Today Will Be Different(36)
Ivy sat on Joe’s lap and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Joe.” They fell back on the bed. “You’ve always been there for me. I’ve been such a disaster. The good news is after tonight, I’ll be Bucky’s problem.”
Bucky had entered. It was unclear how much he’d heard.
He stiffly addressed Eleanor. “As you know, in keeping with Tyler tradition, my first dance with your sister will be the Virginia reel.” He set a piece of paper on a bureau near the door. “Here are your places for it.”
The door clicked shut. A choking silence filled the suite. Eleanor spoke first.
“Okay, Joe, your turn to bust out the hotel stationery.”
“That’s not funny.” Ivy sat up and swung her legs around the side of the bed, darkness rising.
Joe pointed to the suitcase. Eleanor nodded, went to it, took out a present.
“From me to you!” Eleanor said, and sat next to Ivy. She turned to Joe. “Honey, cover your ears.” She took Ivy’s hand. “Men will come and go. But we’ll always be sisters.”
From the weight of the box, Ivy’s face exploded into a smile.
“I know what this is!” Ivy sang. “John Tyler’s derringers! Bucky bet me a nickel!”
“Actually, no. It’s not the derringers.”
Eleanor had thought it right for the new couple to have at least one scrapbook devoted to Ivy’s family. As their father kept no photos from their childhood, Eleanor had hand-drawn some of her own, as well as a map of Aspen.
It had taken all her spare time for months. Eleanor was still feeling the physical toll: the frozen right shoulder, the aching eyes, the stomach lining eaten by coffee and ibuprofen.
As a final touch, Eleanor had ordered the leather scrapbook from a stationery shop in the French Quarter. For its spine she had a small silver plaque engraved, in Fanning-family font: THE FLOOD GIRLS.
“This is good too,” Ivy said.
“I have just the person you should meet!” said Quentin.
Eleanor was back in New Orleans, in Bucky and Ivy’s carriage house. They’d been married a year. Quentin was a rumpled gentleman with a full-on Southern drawl who took impish delight in every word Eleanor spoke. She’d just told him she was Ivy’s sister, an animator from New York.
Quentin scurried off to find a pen and paper, leaving Eleanor standing in the living room facing the window treatments. Valance, curtains, swag, Roman shade, and blackout roller. Five separate things. Six, if you counted the silk tassels.
Bucky came by sipping a screwdriver and joined Eleanor at the window.
“Maroon and ivory is my favorite color story,” he explained.
“Color story?” Eleanor said, snapping out of her trance.
“One is a color,” Bucky said. “Two or more is a color story. Surely you know that.” And he left.
A dozen family and friends were gathered around the derringers, newly mounted on the wall above a plaque boasting their provenance. After Bucky and Ivy had named their baby John-Tyler, Eleanor felt she had no option but to give them the pair of guns. Joe, sitting in a low chair in the corner of the antique-choked living room, had a different opinion.
Quentin returned with a cocktail napkin.
“If you’re in animation, there’s a fellow you should meet,” Quentin said. “Bucky’s dear friend from Vandy. He draws that show we all love with the girls on the ponies.”
He handed Eleanor a cocktail napkin with a name in Sharpie. Lester Lewis.
“Lester Lewis?” Eleanor said. “Lester works for me. Hang on a second. Bucky told you his friend Lester works on Looper Wash but failed to mention I’m his boss?”
“Ooh, it looks like I stepped in something,” Quentin said, and tiptoed off.
There were no books in the house, only a shelf of scrapbooks. Eleanor scanned the spines. LE DéBUT DES JEUNES FILLES 1998; COURT OF KHAOS 1998; SHERWOOD FOREST 2004; BIRTH OF JOHN-TYLER 2005—
“The priest is waiting!” It was Ivy. “We have a very short window.” Tiny, pink John-Tyler slept in her arms, his antique lace christening gown so long, a uniformed nurse had to carry the train.
St. Louis Cathedral, “the cathedral” to locals, is the oldest in North America. It’s a favorite spot for tourists to cool off; the church remains open to the public even during weddings, christenings, and funerals.
Inside, thirty family members stood in the front with hymnals; Joe, the atheist holdout, waited outside.
During the ceremony, it was a challenge to hear Father Bowman’s blessings of John-Tyler Barnaby Fortune Gammill Charbonneau Fanning over the competing bands in Jackson Square. Every time the church door opened, the family got a blast of the ubiquitous “When the Saints Go Marching In.” The proceedings had to be paused after a chicken was spotted in the nave and tourists surged in to take photos. One knocked over Granny Charbonneau’s cane. During the lull, Eleanor found herself next to Bucky needing something to say.
“You’re really going all in with this John Tyler connection.”
It was the tone of Eleanor’s voice that caught the ears of the family. Bucky stared at her, perfectly composed, his eyes daring her to continue.
“It’s too bad he was the worst president,” Eleanor said. “Did you know his death was the only time the Capitol didn’t fly the flag at half-mast for a president?”