Blackbird Fly by Lise McClendon Page A

funeral. Francie had picked
him up at school — she lived near Blackwood. She worked in
Greenwich but couldn’t afford to live there. Her clients had a
different set of problems than Merle’s, lawsuits between neighbors
over dogs and parking, bankruptcy, prenups. Francie waffled between
loving it and hating it on a weekly basis.
    There were sixteen of them around the table, the
sisters, one spouse, Stasia’s three kids plus Tristan, a couple
boyfriends (Francie’s was chiseled and very young), Aunt Gloria,
Bernie’s sister, a cousin or three. Stasia and Annie talked across
the table, heads together. They couldn’t look more different: Stace
in red polka dots and bangles, Annie in something tie-dyed and a
big, furry scarf around her neck. Merle wished she were over there
instead of by her father and Francie. She wanted to hear their
gossip, laugh a little.
    Stasia and Rick’s oldest, Willow, had brought her
boyfriend down from college. Willow lived up to her name: tall and
slender with gold waterfall hair. Her boyfriend was scruffy, with
dirty brown hair and a black t-shirt, but hung on Willow’s every
word. Would the children be happy, Merle suddenly worried,
examining their expressions. Tristan frowned at her then elbowed
Oliver and laughed.
    Stasia caught her eye and winked. Annie, who was told
the sordid story of Harry’s other life just last night, gave her a
‘buck-up’ smile. After the salad and a polite inquiry into Merle’s
state of mind, Francie, not as yet clued into the latest
revelations, launched into a lament about her job, social life, and
lawyering.
    “ I can see the appeal of Legal Aid,
I really can. At least you get to do some good.”
    “ There’s that,” Merle said, chewing
lettuce.
    “ If I have one more sixty-year-old
chief executive marrying his twenty-something bimbo and wanting to
keep all his cash from her, I’m going to kill myself. Why does he
even bother? I mean, marriage isn’t all that great. I should know.”
Francie had tried it once, briefly. The airline pilot she married
was hardly ever home. Her boyfriend gave her a lascivious smile. He
was home free.
    “ I’m taking the summer off,” Merle
said. It had a nice ring to it.
    Francie smiled. “Sure. What would you do, Merle,
paint your toenails every day? No, wait, you’re going to a Buddhist
retreat. Yeah, that’s it. Ommmm.” She laughed and her boyfriend,
Willie or Dick or somebody, laughed along.
    “ I'm done in Harlem. I got packed
off to Development. They don't need me until fall, or until I get
my attitude adjusted.”
    “ They said that? Come on.” She
squeezed Merle’s hand, suddenly serious. “You’re really taking
summer off? Are you all right?” Despite her stunning beauty and a
bright, easy charm unknown to the other sisters, Francie could be a
loving sister. Merle squeezed back, thinking she should call her
more often. Tell her about the nasty family secrets. One of these
days.
    Merle raised her glass. “To attitude adjustment —
it’s not just alcohol anymore.”
    Francie giggled. “I’ll go drinking with you any
time!”
    Someone called: “To Elise!”
    As they clinked crystal Merle stood up. “Excuse me,
Elise, for using your graduation day for this.” Elise smiled,
dipping her head in gratitude. She was a little tipsy, draining her
glass as if another toast in her honor was in the offing. She
turned for a refill to her boyfriend, a pudgy classmate who
wouldn’t last, they all could tell.
    “ As you know in his will Harry left
me — and Tristan — a house in France. His family home. Sort of a
surprise but what the heck, right? Who are we to look a gift-horse
in the mouth? Let’s just hope it’s not a Trojan gift-horse. Anyway,
at the end of the term we will be traveling to the small village of
Malcouziac, somewhere in France, to throw out the freeloaders and
see if we can sell it.”
    After a shocked pause Annie said loudly, “Hey. You
mean, no work? A vacation? An honest-to-God