Free The Good Life by Susan Kietzman Page A

lifting a 180-pound bag of sand instead of a man with moving parts.
    “Where are we going?” asked Sam when his feet were planted on the Mexican tile floor.
    “Into our dining room for dinner,” said Mike, steering him toward the doorway. Sam scuffed along slowly like a windup toy, shifting his bulk from one side to the other and lifting his feet only enough to move them forward. Out of habit, Mike looked at his watch, which he immediately regretted.
    “Will we be late for our appointment?” asked Sam.
    “We’re doing fine,” said Mike, ushering him through the doorway and toward the side chair next to Lauren.
    “He does better in a chair with arms,” said Eileen.
    “Mike sits at the head of the table,” said Ann.
    “That’s all right,” said Mike. “Sam is our guest. I’m happy to give him my seat.” As soon as Sam was planted in Mike’s chair, Mike sat down next to him and across the table from Eileen. Mike suggested a blessing and they all bowed their heads, except Sam, who said he’d love some dressing. Mike said a quick grace, then put his napkin in his lap. On cue, Emma entered the room, her orthotic shoes silent on the carpet. Carrying a bottle of chardonnay, she poured half a glass for everyone. Ann’s she filled; Lauren’s she excluded.
    “When can I have some wine?” Lauren asked.
    “When you stop whining about it,” said Mike.
    “Very funny, Dad.”
    Emma brought in her spinach salad with hot bacon dressing on individual plates, as Ann requested. Ann preferred being served to scooping the contents of a family-style bowl onto her dinner plate. As soon as they all had salads in front of them, Ann lifted her fork. “Let the feast begin,” she said gaily.
    “Oh,” said Eileen, pushing her chair back from the table. “I almost forgot your bib, Sam.” She reached into the pocket of his gray cardigan sweater and took out and unfolded a white cloth and plastic bib big enough to fit a baby elephant. She placed it on his chest, and then wrapped the ends around his neck and snapped them together. As soon as it was in place, a glob of Emma’s dressing dripped out of the corner of Sam’s mouth and landed on his unprotected lap. Lauren involuntarily shuddered. “Obviously, it’s not a foolproof system,” said Eileen, apologetically.
    “That’s okay,” said Mike, moving his eyes from Sam to Eileen. She chatted about the drive as the rest of them ate their salads. Lauren, who had lost her appetite when her grandfather had spit-tled out his salad dressing, drank water slowly from her glass as she stole glances at him. He was barely able to manage his fork, once stabbing his lip with the tines and making it bleed. Eileen reached over and wiped away the tiny dots of blood with one hand while she ate her salad with the other.
    “This is delicious,” she said. “I can tell Sam is enjoying it, as well.” No one looked at Sam, perhaps all fearing that, by now, his bib would be covered with masticated Bermuda onion and avocado. Lauren, who couldn’t get the image of giant cartoon character Baby Huey out of her head, unsuccessfully stifled a giggle. Ann reached under the table and squeezed her knee. Mike simply shot her a stern look. As soon as they were done with the salad, Emma cleared the plates. Ann excused herself from the table when she saw Nate steal past the doorway. She caught up with him at the bottom of the stairs.
    “And where do you think you’re going?”
    “To my room,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”
    “I don’t care whether you’re hungry or not,” whispered Ann urgently. “You will wash your hands and come into the dining room. There, you will be as civil as a diplomat to your grandparents and then you will join us for dinner.”
    “I’d love to,” said Nate, sarcastically, “but I’ve got a ton of homework.”
    Ann put her hands on her hips and grinned falsely at him. “That is the most ludicrous thing that’s ever come out of your mouth,” she said.