Beautiful Kate by Newton Thornburg

the appellation to allow her to forgive her twin brother for his grossness. And finally she even deigned to speak with me again, one late afternoon as we finished feeding the Holsteins’ milk to our pampered Angus calves. Once fed, the little buggers could not stop gamboling about and butting their mothers’ inadequate udders to bring down even more milk. Leaning on the corral fence, Kate and I were watching the show.
    “It’s not fair,” she said. “Something so cute shouldn’t grow up into just another ugly old cow.”
    “Bulls don’t think they’re ugly.”
    “But they’re still ugly. Old is ugly.”
    I looked at her. “You getting old, Kate?”
    She didn’t even smile. “We all are. Every day we get older.”
    “Yeah, and ain’t it great?”
    She reached out to pet one of the calves, but it jumped back from her. “What’s so great about it? I liked it before. The way it used to be.”
    Genius that I am, I had no idea what she was talking about; and I said so. But she did not explain. Instead she looked over at me—down at me actually—with flecks of mica in her fine green eyes.
    “Tell me, Greg—did it work out for you? Did you get your precious bare jug? ”
    “Naaw. Just a kiss or two. That Joan’s a real nun.”
    “Oh really? I didn’t know the chosen people went in for nuns.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    She looked back at the calves. “Yeah, I guess I do. But that doesn’t mean I understand. I can’t figure why you’re all like that. Like my pal Waldo. You’d have thought he needed it to live, like food or water. Me, I wouldn’t care if I never kissed a boy. And I’d rather die than have one of the creeps touch me.”
    “We used to touch,” I said.
    For a few moments she looked as if she didn’t understand what I meant, or maybe didn’t even remember. Then she made a face.
    “Oh, that . That doesn’t count. We were just little kids.”
    It was then I asked her something I always had wanted to, but for some reason never had. “Did you and Cliff ever—you know?”
    She gave me a look of withering disgust and turned away, heading for the house.
    “Of course not, stupid,” I heard.
    Since there are no cooks among us, we don’t have meals anymore, only snacks, most of which we prepare for ourselves. This evening, however, I thought I would try to set an example for Toni and Junior by whipping up a repast consisting of hamburgers, potato chips, and canned peaches, none of which elicited the slightest word of praise from anybody. Jason took only a bite or two out of his burger and barely touched the rest, turning instead to a bowl of cornflakes, which he got for himself, shuffling about the kitchen, banging doors and muttering. Toni sighed and looked to the ceiling for sustenance.
    “What’s the matter, young lady?” Jason asked. “You aren’t enjoying yourself here?”
    “You could say that.”
    The old man wagged his head in mock consternation. “Well, I can’t figure that. You’d think being the mistress of a rich and successful playwright would satisfy you. Travel and good food like this and lots of clothes—I thought that’s what every woman wanted.”
    Wheezing and choking and slurping, he barely got through the speech, and I imagine it was this that Toni found offensive, the style more than the content. Just by the way she looked at me, I had a pretty good idea what was coming.
    “If I were you, I’d tell the old fart to stick it up his ass,” she said.
    While Junior whooped with laughter, Jason began to choke in earnest, coughing and sputtering and spraying the table with soggy cornflakes. I patted him on the back and helped him over to the sink, where he slowly rattled down to silence, to the point finally where I was able to get a glass of water down him. Unexpectedly, he returned to the table instead of shuffling off to his room, muttering and pouting. And once again he started on his cornflakes. Finding them insufficiently sweet, he sprinkled on a few