True Places(53)

“I was worried about Iris running away!”

“We could tether her to a chair.”

Her mother’s eyes widened as if she were considering this proposal, then registered Suzanne’s sarcasm. “I was only thinking of the girl.”

“I know. Sorry.” And she was. After all, hadn’t Iris run away into the woods a few days ago? “I haven’t been sleeping.”

“I did say this would be too much of a burden on you.”

Tinsley’s tone was scolding but nevertheless contained a measure of true concern. Suzanne wondered what it would be like to experience a pure positive emotion from her mother, then dismissed the idea as too improbable to dwell upon. Suzanne had tried to be openly loving with her children and had been careful not to take away with one hand what she gave with the other. Had she succeeded? Five years earlier she would’ve been certain she had.

Suzanne showed her mother the flowers. “I can put these in water for you.”

“They’re gorgeous. Thank you.”

Anson fixed drinks for everyone, and they helped themselves to fried chicken, sweet potato biscuits, and an array of salads. Tinsley, who didn’t enjoy cooking and therefore did not cook, had acquired everything from Whole Foods and a small grocer in town. When Suzanne lived at home, they had had both a maid and a cook. Now Tinsley managed with a cleaner who came three times a week and a professional chef (“Maurice is a dream!”) who took care of dinner parties and evenings alone with Anson when it was simply too much trouble for Tinsley to procure dinner herself. Tinsley had almost canceled the family dinner when she’d learned Maurice was out of town, but her curiosity about Iris had won out.

Anson took his seat at the head of the table and glowered at his plate. “Looks almost as good as the fried chicken at the club.” He turned over a leg, eyeing it with suspicion. “Almost.”

“Let me refresh your drink, Anson.” Tinsley’s answer to everything. Anson swatted the air, dismissing her as bartender. Tinsley turned to Reid. “It really is very good chicken.”

“I’m a vegetarian, Grammy. As you know.”

She sighed as if it pained her to be reminded. “It just seems so . . . unnecessary.”

“I’m thinking of going vegan. I practically am already.”

Whit shook his head. Brynn groaned.

Suzanne was simultaneously proud of Reid for holding his ground and annoyed with him for making a target of himself. She drank from her gin and tonic, savoring the caustic bite of the gin.

Anson thrust a chicken leg at Whit. “You need to get on top of this vegan thing, son.”

“Suzanne does the meal planning. The rest of us can still eat meat.”

“In a family, everyone should eat the same thing.”

“That’s why we go out,” Tinsley said. “Reid, what’s wrong with an egg?”

Reid pursed his lips.

Iris, seated beside Reid, had been concentrating on her dinner, hunched over her plate. At least Suzanne had been able to break her of the habit of shoveling food with both hands. She noticed Iris’s fingernails had been painted dark blue. Brynn, obviously, but when? Painted nails seemed wrong on Iris, like pierced ears on a baby.

Iris, her mouth full, turned to Reid. “Are eggs wrong?”

Reid looked around the table as if deciding whether to waste his breath. “We can talk about it later, Iris.”

Brynn laughed. “Yeah, the Real Meaning of Free Range lecture is dope.”

“Is someone smoking marijuana?” Anson stared at the children, his gaze lingering on Reid.

Whit said, “No, Anson. It’s an expression.”

Suzanne thought she detected a slight smile on Brynn’s lips. She took a long sip of her gin and tonic and immediately felt woozy. She normally had only a glass of wine and had forgotten about her father’s heavy hand.

Tinsley changed the subject. “Any news on finding Iris’s family?”

“Mother, I don’t think—”

Anson cut in. “If you ask me, the whole situation strikes me as unlikely.”

Tinsley was miffed at being interrupted. “I don’t recall anyone asking you.”

Anson turned away and addressed Whit and Suzanne. “Tell me, how could they survive for so long with nothing? Even in the winter? I don’t buy it.”

“Without Whole Foods, you mean?” Reid said with mock innocence.

Whit gave him a look. “I’m skeptical, too, Anson, but there was a case when I was in high school, I think. Remember that guy who bombed all those abortion clinics? Two people died. His name was Rudolph, maybe? Anyway, he disappeared into the North Carolina woods. The FBI hunted for him for five years.”

Anson nodded. “Good example, son. So any news?”

Whit helped himself to another piece of chicken. “The detective stopped by the other day. They seem to think her father might be a veteran.”

Suzanne had been listening to this exchange, incredulous. “Why is everyone talking about Iris as if she isn’t here?”

Whit gestured toward the girl. “She’s welcome to chime in anytime.”

The way he said it, it sounded as though Iris were a hostile witness. Suzanne shot a questioning but stern look at him. Whatever it is you’re doing, back off.

“Another vet, huh?” When Anson’s deferments during the Vietnam draft had run out, his family finagled a desk job for him. He loved to refer to himself as a vet. “What war would that have been?”