Are You in the House Alone? Read Free

a sweet restoration of the old Milton house. Really very clever. Father’s an architect.
    “And this is the youngest Pastorini boy.”
    Mr. Lawver ambled forward and put out his soft hand. “Pastorini? Pastorini?” he said, “Aren’t they the—”
    “Yes, of course,” Mrs. Lawver cut in smoothly. “And why don’t you pour the young people glasses of tomato juicewhile we have our sherry? Phil, darling, help your father.” And Phil, who I’d seen blind drunk on straight Scotch during training season, did.
    *   *   *
    There were candles in the dining-room chandelier, and a woman in a uniform to do the serving. Before we were through the onion soup, Alison had turned into a stranger. We were fairly close friends, tending to sudden eye contact and uncontrollable giggles, but she was aging by the minute, matching Mrs. Lawver’s polite and penetrating questions with precise answers. Only her eyes were eager.
    “I know nothing about finance, but I should have thought your father got out of banking at just the right moment, Alison. That awful recession hit some people terribly hard.”
    “Yes,” Alison said in a sort of finishing-school voice. “And being in business in Oldfield Village, he can be more active in the community.”
    “Exactly. We’re very pleased to see him ushering at church. You were Episcopalians in New York, before you came up here?”
    “I was christened at Trinity.”
    She’ll be asking for a look at Alison’s teeth next, I thought. Then I noticed Phil looking at me. I could just see his eye between two chrysanthemums in the bowl on the table. It was like being watched through a hedge. If I’d ever liked being looked at—by anybody—I forgot it immediately. And if I’d ever thought I liked Phil Lawver, I suddenly knew better. I guess I’d always taken him on faith because Alison was so wrapped up in him. Let him look at
her
, I thought and went back to dealing with the onion soup that was turning cold and somewhat slimy.
    Mr. Lawver pulled his vest down over his stomach and turned to Steve. “You be going into your family’s line ofwork when you get out of high school, young fellow? You plumbers charge more than doctors.”
    Then Alison did look at me, quickly, almost apologizing with her eyes. Even Phil stirred.
    “Well, Mr. Lawver,” Steve said, “I have one older brother who’s already in the business with Dad. And another brother who’s a lifer in the Marines down at Parris Island. I think I’ll strike out in a direction of my own.”
    “Father,” Phil muttered, “Steve here has a perfect academic record. All A’s. He’s . . . famous for it.”
    “Nobody told
me.
” Mr. Lawver cleared his throat. “Well, then, Steve, maybe you and Phil will be going up to Yale together.”
    “I suppose Steve has a better chance of getting into Yale than I do, Father. If he wants to go.”
    “You’ll get in, Phil.” Mr. Lawver patted the tablecloth confidently. “We always get in. Edna, bring in the roast!”
    “Hasn’t it been curious weather this autumn,” Mrs. Lawver remarked. “All that rain and lightning and now so dry.”
    *   *   *
    It seemed a lifetime, but we got away by nine. When Steve and I left, the Lawvers assembled in the front hall, Alison next to Phil. Rehearsing her role, I thought. I didn’t envy her. I just marveled at how sure she was about what she wanted. I wasn’t sure about anything.
    Steve and I didn’t say anything until we’d walked the curve of the drive. Then when we passed through the stone gates, we both let out long, relieved sighs. “May the four of them live happily ever after,” I said.
    “Somehow, I don’t think happiness has anything to do with it,” Steve said. “What a night. Anyway it was good seeing Edna.”
    “Edna? Who’s Edna?”
    “The Lawvers’ cook. The silent slave in the uniform. She’s my mom’s cousin.”
    “Oh.” And that’s all I could think of to say to that.
    “But back to real life,”