A Woman Lost by T. B. Markinson Page A

all.
    “Peter, you didn’t tell me your sister’s birthday was the fourteenth.” Maddie genuinely seemed upset. I hoped she’d throw the salad bowl at his head.
    “What? I thought … that’s right it is. I got so caught up on scheduling I totally spaced it. It’s not easy you know, coordinating mine, yours, Mom’s and Dad’s schedule.” He threw his fork down on top of his salad defensively. Coordinating with my schedule obviously wasn’t important to him.
    “Well, I guess we’ll have to come up with a different date,” Maddie said, scowling at him.
    I was glad we had come to dinner; the drama was pure entertainment.
    I stammered, “A-are you kidding … keep it on my birthday. That way I won’t forget it. I’m horrible at remembering things like that. You have to keep it.”
    “Doesn’t say much about you as a historian, if you can’t remember dates.” Maddie laughed and took a sip of wine. I could tell she was seething but was trying to regain control.
    “I told you history is the greatest story ever told, remember … not just dates.”
    She nodded, but the anger was still present.
    “You wouldn’t mind?” Peter seemed relieved. “Because we already started reserving everything and making initial plans.”
    “Nah. I don’t really celebrate my birthday anyway.”
    Sarah squeezed my leg under the table. I could feel her nails digging in. We had planned a trip to the Tetons that week. I glanced at her again, but didn’t know what to say. What could I do? Say, “No way, Jose, that’s my birthday?” Wouldn’t that be childish?
    “Good. It’s settled then. The date is July fourteenth,” declared Peter. “And we won’t have to buy Elizabeth a cake, since there will be wedding cake.”
    What a nice thought, Peter. I tried to remember if I had ever had a cake on my birthday.
    Maddie looked at me, but I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. I smiled and raised my water glass in her direction. A weak attempt, I know, but it was all I could do at the time.
    She smiled and turned to Sarah. “How are your classes going?” she asked.
    “What? Another student?” cackled The Scotch-lady.
    “No, Mother. Sarah teaches high school English.”
    “My classes are good. They’re always good this time of the year … wait and ask me in December and my answer will be quite different.” She giggled.
    “High school, huh?” Peter looked at me. “They don’t pay you guys much. Would you consider yourself more of a volunteer?” He chuckled.
    “Peter, what an awful thing to say.” Maddie’s beautiful face scrunched into a frown.
    “All that I’m saying is that teachers don’t make much.” He paused, looked briefly at Mom and Dad, and then said, “It’s a good thing Elizabeth has a trust fund, since she didn’t go into the family business.”
    Family business. What were we‌—‌gangsters?
    My mother bristled. I often wondered if she had tried to cut off my trust fund. My father just looked bored, but that was normal, so I wasn’t sure how he felt. He would be great at Texas Hold ‘em.
    “Peter, thanks for your concern. But I have my own trust fund.” Sarah’s expression was one of triumph.
    Maddie glowered at Peter.
    “What? I was just making a joke. She gets so touchy about these topics. You know, Maddie, I’m starting to think you aren’t a Democrat at all, but a hard-core liberal.” Again he chuckled, but it sounded nervous this time.
    “How can you be a Democrat? You’re from the south? Aren’t all Democrats supposed to be from the northeast?” asked my mother.
    “I thought Arkansas was a southern state?” I quipped.
    “You know, I’m not from there, but I think you are right, Lizzie,” Maddie replied, a huge grin on her face.
    “Wasn’t one of their governors … oh, what is his name … a Democrat?” I went further. “And didn’t he become president?”
    “And didn’t he marry a lesbian?” My mother pronounced it Les-Bi-An. Some words she liked to enunciate