The Funnies Read Free Page B

like talking to the girlfriend who, after one visit, can’t understand why you and your folks don’t get along. It had been a good year since I’d seen Bitty; Rose I had last seen more than five years before, when I was part of a group show in New York, where she lived. I ate lunch, dutch, with her and her husband, Andrew Piel. In the strip, Rose was called Lindy, as her given name is Rosalinde, the legacy of an otherwise forgotten aunt. But as a teenager she had been quick to distance herself from the name, and by association the comic strip, the family, and her past in general. I couldn’t blame her, really.
    I steeled myself and walked over. Rose was the first to notice but pretended not to. Bitty’s face, following Rose’s aborted glance, found me and broke open like a swollen cloud, and emotion poured out of it. “Tim!” She threw her arms around me, and her cheeks, hot with grief, pressed into my neck. She pulled away, taking my shoulders, looked at me with bleary, radiant eyes and burst suddenly into tears. “Oh, Tim, I can’t believe it…”
    â€œHello, Tim,” Rose said. I said hi over Bitty’s shoulder. Andrew was nowhere to be seen, and neither, I noticed now, was my mother. Were they off somewhere together?
    I felt terrible for Bitty. I had forgotten how much she adored our father, and he her; it was almost as if we had lost a different parent entirely. She was Daddy’s girl. We stood there holding hands for a minute, her dress sticking to her like a wet washcloth. “I’m so sorry,” I said, like a sympathetic neighbor lady.
    â€œI was just reminiscing with Rose,” she said.
    I glanced at Rose, who produced a disapproving smile.
    â€œI was remembering going to Manasquan,” Bitty said, wiping her face with a tissue pulled from her purse. “Remember they were dredging the ocean? And there were all those little shells? I made bracelets for Dad and Mom. Rose wasn’t there, I don’t think.”
    I did remember, though only vaguely. It had been one of those half-baked save-the-family outings, which unfortunately worked. “Didn’t Pierce get bit by something?” I said. “A crab?”
    â€œA jellyfish. His leg swelled up.” She frowned. “Where were you, Rose?”
    â€œI don’t know. New York, working.”
    I was trying to remember Bitty’s husband’s name. Mark? “Bitty,” I said, “I’d like to meet your husband.”
    â€œMike?” She swiveled her head. “He’s around. Oh, Tim, I missed you.” We hugged again. “We have so much to talk about.”
    As a rule, this was not something people said to me. “Sure,” I said.
    Rose began to look agitated, and I realized she was making a move to touch me. But how? I started to extend my hand, but she seemed to be leaning toward me, so I quickly opened my arms to receive her. We hugged loosely, like fourth graders slow dancing, and perfunctorily patted each other’s backs. She said it was good to see me. I said it was good to see her. She looked at the back of her hand, then reeled it in and cleared her throat. “Andrew’s picking up Mom,” she said, as if I’d asked. “Oh, God, what a mess this is.”
    â€œWhere is Pierce?” I said. “Is he around?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Rose said. “Probably inside, smoking.” Among my younger brother’s many quirks was a tendency to smoke indoors only.
    â€œI just can’t believe he’s gone,” Bitty said, shaking her head.
    â€œBelieve it,” said Rose.
    â€œRose!”
    Rose seemed to rally around this new, incisive role in the conversation. “Bitty. He drank and smoked to beat the band.”
    â€œHe didn’t!” Bitty whined. “He indulged a little now and then.”
    â€œHmm,” said Rose. We all waited to see what would happen next. Rose inhaled