Deep in the Valley by Robyn Carr

supreme
     
    When Elmer saw his invitation he said, “Yikes.”
    June was having a short business meeting with John after hours in the clinic, trying to put the final touches on his six-month contract. She handed him his invitation, saying, “You’re the guests of honor—you, and Mrs. Stone and your daughter—so you’ll have to go.”
    “But of course we’ll go! How lovely of Mrs. Claypool!” And then, “What do you suppose ‘rolled candied lamb’ could be?”
    “I wouldn’t dare hazard a guess,” June replied. “Mrs. Claypool is my aunt. She’s a fascinating woman, really. And kind of…well…eccentric is really too tame a description. But she is adorable and great fun. Your daughter will especially love her. Her dinner parties arefamous, and highly entertaining, but I recommend you have a bite to eat before going.”
    “Still, it is nice of her, isn’t it?”
    June shrugged. “Myrna’s nothing if not nice.”
    The night of the party, John and his wife opted for a country club casual look in linens and knits. Their daughter, Sydney, was stunning in yellow denim overalls and Doc Martens. Jessica wore a long, lean, black dress that accentuated her multicolored Mohawk, and Charlotte wore a beige, double knit pantsuit and her white nurse’s shoes. “Corns,” she said when she caught Judge Forrest staring at her feet. But it was Myrna, as usual, who stole the show. She answered the door in a stunning floor-length shiny black cocktail dress with enormous shoulder pads and a slit up one side. Nothing risque, but a rather demure Bette Davis ensemble that didn’t bare too much of her skinny calf. If she held a cigarette in a holder, the picture would be complete.
    Susan Stone gasped in surprise and took a step backward.
    “Welcome to my home,” Myrna said dramatically, bowing at the waist and throwing an arm wide. “You must be Sydney Stone,” she said to the little girl.
    “No one mentioned this was formal,” John said.
    “This isn’t formal,” she explained. “I’m eighty-four years old. I have at least a hundred years’ worth of keepsakes in this house.”
    Susan’s eyes grew round. “Then it is an heirloom gown,” she said almost reverently.
    “Well, it will be…when I’m done with it,” Myrna said. “Come in, come in, come in.”
    “This is going to be fun, isn’t it, honey?” John whispered to his wife.
    “Weird,” Susan said suspiciously. “Pretty weird.”
    June could see the relief on John’s face when he entered the sitting room and saw familiar faces from the clinic. She greeted him, met his wife, introduced him to her father and a couple of the others. While they made small talk, the bell rang and the remainder of the guests arrived.
    Sydney hid behind her mother’s legs, staring out at Jessica, mesmerized by her hair and piercings. Jessica, smiling, bent at the waist so that her colorful plume was eye level for Sydney, and gave it a playful wobble. Sydney withdrew even farther.
    Myrna had thrown her shoulder wrap over one of the overstuffed wing chairs in the sitting room, taking possession of that piece of furniture for herself. Beside the thronelike chair was a hassock comprised of a stack of three large pillows on wheels. On the hassock was a tiara.
    “Miss Stone,” Myrna called. Everyone turned to look at her. The Stones stared in some confusion, but those of Myrna’s friends and family who knew her and had been to her dinner parties just smiled knowingly. “Miss Sydney Stone. Come here.” Myrna patted the hassock.
    John gave his daughter a gentle push and Sydney went to Myrna, but slowly.
    June often wondered what it must have been like for her father as a toddler, preschooler, grade-schooler and onward, to be mothered by this slip of a girl who had never quite grown up herself. Myrna wasn’t much bigger than six-year-old Sydney.
    “Miss Stone, do you go to many dinner parties?”
    Sydney shook her head and chewed her finger.
    “No? Then you can be the