“I know that voice, Mamma! Don’t try no dancin’ around this one! Just what—”
“Clinton! Don’t take that tone of voice with me! I can still tan your hide, boy, and I won’t need no help to do it, neither!”
I backed down; getting Mamma mad wouldn’t help. “Sorry, Mamma. Did anything happen that might have . . . started it again?”
“Clint, we’ve got your wedding and Helen’s, and ain’t going to be no surprise if Nellie’s and even Adam’s come pretty quick. And of course we’re going to do you proud, son.”
For a minute I was completely befuddled. What the heck did all that have to do with . . . “Oh, for the love of—Mamma Bea, you didn’t!”
“I just sent Adam down for a little extra.”
I couldn’t believe this. “Mamma, you can’t possibly be telling me we were broke again?”
She was slicing the roast in perfectly even slices—something I never did learn how to do, even though I was in some ways a better cook than Mamma. “Broke? Clint, darling, of course not. But ain’t nothing wrong with thinkin’ ahead, is there? Takes a powerful lot of money to keep the Slades running, and what with building Helen her new house—”
I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. I could see where this was going. The Slades had always been rich, but never learned to keep it. Spend it like water, that was the Slade way. Why learn about investment and things like that? Need more money, just go get some. I suppose I should have expected something on those lines—the last time the family refilled the vault was, as Mamma said, when Grandpa Marlon took his last trip, and besides all the living expenses there’d been additions and enhancements to the house, all the gadgets that the Slade clan loved—Mamma couldn’t get enough of the home theater and DVDs (she had just about the complete Dark Shadows collection, an expense big enough to show up in the budget of any third-world country), and even Father seemed to enjoy his own time with a computer almost as much as he liked doing his woodworking—and of course putting the first Slade in a century or more through a real expensive college with no scholarship.
” . . . so you see, Clint dear, weren’t much choice. And no point putting things off, so I sent Adam off.”
“You knew I was worried about this happening! Couldn’t you have waited a week or so, until after me and Jodi left?”
“Clint. Enough, now.”
I hadn’t heard Father enter. “Yes, Father.”
Father took up one platter, I took up another and followed him out. “Your Mamma is who she is. Works hard to be a Slade even though she weren’t born one. Sometimes that’s not all to the good. ‘Taint no point worryin’. Trouble usually doesn’t come here, even bad times. Scared of the Hollow. Keep her busy here, shouldn’t see anything. Right, son?”
I smiled reluctantly. Father always reminded me of Unc Nunkie from the Oz books; this was a long and involved conversation for him. “Right, Father.”
Mamma’s voice suddenly boomed from the intercom she’d had strung through the whole house. “Dinner! Come an’ get it!”
Even though Jodi was an extra, Mamma had taken out one leaf from the table since Nellie and Helen weren’t here, so it wasn’t hard to join hands to say Grace. Jodi looked slightly uncomfortable, but the Slades knew a lot of people who weren’t of the Faith, so it didn’t cause a bad moment like it might with some families—no pressure on her to follow along with the prayer.
Then we all got to eat, which was what we’d all been waiting for. The roast, as should have been obvious, was only the centerpiece. Potatoes, green beans, salad (which didn’t used to be a fixture, but me and the girls pushed for it), sweet potato pie, biscuits, well, just so much food we had to eat fast before the table broke. And then there were the desserts! When Mamma set out to show off her cookin’ skills, she didn’t stop until you surrendered. Luckily, one thing Jodi wasn’t traditional about was food; I hadn’t had to face the horror of tryin’ to tell Mamma that she’d have to change the way she cooked.