Today Will Be Different(38)

A woman in a wrap dress washed her hands. The counter was so worn that a puddle had collected across its expanse. The woman dried her hands and dropped the paper towel on an overflowing trash can. In the mirror, her plastic tiara. On it, in fake jewels, the reverse letters J.T.

There was no way.

The door shut.

Eleanor went after her. The tiara’d woman was halfway across the noisy dining room. Before Eleanor could catch up, she vanished into a wall of newspaper clippings. A jib door. Eleanor pushed it open.

She found herself in a dim hallway even denser with photos and made narrow by display cases on either side. The floors were shellacked brick, the walls dark wood. Doors made of thick red glass and elaborate wrought iron. To her left, a photo of Pope John Paul II standing in the kitchen with Antoine himself. On display, the plate the Pope had eaten from.

The woman had disappeared again, this time into the shadow at the end of the hall. Eleanor felt herself pulled toward voices. Above the doors on her left and right, plaques reading REX and PROTEUS. One room was green, the other purple. Eleanor could make out gilded displays of queens’ costumes: ermine capes, crowns, and scepters. Even in the dark, their jewels threw off glints of light.

Around the corner, at the end of the hall, a cracked door. Above it, in ghostly white letters, KHAOS.

News of Eleanor’s presence had preceded her. Ivy appeared in the doorway, blocking Eleanor’s view of the sheer number of people in attendance, many more than at the christening.

“You said—” Eleanor stammered. “I thought the three of you were going home.”

Through the crowd, Bucky, with Mary Marge tucked in his elbow, offered the hint of a smile and returned to his conversation.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Ivy said. “We decided this should be family only.”


Eleanor fled across the street into an aggressively air-conditioned praline shop, minimalist and empty of customers. Her perspiration instantly froze, causing a violent shudder.

“Would you like a sample?” asked an angular woman with flat black hair.

“Sure,” Eleanor said, straining to seem like a normal patron. The woman handed her a frosted pecan. The tears began. Eleanor turned her back and stood too close to a red shelf filled with jars of praline sauce.

The door jingled. Ivy grabbed Eleanor’s arm and spun her around.

“You have no idea how hard it is for me to be caught between you and Bucky,” Ivy said, her face pleading.

“Between me and Bucky?” Eleanor said. “What did I do to him? Fly down here and miss my final animatic of the season? Drag my husband to a christening even though we’re both atheists?”

“It’s not what you’ve done to him,” Ivy said. “It’s what you’ve done to me. You didn’t come down for my birthday.”

Before Eleanor could process this, Ivy backpedaled. “I know, I know—I never expected you to. But it’s how Bucky thinks.” She gave a worried sigh, then in a rush, “He’s never gotten over you ruining our engagement party.”

“We’re still on Cachepotgate?” Eleanor said. The praline she’d been clutching had turned to goo in her hot palm.

“It started before,” Ivy said. “When you walked into the party. You saw how people were dressed and you asked where everyone was going.”

“I did not,” Eleanor said, remembering the moment clearly. “I certainly thought it because it looked like opening night at the opera. But I know for a fact I didn’t say anything.”

“Bucky heard you.”

With that, a line had been drawn. Eleanor drew lines for a living. She knew one when she saw one.

She walked to the register and forced a smile. “May I have a napkin, please?”

The woman reached under the counter and tore off a paper towel. Eleanor scrubbed the sticky sugar off her fingers. She placed the pecan in the towel and handed it back. “Thank you.”

“Oh no!” Ivy came around to see Eleanor’s face. “Are you mad?”

“This might get loud, and that wouldn’t be fair to the praline shop.” With that, Eleanor pushed past her sister and out the door.


“Okay, let’s do this,” Eleanor said to Ivy out on the sidewalk. “Where’s the scrapbook I made you? Where’s my goddamn wedding present?”

“As you know, we expected the derringers.”

“You do realize this isn’t you talking?” Eleanor said.

“They were Mom’s,” Ivy said. “They belong to me as much as they belong to you. They’re the only things left of hers. You just had them lying around your apartment.”

“What was I supposed to do? Ship them to you care of Mestre Mike’s yurt?”

“Bucky and I got married at John Tyler’s house so it should have been obvious,” Ivy said, unshaken.

“You got the derringers!” Eleanor said. “Last time I checked, they were mounted on your wall.”

“We should have gotten them before.” Ivy raised her face in defiance. It was a peculiar gesture for her, one Eleanor had never seen.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Eleanor said. “Where’s The Flood Girls?”

“Bucky and I were both offended by The Flood Girls.”

“Ivy, I’m warning you: don’t.”