"Bring them an order of blueberry," Linette said.

"How are her parents doing?" Reenie asked Kris.

"Not too good."

"Was it the saddest, most heart-wrenching funeral in the entire world?" Linette asked.

Kris said, "It was extremely sad."

"The saddest," I said.

"Were you there?"

I found myself, out of loyalty to genteel Robin, who would never have interrogated anyone about anything, describing the bereaved recessional of Nelson as pallbearer.

Linette splashed water into a gla.s.s and handed it to me. "I'm asking now," she confided, "because I wouldn't bring any of this up in front of Nelson."

"You never recover from something like this," Marilyn declared.

Her husband said, "How do you know? People recover from plenty."

Kris said, "I think work helps, and time."

"And friends," I added.

"How old is your brother?" asked Harry.

"He'll be twenty-seven in May," said Kris.

"Young," said Harry. "By thirty he'll be married with a couple of kids."

"Is that your father?" I asked Linette.

"Who?"

I pointed to a freckled bald man, wearing a white HALSEEYON golf shirt and brown trousers. She shook her head at whatever he was telegraphing.

"Father and general manager," said Harry.

"I try to ignore him," said Linette.

"We met your grandmother last night," said Kris.

"She upgraded us," I said.

Kris laughed.

Linette said, "She screws everything up doing that."

"She couldn't have been nicer," I said.

"She's supposed to be retired, but she doesn't know what that means."

"What about you?" I asked. "Will you be staying on after you get married?"

"Oh," said Linette. She looked down at her hand, but didn't raise it from her lap.

"Is that an engagement ring?" asked Kris.

Reenie and Marilyn repeated his question in a kind of coo, as if to say only a male of the innocent Vermont variety could fail to grasp the meaning of such a rock.

"Of course it's an engagement ring," said Linette. "Think I'd wear this as jewelry?"

"Was it a surprise?" I asked.

She said, without a hint of nostalgia or sentiment, "Yeah," followed by, "I wonder if Victor got the order in before the grill closed."

"It's taking an awfully long time," said Marilyn.

"They could at least have brought her the bagel," said Reenie.

Neither Linette, Kris, nor I seconded her observation. We sipped our coffees and tea without comment, as if to say, We've included you in this conversation thus far out of courtesy, but we've had enough.

Someone among them got the message. They gathered up their pocketbooks and newspapers and unlit cigars and said good-bye, unoffended. Their easy goodwill made me instantly contrite. I said, "We're staying another night, so we'll see you later?"

"We're looking forward to it," said Marilyn. She stopped to touch Linette's shoulder, confided to her that I was a French chef like Julia Child, then said, "Mazel tov, whoever he is."

As soon as they were five steps away-all wearing bell-bottoms of various lengths-Kris asked, "Who's the lucky guy?"

"No one you know," said Linette.

"When's the wedding?" Kris asked.

"Undecided," she said.

"How long has it been official?" asked Kris.

Linette unpinned and repinned her polka-dotted barrette into the same clump of unruly hair. "We got engaged Thanksgiving before last."

Kris asked for a name.

"Joel... Taub. He's a graduate student."

"What's he studying?"

Linette called, "Vinny! Go get Victor. These people have waited ten minutes for their eggs." She turned back to us and said, "Sorry."

Kris said, No problem; we were still full from dinner.

I repeated his question: The field of her intended?

Linette said, "He's at Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati."

"Rabbi," I translated.

"No kidding," said Kris.

I asked, "How does one take up with a rabbi?"

She smiled. "He wasn't a rabbi when we met."

"What was he?" I asked.

"A cabana boy."

"Isn't that interesting," said Kris. "Cabana boy. Did you hire him?"

Linette turned to me. "Is he asking because that's what his mother does? Takes up with her employees?"

I laughed.

Kris said, "First of all, we barely have any employees. Second of all, my mother would never dream of taking up with anyone." He waited a beat and added wryly, "Even my father."

"Really?" I asked.

"Who the h.e.l.l knows," he said.

"Have you met his mother?" I asked Linette.

"I've had the pleasure," she said.

"His father's a sweetie," I said.

"The boys take after their father," Linette threw out with some authority.

Kris rolled his eyes, changed the subject. "Where does your boyfriend do his ... rabbiing?"

"He's graduating this June and he's spending next year at Berkeley as an a.s.sistant chaplain."

"Berkeley's supposed to be great," said Kris.

Linette shrugged, as if she'd heard its praises sung too many times from too many champions of Berkeley.

"How often do you get to see him?" I asked.

"That's a problem. He's in school all week, and I can't travel on Sat.u.r.days."

I said I never thought of that-the problems of a long-distance romance with an Orthodox Jew.

Linette said, "He's not Orthodox; we are-" which was the moment Victor arrived, perspiring and apologizing, balancing an embarra.s.sing number of plates up and down his arms.

Linette's father called her name. She rose, touched Kris's arm, and said, "Nelson'll be fine. Nothing happens here from sundown Friday till sundown Sat.u.r.day, so we'll ease him in."

I asked if she'd give me a tour of the kitchen later.

"I wanted her to be our chef, but she hates my mother," Kris said cheerfully.

I thought I caught something in Linette's reaction, a slight lift of her hairline, as if it were a subject that deserved further exploration. "If I'm not at my desk, dial '0,' " she advised. "I always have a walkie-talkie with me.... Natalie, we'll talk some more. Definitely count on a kitchen tour. Kris, call me when your brother arrives." She took the small stainless-steel pitcher of maple syrup out of his hand. "Please get Mr. Berry some of ours," she said to Victor.

She walked back to the Feldman table, recognizable by its telephone centerpiece, and sat down next to her father. I saw him ask a question; witnessed the telling of a pleasant lie that made him beam at us.

Kris, pulling his jelly omelette platter into position, said, "I'm figuring Nelson will get here around six-thirty."

I asked him if he had known Linette during her college days.

"I met her a couple of times," he said. "Once on a toboggan in Ithaca at some winter-carnival thing. And once at our place."

"Lake Devine?"

"A bunch of his friends came for a weekend. The hotel crowd."

"When did he switch majors?"

"He didn't. He took an extra year for a master's and a deferment."

I tasted my eggs; noted that the onions hadn't been sauteed in advance. "Were they ever boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"I doubt it."

"Just buddies?"

"Sure," said Kris. "Why?"

"No reason," I said.

"I'm catching on to the fact that she couldn't have dated him even if she wanted to," Kris said, between bites of a blintz.

"Because of the religion thing?"

"That's right," said Kris. He smiled, his teeth bluish. "Your favorite subject."

"Was she invited to Nelson's wedding?"

"Doubt it," said Kris.

"It sounds like they lost touch after college."

"That happens," he said. "Especially when you become engaged to other people." At that moment, I caught Mr. Feldman studying us. I smiled and he waved back happily.