“We could meet tonight.”
“Yes?”
“I’ll sneak away from Owen’s party,” Dick said.
Natalie was surprised. “Mrs. Christiansen, she is having a party, too!”
Dick went to get the horses. “You know that bulletin board in the café?”
“‘Good food we charge you for, bad advice you get free’?”
“That’s the one. You put a note there saying where and when.”
“When?”
“Yep.”
“No. When shall I put the note?”
“Oh. I’ll look for it after five.”
Owen seemed to have had second thoughts as he turned on the far bank of Frenchman’s Creek, for he saw Natalie sorrowfully packing up. He yelled, “But you haven’t eaten the food!”
Dick yelled back, “You can have it!”
And like a huge dog, the third-string tackle plunged into the creek and hungrily thrashed across.
24
Late that afternoon in Mrs. Christiansen’s rooming house, Marvyl, Iona, and Natalie were in the yellow kitchen, trying to make ambrosia, but it seemed just a greenish horror with orange, pink, and white things surfacing and submerging as they mixed. Iona went to the sideboard and got out a walnut serving tray and cheese slicer attachment that Marvyl had purchased on the Shopping Channel.
Mrs. Christiansen said, “We don’t have to go overboard on the cheeses, Iona. I’ve never had any complaints with Cracker Barrel.”
Natalie was dismayed but deferential.
Mrs. Christiansen turned. “But this is a party for you, dear. What would you like?”
“Oh, please. You should go to no trouble for me. Anything.”
With annoyance, Iona said, “Well, in that case. Cocktail wieners?”
With matching annoyance, Natalie faced her. “Melon.”
“Pigs in a blanket?”
“Oeufs farcis.”
“Oofs pickled,” Iona said.
She was getting peeved. “Artichokes. Artichauts à la grecque.”
“Yuck. What about those whatchamacallits, Grandma. With peanut butter?”
“No peanut butter,” Natalie said.
“So much for ‘Whatever you want; no trouble.’”
Mrs. Christiansen said, “You don’t have to have anything you don’t like, child. It’s your night.”