Finding Miracles Read Online Free PDF Page B

wouldn’t get scared off by our noisy reunion. Entrances and exits were big in this family of command performances. Everyone was talking at once: mostly terrible-weather-on-the-road stories. I don’t know why it is that people who drive up from the city in the winter always make it sound like they just survived a dangerous trek. It’s only Vermont, not the North Pole, for heaven’s sake.
    Happy was looking at Dad, nodding appreciatively. “That sweater was made for you, Davey.” All members of the Vermont Kaufman family over eight struggled to keep straight faces. “You do look a little tired, though. Have you lost some weight?”
    Now it was Kate’s turn. “Katherine, dear!” Kate’s smile tightened. Kate hates the name Katherine, but who was going to tell Grandma that her namesake didn’t like being called Katherine? “You are looking lovely, as always, but that hair needs a good trim. Next time you come down to New York,” she added, as if poor Kate couldn’t get a decent haircut in Vermont. “Sylvia, how are you, Sylvia?” No time for Mom to reply because just then, Nate came bounding straight into Grandma’s arms. After a long hug and a dozen kisses, Happy held Nate at arm’s length to take a better look at him. “My, my, how you’ve grown! Soon we should be thinking about a prep school for him,” Happy mentioned to Dad. Nate looked panicked and glanced over at Mom, who shook her head imperceptibly. No, he did not have to go to boarding school like Harry Potter.
    Finally, Happy caught sight of me at the edge of the group. “Milly?” she questioned. “Could this really be Milly?” It was not her phony millionairess-at-a-cocktail-party act, but the genuine article: Happy Kaufman was impressed.
    I followed Nate’s lead and gave my grandmother a warm hug and kiss. “It’s great you decided to have your party here, Grandma. Happy birthday!”
    It was meltdown. Happy was smiling widely,
happily
. Seconds later, she took Nate’s hand and slipped her other arm through mine and allowed us to escort her into our humble abode, whose mortgage she, of course, had paid for.
    Dinner was Mom’s solo performance . . . almost. She had knocked herself out making filet mignon—something she never makes in our on-and-off vegetarian family on a budget. We also had these creamed potatoes called potatoes dauphinois, a spinach soufflé, and homemade French bread. She threw in the towel at being Martha Stewart and called Jake’s mom and ordered a Gâteau Roland (just a fancy name for a chocolate cake—everything seemed to have French names tonight). Happy assumed Mom had made the cake— and Mom just . . . well . . . she didn’t try to correct the wrong impression. Poor Mom really needed this moment of glory. I could see her finally relaxing after weeks of being on edge. She even asked Happy how the renovations at the house were going. The answer could last an evening.
    Meanwhile, Dad was grilling poor Eli Strong in this kind of suspicious tone of voice. “So what is it you do, Mr. Strong? Law? What kind of law? Estate law, I see.”
    “Children,” Happy broke in. She spoke now to the whole table. It was odd to hear grownups called children. “Mr. Strong is my estate lawyer. And he very kindly agreed to accompany me here so we could discuss some matters privately after dinner. Just the children,” she added. Everyone understood she meant Dad and Aunt Joan. Her
blood
children. Another word, like
adopt,
that makes
my
blood run cold.
    Nate, the only person present who could get away with asking, blurted out, “So are you gonna get married, Grandma?”
    Grandma looked at him a moment as if he had dropped in from outer space. “What on earth for? I’ve got enough problems already!” She glanced pointedly at Dad, then threw back her head and laughed. We guessed it was a joke and joined in.
    After dinner, Happy and Dad and Aunt Joan proceeded into the family room with Mr. Strong and shut the door. Uncle Stanley