A Christmas Howl (3 page)

At least he had some manners, however. Bob slipped around Michael and extended his hand. “Bob Travis,” he said to Max. “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Melanie hasn't told me much about her family.”

Peg snorted under her breath. She could well imagine why not.

Then Bob was turning her way and repeating his name for her benefit as though she could possibly have missed hearing it the first time. “What a lovely brooch, ma'am,” he said as they shook hands.

Ma'am indeed, thought Peg. Just how old did he think she was? Not only that, but the brooch wasn't lovely at all. It was a novelty knickknack, quite possibly the tackiest piece of jewelry she'd ever owned. It had been intended as a source of entertainment, not admiration.

The other three adults had continued their conversation. Bob, Peg realized, was still peering at the brooch intently. Perhaps, like a kitten, he was mesmerized by flashing lights.

“That's quite a lot of blinking,” he said after a minute.

“It squirts water, too,” Peg retorted.

“Really?” Bob leaned in for a closer look.

What an idiot, she thought. If the silly ornament really did squirt water, it would have gotten him squarely in the nose.

“No, not really,” Peg said acerbically. “It was a joke.”

“Oh, I see.” Bob straightened and stepped back. “Humor.” He made the word sound like a foreign concept.

Melanie came over to stand beside her boyfriend. “That's Aunt Peg. She's always joking around.”

As if the girl had the faintest idea what she was likely to do, Peg thought with a sniff. She couldn't even remember the last time they'd seen one another. Honestly! This was like being surrounded by a pack of baboons. Peg could only hope that dinner was on the way. And that it would arrive sooner rather than later.

And then, of course, there would be pie.

That was a pleasant thought. Perhaps the first one of the day.

Peg tuned back into the adult conversation to discover that Eileen was in the process of taking drink orders and getting everyone organized. The plan taking shape seemed to imply that copious alcohol consumption would be expected to play a role in making the family occasion proceed more smoothly. Michael and the guests were to watch football in the library while Eileen and Melanie put the finishing touches on dinner. Peg offered to help out in the kitchen, a proposal that was politely but firmly rebuffed.

By the time dinner reached the table an hour later, Peg was working on a happy buzz. Unexpectedly, the eggnog had packed a potent punch. All four men had spent the intervening time staring fervently at the television in the library. Peg thought their attention level would have been more appropriate to the viewing of life-and-death combat rather than a mildly interesting bowl game.

But at least that kept them from having to converse with one another, she realized. As long as all eyes were centered on the sporting event, everyone could pretend that they were getting along. Bored with that activity, Peg had passed the time browsing through the bookshelves in the room. She was delighted to discover an antique book of maps that had proven to be fascinating reading.

It wasn't until Melanie came to tell them that dinner was on the table and the men stood up to go trooping into the dining room that Peg noticed that Michael was seriously tipsy. When her brother-in-law rose from his seat, lost his balance, then sat down again quickly, Peg caught Max's eye and raised a brow. He gave his head a small shake.

Yet another thing they weren't meant to talk about. Peg swallowed a small sigh. Her lips were going to be seriously sore by the end of the day if she had to spend the entire visit biting back comments that couldn't be made.

Frank and Bob, still talking about the game, went on ahead. When they'd gone, Peg leaned down and offered a steady arm to her brother-in-law. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to escort me in to dinner?”

“I would be delighted, Peg. “ Michael looked inordinately pleased as he levered himself up a second time. He glanced at Max with a sly wink. “Little brother, it seems your wife has indicated a preference. I'm afraid that means you're on your own.”

“I think I can manage to find my way,” Max replied imperturbably. “Maybe I'll just follow my nose. As I recall, Eileen is a wonderful cook. I'm sure she's prepared a feast for us today.”

When they reached the dining room, Peg saw that Max hadn't been exaggerating. The meal that greeted them was indeed a feast. An enormous roast turkey held pride of place at the head of a wide mahogany table. An assortment of bowls and tureens held more side items than she'd ever seen assembled for a single meal. The first bottle of wine was open and ready to be poured.

They all found their places at the table. Brandishing a large knife and relishing his role as the center of attention, Michael managed to carve the bird without mishap. Plates were passed and helpings served. A round of wine was poured, followed by a second.

As the courses were served and cleared, conversation around the table ebbed and flowed. Happily occupied with the delicious food, Peg found that she was quite content to act as observer rather than participant in much of the family byplay. It didn't take her long to realize that the younger generation was more interesting to her than their parents. She'd known Michael and Eileen for years—perhaps not well, but certainly well enough. Melanie and Frank, however, were unknown territory. That was enough to make her curious.

Melanie appeared to be rather besotted with Bob, Peg mused. She hung on his every word, offered him the choicest morsels from each side dish, and leapt to refill his wineglass long before it was empty. Watching the pair interact, Peg was at a loss to understand what it was about the young man that merited such ardent attention. Bob certainly didn't seem to be anything special. Not only that, but his conversation consisted mostly of football scores and college anecdotes about people no one else knew.

Young love, thought Peg. What a crock.

She frowned and turned her attention to Frank. Surely, of the two siblings, he had to be the more appealing—if only for the fact that he didn't look as though he felt any happier to have been roped into this family gathering than she was.

“How old are you, Frank?” Peg asked across the table.

“Eighteen. I'm a senior in high school.” For some reason, he sounded quite proud of that fact.

“So then you must be looking at colleges.”

“Well . . . sort of.”

Despite the fact that her attention was focused on the teenage boy, Peg couldn't help but notice the pained look that passed between his parents. “Sort of?” she inquired. “Isn't it time for you to be filling out applications?”

Frank speared a piece of turkey and put it in his mouth. He finished chewing, then swallowed, before replying. “I'm not sure I'm really cut out for college,” he said finally. “I figured I'd take a gap year to think about what I really want to do.”

“What you want to do is study,” said Michael. “Get a degree. Make a start on a good career.”

“No,” Frank replied. “That's what
you
want me to do. I might have other plans.”

“Like what?” Max asked with interest.

Frank shrugged. “I don't know yet. That's the whole point of taking a year off to find out.”

“To goof off and hang around with your friends, you mean.”

Eileen, seated at Michael's right, reached across and placed her hand on top of her husband's. Peg saw her squeeze his fingers gently. “Maybe we could save this discussion for another time. Christmas is a day to celebrate. To be thankful for our family and the things that we have and can share with others.”

“Hear, hear!” Michael said heartily. “As usual, Eileen, you are absolutely right.” He leaned across and kissed his wife's cheek, prompting a ripple of embarrassment among the three young people at the table. Then Michael disengaged his hand from Eileen's, picked up his glass, and raised it above his head.

“A toast!” he pronounced. “To family.”

Six more glasses lifted. “To family,” everyone echoed dutifully.

Max started to lower his glass. He paused and glanced at Peg uncertainly. She hoped he wasn't about to do something he'd regret. Judging by the expression on his face, he was hoping the same thing.

“To bygones!” Max said, raising his glass again.

All hands came back up. Bob looked confused, but he gamely joined in. “To bygones!” nearly everyone repeated.

Though Michael lifted his glass, Peg noticed that he remained stonily silent for the toast. That didn't stop him from taking a hefty swallow of wine along with the rest of the family.

“Speaking of family,” said Melanie, turning toward the empty seat at the end of the table. “This is our first Christmas without Nana. Somehow I keep expecting to look over and see her sitting there with us.”

“Me too,” Frank agreed.

Abruptly Eileen's eyes darted toward her husband. She was looking for something . . . but what? Peg had no idea. Then as quickly as Eileen had sought Michael's gaze, she glanced away again. Peg wondered if she'd imagined that brief shimmer of tension between them.

“To Nana!” Melanie cried.

The girl's thoughtful salute was a well-meant idea. Everyone at the table should have simply raised their glasses in remembrance. But Peg saw in an instant that that wasn't how things were going to go.

Max had loved his mother dearly. But he'd also harbored a great deal of resentment over Nana's interference in his love life. Those feelings were only exacerbated when she'd later pushed him aside and turned to Michael for guidance and support. In the year since his mother's death, Max had worked to set aside his bitterness about the way Nana had allowed their relationship to deteriorate. But now, seeing the mocking smile on Michael's face as he turned to his younger brother and lifted his glass in salute, Peg felt Max stiffen beside her.

“To Nana!” Michael's voice was overloud. He rose to his feet and looked down upon them. “A wonderful mother who was most discerning about the people she kept around her.”

Peg sucked in an annoyed breath. Michael was turning the blade deliberately. Of course, the insult was intended to strike out at her, too. That part she could brush aside. She'd been doing it for years. But she wasn't about to stand by and let Michael run roughshod over her husband's feelings.

Before she could say anything, however, Frank spoke up. The teenager appeared to be oblivious to the undercurrents that eddied in the air around them.

“To the best grandmother ever!” Frank seconded.

Max had been staring down at the creamy linen tablecloth. Now, his movements slow and deliberate, he lifted his glass along with the rest. “To Nana,” he said softly. “I hope she knows how much we truly miss her.”

“Some of us more than—” Michael began.

Eileen didn't let him finish. Instead she grasped her husband's arm and pulled sharply downward, guiding him back to his seat. “Wonderful toast, dear. I know we all share your heartfelt sentiments.” Eileen paused to look around the table, her gaze resting on each face in turn as if daring them to contradict her. “Don't we?”

Frank and Melanie nodded together. Their mother had them well trained.

“Yes, ma'am,” Bob said dutifully. He hadn't a clue what was going on.

Determined to smooth over the awkward moment, Eileen left a warning hand on Michael's arm as she turned and smiled down the table at her guests. From past experience, she knew the one topic that was sure to immediately engage her in-laws' interest.

“Speaking of Nana,” she said to Peg, “did you know that she had a very good friend who competes in dog training like you do? Her name is Imelda Grissom. I wonder if you might know her.”

“Dog shows,” Peg corrected automatically. Then she stopped and thought about what Eileen had said. It was probably the first interesting thing she'd heard all day. “Imelda? Of course, I know Imelda.”

That part was easy. Peg had devoted a large part of her life to her beloved Standard Poodles and to the dog show world. She knew everybody. “Imelda has Cavaliers.”

Frank looked up. “She has
what?
Is that some kind of disease?”

“Cavs,” Max informed the teen. His shoulders began to relax. “Otherwise known as Cavalier King Charles Spaniels. It's a breed of dog. They're quite charming, actually.”

“Charming.” Melanie sputtered a laugh. “A dog.”

“Don't knock it till you try it,” said Max. “You might be surprised by how lovable dogs can be. There are more than a hundred different breeds, one to suit every different job and owner personality.”

“Not mine,” Eileen replied. “All that dog hair and mess in the house? No, thank you.”

“We know all about the different breeds,” Frank said authoritatively.

Melanie nodded in agreement. “We watched Westminster on TV one year.”

“We knew it was something that you and Peg were obsessed by,” Eileen told Max. “So we watched to see what it was all about. We were trying to figure out the appeal.”

“Oh?” Peg asked drily. “And did you?”

“No.” Michael's tone was condescending. “It all looked rather silly to me. I have no idea how anyone could call something like that a sport.”

“A bunch of froufrou dogs dancing around a big ring,” Frank chortled. “And those silly looking Poodles . . .
they were the worst!
”

Eileen gasped. In the moment of horrified silence that followed, she looked as though she would have liked to disavow her entire family. Either that or slink beneath the table out of sight.