"Good grief! Dreadlocks? Maybe he just needs to meet a nice girl."

"Danette? What in the world would a nice girl want with a boy who looks like Bob Marley?"

"I don't know? A walk on the wild side?"

"Hmmm. I don't like to think about things like that. So what else is new?"

"Well, things are fabulous with Nader."

"He's great, right?"

"Yeah, he's really great. He's smart like anything and he's a gentleman. He's wonderful company, and he tells me I'm pretty."

"What else could you ask for? I can't wait to meet him."

"You'll like him."

"If you like him, I will too. Now, would you like to split another slice of this devilishly good mortal sin?"

"Oh, no. I've got to go home. He's coming at six for dance class tonight. We're learning to tango."

"Tango? Has Molly met him?"

"She loves him! She invited him to the wedding herself!"

"Wonderful! I knew it! That's why you're taking tango lessons?"

"Why not? And cha-cha!" She stood up and picked up her purse. "Tell the kids I'll see them tomorrow."

"You're too good!"

"Thanks, Les. So are you."

I watched her car back out of the driveway. She tooted her horn twice and waved and then she was gone. I turned around and walked back inside my house. Every room was like a museum, every object some reminder of the past. When I returned to Charleston, was there anything I wanted to take with me? Maybe some pictures of the kids, taken when they were young, and the few pieces of my mother's silver I had inherited. Maybe clothes. And my car. Other than that? Wes could have it all. It was just stuff. The only antiques we had of any value were his desk and the rug on his office floor. That figures, I said to myself.

Martha appeared and said, "Finished, Seora."

I gave her all the cash in my purse and a hug. "Seor Carter no es tu responsibility, Martha. Muchas gracias."

"S, pero, sick? Diferente. If Seora Carter come back, I come back. No come back? I no come back."

"S, s. Comprendo. Gracias."

Martha left and I thought I didn't blame her for one second. This house had been a pigsty, and now it smelled like lemon wax. Even Bertie's clothes didn't even smell too bad at all.

Soon everyone was home and ready to eat. I set the table and poured milk for Holly and tea for us.

"How's your father?" I said as we sat down.

"Sleeping like a baby," Charlotte said.

"Did you wash your hands?" I said to Bertie, without really meaning to insult him.

He looked to the ceiling for guidance and patience.

"I washed mine," Holly said. "Gammy says you have to wash your hands to come to the table."

"They're clean enough," Bertie said.

I didn't say one word.

"I'm gonna take a quick trip over there after supper just to check on him," I said.

"No point in that," Charlotte said. "They've got him so drugged he won't even know you were there."

"Exactly," Bertie said. "Can I have some more gravy?"

"Help yourself," I said. Bertie gave me a funny look. Did he think I was going to hop like a bunny to serve him? "That's precisely why I'm going. Just for your future reference? You should never leave someone alone in the hospital when they've just had surgery. Anything can happen. Especially if they're still unconscious." I made a mental note to never put my children in charge of my health care.

"Gee, I never thought of that," Charlotte said.

I just looked at her and hoped she could read my telepathic message, which was, There are so many things you've never given thought to.

"Dinner is really good, Mom," Bertie said.

"Danette brought this chicken for us and everything else too, including a delicious chocolate cake."

"Wow," Charlotte said, "that was supernice. How's the wedding coming?"

"We need to send a gift, you know. And I want to give a brunch for her the day of the wedding." I was going to say, and I hope you'll help me arrange it, but I didn't want to lay another expectation on her that wouldn't be met.

"When's the wedding? Maybe I'll stick around," Bertie said. "Hard to believe Molly Stovall is getting married. I still remember her as a kid; you know, freckles and pigtails?"

"Well, for heaven's sake, she's nearly thirty. She's not too young," I said.

"She's not a kid anymore. That's for sure," Charlotte said.

"Listen, she's marrying a very talented doctor, and they're going to have a beautiful life."

"Depends on what you think is beautiful, Mom," Bertie said.

"Lately, Mom's all about money, little brother."

"Money is the root of all evil," Bertie said.

"Solvency is a good thing, son. Don't let your sister ever convince you otherwise," I said.

"Can I have cake, please?" Holly said. "I cleaned my plate!"

"Of course you may," I said. I took her plate to the sink to rinse it. "You're a very good girl!" I cut a piece of cake for her and put it on a small plate.

"And I'm not a good boy, Mom? Is that what you're saying?"

"Oooh! Somebody's sensitive," Charlotte said.

"Look, we can have this discussion now or later. You choose. But at some point before I go back to Charleston, we're going to talk about what you're doing with your life, son."

"I think this is my cue to put Holly in the bathtub," Charlotte said.

"Yes, and then you can avoid the dishes," I said.

"Mom! Why would you say something like that?" Charlotte said.

"When's the last time you ever washed a dish when I was in this house? Or run a load of laundry?"

"I'll be back," Charlotte said and got up. "Come on, Holly."

Holly licked her fingers and wiped her mouth on her napkin.

"What do you say to Gammy, Holly?"

"Thanks for the cake?" she said.

"Go get your bath like a good girl," I said.

"In Tibet they only bathe once a year," Bertie said. "The air's so thin you can't smell anything like body odor."

"That's what you think," I said. He was stoking the coals of my furnace.

There was a long pause, and then he said, "You've had it with us, haven't you?"

"Yes, in a way, and in a way, no. You're in the middle of an MBA program, which we're paying for, and you drop out and head out to the other side of the world without a penny to your name. Then you call your father for money at least once a month because you can't earn your own way? You come home filthy dirty from head to toe and smelling like hell. Am I supposed to be thrilled to see you like this?"

"Wow."

"Wow, you say? Molly Stovall is marrying a brilliant doctor. My daughter? Only wants to go out with her friends to bars and drink wine. Can't sell one house. Can't support her child. Neither one of you seem to be able to pick up after yourselves. I own the bragging rights on my two kids, and do they care about pleasing their parents? I don't think so."

"Chill, Mom! You shouldn't take this stuff so personally."

Now I was pissed.

"Chill? You tell your mother to chill? You've got some nerve, young man! I want you to remember this conversation when I'm dead and gone. Where is your pride? Why don't you want to stand on your own two feet? God forgive me, but you are as lazy as the day is long."

"Sorry."

"And I shouldn't take your failure to join the human race as an adult personally? Let me tell you something, Wesley Albert Carter V, go look in the mirror and take a good whiff! You smell like a pack of goats!"

"For real?"

"Yes, you really do. You look like a goatherder or a homeless person. Every other child on this whole blooming earth in every single culture wants to make their parents proud except mine. Shame on you both!"

"Wow," he said. "This is heavy."

"Mom? What's going on? Holly wants to say good night."

Charlotte was standing in the doorway. I didn't know how much she had heard, and I didn't much care.

"Fine," I said and passed her on the way to Charlotte's old bedroom. I said to Bertie, "Talk to your sister." I couldn't remember the last time I'd raised my voice to them. I probably scared them half to death. So what?

"She's totally pissed," I heard Bertie say.

It took a little effort to calm myself, but by the time I reached Holly's room, my breathing was normal again.

I pushed open the door that was left ajar and there was my little Holly in her summer nightgown with the unicorn on the front. She was playing possum, and for a fleeting moment I remembered Charlotte when she'd been this young and innocent.

"Hey, sweetie!" I said, using that bedtime voice that's louder than a whisper, the one reserved for putting children to bed. "I'm just coming to tell you I love you and to have sweet dreams!"

I sat down beside her and she rolled over and opened her enormous blue eyes.

"Gammy?"

"What baby?"

"Know what I want to be when I grow up?"

"A ballerina?"

"Nope. I want to be a Gammy like you who takes care of everybody."

"Oh, sweetheart!" I leaned down and kissed her forehead. "You go to sleep now, okay?"

"You smell so good, like flowers. Not like Mommy. She smells like the stuff she puts on my boo-boos."

Alcohol. I had now reached the absolute limit of what I would tolerate silently.

"Good night, sweetie, don't let the bedbugs bite!"

"Bugs?" She yawned widely, her little head probably already filled with lovely little girl dreams that waited.

"Just an old saying," I said and pulled the sheet over her shoulders.

I returned to the kitchen, and with every step I took I knew my sharp-tongued daughter was waiting with some sassy retort. I was wrong. I found her there in tears, Bertie holding her hands, consoling her. The dirty dishes were still on the table. They were sharing a bottle of wine.

"Why are you so mean?" she said.

"I am not mean. Almost thirty years I gave this family and this is what I get in return? I walked in here to a filthy house and a veritable mountain of dirty laundry? All of it was just waiting for me because my children are too lazy to lift a finger? It's a disgrace!"

"Is that all you have to say?"