It seemed that Catherine Evans (who had never wished more bitterly to be Catherine Bradbury again) had been lying to everyone. She had been in the grip of a screaming-blue migraine for not just a day or two days this time but for the last two weeks. During that time she had eaten next to nothing and lost fifteen pounds. She had been serving canapes to Stephen Krutchmer, the head of the History Department, and his wife when the colors went out of everything and the world suddenly swam away from her. She had rolled bonelessly forward, spilling a whole tray of Chinese pork rolls onto the front of Mrs. Krutchmer's expensive Norma Kamali dress, which had been purchased for just this occasion.
Brian and Lissa had heard the commotion and had come creeping down the stairs in their pajamas to see what was going on, although both of them - all four children, for that matter - had been strictly forbidden by Daddy Lew to leave the upper floors of the house once the party began. 'University people don't like to see children at faculty parties,' Lew had explained brusquely that afternoon. 'It sends all sorts of mixed signals.' When they saw their mother on the floor in a circle of kneeling, concerned faculty members (Mrs. Krutchmer was not there; she had run for the kitchen, wanting to get some cold water on the front of her dress before the sauce-stains could set) they had forgotten their stepfather's firm order and had run in, Lissa crying, Brian bellowing in excited dismay. Lissa managed to kick the head of Asian Studies in the left kidney. Brian, who was two years older and thirty pounds heavier, did even better: he knocked the fall semester's guest lecturer, a plump babe in a pink dress and curly-toed evening slippers, smack into the fireplace. She sat there, dazed, in a large puff of gray-black ashes.
'Mom! Mommy!' Brian cried, shaking the former Catherine Bradbury. 'Mommy! Wake up!' Mrs. Evans stirred and moaned.
'Get upstairs,' Lew said coldly. 'Both of you.'
When they showed no signs of obeying, Lew put his hand on Lissa's shoulder and tightened it until she squeaked with pain. His eyes blazed at her out of a face, which had gone dead pale except for red spots as bright as dimestore rouge in the center of each cheek. 'I'll take care of this,' he said through teeth so tightly clamped they refused to entirely unlock even to speak. 'You and your brother go upstairs right n...' 'Take your hand off her, you son of a bitch,' Trent said clearly. Lew - and all the party-goers who had arrived early enough to witness this entertaining sideshow - turned toward the archway between the living room and the hallway. Trent and Laurie stood there, side by side. Trent was as pale as his stepfather, but his face was calm and set. There were people at the party - not many but a few - who had known Catherine Evans's first husband, and they agreed later that the resemblance between father and son was extraordinary. That it was, in fact, almost as though Bill Bradbury had come back from the dead to confront his ill-tempered replacement.
'I want you to go upstairs,' Lew said. 'All four of you. There's nothing here to concern you.
Nothing to concern you at all.'
Mrs. Krutchmer had come back into the room, the bosom of her Norma Kamali damp but reasonably free of stains.
'Get your hand off Lissa,' Trent said.
'And get away from our mother,' Laurie said.
Now Mrs. Evans was sitting up, her hands to her head, looking around dazedly. The headache had popped like a balloon, leaving her disoriented and weak but at last out of the agony she had endured for the last fourteen days. She knew she had done something terrible, embarrassed Lew, perhaps even disgraced him, but for the moment she was too grateful that the pain had stopped to care. The shame would come later. Now she only wanted to go upstairs - very slowly - and lie down.
'You'll be punished for this,' Lew said, looking at his four stepchildren in the nearly perfect shocked silence of the living room. He didn't look at them all at once but one at a time, as if marking the nature and extent of each crime. When his gaze fell on Lissa, she began to cry. 'I'm sorry for their misbehavior,' he said to the room at large. 'My wife is a bit lax with them, I'm afraid. What they need is a good English nanny...' 'Don't be a jackass, Lew,' Mrs. Krutchmer said. Her voice was very loud but not very tuneful; she sounded a bit like a jackass in full bray herself. Brian jumped, clutched his sister, and also gave way to tears. 'Your wife fainted. They were concerned, that's all.' 'Quite right, too,' the guest lecturer said, struggling to extract her considerable bulk from the fireplace. Her pink dress was now a splotchy gray and her face was streaked with soot. Only her shoes with their absurd but engaging curly tips seemed to have escaped, but she looked quite unperturbed by the whole thing. 'Children should care about their mothers. And husbands about their wives.'
She looked pointedly at Lew Evans as she said this last, but Lew missed her gaze; he was marking Trent and Laurie's progress as they assisted their mother up the stairs. Lissa and Brian trailed along behind, like an honor guard.
The party went on. The incident was more or less papered over, as unpleasant incidents at faculty parties usually are. Mrs. Evans (who had slept three hours a night at most since her husband had announced his intention of throwing a party) was asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow, and the children heard Lew downstairs, booming out bonhomie without her. Trent suspected that he was even a little relieved not to have to contend with his scurrying, frightened mouse of a wife anymore.