My sister and I spotted each other at the same time, across the room. There was one quick glance before she first looked away and then, with a jaw-dropping second peek she recognized me and tendered a weak smile before turning away. Not even a wave. If Suzie wanted me to attend, why was she shocked at seeing me? Why didn't she come over and greet me?

I'd visit the Gardner Museum so the trip to Boston wouldn't be a total wash; any place but here where I stood self-consciously trying to pretend I wasn't alone. As I turned for the cloak room, two little tuxedo-dressed munchkins ran up to me, coloring books in hand. They tugged me to a table with an invitation I couldn't decline. My niece Maureen waved from across the floor and I realized the two were her twins, Daniel and Dennis. I sat down with them, three outcasts, crayoning farm scenes with the intensity of left bank masters. We seldom strayed outside the lines as the band played on.

When their yawns became more frequent, mommy came by, with unnecessary apologies to me. The boys insisted on finishing "one last page" before going up to their hotel room so Maureen joined our little group to wait them out.

"You're a saint to watch them," she said, adjusting her pregnant body to a more comfortable position. I smiled a response as she glanced down at my still-bare feet. "I guess the shoes are getting to you," she added.

"Blame the airline," I answered. "Thanks for coming to the rescue. Loose as they are it beats my being the only bare foot guest."

Maureen looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening. "Don't mind my mother for being a bit standoffish," she said, apologizing for my sister.

"When I received the note from her with the invitation, I thought . . ."

Maureen bit her lip. "I sent that, Aunt Sarah."

"Maureen!"

"I'm sorry but she talks about you all the time and it's stupid for you to stay pissed at each other, like forever. I know you've lived all over the place but now you're in Washington, less than a day's drive away. I figured if you two were in the same room, perhaps one of you would stop being so damn stubborn."

"Maureen, your mother and I keep in touch. . ."

"Oh, sure. 'Here's a school picture of little Maureen in the sixth grade. I know you've never seen her, but she's your niece'. Thanks for the post cards from Germany, England, Texas, Alaska and hell and gone."

"I'm sorry, Maureen," I said.

"No, I should be the one to apologize; I'm just being a busy body. At least I got to finally meet you. Ma is just in a mood. She's pissed at Mike for having a J P wedding and not marrying in the church." I experienced a wave of déjà vous having done the same thing myself.




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