“It’s okay,” I said. “It was good to take a walk. I told Luca to keep the eggs. We have plenty.”
“Yes, we do,” Gigi said, entering the kitchen behind me.
“He walked me back,” I said.
“That was nice of him,” Gigi said.
“It was strange.” I sat at the kitchen table. No one else was around. “It was like he was trying to protect me from something.”
“Protect you?” Gigi’s face took on a quizzical expression.
I nodded. “And he said not to go out after dusk.”
Now she appeared confused, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “Sam said he was having a hard time with his mom dying so suddenly,” she said, sitting across from me. “Maybe he’s afraid something bad will happen to him or those around him.”
“Maybe,” I said. “It was still really strange.”
“Yes,” Gigi said, “that is very odd. He’s not a bad child, though.”
“He isn’t a child at all,” I said. “He’s a year older than me, which makes him a man.”
“When you’re almost eighty, eighteen is very much a child. Though I understand what you mean. He doesn’t strike me as the deeply troubled young man your dad believes him to be, but he’s struggling, that much is clear.”
An image of the inn flashed through my mind. “It must be connected,” I said aloud, to myself.
“What must be?” Gigi said.
I took a paper napkin from the stack and folded it absently. “The inn,” I finally answered. “The inn has something to do with Luca’s fear.”
Gigi’s expression changed, becoming unreadable. “What makes you think that?”
“Nothing,” I said, convinced I was correct. “Just a hunch.”
“Did he say anything more about the inn?” she asked cautiously.
“No,” I answered, now certain I was right.
The oven timer beeped, and my sisters and father all appeared, changed out of the clothes they’d worn to church.
Gigi stood, going to the oven. The smell of roasted chicken and potatoes wafted through the air.
It was time for lunch, a time not to discuss Luca and at least pretend I wasn’t thinking about him. However, that’s all I was doing, pretending.
As I ate, the lunch conversation drifted around me. I wasn’t paying attention. I was thinking of Luca, of the loneliness I sensed in him and how much I understood that feeling. He’d been through so much. Losing his mom. Leaving everything and everyone behind and moving to Maine.
My mom’s murder almost destroyed each of us. It’s why I pulled away from everyone and why Lisieux never left her books. We were both scared of life. I coped by shutting down and she coped by shutting off.
Avi was across the table, laughing, her mouth open, chewed food about to fall to her plate. I remembered myself at her age, before our mom died. I was full of life and adventure, but not as unruly as Avi. Mom never would’ve tolerated that. Her death affected each of her daughters. Two of us feared life and the third had no fear. My dad and Gigi tried to subdue Avi; though, at times I thought they liked her being as extreme as she was. Without her vibrant spirit, life would be so dark, so very dreary. I believed my father saw in her the spirit of all his children, the spirit taken from his older two and now overflowing in the youngest.
On the kitchen counter, my phone buzzed, something it never did. I stood and went to it, aware the others were watching me.
The screen lit up. Hi Siena, This is Thomas. Can I come over tomorrow afternoon? We could go on a picnic. lmk
“What is it?” Avi said, her mouth still full of food.
“Thomas,” I answered. “He wants to come over tomorrow. He suggested a picnic.”
“Siena and Thomas, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Avi trilled.
“Avila, that’s enough,” Dad said. “Don’t tease your sister.”
“If I don’t tease her, I can’t tease anyone,” Avi whined. “Lisieux never does anything interesting.”
“Who’s Thomas?” Lisieux said with a blank expression.
“From church,” Dad said.
Still, she stared blankly. She was probably smarter than all of us combined, but she was also completely oblivious.
“The guy I was talking to after Mass today. You’ve known him since you were born,” I said.
“Oh, that Thomas,” she said, taking a drink of water. “He’s so ….” She raised her hand, spread out her fingers and rocked her hand back and forth.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Ish,” she said. “He’s ish.”
“Ish?” Dad repeated in a questioning tone.
“You know, like decentish, not really decent, not really indecent. Just sort of ish.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Dad said.
Clearly he thought more of Thomas than Lisieux did.
“The other girls at church think he’s decent—more than decent,” I mumbled, looking down at my phone.
After she casually swallowed a bite of food, Lisieux said, “I’m sure they do.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, frustrated with Lisieux and this entire conversation. What business was it of anyone if Thomas wanted to come over?
“It means the vast majority of people are content with mediocrity, and Thomas is mediocre, at best,” she said with no emotion.
This conversation meant as little to her as Thomas did.
“Lisieux, that’s harsh,” Dad said.
“It may be harsh, but it’s true,” Lisieux said.
“I agree it is true most people are content with where they are in life,” Dad said, pensively.
“That’s called mediocrity,” Lisieux said, her back straight as she stared at him.
“That doesn’t mean Thomas is mediocre,” I said.
“No, certainly not,” Dad said. “Besides, being content is a good thing, not a bad thing.”
“Being content while striving to better yourself is a good thing,” Lisieux said. “Being content with the version of yourself you are now and having no desire to improve is mediocrity, or ish, as I like to call it.”
Her baggy lounge clothes and mismatched fluffy slippers combined with the messy hair made it seem impossible such words of wisdom came from her. That’s how she was: wise, but completely uninterested in how others perceived her. The combination made the wisdom all the more startling.
Gigi took a sip of water. She was noticeably silent on the topic of Thomas, something I decided I was grateful for.
My father took a sip of his coffee, obviously deciding as I had, that there was no use in arguing with Lisieux and no reason to try.
“Why don’t your slippers match?” I asked her, already sure of the answer.
She shrugged. “These are the two I found.” She returned to the food in front of her.
Dad’s phone dinged; he’d received a text. He ignored it and leaned back in his chair. “Thomas is better than decent and he goes to our church, which is nice. If you want him to visit, it’s fine with me, but if you don’t want him to visit, that’s fine too.”
“Ugh,” Avi said, flopping her head back. “It’s so boring around here. Let him come over. What else are you going to do?”