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.Eleven o'clock, Sydney decides.She will not start worrying until eleven o'clock."The Acela's been shut down," Ferris ventures in one of his few contributions to the dinner conversation.Perhaps he has been saving it up all evening."You're kidding," Art says."Cracks in the shock absorbers."This has the makings of a major crisis.How will Art and Wendy get home? Even Sydney knows that the plan is for them to take the bus to Boston on Monday morning, the Acela, the high-speed train, to Manhattan later that afternoon.Mrs.Edwards looks momentarily stricken.The dirty dishes are monstrous.Jeff comes in to help, and no one shoos him away."Dad, I'll take over," he says, putting a hand on his father's shoulder.Mr.Edwards appears exhausted, a sail collapsing in a dearth of wind.Jeff rolls the sleeves of his blue oxford shirt.For a moment, Sydney studies his wrists.The dishes are dotted with pink globules of fat, reminding Sydney of Mrs.Edwards's hardening arteries.Plates of cake reveal varying appetites for a confection she knows was a trick, a cake mix doctored with Miracle Whip, instant vanilla pudding, and orange juice to make it look and taste homemade.Sydney has seen the recipes in Mrs.Edwards's cookbook, the bizarre ingredients listed there: lemon Jell-O, chopped Snickers bars, condensed tomato soup.It is Sydney's considered opinion, having had four bites of her piece of cake, that neither the Miracle Whip nor the instant pudding successfully masked the store-bought chemical aftertaste.Sydney develops an inconvenient revulsion to the leavings of the guests.Is this dirty fork one that Will had in his mouth? Is this Victoria's lipstick? Jeff works as if he's done considerable time in a restaurant kitchen.His organizational skills rival Sydney's, or perhaps she is a little drunk herself and it only seems that way.Dozens of glasses are smeared with lip and fingerprints, a forensic fantasy if only a crime had been committed."Where's Vicki?" Sydney asks."Upstairs.Lying down.""Is she okay?""Works hard, plays hard.""Good plan," Sydney says, slightly embarrassed for having called attention to Victoria's altered state.For having even mentioned Vicki's name."You don't like her, do you?" Jeff says.Sydney is startled by the abruptness of the question.Also by its accuracy."I do," she protests.But the do is damning, suggesting an unnegotiable flaw.The space between the sink and the island is narrow, and a kind of dance needs to be choreographed so that no part of Sydney's body touches Jeff's.She is not aware of needing to perform such a dance when Mr.Edwards does the dishes.Claire and Will linger an unconscionable amount of time after dinner is over, a puzzle given that the couple seem to want only to be together.To do what? Sydney wonders.Talk? Unwind? Have sex? Watch SportsCenter?? The fact that they have so little to say to others fascinates Sydney, their offerings distinctly minimalist."Lunch counter gone this year.""Noticed that.""You kayak?""No, you?"Ben and Jeff and Sydney sit on the porch with the Edwardses, both of whom need their bed.Mrs.Edwards tosses subtle hints into the ocean air."Mark, you'll have to get up early for the paper.They go fast on Sundays."Sydney's contributions to the conversation are nonexistent, her mind preoccupied with Julie.Only Jeff seems visibly to share her worry, occasionally glancing at his watch and once leaning over to her."Did Julie say where she was going?" he asks."No," Sydney says, "she didn't."At twenty minutes to eleven, Claire puts a hand on Will's knee, a sign everyone chooses to interpret as a wife's signal to her husband that it's time to leave.All present stand in unison, Mr.Edwards already unleashing a salvo of hearty good-byes.So glad you could come.Mutual boating trips are promised but without the requisite dates and times, all but guaranteeing the imagined journeys will not actually take place."They weren't my idea," Mrs.Edwards says in the kitchen, snapping off her clip earrings and setting them hard on the granite counter."He seemed a nice enough fellow," Mr.Edwards says, fetching a glass of water to take upstairs."Nice enough where? On the golf course?""He had quite a lot to say about old maps."Mrs.Edwards unfastens her banana clip.Sydney notes that not a single hair falls to her neck.Mr.and Mrs.Edwards climb the stairs, Mr.Edwards hanging on to the banister as he does so.It is understood that the remainder of the dishes--the after-dinner glasses, the coffee cups with the dark rings--will be left until the morning, when the first one up will empty the dishwasher and dispatch the detritus of the party.Sydney wanders to the kitchen window and looks out."You're worried about Julie," Jeff says behind her.Sydney turns, smoothing her hair behind her ears."I am.What time is it now?""Ten of eleven." He answers quickly, a man who has recently consulted his watch."I so wish I'd asked her where she was going.""You want to take a ride with me?" Jeff asks, tension in his eyes, on his brow."Sure," Sydney says with some relief."It's better than waiting here.""I'll just tell Ben we're going.He can call us if she comes in."A fair-weather mist, so fine as to be barely detectable, surrounds Sydney's face [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]