The Inn at Lake Devine Part 29

Kris laughed.

Ingrid spat out, "Triple-A. Not A.A."

"What do they say about us?" Kris asked.

"We won't know until it's published, but I imagine flattering things, or we wouldn't be listed."

"Maybe it'll help," said Kris.

I could see the business bulb flashing above Linette's head. "What's March like?" she inquired chummily.

"Depends on the snow," said Kris.

"Forty, fifty percent occupancy?"

Ingrid said, "The thaw came early this year."

"Thirty percent," said Kris.

I asked, "Any chance the double with the yellow-chintz headboard is free?"

Ingrid straightened her spine. She looked at me as if I had asked her for the deed to her hotel.

"I'll check," said Kris, walking over to the cubbyholes behind the registration desk. "Empty!" he called, waving the key.

Ingrid barely reacted.

Mr. Berry said, "Let your mother figure out the sleeping arrangements. That's her domain."

Linette murmured something to Nelson.

Nelson said, "If the room's empty, what's to figure out?"

Dinner was a choice between Swiss steak and a roasted leg of spring chicken. Salad was a surgical wedge of iceberg lettuce dribbled with orange dressing. There was no excitement in the room: People cut their meat with a slow intersection of knife and fork and chewed as if counting bites. Unpardonably, there were instant mashed potatoes and frozen mixed vegetables, with their telltale crinkle cuts. I waited until dessert was served-Indian pudding or Floating Island-before saying, "Frankly, Ingrid-and I know you didn't ask for my opinion-this new cook has no feel for food."

She broke off a pale piece of Parker House roll and chewed it prissily. "At least this is well balanced and nicely presented."

Linette, in a plaid jumper that looked like a parochial-school uniform, said, "I have to agree with Natalie, Mrs. Berry. She's talking about a whole lot more than presentation. Nothing is more important at a hotel than the food."

"Look around," I said quietly.

"Where?" said the Berrys.

"No one looks happy. It's the look of patients eating hospital food."

Ingrid looked to her flesh and blood, begging silently for help. Was this hospital fare? Were her patrons unhappy? Is nothing more important at a hotel than its food?

"Can Mrs. Crowley do any better?" I asked. "I mean, is she more creative than this, but she thinks this is what you want?"

"Is it really bad?" asked Mr. Berry.

I heard the word shmendrik in my mother's voice but dismissed it out of loyalty.

"Dad," said Kris. "Instant mashed potatoes?"

"I don't discuss these kinds of decisions in public, ever," said Ingrid, leaving teeth marks in each word.

"You're right," said Linette. "Absolutely." She took a spoonful of Indian pudding, having been a.s.sured by Ingrid that it wasn't made with lard. "At least one table should be smiling."

"Maybe while Natalie's here she could give Mrs. Crowley some tips," said Mr. Berry.

Under her breath, trying to smile, Ingrid hissed, "I said later."

We sipped our tea and weak coffee. "What's on tap for tonight?" asked Linette.

"Steve and Eydie," said Nelson, at the same moment Kris said, "Simon Says."

"Nelson," murmured Ingrid, after another boisterous round of Catskills jokes. "May I speak with you privately?"

"Just say it, Ma."

Ingrid placed her cup carefully in its saucer and did an eyeball sweep of the room. "We have returning guests. They know the family; many know the Fifes. They know that you're in mourning."

"So he's not supposed to be out in public, enjoying himself?" Kris demanded. "When does Emily Post say he can laugh again?"

"That's not what Mother's saying," said Mr. Berry.

"It doesn't look right," Ingrid whispered.

Linette asked, "Is it because Nelson's here with a woman and it looks like he's on a date?"

Nelson said, "I wasn't married. I'm not a widower."

"Nelson and I are friends, Mrs. Berry," said Linette.

Ingrid blinked hard and said, "I know that. It never occurred to me that you were anything but friends."

Kris looked at me, seeking permission, I thought, to work us into a declaration. I signaled, Don't.

"I have no patience for this," said Nelson.

"Why would that never have occurred to you, Mom?" Kris asked. "What is it about Linette that made you rule her out, categorically?"

I thought of saying, "Isn't it a moot point? Linette is engaged to Joel Taub. She has a ring. Just tell her that." But I waited, wondering what was next and how he'd word the showdown: You don't like Jews. You never did. One Jew girlfriend in this family is enough.

"Let her be," her husband said. "She's had a terrible week."

With only that much mercy shown her, Ingrid said, "Linette and"-she hesitated, as if she'd forgotten my name-"... Natalie are welcome here, whatever the reason."

"Thank you," I said.

"Thanks," said Linette.

"The guests can go to h.e.l.l," Nelson sputtered.

Ingrid stood, but never raised her voice. "I'm saying good night. I can't seem to say or do anything right as far as my children are concerned, so I'm leaving you to your ... party."

We watched her make the rounds of the dining hall, placing her hand lightly on the backs of guests' chairs, saying a few gracious words in her pinched fashion, and disappearing out the front door.

Linette finally lit a cigarette, inhaled, and exhaled as if on an overdue break from an exhausting job.

Mr. Berry asked, "Was that necessary?"

"Yes," Kris said.

Our gray-nylon-uniformed waitress appeared and asked if she should clear Mrs. Berry's place.

"Do you know what I was getting at?" Kris asked his father as soon as the waitress had left. "Did you grasp the fact that I was referring to Linette being Jewish?"

"I thought that might have been-"

"And to your habit of turning Jews away before there were laws against it?"

Mr. Berry looked down at his plate, then up at me. "We've had many families of the Jewish faith through the years ... lovely people."

"Not my people," I said. "It was only by chance that I slipped in."

"You took Jews starting when?" asked Linette.

"I never-" Mr. Berry tried, stopped, tried again: "I didn't make the rules. I didn't even register guests-that was her domain."

"You never noticed there weren't any Jews around? You never got a call from the Anti-Defamation League?" Linette asked.

"I never answered the phones. I worked outside. Not just the grounds, but the outbuildings and the waterfront. I did all the painting myself, and grooming the trails, and all the upkeep on the dock. Of course, the boys helped when they were home, but I had plenty to do without answering a phone or mailing a letter. We weren't so big that we could say yes to everyone."

"Is that what Mrs. Berry told you? That you were small so you could pick and choose whomever you wanted?"

"She said it was our home."

"So?" said Kris. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I thought it meant that we could hold our rooms for the same people year after year, because they were like family ... like the Fifes."

"He doesn't get it," said Nelson.

"It's not that complicated," said Linette. She turned to Mr. Berry. "A hotel is not a home. It's a business. You can't turn people away because of race or religion or anything like that."

"We weren't the only ones," he said.

"No kidding," said Linette. "Why do you think we had to start our own hotels?"

I was on my feet by now, plotting my getaway through the sc.r.a.ping of plates. No one responded until I heard a plaintive, "Natalie?"

"What's she supposed to say, Dad?" asked Kris. "All is forgiven?"

"Maybe I could tell her I'm sorry," said Mr. Berry.

I answered him, knowing I was disappointing Linette: "Remember how you sent me that book about mushrooms and you wrote, 'Keep it until you come back'? That's not what an anti-Semite says to a little Jewish girl. That's how I knew I was welcome."

He released the whimper he'd been stifling.

"Jesus," said Nelson. "Not in the dining room."

Kris hurried away and returned in thirty seconds with a gla.s.s. "Brandy," he said.

"Bring the bottle," said Nelson.

We tried to resuscitate Mr. Berry. We told him stories about what goes on in big, splashy hotels on the American Plan-dancing, music, and magic every night. He listened, even asked questions about their grounds, their perennials, their flowering shrubs; but I could see he was embarra.s.sed and distressed. After only a few sips of brandy, he announced he was going to bed, adding anxiously, "You're still planning to spend the night?"

"We are," I said.

"You're all set? Kris, you'll give Natalie that room she wanted?"

"Sure."

"And you boys will stay in the Inn tonight?" he asked sweetly, absent any subtext other than "Mother and I need the little house to ourselves."

I felt Kris's stockinged foot slide onto mine under the table. We nodded solemnly.

"Good night, then," said Mr. Berry.

TWENTY-FOUR.

When Linette and I sauntered down to breakfast, trying to look like girlfriends who had giggled into the night rather than like outside agitators, no one at the family table took note. Clearly, there was a conference in progress-that is, until Ingrid saw us and clammed up.

"Everyone's going to find out sooner or later," Nelson said.

"What are we going to find out?" asked Linette, her curly hair bound into two sprouting pigtails by mismatched novelties.

"Family matters," said Ingrid.