Chapter 1

Bob Brennan picked up Cat and her friend, Conchita, at school. Conchita came to the apartment with them for soup. It was the sort of blustery March day on which a bowl of cream-of-tomato soup tasted good. Bob ignored the mailbox until they’d taken Conchita home. When Cat and Bob came into the building again, he checked the box. It was empty.

“Maman must be home,” he said.

“Goody,” said Cat, running up the stairs. She was happy enough in Bob’s company, but she never made a secret of which parent she preferred. Bob was as anxious to see his wife as Cat was to see her mother, but he had less energy. He walked up.

“And I love you, too” Jeanette greeted him. She’d just exchanged “Je t’aime”s with her daughter. Bob kissed her. That was rather brief, since Bob was still wearing his coat.

“And I love you, delightful woman,” he said while hanging it up. “Cat, bring me your coat.” Cat took off her coat and handed it to him to hang up. She then handed him the scarf and hat which completed her outerwear. She was too short to reach the hangers and too forgetful to have gloves that weren’t tied to a string threaded through her coat sleeves.

“Your mother wrote,” Jeanette told him. “Shall we read it together?

“D’accord,” said Cat. She climbed onto one end of the couch. Her mother sat next to her and her father sat next to her mother. That left rather a lot of couch unused, but not even Cat expected Bob to sit more than touching distance from his wife.

“It’s the Christmas letter,” Jeanette said. “Regarde, mon Chat, c’est ton image.” When Cat had seen that her picture headed the letter, it was passed to Bob. Since he had provided the snapshot, he merely glanced at it and handed it back. “The handwritten part says, ‘Thanks for all that you did.’ Really, after all the Christmases she’s hosted, one isn’t so much to ask.” Then she read the printed letter:

“Sorry this is so late. If any of you don’t know, Russel passed away this summer. I fell apart. It was hardly unexpected, but it was a shock all the same. Still, I can remember his praying to live to see his children graduate from high school. He saw, not only that, but them graduate from college and receive doctoral degrees. He held Bob’s daughter in his arms and walked Kathleen Violet down the aisle at her wedding. All those were gifts, and he received them as such.

“He wouldn’t have complained -- in the event, he didn’t have time to -- but I was devastated. You think of yourself as an independent woman, but you find that you are really half of a couple. I still think, ‘I’ll have to tell Russ about that,’ Then I remember that I won’t. Where he is, I won’t need to. I hope you forgive the delay of this letter.

“Anyway, I was devastated. I wasn’t even able to teach this year. I plan to go back next year; I’m even substituting a few times by now. When Vi called me up to mention Christmas, I said something like. ‘This year, dear, I don’t think I can.’ Her response was, ‘This year, you don’t need to do anything. Jeanette is hosting it at her place. Do you think you can get the train by yourself, or should Charles and I drive down to pick you up?’

“The offer was ridiculous -- sweet but ridiculous -- they live in Philadelphia. I took the train to spend a night with them, and then we all took a plane to Chicago. The celebration was held in Jeanette’s apartment, but she provided every ritual of the Brennan Christmas. My adorable namesake, whose picture graces the head of this letter, gave up her bed for me. I was assigned her cot, and she went to sleep on a mat on the floor. When she woke to go to the john, though -- how she has grown up since I used to change her diapers -- I asked her to join me. I’m not yet used to sleeping alone, and cuddling with the small one almost compensated for not having Russ beside me. When Jeanette came in that morning, she asked, ‘Whose idea was this?’ She accepted that it was mine.

“Anyway, that was Christmas. Surrounded by my loving family by day and surrounding my loving granddaughter by night. I still cried, but I laughed, too. The weather bureau may not agree, but that Christmas in Chicago was the warmest time I’d spent since August.

“I’ve written of only two events, but anything else would make this letter later than it already is. Actually, those are probably the only two events I’ll remember from last year.”

“Well,” said Bob, “that was nice. Of course, I hadn’t known that this was your place. I’ll have to rethink paying the rent.”

“Ton papa,” Jeanette told Cat, “plaisante.”

“Plaisante il?” Cat asked. She often had problems with adult jokes. “Est-ce que sa observation est comique?”

“Non, mais nous simulons.” This was a game Cat enjoyed. She laughed loudly and rolled off onto the floor.

Bob, given the choice of being offended or being silly, laughed twice as loud and rolled off after her. Soon, the two of them were engaged in a tickling match on the floor. The adult in the household went off to the kitchen to fix dinner. Bob was good about doing the cooking whenever asked. It was just that Jeanette rarely wanted meatloaf, tomato soup, or macaroni and cheese. She never wanted PBJs for dinner. He had, however, started the rice. She removed the last package of the stew she’d prepared a month ago from the freezer and put it on low heat. When the timer rang, she turned off the rice, turned off the timer, set it again for ten minutes, and called into the living room.

“Lavez les mains.”

Bob took his left hand out of his pocket -- Cat got a handicap -- and levered himself off the floor. He offered a hand to Cat. She, perfectly capable of picking herself up but glad of the contact, took it. He lifted her until their waists were level and then lowered her to the ground. She went to the bathroom before washing her hands. When she came out, he did the same.

The table-setting ritual was well established. Bob handed Cat three place mats one at a time. She put them in their proper places. They repeated the ritual with plates, napkins, forks, spoons, and knives. Bob took the dish of stew and then the asparagus, and set them on trivets which stayed on the table. He provided water for them all and brought in the salad bowl Jeanette had prepared. Jeanette, who’d been fluffing the rice as her family set the table, brought that in last.

Bob said grace and then served Cat. She didn’t have to suffer the temptation of food on her plate while her father prayed. When the adults had food to eat, they asked her about school. She reported on the doings of first grade.

“Et maman?” she finished.

Jeanette reported on her own day in school. Since her only classes were in French and English lit., Bob had no comment. His report was last and briefest. Then they talked about what had happened in the world. This talk was full of names which meant nothing to Cat, but she’d had her turn. Bob, as was his custom, finished the food in the serving bowls. Jeanette -- who had begun worrying about his waistline soon after restoring hers -- had found that the easy way to curb his eating was to serve only enough for the three of them. Bob was too thoughtful to eat what either she or Cat wanted. Dessert was ice cream, and Cat had to wash her face and hands after enjoying it.

Dishwashing was a ritual almost the opposite of setting the table. Cat took one thing off the table and carried it to her father; he rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher. He fetched the serving bowls off the table and dealt with them. Meanwhile, Jeanette had been gathering her study materials. She set them at the end of the table that they hadn’t used for eating.

“Peuve-je m’assoir, Maman?” Cat asked.

“J’etude.” Cat couldn’t play around her mother when her mother was studying. The rule was firm.

“Moi aussi.” Cat brought her homework and sat as close to her mother as the two piles of paper permitted. Bob, merely grading homework rather than doing it, took the other end of the table. Still, he gazed fondly at his family before starting to work. Whatever the frustrations in his life, and he taught two sections of History 102 most of whose students were in them for the distribution credits, the balance was quite positive. When Cat had a question, Bob put aside the answer he’d been reading to an essay question. In the first place, Cat wasn’t going to learn that her homework was important if her father treated it as not important enough to deserve his attention; in the second, he didn’t want her bothering Jeanette. The question was about Spanish, and Bob reached for his Spanish-English dictionary. He managed to translate the question, which gave him -- gave any adult -- the answer; and Cat went back to her work.

Jeanette felt she didn’t deserve the consideration her family was showing her studies just then. Instead of reading about the Lake poets, she was recalling Christmas. Katherine had offered to help in the kitchen: “Just tell me what to do, dear. I’ve ordered you about in my kitchen often enough.” Jeanette was intimidated. Katherine would never criticize her short-cuts and bought food, but Jeanette didn’t want such an expert cook watching. Luckily, she had the perfect althernative.

“You’re on childcare,” she said. The two Katherines so enjoyed each others’ company that Cat didn’t even come in for a snack.

Katherine, who had reported in the letter that she had fallen apart, had managed to give quite thoughtful gifts to each person in her family. She’d sobbed during A Child’s Christmas in Wales, though. That recording meant her husband in a special way that not even her children had predicted.

Jeanette shook herslf and went back to reading.

Bob, having seen that the essay didn’t make any more sense on second reading, gave it a 5 out of 20 and reached for the next paper. When he had this section graded, he’d stop for a drink of water. Snacks were a bad idea while Cat was awake.

Before he’d finished the section, though, his mind drifted off towards the Christmas week. He and Vi tried to keep their fights down in respect for their mother’s loss. Besides, fighting Vi in front of Charles was less fun than fighting her had been before. He liked the guy and respected his need to defend his wife. Jeanette, somehow, didn’t feel the need to defend him. Actually, she’d defended him from Dad like a tiger. She regarded his fights with Vi as entertainment; which they mostly were. Charles seemed to think of Vi as someone delicate. In Bob’s experience, she wasn’t. Still, she was nice to Jeanette and an adoring aunt and godmother to Cat. The family had grown without becoming less close. But he still had four more esssays to grade before he could get up.

Cat finished the work she needed to do in Spanish and started her work in English. This should have gone more quickly, but she lost track. She remembered Memere’s visit. Sharl and Tante Kathleen were there, too, but Memere stayed in Cat’s room. They slept together. She flushed remembering her accident on Christmas Eve, but Memere invited her back into the bed the next night. Aside from that, though, Christmas had been great fun. Memere read to her as often as she wanted, and told her quiet stories about Pepere until she fell asleep. Memere cried sometimes while telling those stories, but she said that the crying was good for her. When Cat cried, it was never good for her -- whatever Papa sometimes said. The memory of the accident made her get up and go to the bathroom. When she came back, she headed for her homework again.

Bob finished the last esssay from the first section just as his daughter took the bathroom. He poured his glass of water first, and set it at his place. He stretched and then stood watching Jeanette. That was one of his favorite occupations, anyhow. Favorite, at least, when closer contact was contraindicated. His restraint didn’t work for long. Jeanette looked up.

“Work fascinates you,” she said, implying he could watch it for hours.

“You fascinate me. I was just taking a break and waiting for Cat to vacate the facilities. I was feeling virtuous ‘cause I wasn’t kissing you.”

“Not with your lips. With your eyes?” Actually, there were worse things than a husband who kissed you with his eyes. Really honestly, she couldn’t read another word without some downtime. Had Cat been asleep, she’d have taken the real kiss. But Cat, who had seen her parents kiss often enough, needed the example of people resisting all temptation when they were doing homework. She was too young, maybe too Brennan, to learn about moderation in yielding to temptation. Cat came out.

“As-tu fini, ma fille?”

“Non maman. J’ais laver les mains.” Cat held out her wet wrists to show that she had remembered.

“Bien.” Jeanette savored a minor victory over Bob, who disapproved of all euphemisms. His daughter had invented one of her own. Cat had certainly washed her hands; why she had needed to was left unspoken.

“Je maintenant,” said Bob. Living with these two, having visited France twice, having taking French in high school, he’d never really mastered the language. When he got back, his family was setting him a good example. He dug into the other section’s tests.

When Cat finished her work, she remembered Christmas again. She couldn’t play while sitting next to Maman, but nobody questioned whether she was doing homework if she sat quietly. Christmas, however, led to memories of her new dolls. The new ones and the old ones had taken to having tea parties together, and she hadn’t held one this week. They’d be expecting her.

“Papa?” He nodded. She took the work over.

“You’ve finished? Tell me about it.” Bob hadn’t the faintest idea what Cat’s assignments were, but he could figure out whether she’d done them sloppily. He hoped that they would hear about it from the school if Cat started omitting assignments by simply not mentioning them. So far, however, she was a remarkably honest girl -- defiant sometimes, but not sneaky. She seemed to have done the homework decently. If she was a bit sloppy, her handwriting was much neater than her father’s had been in first grade. Then, she was a little Jeanette in some ways; and Jeanette had always been -- was still -- much neater than he was. “Fine. What are you going to play?”