Bon Bon Voyage Read Free Page B

She spent most of her time napping and only got mean with people who were carrying drugs or irritating Luz.
    It occurred to me that Luz and I should go shopping together. That would be fun, and it would soothe her worries about not having the right evening wear. How many dinners would be formal? I wondered. I might well have to buy myself something new.
    While making all these happy plans, I began the dinner, potatoes first. As they were baking, I chopped the onions, grated the cheese, and seasoned the lamb chops. I even pared the asparagus stalks, not something I always bother to do. Usually I just break the ends off so the non-tip part will be reasonably tender. By the time Jason arrived at six, I had a relatively simple but very tasty dinner to serve him. I’d decided to skip the hollandaise sauce. Instead I put the asparagus under the broiler with pepper, butter, and cheese.
    My dear husband arrived smiling cheerfully. He can smell a good dinner before he’s even opened the door. When he looked at his plate, he beamed. Jason loves lamb chops. Who wouldn’t? All that cholesterol! They’re bound to be delicious. But we’d worry about cholesterol when we got into our fifties. For now . . .
    â€œThis looks wonderful,” said Jason. He dropped a kiss on my cheek, pulled out my chair, and poured wine for me and then for himself. My, he is a handsome man, and so endearing when he’s not lecturing me. I have to admit that the sight of Jason in an appreciative mood still, after twenty-odd years of marriage, causes my heart to do a little flip.
    â€œDoes the dinner mean you’ve forgiven me for having a meeting when you want to go on a cruise?” Jason asked.
    Before I could assure him that I’d forgiven him, he added, “I was just worried about you going by yourself. Especially on Mother’s Day.”
    â€œOh, well, I—”
    â€œBut I’ve solved the problem.” He looked so pleased with himself as he cut off a bite of his first lamb chop. Those delicious little rib chops only have about three bites on them. I always pan fry four chops for Jason and two or three for myself. “I called Mother this afternoon,” he said, taking a sip of wine to complement the lamb.
    â€œOh?” I murmured, bemused. “How is she?” My mother-in-law, who is seventy-four, had a mild heart attack during the semester break. Her doctor advised her to stop teaching and rabble rousing for six months and take it easy, except for a planned exercise program at a senior citizens’ gym. She was probably bored to tears and appallingly cranky.
    â€œFine,” said Jason. “Good to go, according to her doctor. She talked to him and called me back with the news.”
    â€œThat’s wonderful. So she’ll be teaching again in the fall?”
    â€œWell, yes, that too. What I meant is that she can go on the cruise with you.”
    â€œWhat?” He couldn’t have said that. He couldn’t have suggested that to her without telling me. Imagine sharing a suite with Gwenivere Blue for the duration of the cruise! For years she’s never had a kind word to say to me. She thought I was a disgrace to the feminist movement, of which I’d never been a part, so her complaint was hardly fair. Then last year she’d sent me a size 16 dress. I wear a 10, and it was a frumpy dress, evidently her idea of appropriate clothing for a woman who spent most of her adult life taking care of a husband and children.
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, Caro, what’s that expression supposed to mean? Don’t tell me you don’t want to take my mother along with you.”
    â€œWell, I—”
    â€œMother can be very good company if she wants to.”
    But would she want to? And why was Jason being such a hypocrite? It’s not as if he got along that well with her. He even complained if I expressed any opinion that sounded as if she might have put it into my