Windswept by Ann Macela

light downward to concentrate on the table. A dinner party with a colorful centerpiece and beautiful people would bring the room alive, she hoped, but until then, brrrrrr.
    The glass sculpture climbing the back wall compounded the effect. It did more than glow or sparkle. Hidden spotlights in the ceiling far above shone directly on it. The glass “threads” had sharp angles and facets, and the light reflecting off these polished planes changed as one walked around the table. The result made the sculpture seem to move, to ripple down the wall like an icy waterfall.
    It was an interesting effect, she decided, but it reinforced the feeling of coldness in the room, and she was glad she did not have to look at it while she ate. Thinking of eating . . . she and Eva had to come to a meeting of the minds about how much she could eat. She couldn’t spend the next two months feasting without looking like the biggest Windswept box at the end.
    Then she grinned to herself. On the other hand, being waited on was certainly a pleasure, a seductive one, almost. Certainly easy to get used to. She opened the book she had brought with her and read while she finished her meal--including a piece of lemon meringue pie.
    She walked back to the office only to shut off the computer and the lights. Between the food and her very long day, she knew she would accomplish nothing for the rest of the evening. She didn’t even watch any television, simply fell into bed and a satisfied sleep.
    ***
    The next morning Barrett rose early and went first to the dining room, then through the door below the balcony. She had assumed correctly; that way lay the kitchen.
    She stepped into a sun-lit space and looked around at the glass-paneled oak cabinets, the stainless steel appliances, the butcher-block countertops, the windowsill holding two big red ripening tomatoes and four small pots of green herbs. Yellow-and-blue Mexican canisters sat along the multi-colored tile backsplash. A cozy bay window held an oak table and padded chairs. Past the kitchen on the other side of the open counter, she could see a normal family room with comfortable chairs, a big sofa, a television and a card table.
    She blinked. The two rooms did not look like they belonged with the rest of the house. Real people lived here.
    Gonzales and Eva were seated at the table, and both rose to their feet when she entered. “Good morning,” Gonzales said. “What would you like for breakfast, Dr. Browning?” Eva inquired.
    “Good morning.” She fell into teacher mode. She’d decided last night she had to gain control of the situation or be doomed to the chilly dining room--alone. “First, I’d like to eat in this cheery kitchen instead of the lonely dining room, except when Mr. Jamison is home, of course. I assume I’ll be eating with him for dinner. Otherwise, I’d be honored to share your meals.
    “Second, I’d like to have a newspaper to read with breakfast. The Houston Chronicle you have here would be fine, if you’re finished with it.
    “Third, I’d like some grapefruit juice, Cheerios if possible with bananas or some fruit in milk, and a big mug of coffee to finish. And I’d like the two of you to relax and join me. Please call me Barrett. I’m not a pretentious person.”
    The Gonzales were staring at her with scandalized expressions, so she added, “Please go along with me on this. What I’m doing with the records can get lonely, and having human companionship around can be helpful. Okay?”
    After they slowly nodded assent, she sat down at the table, picked up the comics section from the newspaper, and started reading. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gonzales and Eva look at each other.
    Eva nodded and told her husband to bring in the place setting from the dining room. While he went for the dishes, Eva poured a glass of juice and set it in front of Barrett. “Jesus tells me you speak Spanish,” she said to Barrett in that language.
    “Si, señora.”
    “Muy