“Have you met her?”
“No, of course not. Dad’s waiting until the rehearsal dinner to introduce her. He’s just doing it to get under Mom’s skin.” Virginia Woolf Llewellyn, twenty-six, a newly-minted psychiatrist who poured her paycheck right back into the practice, was driving over the Tobin Bridge with her cell phone clamped between her shoulder and her ear.
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s doing it to show off in front of everyone we know.”
“He’s trying to hijack the one day- the two days- when he isn’t the absolute dictator of the family. He’s always been like this, and now he’s having some kind of delayed reaction to the divorce, and some weird teenage rebellion thing coming about forty years late.”
Virginia was the oldest child, and of the four Llewellyn children she’d wanted the most to please her parents, and at the same time had wanted the most to escape the think tank that was the Llewellyn household. She was blond, with serious grey eyes and almost imperceptible tightness around her eyes that came of too many all-nighters at Brandeis. An engagement ring sparkled on her left hand, which was clutching the steering wheel perhaps a little tightly.
“Please, please, please don’t bust out the Freud. It’s four in the morning for Christ’s sake. I wish you’d take the time difference into account, Ginny.”
“I’m sorry- I just thought you’d want to know that our father is running around with a woman young enough to be our sister, and that he’s planning on bringing her with him to my wedding, and allowing everyone we’ve ever known to ridicule him, in public, no less, and also to tell you that you need to get your shoes dyed sea-foam green, and that I’m picking you up at Logan at four-thirty tomorrow and I need the gate number.”
“Seven.’
“What?”
“The gate number. It’s seven.”
It was not entirely true that Melinda Freidman was young enough to be Ginny and Dot’s sister. She was thirty-six, and was nine years old when Frank Llewellyn married his first wife. So, while she was too old to be his daughter she was definitely too young to be anything other than a polite acquaintance; and Melinda ( Lindy, as everyone called her) and Frank were most certainly beyond being polite acquaintances.
2006-09-04
09:40:57
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