreating, but there was a mattress in his way. At the top of the stroke she relaxed her grip and then tightened around his head again. As she sank down, he bucked again. He buried himself in her before her weight bore them down. She sat back erect while tightening her Kegel once more.

He was in agony, about to erupt but not quite there. And she had stopped moving except to straighten, He saw her towering over him like a goddess with her breasts flaring out, He felt her vagina caress his prick. Then, at last, she moved. As she rose, her vaginal walls stroked the length of his prick and he could feel the juice boiling up through it. When she stroked back down he yelled and erupted.

She could see the grimace turn to agony. "Kath!" he shouted as he bucked under her. She felt him throbbing within her as she rode him. Then his face slowly relaxed from agony to bliss. She bent over to kiss him, losing him as she went. Well, she could hug his body. When his breath slowed, she got up.

"I'm going for a shower. I don't think anyone is home." Considering the last shout, nobody better be home. She wore her robe and tossed the sheet over him, just in case. In the shower, she considered removing the diaphragm. It was a little soon, however. There was plenty of time. Let the sperm wear themselves out. When she came out, Char watched her dress. Then he went for his own shower. She put on her sneakers and went downstairs. All the adult books were down here, and she felt in a mood for old masters. Mom's art-history books had seemed boring once, but after spending hours listening to people talking -- or, often, not talking -- about the events which had made them most emotional, communication without words was a treat.

Charles used the toilet, then took his time sitting there resting before his shower. This was what a vacation should be, but it took the energy out of a man. Still, it was a great way to go. He enjoyed the shower, slowing even there. When he heard the door slam, he was drying himself off and musing about how sexy his wife was when she could relax. He wrapped his towel about his waist, put on his robe, and rushed to the room. He'd been through a residency; he could dress in seconds.

Kathleen left her book on the dining room table when she heard the door slam, (Reading there was more comfortable than holding the huge art book up in a living room chair, and being in her room -- where she'd normally read for her entire life in this house -- seemed, suddenly, suggestive of what she had been doing with Char.) She found Mom and Cat in the living room.

"Cat, shouldn't you close the door more quietly?"

"Memere!" Now Tante Kathleen was making rules like Maman. And it was a rule that she hadn't even broken.

"I closed the door, dear. Sometimes people want to know when others are in the house." She smiled at her daughter. Sometime, she had to communicate to Kathleen that ones sexual activities are perfectly acceptable but not for public discussion. Of course, Cat was here. That required subtlety which wasn't all that bad. Subtlety is what Kathleen had to develop. Good, she was blushing. Well, some of this could be done without Cat watching. "Do you need to use the bathroom, dear?" Cat went into the downstairs half bath.

"Really, dear. I'm your mother. I had two babies. Med school should have told you the preconditions for that."

"You laid out the consequences long before med school did. You never before talked about your own activities."

"And I won't do so again, dear. Ladies don't talk about their own activities." And now Charles was coming down the stair. "Good afternoon, dear. So nice of you to adjust your shower schedule so that there isn't a line in the morning. We used to be stressed with four. We never thought ahead to six."

"Mrs. Brennan..."

"'Kate,' dear. Jeanette calls me 'Katherine' which might be confusing since she was so kind as to name her child after me."

"Kate, you've been so hospitable."

"Pure selfishness, dear. I was just thinking last night how much more comfortable the house feels when I know people I love are in it -- even when they are asleep."

"Sharl. look what I've got." Cat had been quite patient. First she'd been scolded for something she hadn't done. Then nobody had seen that she'd washed her hands.

"More books. Do you want to read them now?" The conversation with Mrs. Brennan was in danger of getting mushy. And paying attention to Cat was always acceptable behavior in this house. He got the books on a table next to an easy chair and himself in the chair. After Cat was in his lap, he reached for the first book of the three.

Kate put the other six books where she could find them when she needed to. She went into the half bath to flush the toilet. Cat had remembered half her tasks. Another time, she'd have reminded her of the need to flush, but Cat had had a busy afternoon. Kate washed her own hands and headed for the kitchen. Katherine followed her.

"Really, Mother." She took a minute to think how to express herself. Mom looked at her quizzically, but stayed silent. "You might not talk about your own activities, but you've talked loads about the first time I brought Char here."

"Only about what you said, dear." Kate had quite forgotten reporting that both beds were slept in, on separate nights. "And it's less that you asked for Charles to share your room than that this was the first time we'd heard about him. We met several of your friends when we came to your graduation. You could have introduced one more. I don't say that you should have described how far that friendship had gone. Indeed, as I said, ladies don't talk about that. Even married ladies don't talk about it to anyone but their gynecologist. Your husband, of course, but who says you're a lady in the bedroom?"

"Mom!" First she lectures on being a lady, then she gets bawdy! And with barely a breath in between.

"Well, dear, some things you do say to your daughter that you don't talk about at table. I never worried about your being too circumspect with Charles. After all, you are positively blatant in front of us. But, if you think that there is something I would disapprove in the marriage bed -- 'bed' is figurative, of course. How you behave in your own apartment is your business. Circumspection here, around Cat, goes without saying. Anyway, how you behave in the marriage bed is your own business; so long as neither of you is injured, I not only don't have to know, I give my blessings."

"You're being much more permissive than you were when I was growing up. And there were reasons we didn't tell you earlier."

"More permissive than before you were married, dear. I don't approve of premarital sex for my children. And, yes, you wanted to keep your private fling private. And, then, you wanted to introduce us to the love of your life. I can see both motivations. I just feel that you had options in how you moved from one to the next. "

"You didn't say that you disapproved. Did you expect me to come to the altar a virgin?"

"Well, I thought I implied it. And approval is one thing; expectation is another. I assigned you and Charles to different rooms his first trip here. That is disapproval of your spending the night in the same bed. Then we closed and locked our door. That is expectation that there would be traffic in the hallway."

"Don't ask -- don't tell."

"That's now, dear. We told you quite clearly that we disapproved, then. Now, you don't tell me of your actions, and I try to keep out of the way. It's much more pleasant that way. On the other hand, I certainly hope that you are happy in your marriage. And, marital happiness almost always requires an enjoyable sex life. It's just that you don't have to make a point of it in company. Bob, whatever his faults, never ground your nose in his bed-time habits."

"Well, I knew about them. I can remember the rocking chair!"

"Yes, dear, but he didn't say 'I want to borrow the rocking chair so I can share it with Jeanette.' He did give you and Charles a rocking chair for a wedding present, which was quite pointed enough. But I can't think of a subtler way to pass on the wisdom. And, after all, when Bob is your criterion for subtlety, you are already in a weak position.

"And, dear, this is a mother-daughter conversation. I'm being much franker than I would be in company. Traditionally, we would have had one before you got married, but I didn't have one before I got married -- the tradition had already died out. You had already been living with Charles. Maybe I should have, not what you do in bed but what you say in company."

"You don't believe in frankness, do you?"

"I respect frankness in moderation, dear. I specifically object to exhibitionism."

"So you slam the door when you come in?"

"Right! I object to exhibitionism, and I object to snooping. After all, I didn't interrupt anything, but I didn't know what I might interrupt. I might have overheard a fearful row, you know. It isn't only what a married couple enjoys but wants to keep private, it's also what they don't enjoy."

"Charles and I don't have rows."

"That's nice, dear, but it won't be the end of the world when you do." During this discussion, Kate had been preparing dinner. Kathleen, trained in this kitchen, had helped.

"Memere," Cat had appeared suddenly. "May I have a pickle, please."

"It's too close to dinner, Cat. When Maman and Papa get here, we'll all eat.

Bob and Jeanette spent a long, not particularly pleasant, time with Mrs. Groghan. The sky to the west was getting cloudy as they drove back. As she got out of the car, Jeanette heard the Marseillaise coming from inside. She got there in time to join in the last verse.

"How often have you sung it to Memere today?" she asked Cat. It had been a nice surprise, but she hoped Katherine hadn't had it inflicted on her every hour.

"Deux seulement." She was still in the francais mode. Besides, she knew she was being accused of something else she hadn't done.

"The repetition was my idea," said Charles.

"We were waiting for you, dear. Dinner is in five minutes, if you care to wash up." Jeanette went upstairs. Bob, who had no compunction about being heard urinating, used the downstairs half bath.

"And how was Mrs. Groghan?" Kate asked when they had begun eating.

"Depressed," Jeanette answered, "and -- frankly -- depressing. She told us that she doesn't get many visitors. I can understand why. Marcy seems to be a regular every two weeks, and I think she's running for sainthood. I was reminded of my calls to my parents.

"You don't know, Charles, but the first Christmas after our marriage, my mother's plan for the vacation was that I spend all of it in my house and Bob spend all of it here. Six months newlywed. Somehow, the idea didn't strike my fancy. Actually, I'd been happy to escape that house. Ever after, until Cat was born, we spent Christmas dinner with them. I called on Mother's Day and Father's Day. Every call, every visit, was agony. I'm surprised I didn't develop an ulcer. When we took Cat there for a Christmas dinner, it was no better. A dutiful daughter might have an obligation to inflict that on herself. A good mother has an obligation not to inflict that on her child. They haven't seen Cat since."

"And, Cat, do you want to tell about the library?" Kate didn't want to discuss whether Cat had seen Jeanette's parents since. Cat told all about the library, and nothing about the other visits. She ended up saying that all the books in the library were in English. "Cat was telling me about your library, that it has Spanish books. Does it have French books, too?"

"I don't believe so," said Jeanette. "Bob?"

"None I've seen. It has more Russian than Spanish books, I don't think any of them are for kids. Remember the Mariel boat lift?"

"Yes, dear. Did it bring Russian books to Chicago? I would think Spanish ones if any?"

"Well, yes. But the idea. We said to Castro, 'Free your political prisoners.' He freed a good deal more than the political ones." Cat's presence cleaned up Bob's vocabulary the way that his mother's presence hadn't for decades. "He sent us his criminal class. They found the pickings much better in the USA.

"Well, we said Jews in the USSR are oppressed -- which they were but not extremely for the USSR. They let bunches of their Jewish retirees leave, and we let them all in as refugees. Then, since they were no longer in their country, the soviets didn't pay them pensions. Lots came to our neighborhood. I don't think there are any Russian kids, though I wouldn't bet on it. I wouldn't give odds against Eskimos in the local school."

"So," Kathleen summarized, "the Chicago library has books in English, Spanish and Russian. Eskimos are out of luck."

"Our branch library has books in English, Spanish, and Russian. If Jeanette wanted to borrow French books, I'm sure there are some in the system. The branch does take one French-language magazine, though. It's Jeune Afrique, but I don't know what's jeune about it."

"That's 'young,' Bob." Jeanette couldn't understand how Bob could miss that. His French vocabulary wasn't great, but it should contain 'jeune.' Didn't he call Cat 'jeune fille' sometimes?

"Yeah. 'Young Africa.' But it's more like Newsweek than Cricket or Boy's Life. The guys on the cover have all been old except when Obama was elected. For that matter, Obama is older than I am. I don't look younger than Obama. I sure don't feel younger than Obama."

"Well, dear, I'm sure he feels older than you. Some days, he probably feels older than me."

"'Mr. President,'" Charles said, "'A plane carrying the Polish president and half his cabinet has crashed in Russian air space. The two countries haven't gone to war -- yet.'"

"Oh, it's a job to turn your hair white, all right. It just hasn't."

"Those two don't have an ounce of fat between them," Jeanette contributed. "And she's borne two children."

"Do I detect a tiny amount of jealousy there, dear?"

"Nothing tiny about it. Those birthers are barking up the wrong tree. How about proof of Sasha's birth? What I want to see is a picture of Michelle pregnant, preferably nine months pregnant. I'd have it blown up and stick it on my wall. 'I'm thinner than you were then!'"

"Well, you've got your figure back, dear."

"My figure, perhaps. Not hers. And my waist is two inches larger than it was before Cat -- three at the wrong time of the month."

"But I like your figure."

"You, Bob, liked my figure when I was pregnant."

"I like your figure now. You were so sleek then. Sexy."

"I take back the wall poster. You'd just lust after it."

"Well, we got some new books to read, but they were all in English." Kate didn't like the discussion of Daddy's lusts in front of Cat. And Cat, who was as capable of carrying on her own monologue as any other Brennan, was following this conversation.

Indeed, although it was at the Brennan table, this had been one conversation. Soon that record was shattered, as was the conversation. Cat told Maman about the three books Sharl had read to her, Charles and Bob discussed the history of Russian-Polish relations, and Kathleen brought up one issue her conversation with her mother had raised that she could discuss in front of Char.

"Was I way wrong in saying that the plane crash risked war," Charles asked.

"Probably not. The governments involved may have been certain, but the State Department was probably less so. After all, the potential for taking offense was on the Polish side, and there wasn't much of a Polish government to go to war. On the other hand, those countries have been invading each other for centuries."

"Russia invading Poland, for sure. But I though that was only the communists."

"Short history of Russia. Back before the time of Christ, there were Slavic tribes all over Eastern Europe. Not quite everywhere, but almost everywhere. They'd displaced someone else, to be sure. Finns, maybe. But historians only study what has happened when somebody around writes things down. Anyway, a bunch of Scandinavians conquered the area that you might think of as the Western Soviet Disunion. They established a trade with Constantinople by river and the Black Sea. They used to gather annually in Kiev to form convoys to protect themselves from river pirates. The Slavs called their Scandinavian conquerors 'the Russ' or the redheads.

"Time passed, the Russ were conquered by descendants of Genghis Khan. They looted and devastated Poland to create a cordon sanitaire, and ruled Russia from Astrakhan. They figured that was as far west as they could live full-time and keep up their Mongol lifestyle. Each year, they'd wait for the rivers to freeze solid enough. Then they'd ride north and west on those rivers.

"But their turn came to weaken. The Polish aristocrats conquered a big swath of territory from them. They called it "The Frontier," or, in Polish, "The Ukraine." Ever wonder why the country is called "The Ukraine," while other countries aren't called the France or the England? So when the Russians got their own act together and threw off their Mongol yoke, huge swaths of the people who spoke like them were in The Ukraine or in Byelorussia, White Russia. White Russia had other conquerors. Later yet, the tsars reconquered both countries. When they got to the border between The Ukraine and Poland, they didn't stop. By the First World War, Poland was divided among the German, the Austrian and the Russian empires.

"Anyway, conquest not only wasn't a communist invention, it didn't go only one way."

"History is more complicated than I thought."

"Yeah. I can recognize a cold or a broken leg. I bet most of what you see is something I could diagnose right maybe eighty percent of the time."

"Some."

"But we want you to see it. Because my child may be in the twenty percent. All specialties are niggling details. Another thing about history is that loads of people tend to think that countries have some sort of natural boundaries. Australia, maybe. But most boundaries are where the armies stopped fighting. Smithia sees their natural boundaries at the greatest extent that the have held; Jonesland sees their natural boundaries at the greatest extent they have held. A huge swath is in both." Both dug into their food for a moment.

"Remember when Bob and Jeanette were first married?" Kathleen had asked. "They came home for Christmas?"

"Indeed, I do, dear. You could have cut the attraction between them with a knife. And, while she is much more modest than Bob, it seemed mutual to me." Kathleen thought that was damning with faint praise -- dogs in the street are more modest than Bob. And she had her own memories to assure her that the attraction was mutual. Some of those memories involved her intense jealousy of that feeling between them when her life had seemed so deprived of love back then.

"I'd more-or-less broken up with Terry Randolph. He'd propositioned me."

"I thought that something like that had taken place, dear. I tried to make myself available; you were having none of it. You preferred Jeanette. I was glad she was available. You could have done much worse. Worse than Jeanette, I mean. Terry was truly unsuitable."

"You ever said so."

"Saying so worked so well for the Capulets, it's a pity more parents don't try it. No, dear. And he was perfectly suitable for a boyfriend and dance partner. He was so staid, he would have never done as your life partner. I waited, and you saw that. Then you went back to being a high-school dating couple. The hardest part of parenting is knowing when to hold back. And, really, we felt more comfortable when he was taking your time. He never tried to use force, did he?"

"Heavens, no! Terry?"

"Well that is the greatest danger. You knew our rules; you could keep them or break them. You knew enough to take precautions." Cat, after all, was present if not evidently listening. "The greatest danger was some boy who would use force. Your 'no' wouldn't count. Your sensibility about precautions wouldn't count. And Terry didn't look like that type. What he did look like was an incredibly conventional boy. He was in high school, and he had fun because that's what you do in highschool. But, if you'd taken him for life, he would have stopped having fun. And, inescapably, so would you."

"You never said any of that."

"Well, first of all, we didn't particularly want a romance between the two of you. Why provide parental opposition? That's the surest fuel for romance. As I said, I made myself available; you turned to Jeanette. That was less adolescent rebellion than you practiced when you were technically out of adolescence, but it didn't bode well for a parental ukase.

"And, in the second place, you were going to fly out of the nest and go to college. We weren't sure of medical school at that time -- although you were -- but we weren't so stupid as to regard it as certainly out of the question. So, you needed a social life then that wouldn't block your academic life in the future. Terry was -- if not perfect -- a very good fit. Bob had been bad enough."

"You love Jeanette."

"That I do, dear, did even before Cat. There was nothing wrong with Bob's choice except the timing. And that messed up Jeanette's life rather than Bob's."

"You keep talking of 'messing up' my life." Jeanette had been following both the other conversations. "Really, I've quite enjoyed my life. Someday I want to hear the specifics of the career I gave up to become Mrs. Bob Brennan. Because that was my dream from sometime in high school.

"Well, dear, we'd planned to support a single Bob through college and law school. We saw you as a tremendous block in that road. Your sacrifice removed that block -- eased our financial burden, actually. But it was a sacrifice."

"If I were to list the hundred most pleasant moments in my life, few of them would have been in the classroom -- even the thousand most pleasant moments of my life. The best thing about the degree is going to be holding my head up at faculty events. There is now no reason for Bob to be ashamed of me."

"You told us not to come, dear. You said the master's was in the future."

"And so it is. I'm done with course work, but I still have a thesis to write. My adviser -- advisers official and unofficial -- don't think that will take too long."

"You know, dear, Russ never planned for that. Maybe we should..."

"I'm embarrassed enough already. Honestly, we can pay my tuition. It's bad enough he left that special money for the last year. And this tuition isn't all that much, anyway." Jeanette hid her embarrassment by turning her attention back to Cat. She was managing her meal quite well, but welcomed Maman's attention.

"I couldn't help hearing, er..."

"'Kate,' dear. I've said that already."

"Kate, I couldn't help hearing your assessment of Kath's former boyfriend. I'd love to hear what you first thought of me."

"Well, dear, aside from thinking that she should have mentioned you much sooner, you were almost the opposite of Terry. His problem was one that Russ and I could see, but we were certain that Vi -- that Kathleen -- couldn't. There was nothing particularly wrong with the boy; it was the man he was growing into.

"The problem with you and Kathleen, on the other hand, was glaringly obvious. It would take an absolute idiot to ignore the problem of a cross-racial marriage. Neither of you were anywhere close to idiots. Our minds totally approved of the time you took worrying about it. I supposed, of course, that this was what you were working through. There might have been several other problems which were invisible to us, but that wouldn't be my business. Anyway, you were working through your problems together, and our minds approved."

"You keep saying 'our minds."

"Well, dear, our hearts wanted you to get on with it. We tried to hide that. After all, it would be your whole lives. You deserved the time to think the process through."

"Well, you'd have consequences, too."

"Only social consequences, dear, and minor ones. If you'd said that the wedding had to be in Philadelphia because of fears about how our neighbors would react, we'd have attended it there. That was already decided. And, dear, Tar Heels are really not that bad."

"South Carolina," Bob put in, "was the first state to secede; North Carolina was the last."

"Of course," Kate continued, "if you two had decided to never see each other again, we would have consoled Kathleen. Still, as much as that would have solved the Charles-and-Kathleen problem, and I got the impression that you had already done that once..."

"Well, yes." From which confession, Kate got the impression that they'd done that more than once. That was an opening she was anxious to close.

"However much it would have solved the problem of Charles-and-Kathleen, it wouldn't have really solved the problem of Kathleen. So, by the time you proposed, we had been praying for a resolution. And, dear, that was the only real resolution by then. Anyway, it happened. And Russ walked his daughter down the aisle."

"I'm a little ashamed of the games I played about that," said Kathleen.

"Well, dear, it wasn't the most splendid example of maturity you've ever demonstrated, but your father was happy, anyway."

"You were happy, then?" asked Charles. They, especially Kath's father, had seemed happy.

"As I said, dear, it was Kathleen's decision. We would have supported her either way. Yours, too, of course, but our attention -- if you'll forgive us -- was on our daughter. Still, if you're going to support your child, you'd rather rejoice with her than console her. And that was the only decision for which we could rejoice with her. If she'd given her heart to someone else -- not Terry, but an abstract someone -- she might have had an easier life. But, having given her heart to you, it was either a marriage or a tragedy. I keep speaking of the engagement as a resolution, a conclusion. Of course, engagements aren't. But if our celebration was anticipatory, the anticipation was justified in this case."

"She means, Char, that we did get married."

"I sort of followed that. I used to think your talk was convoluted." Indeed, he still felt her talk was convoluted, just not for her family.

"Mom and I together, Mom and I arguing against each other, can't compete with Bob. 'Confuse, change sides, and still confuse.' And, brother dear, the misquotation was deliberate."

"Well, I think it was Galbraith who said that expression should be as simple as the situation, but no simpler. Y'know, I write articles which are peer-reviewed. Nobody says that my expression in them is convoluted."

"The man specializes in the politics of nineteenth-century Europe, and he claims his expression is no more complicated than his subject." Charles was ready to defend Kath against attacks. He could see that, this time, she was the aggressor. Bob didn't seem offended. Jeanette didn't even seem interested.

"Done, mon chat? As tu mange tous tu desires?"

"Les conserves au vinaigre?"

"Apres ton bain."

"If you are good about your bath," put in Bob, "then you may have one pickle." He was afraid that Cat would insist that 'les' was a promise. "Sorry, Mom. Now, I'm giving away your food."

"Quite all right, dear. And, dear, do you want us to save your plate?"

"Please," said Jeanette. She and Cat went upstairs.

"How," asked Kathleen, "can one be bad about a bath?"

"You can throw a tantrum against taking one."

"At one time, dear, we felt that when the bath mat could be wrung out that you hadn't behaved properly. When the bath mat had to be wrung out before you were clean, that you had behaved very badly."

"Was I really that bad?"

"You were a child, once. As were we all. Her parents want Cat's best behavior to show to her family, and who can blame them? But, sometimes, their worries start to look like 'we're shocking the old bat.' Well, the old bat can remember behavior which quite puts Cat's worst in the shade. My third graders have all behaved well on average, but over the decades... For that matter, of the three small children named Brennan I've seen, Cat's tantrums are by far the mildest."

"Not," Bob said, "that you've seen her worst."

"That's true, dear, and Jeanette may have seen everything I did. But a misbehaving child is a child and not a monster. When an infant senses that something is wrong, he wails. His mother puts it right. It's quite annoying when you can't, or when you are trying to find out what's wrong, or when you are putting it right -- changing the diaper, for example, or heating the formula -- and he keeps on wailing."

"The Kitten used to wake and cry softly," said Bob, "The second cry was moderate. The third cry shook the rafters. Unless you were watching her at the time, sometimes not even then, you couldn't pick her up before she deafened you. If she were wet or hungry, of course, picking her up was only the first step."

"And, dear, she couldn't communicate the problem. She could only communicate that there was a problem. And, often, the problem isn't something you can solve.

"Anyway, that's programmed into our genes. Babies who don't cry don't have their problems solved. They require adult help to survive. Babies who don't cry don't have babies of their own. Long before there were humans, mammal babies cried."

Thank you," said Charles, "Mrs. Darwin."

"Well, I learned evolution long ago, and probably very sloppily. But, dear, I learned education much later -- you'd still think it was long ago -- and much more thoroughly. I've heard babies cry. As a means of dealing with their environment, it is terribly effective. Not even Kathleen is going to put the effort into understanding what you want and getting it for you as is the mother of a crying baby. Of course, every once in a while, crying babies are murdered. But it works the rest of the time, and all of us learned that it worked.

"Then, we need to learn other ways of getting our way. And, the Sunday schools tell us, we also need to learn to accept not getting our way. The second is much harder; I don't know that I've managed, yet."

"Mother!" said Kathleen.

"Mom," said Bob, "you are the least selfish person I've ever met."

"Am I, dear? You visited Mrs. Groghan; I remember Jeanette's description. Are you planning to go back? Are you planning to visit Jeanette's parents any time soon? I always have pickles in the 'fridge for Cat's visits, you might possibly call that generous. You couldn't possibly call it unselfish. You two -- now you three -- have brightened all my Christmases but two since your wedding. And you had me as a guest for one of those two. I can't say I enjoyed that time, but nothing you could have done would change that.

"Anyway, I got what I wanted from you. The loss of Russ aside, and I can't manipulate God, I've had a life I enjoyed. Really, dear, damn little of that was given me -- your father, of course, gave me much. Some was luck. And, all of it was luck in the sense that I didn't suffer disaster. But, after being given that my husband didn't die in the first heart attack and that I didn't come down with some major disease, I made things work. Kathleen, what would you have said if I had said that you were welcome here but Charles was not?"

"Good bye."

"Jeanette was more generous. Still and all, though, I've had more than my share because her mother said the equivalent. I can't know what she wanted, but I don't think she was more selfish than I was."

"Then," said Jeanette who had just come down the stairs, "you don't know her. Mommy was the epitome of selfishness. You are the epitome of generosity."

"Mom was just explaining how it's all enlightened self interest."

"Well, I can't stay. A certain Cat wants a pickle rather than a saucer of milk."

"Would you mind terribly, dear, if I took it up to her?"

"No."

"And would two pickles be rewarding not-quite-rebellious behavior?"

"Two would be fine, but not selfish. Cat's a Brennan; when she rebels here's nothing borderline about it. But she needs to brush her teeth, use the bathroom, and wash her hands before bedtime. Just call, if you want me to do it." That sounded like she was putting it all on her, but she knew Katherine's preferences.

"If you think it unselfish, dear, you don't know what I want. And, good night, all. I'll not come back down. No news for me tonight."

"And, Charles," said Bob, "I hope you don't think that not welcoming you was something that Mom actually contemplated. It was something that Jeanette's mother, mutatis mutandis, had tried to do."

"I didn't think it was. It was quite unlike her, and quite unlike Kath to take the suggestion so calmly if she'd suspected that it was serious. But, really, ego aside, I can see why I might be an unwelcome son-in-law to a white southern lady. I can't see why you would be. Are you so different than you were back then?"

"Different? He's Bob. That's reason enough to reject him."

"For you, Kathleen. As I've told you, I don't claim he was a good brother; I do claim he's a good husband. You're prejudiced. And what makes him a good husband is what made him an unacceptable son-in-law. I was, still am but was back when it mattered to Mommy, happy with Bob. Even before the marriage, Bob could calm me down, make me happy sometimes."

"You should have held out for somebody who could make you happy all the time."

"Nobody's happy all the time. Not even you, with your parents, were. And, when I was living with my parents, making me happy even once was a major-level miracle. Anyway, there Bob was defying her -- making me happy when she wanted me miserable. I don't think she'd have accepted any suitor, but Bob was especially objectionable because he was in such a stark contrast to her."

"You must be exaggerating."

"I used to think so, Kathleen, but nothing I saw about her contradicted Jeanette's analysis."

"Maybe I'm too self-centered. Greg's life wasn't any bed of roses, either. So, if your mother was talking about enlightened self interest, I think Mommy's self interest trumps Katherine's enlightenment, great as that is."

"Memere!"

"Hello, dear. Now, sit in this chair, and I'll get your snack ready." Cat dutifully scrambled up and sat with her hands folded. Kate set down the saucer, unfolded a tray table in front of Cat's chair, and set the saucer and a paper napkin on the table.

"Two! Thank you, Memere. Merci beaucoup."

"Il ne fait rien." Kate could manage that much French, and that trifle wouldn't corrupt Cat's accent. "Now, eat them very slowly. I'm going to leave you for a few minutes, but don't get down. I'll be back, dear." She hurried through her bathroom ritual and returned. Cat was sitting there quite obediently. "Use your napkin." Cat did, obviously not for the first time. Kate removed the tray table, and helped Cat down.

In the bathroom, she helped Cat up to the high seat, listened while she voided her bladder, watched while she wiped. When Cat turned towards the wash basin, she spoke. "What did you forget, dear?"

"Oh, yes." Cat flushed the toilet. "Sorry Memere,"

"That's all right, Cat. It's something you are learning." Cat washed her hands. "Toothbrush?" Cat ran off to her parents room without saying anything. Kate decided that she'd interpreted the question as an order. She came back with the toothbrush in a cylinder and a tube of toothpaste. "Do you want to try Memere's toothpaste, dear?" Cat thought about it.

"Please." Kate wet the brush and spread a bit of paste on it. Cat brushed vigorously, if horizontally and only on the outside of the teeth. When had she taught Bob and Vi better brushing techniques? Whenever it was, it was not the age recommended today. She'd check with Jeanette to see if she should start with Cat. Cat spat as enthusiastically as she had brushed, cupped her hand under the faucet for water, sipped it, and then spat again.

"Look at me, dear." When Cat did, Kate wiped a bit of paste off her mouth with Cat's towel. Then she handed it to her. Cat dried her hands and then hung the towel on her own, low, towel rack. "Do you want me to keep you toothbrush here?"

"Please." Jeanette had indoctrinated Cat with one rule of manners. Kate hung it from the other side of the holder from hers. "Do you want to use Memere's toothpaste the rest of this visit?"

"Can I?"

"Yes, you may, dear." That was definitely not the term to teach at this age, not even to Bob's daughter, but you might as well have her hear it. "Now take the other toothpaste and this cylinder back to your room where you got them. Meet me in my room." Cat, with several times the distance to travel, was in the door by the time she got the lamp turned on. "Can you turn off the overhead light, dear?"

"Yes." She was as literal as her father. But, at least, she did flick the switch. Kate set the timer for four hours and dug out the album before getting into bed.

"We'll read some of the books we got from the library," she said as Cat climbed in after her. "But I have a special book that I want to look at with you, first."

Cat was happy to look at anything in Memere's bed and in Memere's arms. And these pictures were of a baby. It didn't look like Billy.

"Do you know who this is, dear?" Of course she didn't. The name was written in cursive, fairly fancy script, to boot. "This says 'Catherine Angelique Brennan.' These pictures are of you."

"I look like that?" She didn't think so. Her hair was longer, and this baby was fat.

"Not now. These pictures are of you when you were very young. This one is the very first picture, when you were a teeny-tiny baby."

"And I was in the stomach of Maman." They always said so, and it didn't seem possible.

"Not then, right after. Let me say that better. These pictures were taken a day of two after you came out of your mother's stomach. You were still tiny then. We called you 'The Kitten' 'cause you were so small. Look here." A few pages later, Bob was holding her on his arm. Her diaper fitted his palm, and her head was in the crook of his elbow. "That shows how big you were then -- how small you were then.

"Does Papa measure your height against the wall?" She knew he did. She wanted to make a point.

"Yes."

"And are you taller than you were the last time he measured you?"

"Yes."

"That means you're growing, dear. You aren't growing as fast as you were back then, but you're still growing. Well, when you were very little, Papa and some others took these pictures. She went back to the front of the album and leafed through it. She could look at these pictures forever, but Cat had a limited attention span. She also didn't relate to the baby in the pictures. Kate reached for the library book.

Cat settled back when the story began. The second book was a Dr. Seuss. Her beloved Memere recited verse just like Papa did. Cat relaxed further. She made it almost to the end of the book. When Kate turned off the light, her namesake was deeply asleep. Before following her, Kate breathed a silent prayer.

"Thank you, Lord, for Cat and for everything." With the warm, well-loved, lump in her arms, Kate dropped off as soundly. The timer was beeping slowly and plaintively when it woke her in the dead of night.

The middle generation didn't stay downstairs that much longer. The other three relaxed while Jeanette finished her meal.

"Sorry to keep you," she said.

"Nobody at this table," said Kathleen, "begrudges you the food that you missed tending to Cat. Begrudging you time with Cat, on the other hand..."

"Now, Kath, don't be selfish. They were away all afternoon. We had Cat's attention for gobs of time."

"Well," Bob said, "we're grateful that you kept her occupied. Cat can be sweet, but she also can be a handful."

"That was The Kitten. She's grown into a lapful." After the laughter, Bob went to lock up while the others cleared the table and filled the dishwasher. There seemed to be plenty of space for breakfast things, so they didn't run it. Bob trailed the party to the stairs, turning out lights as he went. Jeanette was conscious that he was just far enough behind her on the stairs to have his eyes on the level of her butt. This pattern was too old to raise either resentment or desire; it was just Bob. To Bob, the sight of Jeanette's hips flexing as she mounted the stairs was as familiar, but it involved desire along with comfort. And Mom was tending to Cat. That was another level of comfort, not that Cat disturbed them often, not that they let that possibility keep them from sex. But the knowledge that she wouldn't disturb them tonight guaranteed a more relaxed and receptive Jeanette. Bob was quite unaware of the fragment of attention he turned towards Cat when he made love at home.

They'd established an unspoken schedule for bathroom times. Jeanette, Bob, Kathleen, Charles. They followed it. When Bob locked the door, Jeanette took off her robe and nightgown. She hung them on a convenient chair. Bob tossed his robe and pajamas over the rocker. Then he moved them to the seat of the chair where Jeanette's nightclothes occupied the back.

"Do you think?" he asked. He gestured towards the rocker.

"Well, we have our own."

"Which we hardly ever use because of Cat. She's safely occupied."

"There's something about this room that increases your libido."

"I spent years here lusting unrequited after Jeanette Jacobs."

"She was a young girl who is gone forever, never to return."

"She went off to a better life as Jeanette Brennan, but someone who looks just like her is in this room." Jeanette couldn't deny it had been a better life, although she hardly looked like the teenage track athlete who'd never borne a child. Still, it was nice that Bob desired her even now. And it had been a better life. For all the hostages she'd given fortune, it was years since she'd felt the anxiety which was the normal state of her childhood.

"Well, all right. Sit down." Bob sat in the rocker and she sat crossways on his knees. They shared a sweet kiss before Bob started petting her. The rocker creaked once when she leaned against his chest. Otherwise, it was still. Jeanette, herself, was still for a bit. She sat there and enjoyed the body supporting her, the hand caressing her, and the lips kissing her cheek. It had been a trying day, and this was a comforting end to it.

After a while, though, the comfort gave way to desire. She got up and shifted position. This time, she was straddling Bob when she sat down. Bob bent to kiss her breasts before stroking the spread thighs. His fingers reached her clit at almost the same time as his lips reached the left nipple. She pulled his head hard against her breast.

Immobilized, Bob sucked and stroked. He could barely get air through his nose, and his mouth was blocked by breast. If he had to go, however, suffocation by breast was the way to go. Finally, Jeanette let go of his head. She grasped him and raised herself up. When she came down it was around him. He felt himself enter her moist warmth until he was completely enclosed. He began rocking. The motion moved him only slightly inside her, but that friction was gloriously exciting.

"Oh, love," he whispered.

"Darling." she kissed his forehead. She was above him like this.

"Sweet!" He grabbed her haunches and pulled her against him. This buried him another millimeter into her depth. The motion of the rocker barely pulled him out, but it rubbed him against her both inside and out.

This time, it wasn't his finger rubbing her. The result was less demanding, but even more arousing. As the feeling grew, she gripped his shoulders. Her whole body felt warm, the warmth began where they were joined, but spread to her head and her toes. Then, a fire burst forth in her center. The fire, too, spread.

"Oh Bob!"

He heard her cry an instant after he felt her first contraction around him. He sped up the rocker and then lifted her an inch by her haunches. As he pulled her down again, he speared through the sweet clutches around him. Then he was buried in her and pulsing. And pulsing.

"Whew!"

"Whew," she replied. "I love you. Can I stay a minute?"

"I love you, too. As long as you want. 'Til Cat knocks in the morning."

"We can't sleep like this, and your legs would fall off. But one more minute." And they sat hugging until she felt him slip out, followed by all the little Bobs. She reached for a Kleenex before raising herself. She wiped before stepping away. She handed him another Kleenex. He wiped himself, including the thighs on which she'd dripped. After he got up, he wiped off the rocker.

"That was fun," he said, "but I always forget the trip to bed afterwards."

"Three, four, feet?"

"They seem like miles." They got into bed. He switched off the lamp, and she backed into the spoon position. "Love you," he breathed into her neck. She squeezed his hand before carefully placing it back on her breast.

Meanwhile, Kathleen had been naked in bed when Char entered their room. He got in bed equally naked. She rolled onto her right side, and they kissed. At the end of the kiss, she held her finger to his lips. He nodded. Then she turned over onto her left side and slid back against him. Soon, Char's magic fingers were playing over her body.

Charles enjoyed the kiss, nodded when Kath signaled for silence, luxuriated in the softness of her body against almost every inch of his front. He had his own plans, and they would fit in with Kath's desire for silence. He listened for telltale sounds from the next room. What sounds there were didn't suggest that Bob and Jeanette wouldn't hear them. Well, he had gone too far with Kath for her to wait. Sound was her worry, let her suppress them. He felt the delightful softness next to his body turn stiff. She reached up to grasp the far side of the pillow.

She felt Char's magic fingers stroke all of her, then concentrate in the most critical place. Then it was one finger, stroking her lips and over her clit. She stiffened, hung at the edge. Then, when she'd been right at the edge forever, she pulled the pillow to her mouth. As the flame leapt in her, she moaned into the pillow. When Char stopped stroking her, he kissed the back of her neck and her shoulder. She felt his hand return to her breast and his erection firm against her butt. She should do something for him, but this position was too comfortable for her to move yet.

He nuzzled and petted Kath. Then, finally, he heard a rhythm from the next room. Bob and Jeanette were significantly older than he and Kath and had been married much longer; he'd feared that they might have subsided to a schedule of infrequent sex. But that was the rocker he heard, and it sounded like it held two. He reached for the diaphragm bag. But it didn't seem to have the diaphragm in it.

She'd never removed the diaphragm Had the dose of jelly expired? This wasn't the time to make that calculation. She grabbed Char's hand and held it over her mons.

"It's in here," she whispered.

"You okay?" She nodded yes and began to turn over. He held her in position. When she relaxed, he reached to raise her thigh. A minute later, she felt him right at her entrance. He slid in from behind, and his finger returned to her clit. She hadn't quite come down from the previous climax, and he was teasing her towards another.

As he eased into Kath, the sensations were both old and new. Her vagina was as warm and juicy as ever, but angle provided new sensations. And her buttocks against his thighs and abdomen had always been arousing, but they were even more arousing when he was in her. He suppressed the instinct to drive in and out. Instead, he returned his finger between her labia. When he stoked her clitoris, there was an answering clutch of her buttocks touching him and a squeeze of her vagina.

As her feeling soared, the sensations from Char's finger were joined by sensations of his sliding in and out of her. The movement wasn't the firm long strokes he used when he was on top, but the friction was arousing in a new way. The excitement built. Then, the fire flared again. He continued exciting her as she gasped into the pillow. Even when his finger withdrew, his strokes continued. They grew longer and faster. Not until she'd finally begun to come down did he clutch her hipbone, thrust deep and pulse within her.

Being in Kath was always delightful. Being in her vagina from this direction was especially so. But being in her vagina when it began its orgasmic contractions was heaven itself. He lost his control. He drove in and out through that clutching tube. Finally, he grabbed her, pushed himself into her depths, and erupted. Her last contraction squeezed his last drops out of him. The noise from the next room was conversation before he recovered enough to speak.

"Sleep like this?" She nodded, but before she was truly asleep, she'd felt him slip out.

When Kate woke her granddaughter in the middle of the night, she could hear the rain outside the house. She helped Cat onto the high toilet seat and down. When she sat down herself, Cat was just standing there.

"Levez les Mains." Obediently, Cat raised her hands straight up. When Memere said nothing more, the hands reminded her of another task.

"Memere, do you want me to wash my hands?"

"Please, dear." As Cat did, Kate cursed herself silently. She should stick to English. 'Lavez,' not levez.' And Cat was such a dear, not telling her when she was wrong when everybody told Cat when she was wrong. After she washed her own hands, she led Cat back to bed. "You are a very sweet girl." She switched off the lamp.

"Thank you, Memere." Cat snuggled back against Memere. She hadn't been quite awake; the sound from outside was soothing; the hug even more soothing. She was soon back asleep. Kate followed her.

When the alarm called Kate to duty, the warm body in her arms made her reluctant. But she had a family to feed, which was much better than preparing breakfast for one. "Do you want to come to the kitchen with me, dear?"

"Can I?... Please."

"You certainly may! Bathroom first. Can you go by yourself?"

"Yes, Memere." And she did, showing a dressed Kate her washed hands. After Kate had her own bathroom time, they went down to the kitchen. Cat sat on her phone book at the kitchen table while Kate described the breakfast preparations. "Memere, I wish I lived here with you all the time."

"I'd enjoy it, too, dear, But Papa and Maman have work to do in Chicago."

"I could stay."

"You'd miss Maman. Besides, right now, Maman makes the rules for Cat. You think, no Maman, no rules, don't you?"

"Yes." It sounded like Memere didn't think so.

"Well little girls need rules. Now, I don't make rules for you, because Maman does, and I trust her for the rules to be right." Cat didn't think the rules Maman made were right. "If you were my little girl, I'd be the one making the rules. And you might think my rules were far stricter -- were far harder on you. Ask Tante Kathleen. Once, she was my little girl and she thought my rules were very hard on her. And she didn't eat half the pickles you do, not one tenth."

"No?" Maman, however many rules she made, said no when she meant no. Memere was a little like Papa. Sometimes Papa spoke a long time, and it meant no.

"No, she didn't. And ask Papa. Little boys need rules, too, and he was once my little boy. He didn't think I was easy. So, I like you here on visits; I like being an indulgent grandmother; I wouldn't be so indulgent if you were here permanently. Anyway," [it was time to change the subject] "you talk about being in your Maman's stomach. Have I ever told you about the time you were here when still in your Maman's stomach?" Kate didn't like 'stomach' for 'belly,' but Jeanette had obviously made the choice, and this was Jeanette's child, not hers. For that matter, it was Jeanette's belly.

"No?" Memere was going to tell her. Cat's vocabulary, which included 'portcullis,' didn't include 'rhetorical question.' Living with her father, though, she had heard plenty. Anyway, she enjoyed the stories Memere told, and there was something special about being with her in the kitchen wearing nightie and slippers when everybody else was asleep.

"Well, dear, it was Christmas time. And I already knew that Maman and Papa, who weren't your Maman and Papa yet, wanted to have a baby." ['Were trying' just might raise the question, 'how were they trying, Memere?' Giving that talk, when it was time, which wasn't now, was Jeanette's responsibility. And she didn't envy her. Been there, done that, with another girl who was intelligent and inquisitive.] "Anyway, that Christmas both Maman and Papa looked as though they were keeping a secret -- a happy secret. Then, one night at dinner, they told us. They were going to have a baby. They told Pepere, and Tante Kathleen, and me. Charles wasn't here at the time.

"And Pepere was happy to hear that they would have a baby and he would be a grandfather. He said that the finest gift that Christmas never made it under the tree. Because you were in your Maman, and she -- of course -- didn't go under the branches of the tree. And Tante Kathleen was happy. And I was very happy, indeed. But, you know what?"

"What Memere?"

"I don't think any of us were as happy as Maman and Papa were. Not about the news, of course, They already knew. But they were very happy that they would have a baby. And, months later, they did. And the baby was you! Then, they were even happier. And Tante Kathleen and Charles came to see you. They saw you baptized. Have you seen a baptism in your church?"

"I think so."

"Well, you were a very tiny baby, and the minister sprinkled water on you and gave you the name Catherine Angelique. And, since my name is Katherine -- spelled with a K, I'll show you -- you were named for me. I felt quite honored. And, then, you came here that Christmas with your family. I mean with Maman and Papa. And we were all glad to see you. As I said, as the pictures showed, you were teeny-tiny. You didn't walk yet, and everybody wanted to hold you. I held you, and Pepere held you, and Tante Kathleen held you."

"And Sharl, and Maman?"

"Charles wasn't here again that year. We didn't see Charles much until he had ended his residency. That's the last stage of a doctor's education. They can get very little time off then, and you saw him more than we did. And Maman held you sometimes, mostly when you were hungry. But we all felt that Maman and Papa got to hold you when you weren't here. So we wanted to get our chances. Charles turn is now. You are such a big girl that I couldn't pick you up. But he gets to lift you up way high."

"You need to get dressed, Cat." Jeanette had appeared.

"You could leave the next morning's costume for me, dear. As it was, we've been up for more than half an hour. Would you like scrambled eggs and bacon? I'm afraid it isn't real bacon; I got in the habit when Russ was here."

"Probably better for us. Yes, thanks. Think Cat should eat like this and dress afterwards?"

"If it doesn't break any hard-and-fast rules, dear." Not that she thought if did. Jeanette wouldn't have brought it up if she weren't going to permit it.

"Do you want to eat like this, Cat, and dress after breakfast?"

"Please, Maman."

"Very well, you may."

"I'll get you a plate, too, Cat. Only a little eggs, but you can have more if you want them."

"I'll carry them in. Bob'll be along in a minute." Katherine's policy was probably better than filling Cat's plate and letting Bob finish the remains. Better for both of them.

At about the same time, Kathleen was going into the bathroom as her brother came out. When she got back to her room, she was grinning.

"You think you're welcome here? When you go into the john, look who really rates." Charles looked around, before shaving. The holder for a glass and toothbrushes held two toothbrushes, one of them short. He smiled at that.

"I'm not going to feel rejected," he told Kathleen back in her room.

"I'd think not. I come second to Cat, and I'm Mom's own flesh and blood. Now, when she spends time in your lap, then I feel jealous."

"Liar! I've never held your mother in my lap."

"You have definitely spent too much time in this house." They went downstairs together and went into the kitchen for their food. "Really, Mom, you rise first and eat last. Don't you think you should join us." Kate followed them back.

"Really dears, have you looked out the window?"

"Build an ark."

"Unless someone has made important plans for today, I suggest we spend it inside." There were nods. "The thing is that I have a ham, and I planned to serve a feast sometime during this visit."

"As opposed to the gruel we've subsisted on so far?" asked Bob.

"Thank you, dear, but I was wondering whether Kathleen and Jeanette would join me in the preparations. You two could keep Cat amused, and we could have the feast as a noon dinner. Does that seem reasonable?" She got nods. "And, dear, Cat needs to brush her teeth and get dressed." Although this was addressed to Bob, Jeanette took her up.

"We're not enforcing the nudity taboo on Cat, Mom. On the other hand, Jeanette doesn't want me forcing a violation of it, either. Then Cat decides."

"And, some time, dear, she will. Quite suddenly, if experience is a guide. Jeanette is a wonderfully thoughtful mother."

"I think so, and she has the greatest respect for your wisdom. So to speak, she wants to be a modern-day version of you rather than of her own mother."

"Well, dear, I'm not certain that either is the height of wisdom. Whatever her mother did wrong, she did end up with Jeanette. Nobody is always wrong, not even mostly wrong. As for me, I read the books, but that was decades ago; all the advice is certain to have changed."

"That means, Kate, that your advice will be the newest scientific breakthrough when Cat has a child."

"Really, dear, cynicism about pediatric advice is widespread, but from a pediatrician?"

"We're the most cynical of all. Parents have one, two, maybe a few, children. They wonder what would have happened if they'd done something different. We have hundreds of patients. We see all sorts of child-raising patterns succeed and all sorts fail. Jeanette is a great example. Apparently, her mother did everything in her power to crush her self-image. She's a strong, confident, woman."

'Well, dear, she is that. And she's trying to raise a strong, confident, daughter."

"And, so far, succeeding. Sometimes, a confident girl, much less a strong one, embarrasses her parents. But it's better than a shrinking violet. With apologies to our, non-shrinking, Violet."

"Apologies accepted, Bob."

"Dear, would you mind terribly going up to my room and getting the kitchen timer? It's on my night stand. We're going to need it."

"Better than paring vegetables. My kitchen work starts now." When Kathleen came back with the timer, Jeanette and Cat were right behind her. Charles sat down in a chair with a pile of books. Soon Cat was in his lap. The three adult women went into the kitchen. "Now that you have the timer, why was it out of the kitchen?"

"My memory is going, dear. Could it be Alzheimer's?"

"Not if you can remember to cook like you have been doing. Are you claiming you don't remember why the timer was up there? Because an Alzheimer patient wouldn't have remembered where it was."

"Well, dear, Jeanette was afraid that Cat might not wake up in time to get to the bathroom. So, as the responsible adult, it was my job to wake her. Actually, I don't sleep through the night either. My bladder wakes me, but I might keep the four-hour schedule. It's somewhat more convenient. Sorry about that, dear, if it makes it harder for Cat to wake up when she gets back home."

"Well, it either will or it won't. I actually figure that the number of wet sheets I'll have to change is written in heaven. All I can control is when they occur."

"Very sensible thought, dear, even if it turns out to be incorrect. Motherhood is a journey, not a task. Feeling you've failed -- even that you've succeeded -- leads to useless frustration."

"Speaks the woman who has Bob Brennan as a son. Must be consoling. Now, what should I do." Kate assigned their tasks, sitting at the table. She began her own preparation of the ham with a jar of cloves.

"What I want to hear," said Jeanette when she had the rhythm of scraping carrots down, "is this business of your enlightened self interest."

"Well, dear, it should be clear. I've had a basically happy life. I lost Russ, of course, and still cry over that. But I had Russ for decades. More happiness there than tears. I've been gifted, of course. As I told you, children are potluck. I was lucky in mine. Both, despite what Kathleen pretends to believe.

"Still and all, I've worked with what I've been given to be happy. You are the luck of the draw, Cat doubly so. Maybe triply so, because Bob was luck, too. But, I made you welcome, I tried to make your visits here pleasant. And I think I've succeeded more than failed."

"You're always a lovely, welcoming, hostess."

"And I get your visits, don't I? And, these days, your visits include Cat. I don't think you regard these visits as chores. Oh, they involve chores; they involve Amtrak, for heaven's sake. But you don't seem to dread them from one year to the next. Cat enjoys them, so telling Cat that you are going to visit Grandma Brennan doesn't involve screams of complaint."

"No complaints whatsoever. A few screams, maybe. You're her favorite person. She loves these visits."

"And, while you might think I spoil her too much, you enjoy the visits partly because she does, too. So, I get what I want from you, and I get what I want from her. I can't have my husband back, I can't have my youth back. But the humanly-possible things that I want, I get. Every part of that which isn't luck is pure selfishness."

"And this is the woman who talks about my sacrifice. I've got what I wanted. Since my marriage, I've got nearly everything that I wanted. Some of it took a little while, but what I wanted most, I got early on. We could have married a year earlier, but not sooner than that, not when I was still in high school."

"Well, Jeanette, aside from your perverse interest in marrying Bob, you put your academic career on hold."

"Dear, you drive that argument into the ground. Fight with your brother all you want, but you don't want to fight with Jeanette. Use a little of the selfishness I've been preaching. What draws her to Bob is what draws you to Charles."

"Indeed, the first time I saw Charles before The Kitten's baptism, I was struck by the resemblances. Differences, sure, but he is a lot like your brother and how your father was. Tall, deep voice, sense of humor."

"That's really beside the point, dear."

"Charles can sing, He has a lovely singing voice."

"Intelligent."

"Dears, none of that matters. The particulars which attract a woman might be quite different. You didn't look for the best singer you could find, dear. If you had, a medical school would be a weird place to look."

"Well, no."

"However different the particular attractive features, the attraction is the same. I said that we could have wished that you'd given your heart elsewhere. When you gave your heart to Charles, though, that defined the situation. Well, Jeanette gave her heart to Bob. Aside from my pleasure in her company and her child, my selfishness, she could have done worse. Don't blind yourself. He may have a weird sense of humor, but he is not nasty, an alcoholic, or a wife-beater."

"He supports me."

"Yes, dear, but you supported him for years."

"You don't understand. Yes, his paycheck pays the bills, and once mine did -- with generous help from you and your husband. But back then, even before we were married, he kept me steady. He hugged me when I needed a hug. Had he been a perpetual student and we had never had a child because I needed to keep working, even then I'd have needed him more than he needed me. If I need his care less now, it's because he's helped mend me.

"You talk about the language study. You want to know how that came about? Well, it was the third thing I studied after the wedding. The first was a course he was taking, Studying with him was all sorts of fun, but he was a junior, after all. He stopped taking courses without prerequisites. He asked me what I wanted to study next.

"Y'know, Pastor Jim had talked to us about what we assumed from the families in which we grew up. He wants this, but she wants that. This isn't too dangerous, 'cause they are conscious of it and can compromise. What's more dangerous is he thinks this is what it means to be married and she thinks that is what it means to be married. Well, I wasn't too worried. I wanted us to be a family, and you were the family I most wanted to be like. Anyway, once Bob asked me if I minded that he said all the graces."

"Jeanette! You didn't let him?"

"You're as bad as he was. I was glad to let him say grace. What he didn't ask was whether my picture of family was one where somebody said grace at dinnertime. Because it wasn't. But, since this was the Brennan pattern, and that was what a real family looked like, I was glad. I teased him about it later, but I only teased. I never suggested that we stop. Since I wanted to be a family, I put my foot down on some issues. I know that you keep a neat house, but you don't seem to have taught him that."

"I gave up, dear. He did a good wash, really. I let him clean his own room on his own schedule except for every other month. Which was often the only vacuuming he did. He was always better about personal hygiene, dear. Although I remember telling him that simple respect for a date required that he shower and wear clean clothes whenever he sees her. That rule may have been enough. He already showered before Church."

"Well, anyway, he never claimed that vacuuming was an un-Brennan activity. Nor washing dishes, which considering that you had an automatic dishwasher and we didn't, would have been a valid claim. I think I've lost my point."

"Welcome to the family."

"It's not only your family, Kathleen. Anyway, Bob was giving me my free choice as to what I should study next. He regarded that as giving me total freedom. If I had opted for how oppressive the patriarchy was, he'd have got the books out of the University library for me. But, being Bob, he didn't for a moment consider that I would want to study nothing. Anyway, the thing I did want to study was typing. I'd taken a little, but far from enough to qualify for office work. He clearly didn't think that was a real study, but -- since it was what I wanted -- he agreed to buy the computer course which turned me into a decent typist. Believe me, there is all the difference ib the world between a typist and a file clerk."

"When I had a job which involved typing, I was getting far more practice typing than I wanted. He asked me what I wanted to study next. Well I'd taken two years of high-school French. I took French in the first place because Bob had. Then I learned he had switched to German in college."

"He didn't tell you that, dear? He told us. I thought he told you everything."

"He told me a great deal. Much of it was about his dreams." Some of it was about her, and a lot -- just when he got back from his first year of college -- was about his version of their agreement to date others. It wasn't a time to discuss his decisions about curriculum. "Remember that year we weren't dating and that summer he was back on road construction. Anyway, I took two years of high-school French which qualified as one year of college French. I took second-year French. I didn't like the results. I really didn't have the vocabulary I should have. Nor the accent. Also, I was never going to get credit for studying East Asia, Tradition and Transition, lovely as that study had been. So, to get the knowledge which my transcript already said I had, I started learning French vocabulary on my own, starting from the list in the back of the book I'd studied, For a while, I worked on my speech in the language lab. You heard about that.

"So, I wasn't denied studies in French because I married a Brennan. I may have slighted my studies in French because I was dating a Brennan, but I wouldn't have learned that much more. I studied French because Bob kept asking what I wanted to study. I very much wanted to be married to Bob Brennan. I -- when pushed as to a subject -- had a slight preference for improving my knowledge of French."

"I didn't think he was that insistent, dear. I didn't think your marriage was like that."

"He wasn't. As I said, he made assumptions. And it wasn't only him. I said 'I'm studying French.' You all, your relatives out to several degrees, said 'What Jeanette is is a person who is studying French on her own.' And, to be perfectly honest, I came to enjoy it. When I really wanted something from Bob, I got it. When his assumptions were comfortable for me, I went along with them. The typing was one example. He did not consider that acceptably intellectual, but it was what I wanted. Cat was another. We got to the time we could afford either to send me to school or to start a child. He was certain that sending me to school was more important. I asked 'Is this for me?' If it was for me, then it should be what I wanted. And then he, you too, talks as if it was one more sacrifice I made. It was a decision I made. A very selfish decision.

"You took art history because the field interested you?"

"Yes, dear."

"And you took an MAT because it was something you could do with that education?"

"And because staying on campus was suddenly much more attractive. I'd met Russ, you see."

"Throughout none of that time had you ever considered, let alone desired, teaching third grade?"

"Not really. I took the job when our finances were in a jumble. I couldn't work as a secretary, even were my typing up to yours."

"So, you spend the majority of your life in work you never particularly intended. I, on the other hand, have spent my adult life, or nearly all of it, as Mrs. Bob Brennan. Which is the position of which I dreamed for the preceding several years. I have a lovely daughter, a girl whose attention you covet -- both of you. I live a comfortable life, economically. I'm getting an education, a much better education than I would have received if I'd gone straight on. Really, you think college is more than a degree; it's an experience. So, I get an educational experience that far surpasses what I could have received had I not married Bob. And, because it is a little later than it might have been, you call that a sacrifice. That's fourth or fifth on my priority list, but it's still better than what I gave up."

"Then you are happy, dear?"

"Very happy. I cry sometimes, who doesn't? You can't be ecstatically happy all the time, but I have my moments. I'm usually content. I'm tired of hearing about my sacrifice."

"Well, sacrifice or not, dear, you came into our family at an awkward time and made our cause your own. That made you a Brennan. If our cause was yours, your cause, always, is ours."

"At an awkward time for your family. It was a life-saver for me. And it was my coming in that made it awkward."

"Still, Jeanette," said Kathleen, "whatever you said, you put the family ahead of yourself. That makes you part of the family."

"Whatever I said?"

"You said, 'What's better for Jeanette?' then laid out that your working and being sure of Bob's education was better for you than another year of school."

"Well, it was. In case you haven't noticed, I'm married to an associate professor. The tuition money didn't run out. Okay, maybe it would have happened anyway. But there was much more in the reserves when we flew to France without warning your parents. That trip started the difference between Northwestern and Podunk Normal."

"We'd have found the money, dear."

"If possible. For either of your children. That's who you are -- were -- you are and your husband was. But draining the reserve was certainly not in my selfish interest, because something else might have come up first. All I'm saying is that I love you all, but I acted in what I saw as my own best interest. First of all, marrying Bob was my bottom line. If giving Cat two pickles makes it likelier to have her sleep in your bed, and she was anxious to do so before she ate them. She'd done so the previous night before you'd even thought of that. Then not making my marriage to Bob something which strained your family finances to the breaking point made that marriage more certain. Not draining the funds that paid my husband's tuition was totally selfish. Draining them would have increased risk -- maybe everything would have gone all right, but there was more than enough risk.

"And, don't you see, Bob loves his family -- this family, I mean, though he loves Cat and me, too. You don't increase the love your spouse holds towards you by increasing the pain that dealing with you causes. 'Because I married Jeanette, whatever difficulties this causes, my parents don't have to pay my housing expense,' sounds much better than 'Because I married Jeanette, on top of all the other difficulties, my parents have to pay another set of tuition and rent on this apartment.' Marriage brings enough friction without bringing extra guilt with it."

"Well dear, we see it as a sacrifice. The decision to have a child first, too. That sacrificed for something you wanted more, but it was a sacrifice nonetheless. But, if you don't want us mentioning it, maybe we should resist mentioning it. I have something else to discuss."

"All right, but isn't that what we all do all the time. You sacrifice reading a book you'd enjoy to read a book to Cat which you'd never look at otherwise. You sacrifice buying the meal that tastes sort of good to buy the meal that tastes scrumptious. Kathleen sacrificed her chances of an affair with Greg to have a romance with Charles."

"My chances of winning the lottery were higher. Greg always saw me as an appendage to you. He'd treat me in a way you'd approve for news of you. He'd have rather cut off his arm than treat me in a way which would earn your disapproval. All that aside, you're right. When you have a choice between two things, choosing the one you like better is hardly a sacrifice. Talking to Cat, now, 'Here's how much Maman wanted a baby...'"

"All right. And, way back when, I chose to marry into a more solvent Brennan family. After all, the best things about my freshman year were one, it was close to Bob, and two, it was far from my family. The next year, I had even more time away from my family. I was much closer to Bob. I hated my job that year, but the typing is what got me a better job. Another year of college wouldn't have helped."

"Well, dear, I swore I wouldn't second-guess your parenting and I'm not."

"Which means, Jeanette, that she is about to."

"I'm always ready to listen to your advice. After all, your first child turned out fine, whatever faults one might see in your second one."

"Hmph!"

"I told you, dear, picking at Bob when Jeanette can hear and he can't is a losing proposition. It isn't so much advice dear. You're doing a fine job of parenting, and I'm sure that your priorities are sensible. It's just that -- been there, done that -- I know that you have so much you can do. Now, I have two -- no three -- things I might do. You don't tell Cat things because she needs to learn them some day. You tell her all she is willing to absorb from you. She might, however, hear something more from me. And, you can decide to remind Cat of what Memere told her about brushing her teeth. You can equally well put that aside without feeling that this is another lesson you have given her that she has rejected. Because, you see, dear, you didn't give it to her."

"Brushing her teeth?"

"Yes, dear, she does an enthusiastic job. And you remind her to do it. But she brushes horizontally." Kate demonstrated with an imaginary toothbrush. "She needs to brush up and down. She also needs to brush the backs of her teeth."

"Yes. I hope that all that toothpaste in her mouth will kill the germs."

"As I said, Dear, you have so much to teach her. And, really, she'll only learn so much from you at one time. Cat thinks you give her too many rules, and you're well advised to emphasize looking both ways at street corners over brushing up and down. I'm not trying to change your behavior. I'm offering to be the person who tells Cat one thing, maybe not on top of your current priority list, but maybe useful."

"You said three things?"

"Well, she knows that she spent some time in your belly, although she sounds dubious when she says it. Also, she says 'stomach.' Well, I have a book...."

"A book? A Brennan with a book?"

"Well, yes, dear. The book has a great many pictures. It shows a sort of cut-out view of a woman. It will show her the digestive tract. It will show her the womb. It has other pictures with a baby in the womb. Dear, 'stomach' sounds so digestive."

Jeanette laughed. "Katherine, sometimes you remind me so surprisingly that you're Bob's mother."

"How can you say such a nasty thing about her? And she was trying to be helpful, too."

"Dear, you always knew I was Bob's mother."

"But sometimes it's more obvious. I remember back on our first visit home with The Kitten. Your husband had her, and he was reciting poetry to her pacing up and down. Sounded just like Bob."

"I hope you said so."

"I did. To both of them, but separately."

"Bless you, dear."

"Anyway, only a Brennan would complain about that. And Bob has. He prefers 'belly.' You prefer 'womb.'"

"If you're going to go that far, why not 'uterus'?"

"Two more syllables, dear. And 'belly' is what Jeanette means by 'stomach.' It's just that the book would show pictures of the inside of the belly."

"I'll think about it." Indeed, the last few sentences had made her think that maybe she'd decline.

"Maman," Cat interrupted them, "may I have a pickle, please?" Jeanette felt ambushed, and Bob was usually so considerate about that. The other three deferred to her quite publicly. They clearly saw it as acknowledging her as the final arbiter of Cat's rules. Cat, and Jeanette to a certain extent, saw Jeanette as the Wicked Witch of the West. If it were not for her, Cat didn't think she would have any rules at all, and Cat didn't like rules. Bob was quite willing to be the bad guy. If he thought the answer was no, he said 'no.' If he thought the answer was yes, he said 'ask Maman.' Sometimes, he looked for a ruling from her before answering. (And Cat, no fool, probably noticed that.) He clearly thought the answer now should be yes, but...

"I don't know, mon Chat. You had two pickles last night."

"Then may I have two pickles please?" That brought laughter from the women.

"Cat," said Kathleen, "you are a dear, sweet, conniver."

"'Conniver' isn't a good word, dear. It means you are trying something you shouldn't try. Listen, dear, you and I had such a good time last night. I would hate to think it made you pushy. Because, then I would feel guilty about the good time. Now, does your having two pickles last night mean that you now get two pickles for every snack? Or does it mean that, maybe, you've had this morning's snack already last night?"

"Maybe." Which was an ambiguous answer to a complicated question, but Kate took the dejected tone as signal that the moral lesson had been delivered.

"Then ask your mother for one pickle. Ask her, and accept her answer as final without any whining."

"Maman, may I have one pickle, please."

"Ask ta memere. They are her pickles."

"Memere, may I have one pickle please?"

"Certainly, dear, since ta maman says it is all right. Go get your phonebook, and I'll get the pickle." Cat set the phonebook on a chair and climbed up on it. Jeanette slid the chair in so that Cat had the table right in front of her. Kate brought the pickle on a saucer and a napkin. Jeanette thought that Katherine's intervention sounded as though she'd read her mind. Perhaps she had; Jeanette would put nothing past her mother-in-law.

"Tante Kathleen, were you once the little girl of Memere?"

"Yes, Cat. For years and years." She noted that one member of the family was careful enough about the French language to avoid the hermaphroditic possessive, 'Memere's.'

"And how many pickles did she let you eat?"

"Well, I never had as many pickles in one day as you had yesterday -- probably not as many in any one week as you've eaten since you got here."

"Really?"

"Really! I may be forgetting some special week, but I didn't eat pickles as often as you do even when I was much bigger." Kathleen thought that the real "Adult Conspiracy" wasn't keeping kids from learning about sex. It was about keeping adults in control of everything. And she was now an official member. She couldn't remember ever being limited in the number of pickles she could eat -- cookies, yes, but not pickles. Not that Mom wouldn't have limited her had she eaten as many as Cat did. On the other hand, suggesting to Cat that she was asking for the wrong treats wouldn't be helpful. So, she'd avoided Cat's question, avoided it artfully enough to fool Cat. And, fooling a kid going on seven -- even Bob's daughter going on seven -- was nothing to feel proud about.

The food was ready. When Cat was quite done and had been sent to wash her hands, Kate turned on the oven and the dishwasher at the same time. They might as well have all the heat in the kitchen while they were out of it. She took the timer and shut the door behind them. Cat was back in the living room. She climbed back in Charles's lap while the adults watched. Both Bob and Kathleen wondered what toys they still had for when Cat got tired of books.

"You know," Kate said, "I got distracted last night. Whether or not we need to learn to desire something more than our own best interests, we do need to learn to pursue our best interests in a more socially-acceptable way than squalling until someone takes care of them. And it is something you learn. We understand that Cat doesn't read so well yet, that division is quite beyond her. We don't wait for her to learn those things on her own. We don't bitch and scream because she hasn't, Really, behavior is the same thing -- or quite similar. She, for instance, is unfailingly polite when she asks for a treat. I presume that is because she doesn't get them when she isn't."

"Jeanette's contribution. She even says 'may I.'"

"I've noticed, dear. But I'll bet that it took a lot of work."

"She forgets. Everybody forgets. The only trick is for you to remember."

"And, dear, while this may not quite be a trick, to be patient while she learns. Bob and I were commenting on how good a mother you are. But my point is that all behavior beyond squalling until our wants are satisfied is learned. And, really, learned after squalling until our wants are satisfied has been learned very well. Operant conditioning. Behavior and reward."

"Mom! You didn't raise us in a Skinner Box."

"Skinner would say that the entire world is a Skinner Box, dear. After a while, you had language, and that makes things much easier. Instead of waiting around for random action to produce the behavior we want, we can ask, 'What's the magic word?'"

"Please!" Cat waited, thought what she wanted. "Sharl, would you read to me, please." And Charles went on with the book he'd been reading.

"To quote my mother, 'Little pitchers have big ears.'"

"And every other mother on earth, dear, since pitchers really had ears."

"Maybe, but I've waited years to quote that back to you."

"And you had justice on your side, dear, if not mercy. Do you think this rain will go on forever?"

"Thirty-nine days and nights to go."

"Well, we needed it. And it must be cooling the outside down, at least that's why I moved the ham up to today."

"Y'know, rain is more often a result of cooler air than a cause of it. Cool air moves in and pushes warm, moist, air higher. Going higher, the air cools until relative humidity exceeds one hundred percent. Then the moisture in that air falls as rain."

"We all took general science, Bob. Not all of us are compelled to regurgitate it."

"It wasn't compulsion. It was entirely voluntary."

"That recitation qualifies as compulsion in any textbook on abnormal psychology."

"Yes, but what does a real science make of it?" Kate looked at Jeanette. Somebody had to bring up a more palatable conversation than this squabble.

"I've said that I don't expect my thesis to take long. On the other hand, though, this job market might reward a slow thesis. If I don't get a job, and there are very few available, having several more years getting a degree on my resume would look better than getting one faster and then having a period of unemployment. And, after all, it's not as though being a mother didn't take all the time I can spare for it."

"Are translator jobs as scarce as other jobs, Jeanette. I'd think the demand was steady. After all, few outside the UN and diplomatic corps are positions that people keep. Or am I making that up? Are translators in positions as fixed as nurses?"

"I really don't know, Kathleen. There isn't a translator job market. And, if there were, I wouldn't be looking in it. When I look for work, I'll look for secretarial work."

"Jeanette!"

"I'm a good secretary with good references. Chicago has a French consulate. That's one of the places I'll look. Maybe some of the other franco-phone countries. Look, there is something about translation you don't understand."

"There must be tons about it I don't understand."

"Well, there's parts I don't understand, either. But when you want a particular book translated, that book is about something. Sounds obvious. But you, with time and a good dictionary, could do a better translation of a French text on Freudian psychology than I could. You wouldn't; there are psychiatrists with much more French than you have. But, if you did, you would know what every single word means, and what every single idea presented is arguing against. When history texts are translated, they are translated by historians.

"Aside from the stuff I've done for Bob, I've only had one translation job. And that fell into my lap because, frankly, I was cheap. I was staying home, and I wanted to continue doing something in French. Translating Verne was doing something in French. And, thanks to the work I'd done with Bob and things Bob would tell me, I knew more about the background from which Verne was writing than plenty of other people. Want poetry translated? Understanding the words isn't enough. You want a poet. So, there are plenty of translation jobs, but quite few professional translators.

"And, taken as a whole, it doesn't pay well. Or, rather, they pay others more than they can pay me."

"Jeanette! Discrimination?"

"Not what you think. Look at the books I helped Bob with...."

"That you did, and I contributed a little."

"Well, The first one got Bob a doctorate. The others got him reputation in his field. He's being well-paid for having produced them, and his colleagues think the analysis is worth the pay -- they know he didn't do the translation. But I can't cash scholarly reputation. If I translated documents for a paper he didn't write, I might get credit, but that credit wouldn't do me any good. That's the sort of pay you get for most translation, part if not the entirety. And, of course, while the paycheck is in his name, I spend the money as much as he does.

"On the other hand, I'll put my degree on my resume. There are plenty of places that need a secretary, and also -- occasionally -- need someone who can read French. I'll even translate business letters into French. And nobody does translation in that direction -- not if you're a translator.

"And you don't understand about being a secretary, either. It's a good-paying job. It doesn't compete with MD, but it's a far cry above what a file clerk is paid. There are secretaries in Chicago making more than Bob does. I'll bet I made more than your mother did in my last job."

"Don't take that bet, dear. Unless you count the hugs."

"Well, I get my hugs at home."

"Pardon me, Cat. I'll read the next book in a minute. Please stay here. I want to tell your parents a story.

"Remember, when we first got here, Kath sent me out for some last-minute shopping. Anyway, a cop pulled me over. He didn't mention a traffic violation; I'll swear it was a driving-while-Black pull over. He mentioned my Pennsylvania plates, got my license and registration. What was I doing down here? I said I was visiting Mrs. Brennan. Instant change. He asked how you were doing -- said he'd heard of your loss. Then said he'd had you in third grade. His last words to me were, 'Have a nice day, hear?' Man did a hundred-and-eighty between one word and the next."

"Well, yes dear. In the last ten or twenty years, the kids I had have become adults in all sorts of positions. Still young adults, of course. They are all younger than Kathleen, and most much younger. But I run into those who remember me. Quite a change from the first year, when I was 'the Yankee.'"

"All through high school, I thought of Dad as influential and you as someone whom the powers-that-be worked over."

"It's pretty much true, dear. 'Tax revenues are down; we have to pay teachers less,' is a constant refrain."

"Or lay them off," added Jeanette. "The Chicago Public Schools are in a bind and are laying off teachers right and left. Somehow, though, the pay for top executives at the school board and the number of top-executive positions keeps growing."

"The top job in the system," Bob put in, "is called 'CEO.' That's because state law requires that a school superintendent know something about teaching. Well, you've got a CEO in charge. He doesn't know anything about teaching, but he knows about being an executive and working with executives. He has a problem, and the schools are drowning in problems. He has a problem, and he creates a new executive position to deal with it."

"Parkinson's Law. Someday, they'll privatize the entire school system, and let the last teacher go. The central office will be larger than ever.... Yes, Cat. I'm as bad as the people I'm complaining about. Dealing with the overview of what others should do to change the school system rather than dealing with the real kid who is my responsibility. Let's read Green Eggs and Ham." And he read Seuss in a sedate rhythm which was quite unlike her Papa's bouncing tones. Cat liked Sharl, though, and snuggled down in his lap to listen.

"While, actually," Bob continued his thought, "you now have loads of influence."

"Different kind of influence, dear. Your father was one of the movers and shakers of he town. The president of Brewster Office Equipment was a force to be reckoned with. He didn't throw his weight around, but he could have. Nobody reckons with my force. Lots of people, though, remember me fondly and wish me well."

"He was a town father, Katherine, and you are a town mother."

"Well, dear, while I'm no longer 'the Yankee,' he was always an outsider. The corporation was owned from outside, you know, and that always caused some resentment. Never, as far as I know, against the Brewster family which sold it. But we weren't Brewsters, and some people made it a point of telling us so. So, not a town father, exactly. And I'm only one third-grade teacher among, what? six classes in the town and several more schools close enough to send kids to the high school. I'd think your parents were more deeply rooted in the community."

"Well, yes. And that might have been part of what they resented about Bob -- what Mommy resented, at least. She was at least one level below the Brewsters -- maybe two. And you come waltzing in and take the Brewsters' place. And you don't even care."

"We hardly took the Brewsters' place, dear. That's what I've been telling you. We weren't the social leaders."

"Your husband sat in the president's office at Brewster Equipment. That was the place of the kingpin of the Brewster family."

"Which might be why, darling, the company couldn't compete until it was sold. Dad didn't want to lead the social set. He just wanted to make a solid profit... and a solid product."

"And not wanting to lead the social set looked like a calculated insult to a woman who was a smaller frog in a much smaller puddle. Anyway..."

"Anyway, faculty politics is dreary enough. Do we really need to rehash this? Mom is right to value the hugs she gets from her current students. The issues of graduates and parents can be left in the trash can."

"And anyway, Mom, pitchers still have ears. There are just fewer pitchers. I have a patient who throws pots."

"At you?" Kathleen covered her face so Cat couldn't see and stuck out her tongue at Bob.

"Cat, before you start that new book, dear, do you think I might borrow Charles?"

"C'mon, Cat," said Kathleen. "It might be a miserable day outside, but you don't have to sit in one place all day. I have something to show you upstairs." While she and Cat went up to look at her last doll, Charles followed Kate into the dining room.

"As I've said, dear, this is a planned feast. Midday, perhaps, but Sunday dinners are midday. Why not Thursday dinners? Anyway, I thought of calling on you to say grace. Then I thought that springing it on you would be no favor. Would you be willing?"

"Certainly. And thanks for the warning."

"You haven't been asked yet, dear. Don't start until I ask you, but I will." The timer went off in her pocket, and she went into the kitchen to check on the ham. It looked fine. She turned off the stove and opened the dish washer. She set the timer to warn her when the vegetables should start cooking.

While they were gone, Jeanette had suggested to Bob that they take their showers then. The idea of bathing in the middle of the day rather than long lines for the bathroom in the morning had seemed to work.

"You, of course, could stay down here until I'm done. People to talk to."

"Yeah, I could." But, since the alternative was watching Jeanette change, he went upstairs. Some things ranked even talking in Bob's preferences.

So Charles was alone when he came back to the living room. He went over to the bookshelves. When you consider that each Brennan had his own books in his own room -- he'd stayed in Bob's room his first visit and in Kath's for his later visits -- the family selection was intriguing. The famous Britannica was years out of date, older than Kath. Several atlases seemed to have been published at about 20 year intervals, the latest quite recently. Neither of Kath's parents seemed to have ever discarded a college textbook. (He knew that Kath had most of hers in their apartment.) Five separate translations of the Bible were shelved next to each other. Paperbacks, the ones he checked being sociology for general readers, were stacked on their faces on several shelves. There didn't seem to be any novels. He pulled Death and Life of Great American Cities from the stack he'd examined earlier.

"Find anything interesting?" Kate asked when she came in. He held up the book. "Russ discovered Jane Jacobs soon after we moved here from New York. Rather bad news, you know, dear. You've just left the place best designed for living. I didn't read it until the summer after I'd started teaching. I don't read outside my studies while I'm studying. My children are much more voracious than I am." He wasn't sure that only reading non-textbooks when you weren't in school disqualified her as a bookworm. Most people didn't read much when they weren't required to; he'd known any number in his undergraduate days who didn't even read assignments. But he had another question.

"Did you and your husband have your own stashes like your kids did?"

"Oh, yes. Parents are more generous, of course. 'He'd like this. Let's leave this downstairs; she might like it.' You don't think of what your sibling might like. But that is only relatively generous. If you want to find a book again, you keep it where you know where it is. My art history books are still in my room. The two lower shelves there on the right? That's what Russ had in his office."

"I didn't see many novels."

"Well, the three left-hand stacks of paperbacks on the top shelf are novels. Many in the third stack, dear, are the sort of novel you read for college courses. We gave novels to the kids when they were young, of course, but the library is better for that sort of thing. How many novels do you reread?"

"And I saw art-history books."

"Those are the ones in which France is prominent. I sent them to Jeanette and left them downstairs after she returned them. Easier to keep track of which she's seen that way. She likes to say that she is a Brennan, and so she is. But I don't think I've ever lent her a book she didn't return. You'll never hear me say that about Bob or Kathleen."

"I keep hearing complaints about kids who never read. Your seem to have produced two who read all the time. Is it just the genes?"

"Probably not, but it might as well be, dear. Russ came home from a hard day at the office and curled up with a book after supper -- sometimes with the paper or a magazine. He was addicted to news shows and, sometimes, to radio news. But he got his entertainment from print. I'm a little that way, myself. So, how did our kids think that adults entertained themselves? And, of course, we can recommend fascinating books we'd read ourselves.

"Smoking parents have smoking kids. Parents who tipple but tell kids that they're too young to drink have kids who sneak drinks. Parents who read to themselves and read to their kids have kids who think that they're big enough to read their own books. It'll happen to Cat soon enough. Not when you're around, probably. You can see her gloat when she's got Charles to hold her and read to her. But, one of these days, she'll declare her independence by reading her own book."

"Is she really doing that?"

"Quite definitely, dear. And Bob is jealous. She sits beside him when he reads to her. Not at bedtime of course, but that's not holding, either."

"I'm sorry, I'll..."

"Why be sorry dear? Do you enjoy it?"

"Very much."

"And she enjoys it. It's what I said about intelligent selfishness. So long as she asks politely rather than throwing a tantrum when you aren't available, so long as it is mutually enjoyable, as long as it isn't dangerous for her or somebody else, then she should get what she enjoys. Bob would tell you the same thing. He wants Cat to get the enjoyment of your holding her. He just wishes that she still enjoyed his holding her.

"That's the thing about growing up. She's fighting her parents with might and main to get independence. And they want her to have independence. You'd think that fight could be settled in a conference, but it never is. And my children, dear, were quite used to conferences and negotiation."

"I don't see her kicking and screaming."

"I haven't seen her kick. We both heard her scream the other night. I understand that she has been known to throw a full-blown tantrum or two. More usually, she pushes. She doesn't run away from home, she sits beside her father when he reads to her. And, as I said, she will declare her independence by reading her own book one of these days. She already reads her school lessons, although first-grade school lessons aren't exactly Moby Dick. They aren't even Hop on Pop.

"But when a child declares her independence, parents may be wistful. but they are a also happy."

"You didn't seem very happy when Kath declared her independence."

"I found the way she did it quite insensitive, dear. Look, in Vi's -- in Kathleen's -- early high-school days, she spoke to me often about her romantic feelings. Some boys she adored from afar, some seemed to like her but the feeling was definitely not reciprocated. You heard about Terry. In the middle of that relationship, I went from her confidant to her inquisitor. And, dear, I hadn't changed one thing. 'Is there something you want to tell me, dear?' 'Why do you keep hounding me?' After that, we knew when she went on dates and with whom. What she felt about it was a deep, dark, secret. Of course, you could look at her and see whether she were happy or unhappy, but she wasn't about to tell you why.

"After she went to college, we never heard even that. I presume she went to college dances and all the other sorts of dates. College is much better than high school; high-school social occasions are really set up by adults. Anyway, I never complained. She had flown out of the nest. I prayed that she didn't get pregnant or seriously hurt, but I didn't inquire. She was writing to Jeanette, sometimes, and that made me grateful. I figured that she'd be willing to tell her more than she was willing to tell me."

"But your toleration changed."

"I tolerated silence. I didn't enjoy it, but I respected it. Now, let me tell you how Kathleen should have behaved with regard to her parents. She may have made mistakes with regard to you, but that's your business. 'One of my classmates whom I especially want you to meet is Charles; he's been a great friend these last two years.' Or however long it had been by graduation, dear. A letter: 'You met Charles. He's more than a friend. I think we're in love.' And, then, 'Mother, I'd like to bring Charles home. You should know him better, and he should know you better.' If she'd done that, dear, we'd not have complained, we'd have done the same thing we did on your first trip. We'd have put you in Bob's room. Then, we'd have locked our door. Of course, your second trip -- when Bob and Jeanette and Cat were home -- would have been more awkward.

"Look, you find the way she and Bob squabble immature, don't you?"

"Well, yes." Which was criticizing his wife, which was something you should never do, but how could he deny that?

"But she's upstairs playing with a doll. You don't find that immature."

"She's entertaining Cat."

"Which is the acme of maturity, really. Even though she's doing it by actions three decades below her age level. Well, in a sense, squabbling with Bob is the same kind of game. She is playing the little kid she used to be. Both of them are quite capable of resisting. In the family, they don't see the use of doing so. But, when she proclaims that she is sexually active, she thinks the activity demonstrates maturity. She should read the statistics, sometime. But, in fact, the proclamation demonstrates immaturity.

"But I should leave you to your book. Sorry!'

"Not at all. This was fascinating. You find Kath immature and Bob mature."

"Different kinds of maturity, dear. And different kinds of immaturity. Don't let Cat read Hop on Pop with you, dear. She is used to acting it out with Bob. Jeanette is quite capable of talking as if Bob were her second child. She also insists that Bob is an absolute rock when she needs him. Bob can be childish in many, unimportant, ways. After all, the sibling rivalry is quite mutual.

"On the other hand, even Russ became convinced that Bob was acting as an adult as a husband and a father. And Russ was very hard to convince, dear. The university must find him satisfactory. Jeanette has been the primary parent, and she talks to Cat mostly in French -- not entirely, but mostly. Cat clearly has a better English vocabulary than most of her classmates. She must have got that from Bob. Which means, silliness like 'portcullis' aside, that he spends a decent amount of time with her.

"The way she behaved night before last tells you something, dear. Whatever Kathleen might say, reciting poetry at you doesn't count as abuse. It might be abuse of the poem. And Cat obviously knew that she wouldn't get further punishment for mouthing off while he was doing it. On the other hand, when he threatened to carry her bodily upstairs, the threat was credible. Large men have advantages as parents. I could never have carried a struggling seven-year-old up a flight of stairs."

"So, strength is a requirement for a good parent?"

"An advantage, dear. But I'm not making myself clear. Bob might have an immature sense of humor, he might squabble with his sister in a way that they ought to have outgrown well before you met her, let alone him, but he relates to his wife and child as a responsible adult. In one of his fights with his father -- and, dear, you only think that Kathleen and I have disagreements; Russ and Bob used to go at it hammer-and-tongs -- in one of those arguments, Bob claimed to have all the negative virtues. Maybe not quite all, dear, adults shouldn't tell fart jokes. But he was talking to Russ, after all.

"'Negative virtues' sounds like those defenses of politicians who get caught with their hands in the cookie jar. 'After all, he didn't rob banks or cheat on his wife.' But, really, while being in the best ninety percent of people in one area isn't saying much, being in the best ninety percent of people in area after area starts looking like an accomplishment. If all that the good you could say about Bob was that he wasn't a drunk or a wife-beater, it would be damning with faint praise. But Bob not only lacks a great many negatives, he has several important positives."

"Where I want specifics is the negatives Bob lacks," Kathleen said from the stairs. "I can't think of any."

"Why, dear, I just listed a few. He isn't a drunk nor a wife-beater."

"He isn't, as far as we know, a member of Al Qaeda, either. That exhausts the list. By the way, Mom, I told Cat she could play with that doll in my room if she visited when I wasn't here."

"That's very generous of you, dear. Now, about Bob, you really should save your insults for when he's present. Bob has a juvenile sense of humor. He scraps with you in quite a childish way, but you aren't in a position to point that out. I can't really think of any other vices."

"He can't carry a tune in a bucket."

"Hardly a moral fault, dear."

"He's hard on poor Jeanette."

"In what way," asked poor Jeanette from the stairs. "He'll be down in a minute. But I want to hear how he mistreats me, and don't get vulgar about 'hard.'"

"You have more than your share of household and child-care duties."

"As I told your father some years ago -- nearly seven; how time flies -- how the two of us divide our chores is nobody's business but our own. As far as child-care goes, he and I share more than most couples."

"I was just telling Charles, dear, that Cat's English vocabulary demonstrates that Bob spends a good deal of time with her."

"And the club of husbands who do the family laundry just elected Bob president unanimously. I said he'd been unfair to vote for himself, but he said that he voted to break a tie."

"Jeanette! Other husbands do the laundry."

"Not all that many. And he kept doing it when I was home all day."

"Well, if you're satisfied..."

"And I am. That's not the main reason I love the man, but it's one reason to like him."

"Well, I credit Cat's sunny nature to you, despite Bob. I just hope that sometime, maybe like when she's eighteen, you'll stop praising her for actions that would have been praiseworthy at eight."

"Your generosity, dear, at least the generosity I praised, was not in letting Cat play with your doll, but leaving it here instead of taking it to Philadelphia to entice her into a visit."

"We, although we would be glad to see you, don't really have room in the apartment to be adequate hosts. And we're probably stuck there until my student loans are paid off."

"Did you two go that far in debt?" Bob had finally joined the group.

"My student loans are paid off, Bob, and we have money in the bank. Don't look at me. Char's the one who went all macho on me."

"Well, it's your inheritance."

"When I was first starting to practice, Char helped pay the office rent. I wasn't bringing in even that much, let alone apartment rent and groceries. Now, he wants to pay the rent alternate months."

"I don't want to live off my wife. I make enough to pay my share."

"You may not think I have any right to speak as a man who lived off my wife for years and years, but I think the money you put into her office rent, and the other expenses Kathleen didn't have to cover as she started up, were investments in the family enterprise. You two should incorporate as 'Paradox Inc.'"

"Pair of docs. Bob, you are impossible."

"No, as I tell Jeanette, merely unlikely. Anyway, the family enterprise is making a profit. You ought to allow it to pay dividends like apartment rent."

"And I'm not so sure that we shouldn't look for a house now."

"Kath!"

"Home prices and mortgage interest are both quite low. We aren't going to see that again any time soon."

"There speaks Russell Brennan's daughter, and she's right. Stopped clock."

"And it's not like we'll have all that much choice. We want a neighborhood we'll both be comfortable in. We'll look forever even in this market."

"Well, dear, investment opportunities aside, is the chance of a visit from your niece the reason? Remember, at this age, she travels with her father."

"No. I just started thinking, and one thing led to another."

"Can happen. Try it again some time."

"You can't really say he's the aggressor, this time, dear. Ignore him, and tell me how it started."

"It started, really, with a piano. but it didn't end there. We need one, and the apartment won't hold one. A keyboard, or maybe a spinet. But, I thought, Char really should play a serious instrument. At least a baby grand, maybe a parlor grand. That got me thinking about houses, And that got me thinking that this was the right time. Usually, the low interest rates are met by high house prices."

"Well, they are low because people aren't in shape to buy. And, when you look at it, neither are we."

"Bob. This is serious. Help them now, and fight her another time."

"D'acord, ma femme. Anyhow, Charles, you don't want Kathleen pouring her money into your loan repayment?"

"No. And, really, I'm up-to-date. Peds may not make as much as successful psychiatrists but we aren't exactly ditch diggers, either."

"Nor history professors. On the other hand, that leaves Kathleen with a lot of money in her name which isn't earning all that much interest. That's another aspect of the present economy. Borrowers' low rates are lenders' low rates."

"Well... But the money is still there."

"Would you live in your wife's house?"

"Huh? Bob?"

"There are two issues. The money issue and Charles's ethical issue. The question is whether there is a solution which fits both issues. If you're going to raise another issue, I'll quit."

"Tante Kathleen, I left her on the bed. Is that all right?" Cat was half-way down the stairs.

"Precisely what you should have done, darling."

"Come here, Cat." Charles picked her up and spun around.

"Whee!" Kathleen looked about to interfere. Kate looked at Jeanette, who seemed approving of the rough play. Then she spoke.

"Last phase of the dinner. Could Jeanette and Kathleen come help me?" They followed her into the kitchen and then to the corner furthest from the door. "Look, dear, You may think that I was a terrible mother..."

"I've never said that."

"But I did have a long marriage, And Jeanette has a successful marriage with Bob, which your opinion of Bob must make appear a miracle. There are things you do with your husband only in private. The first, successful wives do as often as possible. The second, successful wives do as seldom as possible. But never does any sensible woman do either in public.

"The second one is criticize her husband."

"Sometimes, he's impossible."

"Compared to Bob, dear?"

"Well, I've heard Jeanette..."

"Tease him? So have I, so has Cat. Raise a serious criticism? I've never heard her accuse Bob of chauvinism. Maybe he's never been guilty."

"He hasn't."

"But when Charles started his rough play with Cat, it wasn't your call, dear. It was Jeanette's call."

"She's been locked up all day. Lovely house, lovely books, lovely doll and thanks for thinking of it. But her body needs as much exercise as her mind."

"The point is, dear, that he has as much intelligence as you do. And, really, more experience with kids. When you were in high school, Jeanette told me to let you make your own mistakes. And I needed that reminder. Let him make his own decisions. Now, some decisions are about the two of you, and you have to make them jointly."

"Like the house. 'Ethical issue'? It's pure machismo!"

"It's both, dear, and more. Your brother, obedient to the wishes of his wife, put it in the way most likely to persuade Charles. You've been putting it in the way most likely to demean Charles."

"I married Bob, Kathleen. You didn't."

"What?"

"Fight with Bob. He enjoys it. I'd rather you did it when neither Cat nor I were around, but that's just a preference."

"Doing it when Bob isn't around, dear, is simply a waste."

"But Charles doesn't enjoy it. He doesn't even enjoy your fighting with Bob. So, find out how to persuade him. Bob lacks all your best tools. If he manages to get an agreement, I'll laugh aloud the next time you imply that Bob is stupid."

"Best tools?"

"Dear, you've slowed down since you left our table. Once, you would have caught Jeanette's drift. More, you would have caught her criticism and lobbed it back to her. I'll leave it to her to explicate."

"The third is that Bob's not a woman. The second is that he doesn't have sex with Charles. You keep mentioning your sex life in public; learn to use it in private. The third and most important is that Charles doesn't love him. I've said before that Bob always gave me what I wanted most. Not when it was beyond his reach, but when he could. The problem is to figure out what you want most. It isn't to win those debating points, is it?"

"Of course not."

"Then figure out what Charles wants most. Then figure out how the two of you can have both."

"You make it sound simple."

"It isn't easy, ma soeur. It is simple. It's easier with Bob, because he's looking, too."

"You see, dear, you're hoist by your own petard. Jeanette does it, which means that it's possible. But Jeanette does it with Bob. Which means that you should find it much easier to do it with Charles. He's so much more reasonable, isn't he?"

"I'm not saying that."

"No, dear, but -- really -- she is. Now, it's close enough to time for dinner that we can start our preparations. We'll eat a little early, but nobody else will notice. Dear, would you get the vegetables out of the refrigerator? They need to cook in the saucepan."

She was looking at Jeanette, so she obeyed. They put the food on the table before warning Cat and the men to wash. Everybody came in and took their places. Kate asked Charles to say the Grace.

"Loving Savior, we thank thee for this food, for those who are gathered to eat it, and for those who worked to prepare it. Sustain us in your mercy and guide us in your service. Amen"

As he and the others echoed the 'amen,' Bob noted that this was the first time he'd ever heard a grace addressed to the Second Person of the Trinity. He decided that doing so was a social outlier but not a theological fault. His mother had assigned carving the ham to him. That shifted caring for Cat entirely onto Jeanette until the plates were filled.

"So, Charles," he asked when the food had been properly praised, "I didn't get an answer to my question. If Kathleen owned a house, would you live there?"

"But she doesn't. Doesn't that question come first."

"Absolutely not. I'm not interested in houses as investment property. I wouldn't buy one we wouldn't live in." Jeanette noted that Kathleen had the Brennan brains. She might have resented the advice, but she was adopting it. And the subtle insistence that Charles decided where they lived was merging several pieces of that advice.

"Well, we don't know lots of things."

"We don't know any concrete thing. We aren't talking about a particular house. We don't know what the down payment might be, nor the monthly charges. But Bob only asked you one question. Let me rephrase it. Obviously, if I bought a house in North Carolina, you wouldn't live in it. I wouldn't expect you to. Do you have an objection to living in a house because it is in my name?"

"No."

"Then the rest can't be decided here. It is best decided in Philadelphia. Let me go on record. My preference would be for a house in both our names. If, at any time up to the closing, you're willing to go that route, we'll change the paper.

"And, I never thought I'd say this, but, thank you, Bob."

"You are quite welcome. Hostilities resume tomorrow?" Everybody but Cat laughed. Cat wondered what everyone found so funny. Sometimes, she got the jokes of Papa. Well, she would tell one of her own.

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?" Jeanette thought she'd allow Cat one. This audience would put up with her willingly, and she had been confined to the house by rain.

"Boo!"

"Boo who?"

"Why are you crying?"

"All right, mon chat, no more jokes for a while. Eat your ham. Doesn't it taste good?"

"Yes." Cat took another bite of ham.

"Darling, you have your father's sense of humor, only more mature."

"I thought, Kathleen, that hostilities were delayed until tomorrow." Jeanette wanted to have only one child to deal with. How had Katherine handled two, and those two?

"And nobody has a more mature sense of humor than I have. My jokes are the very oldest."

"Has the rain stopped?" asked Kate.

"I looked out before you called us to dinner. A drizzle." Charles felt that this non-sequitur change of subject was deliberate, instead of the usual Brennan jump. If so, his hostess was quite right. He'd follow her in a conversation on the weather all night if it meant that Kath and Bob would stop their sniping.

"If you don't finish the book here, dear, feel free to take it with you. I was talking to Charles, Cat. We'll return the library books where we got them. He started one of the family books. Jane Jacobs."

"Death and Life or the second one?" Bob asked.

"Death and Life of Great American Cities."

"Fascinating book. What urban sociology would be were it inductive."

"Bob never met a book he didn't like, Charles, but I've found over the years that his recommendations often lead to good reads. You'd think that the indiscriminate liking would destroy his tastebuds, as it were."

"Not really, dear. Would you rather get road directions from a taxi driver or from a man who had only driven one route in his life?"

"Met a guy once," Bob put in, "who told me that he'd only read one science-fiction book in his life. He'd enjoyed it, and that was the only well-written SF story. Weird opinion. He'd enjoyed 100% of the ones he'd read, and he knew -- I don't know how -- that he'd not enjoy any other. Wish I'd enjoyed every SF story I've read."

"I thought you'd enjoyed every story of whatever kind that you'd read."

"No, ma femme. Why talk about the bad ones? But Death and Life is a great book. Well, you're reading it; I won't try to summarize from memory."

"Wait a few years, dear. This house is a storehouse of books, but they are a little old for you now. Most of the books Papa and Tante Kathleen had at your age they gave away before moving here. But as you grow up, you'll find you'll like the ones they had here."

"And my books first, Cat. I was younger when we moved here, and mine were girls' books. I know she sounds like she goes on forever right now, but I bet you'll love Nancy Drew when you're old enough." Bob decided that Kathleen's brains hadn't rotted away -- dealing with Charles, yes -- but Cat always wanted to do things she'd been told she wasn't old enough to do.

"Truth is, I enjoyed Nancy Drew, too. Not my favorite, but I'll bet I read most of the ones you have."

"Yes, Bob, but girl detectives provide pleasures to girls on top of the pleasures the books provide to any reader. Bet your wife wants Cat to have positive, intelligent, female roll models. Apart from herself, of course."

"And apart from her grandmother and her aunt. Yes, and Bob does too."

"There are advantages in a simpering, dependent, diffident wife. There are none in a simpering, dependent, diffident daughter. Since I didn't pursue the first, I'd be an idiot to want the second."

"I could simper."

"Not convincingly, dearest. I've seen you navigate the subways of Paris."

"The maps are far more convenient than the CTA's."

"We see three strong, independent, women," Charles said. "All three of them are married -- were married in Kate's case. Would Gloria Steinem agree?"

"Well, dear, the first generation of feminists were mostly single. And Steinem was long after that. Think Jane Addams."

"And that wasn't even the first generation," said Bob. "How many suffragettes went before her? Sojourner Truth was a mature woman before the Civil War. And she had married. At least, she had children. Marriage must have been problematic under slavery."

"So," Kathleen said, "strong women can have men. 'Fish without a bicycle' is far too simplistic. They just need strong men." Charles set down his fork and made a muscle -- hidden by his shirt, but an unmistakable gesture.

"It's nothing like that, Charles," said Jeanette. "Convenient as that often is. Strong men are strong in the ego. They can have strong women around them without feeling that their masculinity is in question."

"And, dear." Kate thought that Jeanette was being a tad too direct. "How strong any person is depends on how you look at it. I've known widows, and a few divorcees, who seemed torn out by their roots. Her identity was Mrs. John Smith. Now, she had no social existence. I was certain I wouldn't be like that. Brewster, sure, but that was a tiny sliver of my social identity. I had fewer positions in the church than Russ had, but they knew me as myself. My kids knew me as Mrs. Brennan, which implied that there was a Mr. Brennan somewhere. Although, at that age, you're not sure they've made the connection. They certainly didn't know Russ to speak to.

"And, then, when I lost Russ, I lost myself. I still have all the social identity. What I lost was my psychological identity. The school sees me as a person independent from Russ, so does the church, so -- even -- do my children."

"A much different person," said Bob, "a countervailing force."

"The only one who doesn't is me. And, dear, what you saw as a countervailing force was sometimes a conspiracy. Russ gave you the Playboy subscription when I was disturbed by your using my art-history books."

"You knew?"

"I knew where they were supposed to be, dear. I knew when they went missing and noticed them cycling in and out. Your father knew why. He didn't mind, himself, but he sympathized with my objection. And, after you'd received three or four issues of more appropriate material, the books moved from the living room to our room."

"Bob!"

"Dear, we kept the knowledge from you. All three of us did, even though I don't think there was much discussion except between your father and myself. It would have been natural for you to be shocked at that age. Being shocked at this age, however, is really silly. And that's not counting your profession. Ask your husband sometime what pictures he looked at at age fifteen.

"And, now to go back to what I was saying, I miss Russ. I can remember being Kate Grant, but she was a girl. I can teach fine with him gone; I can't live at all." She startled everyone, herself most of all, by starting to cry. Four people looked at her without a clue what to say or do.

"Memere," asked Cat, "are you remembering Pepere?" Her grandmother nodded. "Does crying help?" Kate got up from the table and got a Kleenex from the kitchen.

"Not any more, dear. I think I'll stop." And she did. Cat went back to eating.

"Out of the mouths of babes," Bob said.

"She's Jeanette's daughter, dear, raising as well as genes."

"Don't credit me with that. I was totally lost. I think you two have built a connection."

"I certainly hope so, dear. Who wants more salad?" At that, the conversation turned to practical things and then splintered. When the meal was over, Kathleen stood.

"Charles and I'll clear. Is the dishwasher empty?"

"Not yet, dear."

"Well, I know where to put most things." When they'd stacked the dishes in the sink, she opened the dishwasher and started to put things away. "Sorry to draft you. It seemed more discreet than calling 'Family conference.' Not that I fooled anybody. Now, two questions.

"You did a fine grace. I hadn't thought, although I should have. We now have a family. Do you want a grace at our meals?"

"I don't know."

"That's fair. I sprang it on you. Dad used to say them or ask someone else. Why don't you decide, and then decide whether you'd be comfortable taking that role?

"And, what sort of pictures did you look at at fifteen?"

"Not art books, that's for sure. Playboys and such when I could get them. Your mother's right. Bob wasn't a monster, just a normal teenage boy."

"You talk as if those were mutually exclusive, or even different."

Charles laughed. "Look, I can stack dishes."

"Okay, these go up on the second shelf of that cabinet to your right. How Mom manages, I don't know." They worked together until the clean dishes were put away in cabinets and the dirty dishes were in the machine. Kathleen took a look around and decided their work was finished. She gestured towards the door.

"You know what I love about you? Others get all fixed in their professions. They are lawyers or accountants twenty-four-seven. You get near your brother, and all your psychiatric training falls away."

"That's what you love about me?" She grabbed his hand and drew it to her crotch.

"Well, among other things." They hugged and kissed. She ground her body against his erection, and he caressed down her back to her rump. When they parted, he adjusted his clothing. "Just walk ahead of me 'til I can sit down." She giggled, but complied.

When she'd got back from washing her hands, Cat went to Memere to give her a hug. Kate hugged her back. When the physical imbalance of having her knees hugged and touching only Cat's head bothered Kate, she led Cat to the sofa and sat down. When she patted the cushion beside her, Cat climbed up. This hug was much more comfortable. They were still sitting together when Kathleen and Charles came back. When Charles had sat down in a deep chair, Kathleen selected the chair furthest from others that would hold herself and Cat.

"Come here, Cat, and tell me some more jokes." That earned her a smile of appreciation from Jeanette. Cat needed to be reasonably inactive for the hour after dinner, but she would resent any more restrictions from Maman. Cat looked to Memere. At her nod, she scurried over to Tante Kathleen. "Y'know, sweet, when I was your age, ton papa told me lots of jokes. I told them to my friends. Ta memere warned me to tell them to the students at my school, but not to the teachers or other adults. That's a good rule, but you can tell them all to me. Do you know how to stick out your tongue and touch your nose." Cat happily performed that feat.

"Think she'll remember?" Jeanette asked Bob.

"Vi didn't. On the other hand, that's one limit that came from the people who normally spoil her. Kathleen's doing us a favor, probably quite consciously. Did you hear her on books Cat would enjoy when she was old enough?"

"And your mother. Despite the way I had to do it, I'm sometimes glad to be a Brennan."

"Well, you had to take the husband with the mother-in-law. There was no other way."

"I'll suffer through it."

"Not 'til tonight." They shared a smile. They were parents, not lovers, just then. They were, however, comfortable in both roles. They walked over to the couch. "Did Cat help?"

"Very much. I'm sorry, dears. I don't know what came over me."

"It's called grief. Don't apologize, Mom. I've felt it, too."

"If he doesn't still break out in tears, Katherine, you laid out the reason. You're no longer Russell Brennan's wife. He is still his son."

"I felt awful when I heard. But, probably, not one tenth as awful as I would have felt if we hadn't been reconciled."

"And that was your doing, dear. I'm ever so grateful, and Russ was, too."

"Well, he was always incredibly kind to me -- even when I wasn't kind to him."

"You were standing by your man, dear. And Russ would never have blamed you for that. And, of course, the man you were standing by was the son he loved. Family relations are so complicated."

"Brennans don't know how poisonous they can be."

"Maybe not poisonous, dear, but you'll have to admit that our relationships are as complicated as any other."

"I'll buy that." Charles had joined them. "I think I'm beginning to understand Kath, and then we come here, and she's an entirely different person."

"Well, dear, you have to expect that. You've known Kathleen for years, but they were years in which she had minimal contact with us. I don't have to tell you how often residents can come home."

"Those years, she -- indeed I -- had contact with Bob and Jeanette." He stopped there. Kath's mother might not know about their borrowing Bob and Jeanette's apartment for sex. She certainly wouldn't want to hear about it if she was totally aware.

"And, to a great extent," Jeanette pointed out, "the sibling rivalry was muted. You might not have thought so from what you saw, but it was at much lower volume than it is here."

"And here is where all the memories lie -- at least, a different set of memories. You might think that those apartments were partly mine. Kathleen thought of them as Jeanette's. She wants to be nice to Jeanette. I'll give you one clue for free. Our dad was adamant on one point, the essence of masculinity is loyalty towards your woman. Kathleen sat at his table for years while he pounded that home. He was talking, usually, to me, but she had to have absorbed it."

"I did note," Jeanette said, "when I first met you, how many ways you resembled Bob and his father. Kathleen may have been rebelling, but she didn't get very far when she was looking for a man."

"And, dear, she wasn't rebelling against Russ. That was Bob. She was rebelling against me."

"She seems very loyal herself."

"Well, yes. It wasn't like pink and blue. It was more that loyalty was the highest virtue for men. But it was the highest virtue he mentioned for anybody."

"We were just saying, dear, that Russ admired Jeanette for standing up to him when he quarreled with Bob. She was being loyal, see? And Russ would never criticize loyalty, even if it worked to his detriment."

"And, you have one very great advantage. She's the stubbornest person in a stubborn family. She's decided you're her man, and she has never been known to change her mind."

"There are other opinions, Charles, of which Brennan is stubbornest. But I'll testify that it's often an advantage when a stubborn person has decided that he's married to you."

"Your daughter isn't that stubborn, ma femme."

"No, mon mari, but her father is."

"Well," Kathleen asked Cat, "If you have a nine-hundred pound gorilla, where would he sleep?"

"Anywhere he wants to. I forgot that one."

"Remember any more?"

"No."

"Then go get Charles to read to you. I'm going up to take a shower."

"Sharl, may I have some books, please?"

"Certainly. Let's go over there."

"And I think you've all been maligning me."

"Not I. It was Jeanette that said you weren't the stubbornest person in the family. I'd never make that accusation."

"I'll grant that he fired the first shot this time, Kathleen, although you've fired several since the truce. But don't you think that a long argument on which of you is the stubborner would rather make the point that you're each denying."

"Good point! I'll let the stubborner one have the last word. I'm off to the shower unless someone needs something from the bathroom first." Kathleen headed for the stairs.

"And," Bob pointed out, "the stubborner one had the last word."

"Just now."

"Dear, you married a quite intelligent woman."

"If she was so smart, then why did she marry me?"

"I plead temporary insanity."

"Or, dear, you have qualities which are not apparent to a mother."

"Everybody picks on me."

"Dunno. Charles has been notably silent."

"Wisely so, dear." Charles, glad to have wisdom attributed to him by the font of Brennan wisdom. stuck with Horton and Cat. When she selected the next book, though, he deferred to Bob.

"I think you have a special way of reading this book, Cat. Do you want to take it to Papa?" It turned out that Cat sat on Bob's stomach and bounced while he lay stretched out on his back on the floor. It was an active way to read, but not really hopping on pop.

"I just hope that he doesn't throw up."

"If he does, dear, you can be sure we'll blame him and not you."

"Yes, that's one advantage of visiting here."

"I'm told that you sometime think that you have two children." Charles had joined them.

"Can you blame me?" She gestured towards the two on the floor.

"And yet, you also say he's a rock when you need him."

"Quite. When I think back to our early married years, I shiver. I'd had one year of college, he'd had two. We were so young and naive, objectively. But, hard as it is to believe watching him now, Bob was mature where it counted back then -- earlier, too.

"It helps, of course, that we'd both decided that we wanted to be married to each other. That's wrongly stated, but you get the idea. Anyway, Bob did for us what he did this morning for you. 'What does Jeanette really want? What does Bob really want? How can they each get what they want most?' And, of course, you can't both have the particulars that you want. You have to ask for the reasons you want those particulars."

"I'm done," Kathleen called from the stairs. "Whenever you can free yourself from your pleasant confinement, Charles, the shower is free."

"Come up with me." Jeanette looked a question at him. "I want you to talk to both of us."

"Bob would be better."

"Not for Kath." Jeanette saw his point. She followed him up the stairs.

"You're going to shower with her?" Kathleen didn't even fake anger at the idea. It was just a Brennan joke.

"We're going to talk with her. Us!" He led the way into Kath's room.

"All right," Jeanette began. "First of all, while Charles has a right to commit both of you in most situations, this isn't going to work unless Kathleen is willing."

"I went to you for advice years ago."

"You've grown since."

"So have you. You're only what? four years older than I am. You're nearly two decades longer married. I assume that's what this is about. And, as Mom points out, you've managed to have a successful marriage with Bob."

"Drop that prejudice, Kathleen. This is serious." Although it pointed out what Charles had said. Bob couldn't do this with this couple. Whether or not she could, that was a question. "Okay, let's sit down. Do you have pencils and paper?" That was a rhetorical question; Kathleen was a Brennan.

"Pens." When each had paper on a handy book in their lap and a ballpoint, Jeanette moved her chair where she was facing both and clearly could not see the papers.

"Okay, you're each going to make a list. I'm not going to see the list. List the ten things you want from this marriage. If it's something you don't want me to see, I won't. Whether or not it's something you want me to see, I still won't. If it's something you don't want your spouse to see, we're in real trouble." She waited until both looked up. "All right. Go over that list. Why do you want that thing?" She watched. Some of the answers came easily, some with a struggle. "I'm not going to go any further. You should. If you tell your partner your deepest wishes and he tells you his, you can usually find a way to get both. If it's something concrete that you see as the way to get your deepest wishes, then finding a compromise is much harder. If we're going out to eat and I want comfort food when Bob wants to give his tastebuds an adventure, I might suggest one of our old favorites. Bob might suggest the new Ethiopian place where we've never eaten. If we tell why, we'll compromise on an oriental restaurant where I can get won ton soup while he can try something he's never tried before.

"Now, let me go from the general to the particular. Charles, why do you object to Kathleen's paying all the rent?"

"I don't have to have my wife support me. I can support myself. When I was growing up, I pictured myself supporting my wife, for that matter."

"Ouch! Y'know, I keep saying how much harder it was for us since we married earlier. You two were MDs out of residency before you moved in together. Pardon me if I don't count the wedding as the start of your marriage. Let me tell you about us. We wanted to get married, but -- we found out -- we didn't quite mean the same thing by those words. I really think Bob would have been happy camping out -- not a tent because there aren't enough bookshelves in a tent. But I'd swear that the only thing that dissatisfied him about his dorm room was that I didn't share his bed. After the wedding, we were sleeping together, and he saw that as the essence of marriage.

"Okay, I wanted us to be a family. I'm still not sure what I meant, it certainly didn't include a child in my thoughts back then. But I came out of a dysfunctional family, and I was going to be part of a functional one. I didn't envy your mother the lovely dining-room table with matching chairs at which we just ate. I sure-as-hell envied her the conversations around that table."

"Jeanette, you'd have died of boredom. I nearly did."

"You don't know how poisonous talk can be. Anyway, when Bob saw what I wanted, he tried to give it to me. I, of course, cooperated with his idea of marriage. He would tell you, or would tell you if he were more worried about honesty than about shielding his wife from criticism, that my cooperation wasn't total. And it wasn't. And some of the things I wanted he thought silly. But we worked out our differences because our ideas of marriage weren't opposites. They were different but not incompatible.

"Now, you two grew up apart. And you each developed an idea of your future. And those ideas may well be incompatible. You had the picture of supporting a wife." Charles nodded. "And you had the idea of being independent." Kathleen nodded.

"Well, you've both already compromised. When she walked down the aisle, Kathleen traded that independence for something she saw as more important."

"Before then."

"And, when you're splitting the rent, you're accepting that you're not supporting your wife."

"I always knew that Kath wasn't that sort of wife."

"So you granted her her independence. Each of you pay half."

"Sort of."

"But, you heard her say that she traded in her independence for something she saw as better. Y'know, I'm going to stop claiming neutrality in this. Because I think Kathleen's picture of being a family is something near my picture. And I'm totally prejudiced in favor of my picture. I'd want a joint checking account. I don't know where that conditional comes from. We've had a joint checking account since maybe a month after the wedding."

"Well, dear," Kathleen said, "I now see that how far your agreement to move to a house has compromised your picture of yourself. I won't push you farther. Someday, though, we have to talk about what sort of marriage we have and what sort of marriage we want.

"And somehow I can't be affectionate without sounding like my mother. Anyway, we'll both leave you now. You can have your shower in peace. I'll be downstairs. And I love you."

Bob and his mother sat on each side of Cat. One read a story book, and then the other did. Cat was content for a while. Then she felt that there was space in her stomach.

"Memere, may I have a pickle, please."

"Not until your mother comes down, dear. And then only if she ways yes." Cat started to get off the couch. "She'll say 'Ask ta memere,' won't she?"

"Yes."

"And, if you go up those stairs now, I'll say no."

"You will?" Memere never said no.

"If you don't wait for her to come downstairs. Of course, instead of 'Ask ta memere,' she might say no to a rude girl who interrupted her when she had gone off to talk with other people. You still wouldn't get a pickle. You have to wait for others sometimes, dear. Now, do you want another story?"

"Yes, please." But the tone didn't sound like 'please.' The tone sounded like a girl who felt she had to wait for others all the time. Kate wasn't working on tone right now, not with Bob sitting beside her. Bob, also content with the words, started the next book. Kathleen came downstairs a little ahead of Jeanette.

"Cat, your mother is a genius!"

"That means, ma jeune fille, that Maman is very smart. The proper response is 'Of course she is. She managed to marry Papa, didn't she?'"

"Maman, may I have a pickle please."

"Ask ta memere. They are her pickles."

"Memere, may I have a pickle now, please."

"Certainly, Cat. Dear would you get it for her? I don't want to move." Jeanette took Cat into the kitchen.

"'Managed to marry you'? Hmph!"

"Well, dear, you're rather trapped. Is Jeanette an intelligent woman who picked Bob? Or is she a woman whom Bob trapped into marriage despite her intelligence?"

"I think the sound is dripping from the trees, not rain. I'm going to look outside and see."

"She may be rusty, but she's still a tactician."

"I'm afraid I was spoiling Cat, but am I turning too stern?"

"Sounded just right to me. After all, I'm not about to teach you about parenting."

"But, dear, you taught me an immense amount about parenting. Just as Cat is teaching you."

"I have a list a mile long of things which don't work."

"Yes, dear, and remember that the first rule is consistency."

"Which means that, when you use something and it doesn't work, you're obliged to use it again?"

"Precisely. And, when you have two children, whatever you used with the first that was a total disaster, he'll remember and complain if you don't use it with the second."

"Was I that bad?"

"Dear, you don't want my memories of your youngest days. Not while Cat might hear."

"Jeanette claims Cat's stubbornness is inherited."

"That's strange. What does Jeanette know about your stubbornness?"

"What don't I know about it?" Jeanette had returned and was hoping Cat didn't figure out the subject of the discussion.

"Dear, you've only experienced the fading remnants." Kate was equally eager to keep Cat in the dark. "The full-blown examples were before your time."

"Everybody maligns, me. Ma jeune fille, aimes-tu ton papa?"

"Je vous aime, Papa. Je vous aime, Memere. Je vous aime, Maman. Je vous aime, Tante Kathleen." The latter had just returned from outside.

"I love you, too, Catherine Angelique. It has stopped raining. Do you want to go out?"

"Get your flip-flops first. Bring them down here." Cat scurried off.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked you first."

"No problem. She would have heard you, anyway, and she does need exercise. It's just that running upstairs for the flip-flops is exercise, too. We brought several pairs of shoes, so that pair getting wet won't matter." Cat came back at a run and handed her flip-flops to her mother. She and Kathleen went out.

"Really, dear, you take more care of my carpets than I ever did."

"Well, 'Don't track in dirt' and 'Don't go barefoot when you're visiting' are good rules. A very wise woman told me that children need to learn rules as much as they need to learn reading."

"Why thank you, dear."

"Well, you can read rules. Learning reading is more important."

"Says the man who reads excellently and knows damn few rules."

"Why do I need to control my swearing when you do it when she can't hear you?"

"Because I remember whether she can hear me."

"I said 'wissenschaftliche Unmoeglichkeit' in a faculty meeting the other week."

"Because you didn't remember where you were."

"Vissin -- um?"

"Jeanette doesn't want me to swear in front of Cat, Mom. I thought of German, because it's the one language I have that Cat doesn't. But many German oaths sound too much like English. 'Sheiss' is clear to anyone. On the other hand, a great many German words sound like you're swearing. So I adopted a truly vile-sounding phrase. I say it at moments of great stress. Cat had been known to repeat it, and is scolded for that. But she fell down in front of the principal of her school. The woman, it happens, speaks German. The next student conference, she asked us about it. Between my accent and Cat's memory, she hadn't been clear about the words. Jeanette doesn't believe it, but my French accent is better than my German accent."

"I don't say I don't believe it. I just say that it is hard to believe."

"Anyway, my accent may be awfully Yank, but it isn't bad enough to keep several of my fellow teachers from understanding me."

"It means scientific impossibility." Jeanette explained.

"Which is good enough for an oath, at times. That wasn't one of the times. You never warned me how many limits having a child puts on your life."

"You never asked, dear, and -- after all -- Jeanette was the one who went through pregnancy. And she was the one who nursed her child, too. You went much longer than I did, dear, and I admire you for that."

"Three generations of Brennans like me for my breasts."

"I was admiring your persistence and fortitude, dear. I'd guess my milk was as nourishing as yours."

"And, of course, her pregnancy and breast feeding didn't put any onus on me."

"Not one that you'd mention in front of your mother, dear. Hello, dear." That to Charles, who had just come down the stairs. "Kathleen and Cat decided to explore the outdoors."

"Yes, the rain seems to have stopped. Jeanette..." She walked a little away from the others with him. They could be overheard, but the conversation -- if not private -- was clearly between the two of them.

"First, thank you. I don't know how much help you were, yet, but I feel much better. Second, you know how Kath ended the conversation. You and Bob always say 'I love you' when you part. I wonder whether we should do that."

"Well, you gain something, but you lose something. Mostly, it's insurance. If something would happen, you don't want your last words to the other person to have been an argument."

"Argue? I've never heard you argue. That joking around..."

"Sniping? Sure. After all, you groan when you hear a pun. Bob reported to me once about some fellow faculty member that he laughed at puns. Bob couldn't figure him out. Anyway, you hear sniping, but you don't hear us really arguing. You've never seen me have a bowel movement, either, but guess what?

"Anyway, see this?" She held up her left hand so he could see the wedding band. "That's an external sign that you have frequent arguments. Not always, of course. Katherine still wears one. But it's fairly well a guarantee."

"They're one-sided now, dear. That's all."

"Anyway, the last thing we say as we're going out the door is 'I love you.' So, if one of us is hit by a truck, that will be the last communication that the other ever hears. On the other hand, Kathleen was expressing a deep emotion and a decision then. You'll have to hear from her what the decision was; I haven't the faintest. When Bob leaves for work thinking about how he'll start the first class on one level, worrying about where he parked the car on another level, and checking that he has his keys and the right briefcase on a third level, his 'I love you' while he's facing the door is quite perfunctory.

"When he comes back on his late day, having traveled by two EL trains, he walks in and sees that the living room is a disaster area. Dinner is late. He sees that I look frazzled and that Cat is chattering in the kitchen distracting me. He says, 'C'mon Cat; I'll help you pick up your toys.' Now that, when he could be complaining about my not doing my responsibility of dinner or having Cat pick up her toys before she leaves the room permanently, shows a deep love."

"C'mon Cat. I'll help you pick up your toys."

"Context is all, mon sot mari.

"Y'know, Charles, that's an example. Bob enjoys being silly, even enjoys being called silly. Did Bob trap me into marriage or did I trap him? Which of us claims which depends on the day. The truth, of course, is rather more complicated. We almost grew up together, and high school is full of that sort of banter-fights. If you'll forgive my criticizing your wife, Kathleen sometimes still confuses that sort of thing with real arguments. You don't slap your spouse on a real boil. Partly, of course, it's that her fights with Bob used to be with both of them trying to draw blood. I'm mixing my metaphors terribly."

"I think I know what you mean. She crossed your line once, and you froze her."

"I don't remember."

"She does. Believe me, she does. Anyway, can't Cat pick up her own toys? She seems quite responsible to me."

"Sure. And I'm remembering back. Helping her means holding up the lid of the toy box while she runs around finding most of the toys. Then you ask her if those are all. Sometimes, she needs quite specific hints -- 'Have you looked under the green chair?' She picks them all up. She finds most of them by herself. Often, she picks up things and puts them in the toy box without supervision. If I can't find my purse, I look there. But she is far from thorough. Without supervision, she never gets them all. I shouldn't say never."

"You two sound so tolerant."

"More tolerant when talking with you than when talking with her. Mostly, it's a matter of deciding what you'll tolerate now, and what you won't. After all, as Katherine points out, you start with a person who screams when she wants something -- you have to figure out what she wants. She shits and pees when she feels like it. All this, you have to train her to change. Leaving her toys all over the floor and asking 'why' instead of going to bed are minor compared to that. It's just that you want to be finished."

"And you've just begun, dear. Wait until she starts dating."

"Well," Bob said, "she'll be twenty-one then. We expect her to be much more cooperative."

"Wrong on both counts, dear."

"Somebody expects Bob's daughter to be more cooperative. Not I."

"And twenty-one, dear?"

"It's not worth fighting about now. Not that I think that he's serious. I remember what age I was when he first asked me out. If he actually raises an objection when she's that age, I'll remind him."

"That will be your real problem, dear."

"What?"

"Bob was almost your first date, wasn't he?"

"Third. Second, really. The first dance I went stag. Do girls go stag?"

"Well, dear, what happens when Cat goes to her third dance with a boy? She's a freshman. She comes home and says, 'I'm in love; I'm going to marry him; whatever we do is okay.' What then? You can't tell her how many boys you were in love with before you met the one you married."

"I'll tell her that if it is love, it will grow. If he loves her, he'll wait. You don't ask hard questions do you? This was supposed to be a vacation. Then I'll send her to her aunt Kathleen who'll tell her about graduating from college before she met her true love. Can't I worry about second grade this year?"

"Well," Charles said, "your answer may not satisfy Cat. It reassured me. You think Kathleen will be talking about me as her true love in ten years time?"

"Seven years, dear, and a good fraction. It's clear that you two are in love. It's equally clear that you haven't settled on an arrangement which satisfies you both. The first, dear, is a necessity. The second you should work on, but it's a poor basis without the first."

"And, when you have it, life takes it away. What are we on, Jeanette, our fourth marriage arrangement?"

"Something like. It depends on what you count. Was every apartment move a new arrangement? My pregnancy and then The Kitten's birth were major adjustments. Your getting a teaching job was a sea-change."

"But those were imposed from without. Did you find anything unsatisfactory in your first arrangement?"

"That's a private question. But, yes. We're just not going to say what."

"One thing, not necessarily the main thing, was that we carefully divided housework at the beginning. Jeanette would do certain tasks; I would do certain tasks. As time went on, we became much more flexible. But, our marriage wouldn't have worked without the first division. If we'd left it to what each saw that needed to be done, I'd have done the laundry, and Jeanette would have done everything else."

"And, you and Kathleen are in a quite different situation than Bob and I were. At one point, our weekly splurge was one ice-cream cone shared between us. So our answers aren't anything for you to copy. Maybe our questions are."

"Dear, we didn't know."

"Mom, going tight for a temporary period is reasonable. You were behind us if we ever really needed it. And, one time, we really did. We got it. Actually, one shared ice-cream cone a week tastes delicious. Probably as much taste as buying a half gallon. And much better for my waistline."

"Well, I think I'll join my wife and her niece outside."

"Your niece, too."

"Thanks." When Charles went out, Cat rushed over to him. He swung her up as far as his arms could reach, then brought her down to a hug. "Can you tell Tante Kathleen a secret for me?" He got a vigorous nod. "Tell her that Charles loves her." When he set her down, Cat raced over to Kath. They whispered together for a second. Then Cat raced back. He bent over to hear her.

"Tante Kathleen says she loves you, too."

"That's nice to hear, Cat. Let's go over to talk with her." He reached down two fingers, and Cat gripped them. They walked to where Kathleen was standing. "She brought me some good news."

"You could have heard it from the horse's mouth ten minutes ago."

"And so I did. It's always nice to hear. Maybe my message is one I don't deliver often enough myself.

"I always like to hear it."

"I love you, Kath. Are we going to work through Jeanette's exercise?"

"Might as well, no sense having a genius for a sister-in-law if you refuse her advice."

"Something which didn't seem to fit on the list. I want to be married to you."

"And I want to be married to you, too. We just need to work out what that marriage looks like."

"Sharl! I thought you were already married to Tante Kathleen."

"I am, Cat. We were just establishing that this was what we want. Um, we were telling each other that we are happy that we are married to each other."

"Oh."

"But enough of this. Ta tante and I will deal with this at length when we're driving back together. What have you found in this wet place?" And she showed him until Kathleen decided that it was time to go back.

At the door, Jeanette met them with Cat's flip-flops. She knelt to untie Cat's tennies. A little guilty that he would be walking over his hostesses carpets with wet shoes when Cat wasn't allowed to, Charles lifted her up to make the job easier. When Cat had been sent upstairs to put her wet shoes and socks in her parents' room, Jeanette turned to Charles.

"Thanks."

"My pleasure. And, when it comes to holding Cat, it is my pleasure. All you provided was an excuse."

"Do you think she's had enough exercise?"

"To keep her from climbing the walls? Probably. The proper amount to maintain her health? Certainly not, but it is a confining day."

"Yes. We try to keep her active. And, of course, while books aren't activity, we don't have a TV at home."

"And she eats pickles instead of cookies."

"And we don't know how long we can maintain either rule."

"Well, she's not overweight for her height. I sent you the chart. Weight for age is useless. She'll go through growth spurts. If you tried to keep her from gaining too fast then, she'd starve."

"Don't worry. Growth spurts are nothing new. Drives a breast-feeding mother crazy."

"And you have that in her favor. It's less significant now than at the time, but breast-fed babies do have better odds in their favor growing up."

"Sorry. This is supposed to be your vacation. Here. I'm using you for a consultant."

"As opposed to my dragging you upstairs to use as a consultant? Anyway, I enjoy Cat's company. It's because it's Cat, of course. The other thing is that she is so damn healthy." At this, Cat demonstrated her health by clattering down the stairs. "The dilemma of my job."

"I thought you loved your job."

"I love kids. I don't like to see them sick. On the other hand, plenty are healthy today because I saw them sick. I'm not going to walk away from one who needs me. The practice has put me through the wringer about that, occasionally." Cat's presence was censoring his language. "I told them that I'd taken the Oath of Hippocrates. If they wanted to dump me because I kept that oath, I'd report them to the licensing board. Y'know, I get on my high horse about not being supported by Kath, but I don't know if I'd have taken that risk without her."

"Tell her that. One thing that they knew about their parents is that they'd support them in a crisis -- even a crisis of their own making. Bob had a chance to study some original documents in France. We jumped on a plane and sent them the bill. Kathleen may never have acted that way, but she knew she could."

"Sharl!" Cat had been patient for an awfully long time while people who should be paying attention to her talked about other things.

"Yes, my niece. Do you want another book?"

"Niece?"

"Charles est le mari de ta tante Kathleen. Ainsi il est ton oncle. Ainsi, tu es sa niece. Quand on parl Anglais, on dit 'neess.'" Then to Charles, "Sorry."

"Don't be. I didn't follow all of that, but I got the gist. Patience, Cat, patience." This because Cat, tired of being ignored, was pulling him towards the chair by his hand.

"What do you say, Cat?"

"Sharl, may I have more books, please?" This sentence. the epitome of politeness, was rather spoiled by her not stopping the tugging to say it.

"Cheer up, dear, she's learned one lesson. We mothers all say, 'Act polite!' Well, why despair just because she's clearly acting?"

"She sees a houseful of adults as so many people to entertain her. It seems so selfish."

"But Charles enjoys it. She gets what she wants, mostly, by pleasing others. Remember what I said about intelligent selfishness. She hasn't the social skills, even the patience, that you and I have. But I think she's being intelligent in her selfishness for her age."

"More than her grandmother, I mean..."

"I know whom you mean, dear."

"And it's kind of you to speak of us as having the same level of social skill. Not accurate, maybe, but kind."

"Now, dear, I remember the knottiest problem I'd faced in years. I couldn't solve it. You did. I'll never gainsay your social skills."

"She has an unfair advantage in manipulating me."

"Not in influencing your father, dear. But what do you think will happen in Illinois in November?" And the conversation drifted into political predictions, wishes, and fears.

Kate excused herself when it was time to fix supper. Jeanette started to get up to help her, but rethought the gesture. She sat back down.

"We'll go in in a minute and set," Kathleen told her. "Mom taught me to cook, but she really only wants assistance on the fancy meals. I think she burned more calories sitting at the table telling me what to do than she did doing it herself. Now, Bob was only taught two meals, so you're spared that."

"He knows more now. Actually, maybe not up to your mother's standard, but Bob is a good cook. Limited choice, but each meal is good."

"The best spice," Bob said, "is 'I don't have to cook this.' I always use it when I'm preparing a meal for her."

"Self depreciation, false modesty."

"The only kind I have."

"Actually, remember back to Charles's first visit. To us, I mean, not here. Bob cooked the main course of the first meal, and you said nice things about it. Bob could feed himself and Cat forever on his cooking. I'd get awfully tired of the selection awfully fast. Five main meals, and any frozen vegetable that you want boiled."

"Is she like him? She'd eat one thing meal after meal?"

"Well, I don't really know. But she eats one cereal for breakfast, and it has to be Cheerios or else. Breakfast at Memere's is a treat, but I don't want to risk eggs for breakfast at home. Maybe she would go with the same lunch for a month and the same dinner for a month. I wouldn't, and I wouldn't feed that to her. Anyway, I've never heard her complain that we had something the last meal. And, in cold weather, Bob fixes her the same snack four days a week on coming home."

"You can always eat cream-of-tomato soup. Cooking it in the summer might be a drag."

"Wrong subject of that sentence, mon sot mari. You could always eat cream-of-tomato soup. Normal people want variety."

"Their loss."

"Let's go set that table, Jeanette, while I remember that we're on truce."

The meal was delicious, and everybody said so.

"Actually, dears, it's nice to have people to cook for. I miss that. Russ lost his appetite after a while, but he would still enjoy the taste. He'd just not eat so much. You get used to certain pictures of people, and then they go wrong. I hope there's nothing wrong with your health, dear."

"Nothing except overweight." Bob had guessed that he was target of the last comment.

"You don't look that heavy, dear."

"He's not way overweight, but should we wait until he was?"

"Cat's growing up, so she needs another direction in which to expend her mothering. At least, I'm safe from boils."

"Really, I don't think boils have all that much to do with diet."

"Um, Char, a watched pot."

"Oh."

"Actually, Katherine, even if he weren't watching his weight..."

"Me watching? Hmpph!"

"Before anyone was watching his weight, Bob cut back from what you remember. Somehow, professors get less exercise than students. Maybe, it's that he drives more, although we try to keep up our walking. And he slings Cat around, heavy as she is. But, once upon a time, he used to lift me occasionally."

"Yes, dear. A strong man is attractive even beyond the immediately useful. I certainly thought it was part of my attraction to Russ. It was part of my image of him. The last year, he would get up from bed in stages -- feet over the edge, roll to a sitting position, get his feet under him, sit for a moment, finally rise. He wasn't a strong man then, dear, but I didn't love him less."

"I never thought of Dad as terribly strong."

"Not 'never,' dear. There was a time when you practically worshiped him and his ability to carry you and keep you safe. He was never one for flexing his muscles or engaging in athletics. But he only stopped picking you up when you made clear that you didn't want him doing so. Bob, too. And you were all the quicker because he was no longer picked up Bob."

"So, when I say 'never' it applies to times I can't remember."

"Really, dear, grammatically it does. And I was disagreeing with your use of one word, not disputing your honesty. There is only one person at this table who doesn't have fond memories of baby Kitten. And, really, 'always' and 'never' are used in relative fashion. What I can remember. And then we have history and geology to tell us that there were things happening before anyone alive can remember."

"I was talking to Bob about the relationship between Poland and Russia, and he took me back to Genghis Khan to explain the complexity."

"And, while nobody can remember that directly, there are people in both countries who are aware that it happened. What were you singing yesterday?"

"La Marseillaise," said Cat. They'd all been talking about things that she couldn't follow, except Pepere. He hadn't picked her up, how had he been able to pick up huge Tante Kathleen? But when they got to a question she could answer, she answered first.

"In class, mon chat, do you raise your hand."

"Oui, Maman. Yes. Should I raise my hand here?" It wasn't fair, nobody else raised their hands.

"No. I was just reminding you. Remember that when you get back to school." It had sounded a lot like a school answer.

"And the Marseillaise was appropriate for that day because of events that happened in 1893. Do we remember that? Not directly, but we remember that it occurred. Idiots were denigrating the French military not many years ago. They forgot that Washington scored a war-ending victory at Yorktown rather than a minor coup because of the French navy."

"Now that," said Charles, "is a story I've never heard."

"The British army was overpowered. They retreated to the seacoast, as overpowered British armies have done ever since, and waited for the navy to take them off. But the French had a fleet off that coast that had driven off the British Fleet. Without shelter from the fleet's guns and ships to take them off, the army had no choice but to surrender. Yorktown was a British defeat; Dunkirk was a victory. And the difference had nothing to do with the condition of the army."

"I'm not certain that Dunkirk was a victory, dear."

"They are certain. And as he tried to plan an invasion for the next year, Hitler must have regretted that those soldiers weren't in gulags."

Cat had been very patient, but enough was enough. She turned to her father to get her more creamed corn, and then told him about her day. The rest of the conversation splintered until they were nearly done. Then Kate had a suggestion.

"PBS is broadcasting a concert of the Dresden Philharmonic this evening dears. Would you all like to hear it?"

"Dresden Philharmonic? Do you pay for that?"

"It's public Television, dear. Somebody pays, but not I."

"That's the problem with current television, gratuitous Saxon violins."

Everybody else groaned, but Cat had heard the magic word. "Television!"

"I don't think this is a program you'd enjoy, dear. And it starts after your bedtime."

"Oh, Maman, may I watch?"

"Please don't answer that, dear. Cat, you and I are going upstairs for a little talk. After that, you'll come down and ask again. Are you ready?" Cat was so ready that she got down. "Then, dears, if you'll excuse us? My room, dear." The last to Cat who was already half-way up the stairs.

"I think," said Bob, "that my sister and I will clear." Kathleen gave him a look, but got up.

"Look, dear," Kate said upstairs in her room, "I don't think you'll enjoy this show."

"Memere? Please?"

"Having heard me say that, do you want to watch it?"

"Oh yes! Please?"

"Well, I can't say yes. But you don't want your Mother to say no."

"No."

"And, having been a mother, I'll guarantee -- I'll tell you for sure -- that she'll say no if you ask her dressed like you are now." Cat looked puzzled. "She would have to get you in your sleep clothes after the show. And that would be a struggle. Now, I can't guarantee that she'll say yes. but what we are going to do is to go through all the steps of getting you ready for bed. Then, you'll go downstairs and ask her again. And ask her nicely."

"Okay." Memere, after all, was talking about getting what Cat wanted.

"And, if she says no, then you don't raise a fuss." She was afraid of saying 'kick and scream.' That might give Cat ideas. "If you say, 'yes, Maman, you have decided,' then you'll sleep in Memere's bed tonight. If you make an ugly fuss, I can't invite you into my bed. It would be too much like rewarding the ugly fuss."

"Okay, Memere." Which didn't sound like agreement at all. But Kate had laid out the consequences. Cat had to learn that the consequences were real. She had, after all, done her share of child-raising. But she got the pleasure of Cat. It was her duty to provide a little of the guidance to Cat. And, with any luck, Jeanette would say yes. Which would teach Cat several lessons -- including that her Memere was telling her the truth when she said that she wouldn't like the broadcast. And, after all, there wasn't any age too young to be exposed to good music. They got Cat ready.

When Kathleen carried the first stack of dishes into the kitchen she turned to Bob who was carrying the second stack.

"You carry. I'll wash."

"Y'know, Kathleen, you've really lost your edge, but I don't think you're totally an idiot."

"Damned by faint praise." She didn't think Bob had decided that the two of them were to clear the table on the basis of some checklist of duties performed. After all, she and Char had done the job last time.

"But, if you mention a piano to Charles again I'll sign your commitment papers to the home for the feeble minded myself."

"But I want..."

"So, the next thing you say about a piano is 'Happy birthday!' Or Christmas or anniversary. I seem to have heard that the guy is married."

"You not only are smart, you're thinking of me."

"Truce period, remember? Anyway, you talk about how you want to spend the family money he thinks of as yours, and he'll balk. Spend your own money in your own way, he'll be thankful. And you enjoy his playing don't you?"

"Yes. A great deal." There was no reason to tell Bob the other ways she enjoyed Char's magic fingers.

"So, tell the world that you're claiming that as a gift to him but that it really increases your own pleasure 'cause you get to hear him play so much more often. Now, I'll get the next load. You start rinsing."

After they'd cleared the table and filled the dishwasher, they went back into the living room. Bob plugged the TV back in. Cat hadn't started fiddling with the set, yet. But she'd find it didn't work if she tried. They were fairly certain that Cat hadn't seen anyone plug in a TV during her visits to houses which had TVs. Kate came downstairs with a Cat who was all dressed for bed.

"Maman, may I watch the show please?"

"You didn't want her to bathe tonight, did you? She bathed last night."

"Fine." Jeanette couldn't say 'no' to Katherine without Cat hearing it as directed towards her. "Mon chat, since you're all ready for bed, you may stay up and watch the show. I don't think it's on yet, though."

"May we have the couch?" Bob didn't stop for permission. "Charles, if you'd help me move the end tables." The two of them moved the end tables far from the ends of the couch. Bob sat towards one end, and patted the cushion even closer to that end.

Cat, who might have preferred other company, sat there. Getting to watch television, like everybody else did, was more important. Soon Memere turned the television on. There was a great deal of talking. All of it was in English, and little of it made sense. And the speakers never gestured. Half the time, the picture wasn't even of the man talking. Finally, one of the people in the picture gestured dramatically. He even waved his arm. But, instead of shouting, instead of someone shouting back, you only saw him from the back, and you heard nothing but music. Indeed, you heard nothing but music for a long while.

When Cat slumped down, Bob turned her so that she was lying on her back with her feet off the end of the couch and her head on his lap. She wriggled to a position from which she could still see the screen, but then she relaxed. At the end of the first piece, he held his hand in front of her eyes until she batted it away. At the end of the second movement of the next piece, he held his hand in front of her eyes again. When he got no response, he lifted her in his arms, braced himself, and stood up.

"My bed, dear." Bob glanced at Jeanette, who nodded. When he got back, he sat at the end and tugged her towards him. She could have shaken her head no, but the restfulness of the music, his care for their child, and the approval of the company were in his favor. She lay down with her head in his lap and her feet off the end of the couch. She wondered if he would try to carry her up to bed if she were to fall asleep. In the event, she stayed awake.

When the concert was over, they all got up. Kate turned off the set, and Charles unplugged it. Bob went to check the locks.

"Katherine," Jeanette said, "you are a genius."

"Really, dear, it was something you couldn't do. I could tell her you'd say no if she weren't ready for bed when she asked. Were you to say something like I suggested, it would be permission if she got ready first. Now, if you re very lucky, she'll remember and get ready before asking you the next time she wants to stay up late. More probably, it was a one-shot event. But it was one with only positive lessons learned."

"One of which is my lesson as to how smart you really are."

"If you think that, dear, have you thought about my offers on the other things I might help on? You're in charge dear, but you have so much you have to teach her."

"Tooth brushing is fine. I should have told you earlier. You could have started tonight. I don't think that the sex-ed is for you to do. When you and Kathleen were talking about 'womb' versus 'uterus,' I kept picturing Cat's asking me in a loud, penetrating, voice, 'Maman, does that woman have a baby in her womb?'"

"Yes, dear, especially if the woman in question is definitely overweight but doesn't appear pregnant. But is the alternative, 'Does she have a baby in her stomach?' that much more attractive?"

"No. But 'A-t-elle un enfant dans sa matrice?' suddenly sounded much better." Katherine laughed. "The public schools may teach what they want. As far as the sex-ed I teach at home goes, it will all be in French."

"Very wise, dear."

"The book you mentioned, on the other hand. Maybe I could borrow it."

"Dear, it's yours. If Kathleen changes her mind, she can get her own. Do you want the book on breast-feeding, too?"

"No, thank you. We have our own pictures -- starring Cat."

The end
Formez vos Bataillons
Uther Pendragon
nogardnePrethU@gmail.com
2010/07/14
Thanks to Denny for suggestions on this story.
This story is indexed on the subdirectory: 
 The Brennan Chronicles  
The first story about Bob and Jeanette:
 "Forever"
The first story to include Bob's sister Kathleen and mother Kate:
 "For Now" 
The first story after Cat is born:
 "Fortissimo" 
The first story in which Charles appears:
 "For Elise" 
The directory to all my stories can be found 
at:
 Index to Uther Pendragon's Website