Souvenir of Cold Springs by Kitty Burns Florey Page B

“Call about windows. Get elastic. Vaseline.” Stuck in the mirror frame, one of Lucy’s photographs: Thea laughing, her gray hair tied back with a red scarf.
    Heather closed her eyes and hunched over with her head to her knees, the phone pressed tight against her ear. She felt vaguely, distantly ill—as if another person living inside her body was being sick to her stomach. Pregnancy, cancer, indigestion. Mom, I’ve got cancer, I haven’t told anyone, I wanted you to be the first to know. No. Mom, I’m pregnant, what should I do, help me, help me.
    When the phone had rung twelve times, the receptionist said, “We don’t seem to be getting an answer in 406. Shall I keep ringing?”
    Heather said, “Yes,” and on the next ring it was answered by a voice that said, “Well, I’m obviously no match for this kind of persistence. Hello, for Christ’s sake.”
    â€œMom? Is that you?”
    â€œHeather! God, I couldn’t imagine who this could be, ringing and ringing on Thanksgiving evening. How are you, honey? All through chowing down with the relatives?”
    â€œI didn’t know if you’d be there,” Heather said. She had never expected to reach Kay, and she felt suddenly, unreasonably happy. “I thought you’d be out eating dinner or something.”
    â€œI’m between events,” her mother said. “In fact, I was getting ready to go out, which is why I wasn’t inclined to pick up the phone. So how are you, honey? How’s everyone? How’s the old man?”
    â€œOh, everyone’s fine. Dad’s in top form as usual.”
    â€œIs he still seeing Marie, do you know?”
    â€œI have no idea. He didn’t mention her.”
    â€œHitting the bottle?”
    â€œSome.” Heather settled back on her aunt’s bed and studied her fingernails, picked at a chip in the pink polish. “He and Mark insulted each other like crazy at dinner, as always. Dad got in a few good digs. Then Mark and Lucy started in. You know. Typical Thanksgiving dinner. Uncle Jamie is here with the famous Sandra, and they’re both being rather frightfully boring. And Margaret’s gone punk.”
    Kay laughed. “Anyone mention me? Anyone regretting my absence? Tell me everything. Don’t spare my feelings. Not that I have any, at this point.”
    â€œWell, Margaret was sort of fondly reminiscing about you. She was wishing you were here to liven things up. She has happy memories of when you used to put curses on Dad—that whole voodoo routine.”
    â€œI’ve been thinking of getting into it again, just for the hell of it.” Heather heard her mother light a cigarette and inhale. “Not that your father needs any curses. Just being a member of that godforsaken family is a curse. Oh—Heather—” Kay laughed, a little gasp. “Do you remember that time Lucy said to Daddy that he’s his own worst enemy, and Mark said not while I’m alive? Oh Lord—I can’t stand Mark but sometimes he kills me.” Heather listened to her mother’s laugh, imagining her head thrown back, her eyes crinkling at the corners, her mouth open showing her perfect teeth all the way back to the fillings. “Oh well,” her mother said. “That was ages ago. So tell me what’s happening with you.”
    Heather told her about Timmy and the New Year’s Eve dance, her problems with economics, her straight As in French.
    â€œWell, that’s marvelous,” her mother said. “Now tell me one other thing, Heather—do you have enough money to fly down to Charleston for Christmas? If I’m in town?”
    Heather’s heart sank. “What do you mean, if you’re in town?”
    â€œOh, I’ll be there. Just pipe-dreaming. But you never know. Always hoping for that good old sunshine.”
    â€œOne of these years we should go on a Mediterranean cruise or