Free Souvenir of Cold Springs by Kitty Burns Florey

her mother’s arm. They had exactly the same nose and mouth, Heather noticed. Tiny and prim. Lucy was actually prettier—though if Margaret would do something with her hair it would help a lot. “Maybe you should go rinse your mouth out with water,” Margaret said. “At least you’ll get the taste out.”
    Lucy stood up. Mark said, “Lucy, forget it, for Christ’s sake. There’s no need to make a scene.”
    Heather agreed: it occurred to her that Lucy had caused nearly as much trouble at these dinners as her own mother had. The year she had the miscarriage and went into hysterics. The time she made a long, sermony public declaration of her vegetarianism that had given Heather and Peter a fit of the giggles. The time she insisted on organizing a sledding party no one wanted because she thought they all sat around too much. The way she always intervened when the kids fought, taking Margaret’s side, making everything worse. Not to mention plenty of nasty exchanges with Mark. Why they stayed married to each other was anybody’s guess.
    â€œI’m not making a scene, Mark,” Lucy said. “This is none of your business, anyway.”
    â€œIt is if you keep yakking about it.”
    She left the room and they heard water running in the kitchen.
    â€œI quite agree,” Sandra said. She smiled at Mark. She thinks he’s attractive, Heather thought. Good God. “A lot of fuss over nothing, if you’ll pardon my opinion,” Sandra went on. “Not that I don’t think she has a point, in a way.”
    â€œI have to respect a strong belief,” Aunt Nell said. “I can see where she’d be upset.”
    â€œRight on,” Teddy said. “I don’t blame her a bit.”
    â€œReally?” Mark reached for the champagne bottle and poured some into Sandra’s glass, then his own. “And what strong beliefs do you have, Ted?”
    â€œI didn’t say I had any. I just respect them.”
    â€œI thought you might have one or two.”
    â€œNope. Want to pass that bottle over here, sonny? Anybody want more besides me?”
    â€œThere you go, Ted,” Mark said, tapping the bottle with his finger before he handed it over.
    â€œThere I go what?”
    â€œThere’s your strong belief. You believe in booze.”
    Nell said, “Mark.”
    Teddy looked at the champagne bottle, surprised. “Do I? No, I don’t think so. Booze isn’t a belief. It’s more like a way of life. A whatchamacallit—coping strategy. Helps me cope with my in-laws, for instance.” He poured more champagne into Sandra’s glass and it fizzed and slopped over. “I don’t mean you, of course, fair one.”
    â€œI wish you two would just cut it out,” Aunt Nell said.
    â€œPepsi,” Mr. Fahey said. “People should drink more Pepsi.”
    This time no one laughed. Thea said, “There’s still a lot of turnips here. Can’t I give anyone a second helping?”
    Heather looked around the table, trying to sum each of them up in an adjective. Margaret: arrogant. Mr. Fahey: pathetic. Dad: drunk. Sandra: bloody. Mark: fascist.
    Lucy returned, still looking flustered. Margaret asked, “Better, Mom?”
    Lucy shrugged. She sat down and said brightly, “More peas, anyone? Lentil loaf? More potatoes?”
    Heather asked, “What’s the big deal, anyway, Aunt Lucy? I mean the whole meat thing. Turkeys, especially. These big ugly birds that don’t seem to have much of a brain.”
    â€œDo you know how they raise those poor birds, Heather? In cages the size of a bread box.” She held up her hands a foot apart. “They feed them hormones so they’ll produce more white meat. They cut their beaks off so they can’t peck each other.”
    â€œMakes sense,” Mark said.
    â€œI always buy free-range birds,” Nell said. She patted her mouth with her