Circles of Confusion by April Henry Page B

polyester uniform of Spud City, where she worked as a prep person. Although still as thin as when she was a teenager, Susie now looked hollowed out and haggard.
    "Hey, Claire. What are you doing around the old homestead?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned to their mother. "Is Eric asleep?" Her fingers, tipped with cherry-red nail polish, were busy unpinning her hairnet.
    "He just went down for a nap about a half-hour ago."
    "Then I'm going to take a shower. I can't stand smelling like grease for one more second." She went off down the hall.
    "How are she and J. B. doing?" Claire asked her mother. J. B. didn't seem to have a job, although he sometimes worked as a day laborer doing construction. She remembered the last time she had seen him, on the Fourth of July. Hie five of them had watched fireworks on TV while eating a sheetcake her mother decorated with strawberries, blueberries, and Cool Whip to resemble an American flag. J. B. had worn a sleeveless denim shirt that showed off his heavily muscled arms, which were tattooed with a dragon, a dancing showgirl and a Harley-Davidson emblem. He and Susie took turns going out into the apartment's courtyard to light up cigarettes, as they had both pledged not to smoke around their son. Claire had liked him for that, and for the way he frequently scooped up Eric for a hug.
    "They're still together, which gives her a longer track record than practically anybody else in the family. He's different, but I like him."
    Jean stopped talking when Susie walked back into the living room. She was dressed in tight jeans, a pair of Candie's mules, and a rhinestone-spangled T-shirt that read Country Blues. A towel was wrapped around her head like a turban. She sat down in the armchair, unwrapped the towel and began to comb her fingers through her shoulder-length hair, still blond but clearly now with some help. "So, Big Sis, what are you up to these days? How come you're not at work?"
    "I came by to ask Mom about something I found in Aunt Cady's trailer."
    Her mom turned from the TV to look at her. "I thought you didn't find anything but that diary?" Jean had called Claire the day after her return and had been disappointed by her reply. When she had spoken to her, Claire had found herself neglecting to mention the painting and the troubling baggage it brought with it.
    "Well, I did find something. An oil painting of a woman holding a letter. It's only about this big." Claire measured the air in front of her with her hands. "I think Aunt Cady got it when she was in Germany. That's why I've was asking you all those questions, Mom. When I first found it, I knew it was beautiful, but I didn't know if it were real. But I've shown it to a few people, and they think it might be very old. Maybe several hundred years, even. So"—she could feel her heart begin to race again at her audacity—"I'm going to take it to New York. That's what I came over here to tell Mom."
    "New York?" Jean echoed. To Claire's surprise, she heard envy in her voice. "The Big Apple?"
    Susie dropped the towel in her lap. "I don't understand. Why do you have to go to New York City?"
    "I need someone to examine the painting, and that's where the world's experts are."
    "You mean you have to find out if it's worth money or not?"
    Claire couldn't think of a way to describe all her tangled thoughts about the painting. "That, and how old it is, and who painted it and maybe who the lady in the painting was. Mom, how do you think Aunt Cady came to have it?"
    Her mother's answer surprised her. "Things go missing, don't they? And somebody has to find them, right?"
    It wasn't until after Claire left that Jean remembered she hadn't told her about the reporter from the Medford Mail Tribune who had called two days before. The paper, he said, was beginning a series of in- depth stories on the recently departed, not to replace obituaries but rather to supplement them. Each story would give readers a glimpse of the real person who lay