I took his hand and said, “I’m sorry, Pat.”
He said without looking up, “All right, Tom. Have it your own way. I’m glad to have you home anyway … on your own terms.”
We talked inanities for a few moments, then he had the robutler fetch me coffee-he had milk. At last he said, “I’ll call the girls.” He touched the arm of his chair, a light glowed and he spoke to it.
Molly came down with Kathleen behind her. I would have known either of them anywhere, though I had never seen them. Molly was a woman in her late sixties, still handsome. Kathleen was fortyish and did not look it-no, she looked her age and wore it regally. Molly stood on tiptoe, holding both my hands, and kissed me. “We’re glad you are home, Tommie.”
“So we are,” Kathleen agreed, and her words echoed in my mind. She kissed me, too, then said just with her voice.
“So this is my aged and ageless great-uncle. Tom, you make me wish for a son. You aren’t uncle-ish and I’ll never call you “uncle” again.”
“Well, I don t feel uncle-ish. Except to Molly, maybe.”
Molly looked startled, then giggled like a girl. “All right, Uncle Tom. I’ll remember your years… and treat you with respect.”
“Where’s Vicky?”
“I’m here, Uncle Tom. Down in a split.”
( “Hurry, hon.” )
Kathleen looked sharply at me, then let it pass-I’m sure she did not mean to listen. She answered, “Vicky will be down in a moment, Tom. She had to get her face just so. You know how girls are.”
I wondered if I did. But Vicky was down, almost at once.
There were no freckles on her face, no braces on her teeth. Her mouth wasn’t large; it was simply perfectly right for her. And the carroty hair that had worried her so was a crown of flame.
She did not kiss me; she simply came straight to me as if we had been alone, took my hands and looked up at me.
“Uncle Tom. Tom.”
(“Freckle Face…”)
I don’t know how long we played statues. Presently she said, “After we are married, there will he none of this many-light-years-apart stuff … Understand me? I go where you go. To Babcock Bay, if that’s what you want. But I go.”
(“Huh? When did you decide to marry me?”)
“You seem to forget that I have been reading your mind since I was a baby-and a lot more thoroughly than you think I have! I’m still doing it.”
(“But how about George?”)
“Nothing about George. He was a mere make-do when I thought you would not be back until I was an old lady. Forget him.”
(“All right.”)
Our “courtship” had lasted all of twenty seconds. Without letting go my hands Vicky spoke aloud, “Tom and I are going downtown and get married. We’d like you all to come along.”
So we did.
I saw Pat eyeing me after the ceremony, sizing up the new situation and mulling over how he would use it. But Pat doesn’t understand the new setup; if I get bossed, it won’t be by him. Vicky says that she will soon have me “ricketty all through.” I hope not but I suppose she will. If so, I trust I’ll be able to adjust to it … I’ve adjusted to stranger things.