"Yes, I might," Pat said drily. "If your father insists on going out, let me talk to him, please."
Apparently Josef was not in an intransigent mood. Kathy hung up after a brief exchange.
"He's coming right over," she announced.
The teakettle began to shriek. Pat made herself a cup of coffee. When Josef appeared at the back door, she waved the kettle at him.
"Coffee?"
"I'd rather have a drink." He was wearing a sports coat and tie; the pale-blue coat was an unexpectedly frivolous touch, but it set off his dark eyes and graying hair. From behind his back he produced two bottles. "Scotch and gin. If I had four hands I could offer more variety."
"Help yourself," Pat said. "I'll stick to coffee."
Josef made himself a Scotch and water, while Pat watched.
"Kathy says you don't want to go out," he said. "Why not?"
"Oh, this is ridiculous," Pat exclaimed. "We stand around here acting like any normal…" She cut off the word she had almost said, but it hung in the air as if it had a palpable shape of its own. "Family." Hardly, Pat thought angrily. She went on, with rising heat, "It's getting late, and we don't even know where you two are going to spend the night. We left everything hanging. It's driving me crazy, not knowing-"
"That's the trouble with your generation," Mark said, slurping his Coke. "You haven't learned to relax. You've got to hang loose, and let things-"
"Quiet," Josef said. "Your mother is right. The trouble with your generation is that you never plan in advance. And who gets stuck with the chaotic results of your lack of foresight? Your despised parents, that's who. I have had so many cases-"
"Okay, okay," Pat said hastily. She had seen the bright spots of temper form on Mark's cheekbones, and wanted to avert an argument. "You're both right. I am too up-tight. On the other hand, we could stand a little advance planning. For instance, what happens tonight?"
"I wanted to take you out," Josef said. "As a token of appreciation, if nothing more. But if you don't want to go-"
"I want to talk. I want to plan. I want to know where the hell everybody is going to sleep tonight!"
Kathy giggled.
"You're a very cool mother, Mrs. Robbins."
"Oh, damn," Pat said.
"I agree with Mom," Mark said. "I mean, I think we'd be more relaxed here than in some restaurant. But we have to eat."
"I can't imagine you going without nourishment for more than two hours," Pat agreed. "Why don't you and Kathy go to the Oriental and get some Chinese food to bring home?"
"I'll go," Josef said. "Where is the place?"
He was obviously unfamiliar with the routine, and so was Kathy. Watching the girl's pleased amusement as they bickered over what to order, and then placed the call so that the food would be ready to be picked up, Pat wondered how the Friedrichs had lived b.p.-before Poolesville. Had they always dined formally at the best French restaurants? Had Mrs. Friedrichs been a gourmet cook? And what business was it of hers anyway?
Josef went to get the food, the two young people vanished into the upper regions, and Pat set about cleaning up the breakfast dishes, which were, as she might have expected, still squatting in the sink. It might have occurred to someone to wash them, she thought, scrubbing at encrusted egg and wondering why someone hadn't thought to make cement with that as a base. Cleaning up the kitchen took longer than anyone might have reasonably supposed. Twilight was well advanced and she was setting the table when Josef returned, walking into the kitchen without knocking, as if he lived there.
"Where are-" he began.
"Upstairs," Pat said. She hated washing dishes. That may have been one of the reasons why she was in a bad mood. "They are not in bed together," she said nastily. "But I suppose you will want to go and check."
"Now why should you suppose-"
"Oh, forget it."
"I'd rather not, if you don't mind. That abominably conceited son of yours is right about one thing: we've all been forced by circumstances beyond our control into a situation which, if nothing else, demands some degree of honest communication." He unloaded the cartons of food as he spoke; his expression, as he peered uncertainly at a bag of egg rolls before putting it on the table, was comically at variance with his sober, precise voice. "Believe me," he went on, "I regret the intrusion into your life as much as you must resent it. But-"
"I don't resent it," Pat said.
"You don't?"
Pat felt herself flushing.
"Not in the way you mean. I'd pitch in and help any neighbor who was in trouble-although God knows I've never encountered anything like your problem! I like Kathy. I like her… very much. I think we could all be… well, friendly, without getting into anything… I mean, I've no interest in and no intention of…"
She had begun fluently enough. Now to her annoyance she felt her cheeks burn more hotly as she began to stutter and stumble over the words.
Josef came to her rescue.
"You needn't go on, Pat. We have not known one another long, but as you say, the circumstances are extraordinary. I think I know you well enough to realize…"
He stopped speaking. Pat realized he was as embarrassed as she was.
"This is silly," she said, her own self-confidence rising as his declined. "Two middle-aged adults ought to be able to talk without blushing or stammering. We understand one another, I think. Now let's get to the heart of the problem. It's not me you're worried about; it's Mark. You think he is using this situation as an excuse to-well, to get closer to Kathy."
"And you're going to assure me he would never dream of doing such a thing."
"Good heavens, no. He'll use it. But that doesn't mean he is not genuinely concerned, or that he is stupid. And you must accept the fact that Kathy is going to be interested in young men. She could do worse than Mark. I'm not claiming he is a paragon, but-"
The thud of approaching footsteps-unquestionably Mark's-made her break off. Josef looked mutinous. Pat knew she hadn't gotten through to him. It had been naive of her to assume that reasoning could cure him of his prejudice against Mark, even if she had been allowed to finish her arguments.
The kitchen door opened. Mark held the door for Kathy and followed her, his nostrils quivering.
"Let's eat," he said.
"What about a drink before dinner?" Josef suggested, eyeing the white cartons without enthusiasm.
He made himself a drink; no one else joined him. Mark seated his ladies with a flourish. He was obviously in a euphoric mood. Pat wished she could say the same for Josef. Conversation was almost nonexistent until Mark had satisfied the first pangs of hunger.
"Any luck on your research?" Pat asked.
"Not much," Mark answered. "We've pretty well exhausted what the library had to offer. The historical association was closed today; but I thought maybe we'd stop by Jay's place tonight."
"Jay?" Josef asked.
"He's the curator of the historical association," Pat answered for her son, whose mouth was full. "He lives down the street. I didn't realize you knew him, Mark."
"I know him slightly," Mark said, reaching for another egg roll. His mother gave him a sharp look. It had not dawned on her until that moment that the bachelor pad on the street might offer attractions to other young males in the neighborhood. She sent forth a silent prayer to whatever powers-might-be that Jay was neither gay nor in trouble with the police, and said moderately, "Then you still cling to your-excuse me-nutty idea that we have a historical ghost?"
"Nicely put," Mark said. "Now as I see it, what we have to do is find out more about the families who lived here. There are all kinds of things we can try. I made a list." He tilted to one side so that he could reach his hip pocket, and flourished a grubby piece of paper. "First Jay and the local historical association. Then the state association in Baltimore, and the Library of Congress manuscript division. Genealogical societies, like the DAR and the Daughters of the Confederacy. I want to track down the descendants, if any, of the Bateses and the Turnbulls. There might be family records-diaries, old photo albums, letters. They wrote diaries like crazy in those days, especially the women. Some of 'em have even been published. We ought to check the Library of Congress card catalog, just in case Louisa or Lavinia got their memoirs into print. Old army records, too. I also want to search both houses."