Free Body Language by Michael Craft

“Historic preservation is a laudable goal, but in my book, it ends at the kitchen door.” We all laughed our agreement.
    I glanced about, looking for Parker, whom I intended to introduce to Suzanne, but he was no longer in the room. Then I thought of something else.
    “I just remembered,” I told Suzanne. “When I bought the house back from the Tawkins, they mentioned having found some things in storage here that may be of sentimental interest to the family—some old toys, the three Quatrain children’s baby books, that sort of thing. I’m barely settled yet, and I haven’t run across any of it, but when I do, I’ll send it all over to you.”
    “Thank you, Mark. That would be most kind,” said Suzanne while helping herself to a glass of wine that Carl had just decanted for dinner. I poured a glass for myself, as did Carl and Neil. Joey joined Thad, having some milk. Hazel and Roxanne drank nothing.
    Hazel said, “When things calm down some next week, I’ll do a thorough cleaning and keep an eye out for the toys and such.” Wistfully, she added, “If you don’t mind, Suzie, I’d love to take a look through those baby books.”
    “Of course, Hazel,” Suzanne answered, then noticed that Thad was looking at her with dumb curiosity. She said to him, “You know what a baby book is, don’t you, Thad? It’s sort of a scrapbook that parents fill with hospital footprints, locks of hair, first words, report cards. I still keep yours up to date, honey.”
    Predictably, Suzanne’s doting only annoyed the kid, who grunted while grinding more pie with his fork.
    Joey finished his milk. “Come on,” he urged us. “Let’s go upstairs.”
    We all looked at each other and shrugged—there was no point in putting off the tour any longer. Joey was already in the doorway and ready to go exploring. Hazel said, “That’s a fine idea, Joey. If you’ll all be on your way, I can get some work done.” She turned her back to us and began mashing potatoes. The rest of us filed out of the kitchen like chastened schoolchildren, following Joey into the hall.
    Suzanne leaned to tell me quietly, “Hazel is a treasure, really. You’ll grow to love her, just as we all do.”
    Unconvinced, I summoned an I-hope-so smile.
    Our little crowd made its way through the hallway past the dining room, living room, and den. In the entry hall, we gawked at the tree for a moment, then started up the stairs. As I did this, I noticed the back hall doorway open. Parker stepped indoors with two bags of groceries, apparently last-minute supplies for Hazel.
    “Parker!” I called. “Come meet the Quatrains.”
    As I herded the group back down to the Christmas tree, Parker hesitated at the back door, hefting the bags as if to say that he was needed in the kitchen. “Come on, Parker”—I laughed—“this’ll only take a moment.” And I led Suzanne a few steps down the hall to meet him.
    Parker looked about for somewhere to put the groceries, placing them on the floor near the kitchen doorway; then he stepped toward us, still bundled up for the cold weather, complete with muffler and knit cap. His beard was frosty, his sunglasses fogged.
    As he removed his cap and shook his wavy hair, I told Suzanne, “This is Parker Trent, whom I’ve hired as my new managing editor at the Register .” As he unwound the scarf from his neck, I told him, “And this is my cousin, Suzanne Quatrain, chairman of Quatro Press.”
    She extended her hand. “A pleasure, Mr. Trent. Welcome to Dumont.”
    He shook her hand and removed his sunglasses, telling her, “It’s an honor, Miss Quatrain. After Mark offered me the job here, I did a little research on Quatro. I discovered that Dumont’s largest industry has enjoyed a boom period under your recent leadership.” He smiled. “Congratulations.”
    “Thank you,” she said, sounding a little flustered—I wasn’t sure if she was responding to Parker’s flattering words or his physical charm. “But,