Free A Reckoning by May Sarton Page B

where they were attacked by the two golden retrievers. Laura, to escape their attentions, sat down quickly. “I got a real goose-down jacket—and snow-shoes—and look, Grammie, a parakeet! His name is Aucassin.” The parakeet was in a cage on a small table. “Daddy’s going to make me a hanger in my room, right at the window.”
    “May I interrupt?” Brooks said, coming in from the kitchen. “What will you have to drink, Mother? How about a glass of champagne? I have some good and cold.”
    “Darling, that would be lovely.”
    “Someone gave it to us for Christmas,” Ann explained.
    “How does it feel to be ten, Laurie?”
    Laurie had sat down on the floor with the two dogs. She was looking into the fire and stroking one big dog-head with her right hand.
    “It’s all right,” she said. “I guess.”
    “You don’t sound overenthusiastic.”
    “I’m still not allowed to do anything I really want to do.”
    “Where’s Charley?” Laura asked.
    “I sent him up to put on a clean shirt,” Ann said.
    “He got very dirty painting my birthday present. See!” Laurie pointed to the mantel, where a large red and blue whale—was it a whale?—on a large piece of paper had been tacked up.
    “It’s the story of Jonah only you can’t tell very well because Jonah is inside the whale.”
    “He seems to have decided on a present rather late in the day.” Laura smiled.
    “He didn’t want to give me anything. He only did it because I told him I wouldn’t give him anything for his birthday unless he did.”
    There was a loud pop from the kitchen, and Laurie sprang to her feet. “What’s that? A gun?”
    “Just your father,” Brooks’s voice called from the kitchen, “opening a bottle of champagne. Come and watch it fizz.”
    “I’m going to sit down for five minutes even if dinner is late,” Ann announced, and dropped down beside Laura on the tattered sofa. “Charley’s been a handful. He really doesn’t feel well. He’s had an awful cold.”
    And there was Charley, flushed and bright-eyed under his shock of fair hair, floundering about with one arm in the air, his shirt half on and half off. “Help me, Mummy. I’m all mixed up in this shirt.”
    “There, darling.” Ann thrust the lost arm into the sleeve where it belonged and buttoned up the shirt. “Now say good evening to Grammie.”
    Brooks came in with a tray of glasses. “Here you are, Mother.”
    “May I have one? It’s my birthday,” Laurie begged.
    “Of course, this one is just for you.” And Brooks bowed gravely to his daughter as he handed her a half-filled glass. They really did look amazingly alike, each with the very dark eyes and straight black eye brows they had inherited from Charles. It occurred to Laura, and she was entertained by the idea, that Laurie in her tight jeans and turtle neck might as well have been a boy, whereas fair little Charley sitting on the floor with his teddy bear might have been a girl. Of course, as the eldest, Laurie had always done things with her father: skied with him since she was eight, always insisted on shoveling snow when Brooks shoveled.
    “Where’s mine?” Charley demanded, frowning.
    “As soon as I’ve given your mother hers I’ll get yours—we must have a toast!”
    “There,” said Brooks, handing his son a juice glass with, Laura presumed, ginger ale in it. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, I want to propose a toast to Laurie. May it be a very good year in every way, lots of snow to ski on, 100 on her math papers every time, no quarrels with her brother, and—what else?” he looked down smiling at Laurie, who was drinking in every word.
    “That’s impossible. The last is impossible,” she said. “You could say, an improved brother, I suppose. I’m awfully tired of Charley,” she told Laura.
    “I’m tired of you,” said Charley, not to be outdone.
    “Quiet, children. Grammie has a present for Laurie. Let’s call a truce and open it.”
    Laurie sat down on the