French Braid(60)

“It’s going to be a grown-up event, though,” Mercy said. “I just want to warn you. We’ll arrive in time for lunch, meet Magda at this little restaurant she knows—I told her I’d take her out to celebrate—and then go look at her paintings and hop on a train back home. We can’t afford to spend the night; not for what a New York hotel costs.”

“That’s okay,” Candle said. “But can we get a Nathan’s hot dog?”

“A what? Oh. Yes, why not. You can do that before we get back on the train.”

“Goody,” Candle said. A girl on her softball team was always raving about Nathan’s hot dogs.

She didn’t mention the invitation to her parents; she figured Mercy could be more persuasive. They were too busy, anyhow, during the reception, and then the reception was all they talked about on the drive home. The next day, though, she grew very alert every time the phone rang, just in case it was Mercy. The phone rang a lot, unfortunately. Everyone had to weigh in on what a lovely wedding it had been, how beautiful the bride had looked and how sweet the groom seemed, blah blah blah. Late in the afternoon, though, Candle heard her mother answer the phone with “Hello?…Oh, hi, Mom.” Candle put aside the funny pages and went to stand in the kitchen doorway. “Yes, I thought so too,” Alice was saying. “I’m glad it’s over, though.” Then she listened for a moment. “New York?” she said. “What for?” More listening. “Well, I don’t…But would she be interested, do you think?…What?” She turned to glance toward Candle, who pressed her palms together pleadingly. “So you already spoke to her about this? Well, I really wish you had—” Another spell of listening. “All right, let me see what Kevin says. I’ll get back to you, okay? What was the date again?”

When she hung up, she told Candle, “I wish you had let me know she was planning to do this.”

“I didn’t have a chance to,” Candle said.

“Right.”

“So can I go? Please, please?”

“What makes you so sure you’d enjoy it?” her mother asked. “Long, crowded train ride; see a few paintings; long, crowded train ride home again—”

“But it’s New York! I’ve never been!”

“Well, New York is overrated, if you want my honest opinion. It’s packed with pushy people and it’s dirty; take my word for it.”

“Shouldn’t I be allowed to find that out for myself?”

“Also,” her mother said, “I’m not entirely comfortable with your grandmom having sole charge of you.”

“Why not? She raised you three, didn’t she?”

“Exactly,” her mother said mysteriously.

“And we two get along so good. I like seeing what her life is like.”

“So well, you mean,” her mother said. “Oh, my. I guess it’s true what they say about how you have to skip a generation to appreciate some of your relatives.”

Candle thought there was a lot more to it than that. Her cousin Serena had skipped a generation too, but you didn’t notice her having much to do with their grandmom.



* * *



—

Her dad saw no harm in her going, as long as it was only a day trip. “But tell your grandmother I’ll drive you both to the station and pick you up after,” he added. He had this theory that Mercy was a terrible driver, just because she had once backed into her friend Bridey—Bridey herself, not Bridey’s car—and poked her head out her side window to apologize even though luckily Bridey had not been knocked down, and then pulled her head back in and resumed backing up and did knock Bridey down, that time. Most people in the family thought this story was hilarious, although in Candle’s opinion it was more about Bridey than about Mercy. How come Bridey hadn’t just moved out of the way, for gosh sake, after she’d been hit the first time? But Kevin himself failed to see the humor. He was always saying that Mercy ought to have her license revoked.

So anyhow, on a warm Saturday morning in late October he drove Candle into town, stopped for Mercy at her studio, and delivered them both to Penn Station. Candle wore an actual skirt, in case the restaurant they went to was fancy. Mercy wore a skirt too but just her normal, everyday kind, with an everyday cardigan draped over her arm in case the train was too air-conditioned. She had reserved their tickets ahead of time so all they had to do was pick them up at the window, after which they walked through the station and directly down to the tracks, not waiting till their train was announced, because Mercy had made this trip often and already knew how things worked. She knew to take a position some distance up the track, for instance, because the front cars would have fewer passengers. And sure enough, when their train arrived and they boarded she easily found them a pair of seats together. She gestured for Candle to slide in first, and then she sat down herself and pulled a paperback from her purse and started reading, as much at ease as if she were sitting on her daybed at home.

Candle had brought a book too, in her knapsack, but she didn’t so much as open it during the whole train ride. She was too busy staring out the window, and eyeing the other passengers, and eavesdropping on a young couple sitting just behind them who were arguing about whether to get a dog or not. When she grew bored, she drew invisible pictures with her index finger. This was a new habit of hers and it drove her mother crazy, but Candle kept her hand tucked at her side and her grandmother didn’t notice. And probably wouldn’t have minded even if she had noticed, Candle thought.