Occasion of Revenge Read Online Free PDF Page A

covered the receiver with his hand because there was a muffled discussion before Ruth came back on the line, sounding exasperated. “Well, don’t expect Julia Child,” she snapped.
    “When did I ever?” Ruth could arrange your kitchen according to the principles of feng shui, but ask her to put seven basic ingredients into a harmonious casserole and you’d be out of luck. “I’ll bring bread and a salad,” I reassured her.
    “Great! If Georgina brings dessert, I think I can manage.”
    “Georgina, Scott …” I did a quick mental head count. “With you, Dad, us, and all the kids, that makes eleven.”
    “Twelve,” she corrected.
    “Twelve?”
    “Don’t forget Darlene.”
    Indeed, from that day forward, there’d be very little danger that I’d ever forget Darlene.

chapter
3
    She arrived late. Fashionably late. Claudia Schiffer on a Versace runway couldn’t have done it with more style. From the moment she glided over the threshold of my father’s house and into the entrance hall, Darlene was in control, keenly aware that all eyes were on her. A cold front had moved across Maryland overnight, and against the unseasonably chilly weather she wore a red wool cloak, which she unbuttoned and swirled off her shoulders like a matador, launching it in my general direction. Perversely, I just missed catching it.
    “Here, allow me.” Emily bent to retrieve the cloak, knocking heads with Darlene in the process.
    “Ouch!” Vigorously rubbing her head, Darlene straightened to her full five foot two plus at least three inches of trendy stacked heels. Above them, she wore sleek black capri pants and a sweater the color of bubblegum. I had read that capri pants were back in style, but I couldn’t help thinking that she looked like a refugee from the old Dick Van Dyke Show .
    “I’m so sorry!” Emily’s face wore a look of genuine concern. “Are you all right?”
    Darlene handed my daughter the cloak. “I guess I’ll live.” She looked over Emily’s shoulder, one pale eyebrow raised. “Where’s your grandfather?”
    “In the kitchen.”
    “This way?” she asked, taking a tentative step down the hall. When Emily pointed, she sailed off in that direction, the neck of a paper-bag-encased wine bottle clutched in her hand. “Georgie!”
    I glanced at Emily, who had covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing. “Georgie?” I mouthed. For a weird moment I thought Darlene was calling for Georgina.
    Emily waggled her index finger. “Pink is definitely her color.” She scooped up Chloe, who had been sitting on the carpet experimenting with her shoelaces, trying to determine if they were edible, and we followed our guest, arriving in time to observe Darlene plant a wet kiss squarely on Daddy’s mouth. My stomach lurched.
    Fortunately, Ruth’s back was turned. A storm cloud still hovered over her, and I didn’t think she’d be in the mood to watch the opening round of the Nookie Olympics, Senior Division. Ruth stood at the stove tending a pot of steaming water. On the counter next to it were two one-pound boxes of pasta. “This is for you.” Darlene thrust the wine in Ruth’s direction.
    Ruth turned. A strand of silver hair had escaped from her leather headband to dangle in a corkscrew over her forehead. She swiped at it with the back of a hand which held a large wooden spoon. “Uh, thanks,” she mumbled. “Red or white?”
    “Georgie said we were having spaghetti. So red.”
    “Just put it on the counter, OK?”
    Daddy reached over, took the bag from Darlene’s hand, slipped the bottle out, and stared at it as if committing every word printed on the label to memory. “Turning Leaf,” he said. “A fine, fine wine.” He kissed Darlene’s cheek. “Thank you.”
    Ruth rolled her eyes ceilingward, turned back to the stove, and began punishing the sauce.
    Darlene inhaled deeply. “Ah! Homemade spaghetti sauce!” She stepped toward the stove, until Ruth stopped her with a look that