Free The Body in the Snowdrift by Katherine Hall Page Page A

chair in an attempt to be part of the older kids’ conversation that it threatened to tip over.
    Joan, or Joanie, didn’t suit the girl. This was no poodle-skirted teen from a fifties-type sitcom. But Ophelia—an unsettling substitute, surely? Hamlet’sdoomed lady? It was not the sort of literary character Faith would want a daughter of hers to choose to emulate, if that was what this was. Naomi herself hadn’t exactly lucked out in the name department—biblical, not Shakespearean. Faith had a vague recollection that the biblical Naomi was somebody’s friend. Ruth’s maybe? Anyway, adopting the name of someone who kills herself is generally a flag for the parent of an adolescent, and Faith hoped the younger Staffords were taking it seriously. Where was Ophelia’s father? Not behind an arras at the moment. The walls in the private dining room were paneled with knotty pine. Was Naomi a widow or a divorcée when Fred married her? she wondered.
    Plates were cleared. The noise level had increased. The room was becoming almost unpleasantly warm. Amy the dormouse was heavy-eyed amid the commotion and the heat.
    â€œCome out on the balcony with me and let’s get some fresh air, sweetie,” Faith said, pushing out her chair. Amy followed her, and they went across the room and slid open the door leading to the balcony. It was a clear night.
    â€œLook at the stars, Mommy. They’re all bending down near us.”
    They were. Revived by the cool air, Faith kept one eye on the party so they wouldn’t miss the cake’s arrival. It was like watching a play, the door frame the proscenium arch. Craig tapped his glass and stood up to make a toast. He’d had a lot of wine and his words were slightly slurred, but not his emotion.
    â€œRaise your glasses to the memory of one of the best, Boyd Harrison. Hey, guy”—he held his flute aloft—“I don’t know what we’re going to do without you.” He sat down heavily, and Faith was surprised to see him pull out a handkerchief and dab his eyes. She hadn’t known they were that close—or maybe it was the champagne. The cake was coming, and she scooped Amy up and rushed back to the table. After they sang to him, Dick gathered his grandchildren and Ophelia around him.
    â€œYou’re going to have to help this old geezer blow all these candles out. Did you ever see such a cake!” he glanced appreciatively at Faith. “Okay now, one, two—”
    â€œWait, Grandpa.” Amy tugged at his sleeve. “You have to make a wish!”
    â€œDarling girl, my wish has already come true. You four can have my wish for me. Now blow!”
    They did a thorough job, and after Dick made a ceremonial cut, the cake was taken back to the kitchen to be sliced and served with “plenty of ice cream,” as per instructions.
    To fill the time, Betsey stood up to make a toast. Her hair, normally pulled back in a tight knot, was loose. The sparkling wine had given a sparkle to her eyes, and her cheeks were rosy from the day’s skiing. She looked very pretty, and much younger than her carefully guarded over forty age.
    â€œTo you, Daddy, the best father a girl could ever want, and also a big thank-you to the Staffords for all our years of friendship and the chance to be at this veryspecial place. Here’s to you, Harold, Mary, Fred, Naomi, and Ophelia!”
    Even over the clapping and Craig’s “Way to go, Bets,” it was impossible to miss Ophelia’s voice—or the slamming of the door that punctuated it.
    â€œI’m not a fuckin’ Stafford and never will be!”

Four
    â€œSimon says this; Simon says that. Get lost—oops, you can’t, because Simon didn’t say so!”
    Faith could hear the angry words, but without revealing her presence, she couldn’t see the speaker. She was stretched out on a chaise by the side of the pool, watching Amy swim.