The Good Life by Susan Kietzman

answer.
    “Let them go,” said Mike gently. Dismissed, Lauren and Nate bolted from the room. They moved quickly up the stairs to the landing, where they stopped and looked at each other.
    “Oh my God,” said Lauren.
    “Did you see his bib?” asked Nate. “It’s a national disaster area. For every piece of rice he actually got into his mouth, there are two on his bib.”
    “How about just the fact that he has a bib?” said Lauren, following her brother down the hallway to their bedrooms. “I mean, what is he, a baby?”
    “And Gran is acting like nothing’s wrong,” said Nate. “Do me a favor and shoot me if I ever get like that.” Nate disappeared into his room and shut the door behind him. Lauren lingered a moment. Seconds later, she heard music. She turned from his door and walked the rest of the way down the hallway to her room.
     
    Downstairs, the four adults ate their dessert in the kitchen, at Mike’s suggestion. He told them he found the kitchen atmosphere much more conducive to quiet conversation. While this was true, he moved everyone mostly because he had seen too many bits of food bounce and slide off Sam’s bib onto his $50,000 Oriental rug. When they finished, Eileen lifted her napkin from her lap and gently wiped a blotch of whipped cream off her husband’s chin. “That was delicious,” she said. “What a lovely meal.”
    “Thank you,” said Ann, looking at her watch.
    “Well,” said Eileen, getting out of her seat. “Sam and I had better hit the dusty trail home. Let me just take these dishes over to the sink.”
    “Leave them, Mom,” said Ann. “Emma will get them on her way out.”
    “That seems silly,” said Eileen, collecting the plates and forks. “I’m heading that way anyway.”
    “That’s what I pay Emma to do,” said Ann.
    “Just because you pay her doesn’t mean you shouldn’t help her out.”
    “Then by all means, do whatever you want.”
    They all waited silently until Eileen returned to the table. “There,” she said. “That just took a minute.” Mike stood and helped Sam up. Eileen removed his bib. She folded it, stained and damp, and put it in the pocket of his sweater. She brushed the piecrust crumbs from his pants. “Ready to go?” she asked her husband.
    “Yes, I am,” said Sam softly before turning to Mike. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.” Mike looked into Sam’s eyes, wondering if he had missed something. He took his father-in-law’s hand and shook it.
    “You’re welcome, Sam.”
    Ann opened the back door, and then she and Mike watched her parents amble down the brick path to the guesthouse. “My God,” she said, “I had no idea what a nightmare I was getting myself into.”
    “It’s not a nightmare,” said Mike unconvincingly.
    “No more dinners in the dining room,” she said. “From now on, we eat in the kitchen.”
    “We’re not eating together every night.”
    “Absolutely not,” said Ann. “Sundays only. Maybe a few other nights, sprinkled in here and there. We’ll see. The rest of the time, they’ll eat in the guesthouse.” Ann wrote a note to herself on the yellow legal pad she kept by the phone. “I’ll reconfirm the meal plan with Selma in the morning. Even though we’ve gone over this, I want to make sure she expects to do the majority of the cooking for my parents. She told me she loves to cook, so it’s not an issue.”
    Mike kissed Ann on the forehead. “I’m going to do a bit of work before bed,” he said. “I’ll be up in a couple of hours.”
    “And I’m going to make an Irish coffee and take a bath,” said Ann. “It’s been a terribly long day.”
    “Skip the Irish,” said Mike. “And if you’re making decaf, I’d love a cup.”

C HAPTER 4
    A nn walked from the garage into the kitchen to the unwelcome sight of her mother in an apron stirring something in a pot on the stove. Ann set her pastel shopping bags down on the floor and took a deep breath. The day had not gone as she