Enough to Miss Christmas

It was still dark when Karen awoke, extricated herself and bounded into the bathroom. In her absence, I pulled my aching body into the bathrobe and crawled over to my bed. The clock radio showed six-thirty. As I turned on the light, I glimpsed at the book Karen was reading the night before. I was startled to see it wasn't in English. I recognized the bust of Cicero and the Latin text. Twenty minutes passed, most with the shower running, before Karen emerged, fully dressed in a different outfit.

"Good, morning," I said. "You're an early riser." She nodded an acknowledgment, returned to her bed and picked up Cicero. "That's pretty heavy reading for your age. Are all your books so advanced?"

"I'm at the head of my class," she said, without looking up. While I didn't doubt her intelligence and reading level, I thought the comment strange. Paul told me she was individually tutored at home. "I have a book list," she added. "I'm working on Greek too."

"Do you ever read for fun?"

She looked at me as if not understanding the question. "Just the books on the list Sister Rose made. Some are more fun than others."

While I wanted to pursue this strange conversation, my need to pee forced to me to make for the bathroom. After a quick shower I dressed, in old clothes, reminiscent of my lost luggage incident in Boston. At least I had clean panties. When I returned, Karen was reaching for the hotel phone.

"I tried to call my father but his cell is still turned off. I'll call room service for breakfast. I usually have eggs and bacon and wheat toast. I'll order the same for you."

"I'd rather eat in the dining room," I said as I moved toward the door. "Come on." Karen looked dumbfounded. I added, "Unless you want to eat alone." She gave a scowl but rose from the bed and followed me to the elevator and down to the nearly empty dining room.

"Put the bill on Mrs. Blanding's room," she told the head waiter.

"No," I said. "I'll pay by credit card." Karen continued to scowl as we were led to our table. When we were seated, I took her hand and looked her in the eye.

"Is it still going to be Mrs. Blanding?"

"You're not like the other ones," she grumbled.

"What other ones? The other women your father brings home for approval?"

She looked shocked. "No! He's never done that! I mean the others; teachers, Mrs. Doberchek, Mrs. Waterman, people like that."

"Karen, I'm not people like that; the hired help. I'm a pushy, stubborn, independent woman who enjoys your father's company. I just happen to be a school teacher as well. I like you very much and I'm sorry I act the way I do; it's just me being me. I don't want to get off on the wrong foot with you but I'll not be bossed around either. Now, for starts, call me Sarah. Say the name; it's not so difficult." She tried to look away but I reached up and turned her chin.