Free The Four Seasons by Mary Alice Monroe

see Dennis leaning back in his chair looking at her intently. The disapproval she had seen in his eyes was replaced by open gratitude for her rescue. She smiled briefly, acknowledging.
    The back door swung open and Birdie swept in with a gust of cool air. Her arms were overflowing with plastic bags and she was fired up with a sense of accomplishment.
    â€œWhat a morning I’ve had!” she announced, her voice as blustery as the wind. “The sun is shining and melting the snow. Nobody will have a problem making it to the funeral. Come see. I’ve bought all sorts of paper products: plates, napkins and cups. And tons of plastic tableware.”
    â€œPaper products?” Rose went directly to the bags and began sifting through them.
    â€œTake a look at the pattern, Rose. The gray is somber but not too dark, don’t you think?” She wasn’t asking as much as thinking out loud. She came up for air, looking around the room.
    Everyone sitting at the kitchen table stared back at her in silence. One face caught her attention.
    â€œJilly!” she exclaimed, catching sight of her sister at last. “You’re up!”
    Birdie’s face registered delight, surprise, then maybe a hint of disapproval at seeing her so scantily clad and barefoot. Her gaze darted to Dennis, but she regrouped quickly, set down her bundles and hurried to Jilly’s side. They hugged a bit awkwardly, what with Jilly still seated and Birdie bending low. The wind had chilled Birdie’s cheeks and the ice on her woolen coat soaked straight through Jilly’s silk. Yet it was the chill in her greeting that Jilly wondered about.
    â€œYou were three sheets to the wind last night,” Birdie said in a scolding manner. While she spoke, her eyes studied Jilly with a clinical thoroughness. “And you’re pale as a ghost this morning.”
    Jilly immediately brought her hand to her face, smoothing it. “It was a horrible flight, followed by a horrible drive from the airport.” She was gratified to see a flash of guilt in Birdie’s eyes for not having picked her up as promised. “Then, of course, there was the jet lag. But Rose took care of me, as always the perfect hostess. I’ve had coffee and fruit and feel much more myself.”
    She wanted to ask Birdie what her excuse was for looking so bad. She hoped her face didn’t reflect shock at seeing how much her sister had aged since she last saw her. She looked ten years older than her forty-one years, more bulky and pasty. The vivid red highlights in her brown hair had faded and competed now with a new crop of gray. And to make matters worse, the hair was cut in an unflattering, mannish style. Birdie had always been bigger than the other Season girls but she’d been lithe and strong and had carried herself like a queen. Now she was so changed. Was it age or food or just no longer caring that led her to let herself go? Shewatched as Birdie unwound a brightly patterned fleece scarf and slipped out of her navy pea coat, tossing it over the back of a chair. Crossing the room to Rose, she unconsciously stretched her Fair Isle sweater over her wide rump.
    Rose looked up from the bags, her face crumpled with worry. “But, Birdie, we don’t need all this.”
    â€œOf course we do,” Birdie replied decisively, coming to her side. She reached in the bag and began unloading the contents.
    Dennis sighed deeply and lifted the paper high to block his view.
    â€œReally, Rose,” Birdie continued, oblivious. “We’ll go along with the luncheon at home. We have no choice. But this notion of yours to use china and crystal is far too romantic. This is a funeral and we don’t need to be theatrical. It’s too much work to set up, then wash up after all those people. If you’re worried about the expense of paper, don’t be. I’m happy to cover it.”
    Rose’s back was ramrod straight and she had laid her