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.”Before I could say anything; my mother was on the line.“Why can't you come down here, Katie? It's sunny and you should see the grapefruit.”“I can't do it, Mother.I'm really sorry.”“And now Lucy won't be here, either? Is that what I heard? What am I supposed to do, eat a turkey by myself?”“Dorothy will be there.”“What? Are you kidding? She'll be with Fred.I can't stand him.”Dorothy had gotten divorced again last summer.I didn't ask who Fred was.“I think he's Iranian or something.He'll squeeze a penny until it screams and has hair in his ears.I know he's not Catholic, and Dorothy never takes Lucy to church these days.You ask me, that child's going to hell in a hand basket.”“Mother, they can hear you.”“No they can't.I'm in the kitchen by myself staring at a sink full of dirty dishes that I just know Dorothy expects me to do while I'm here.It's just like when she comes to my house, because she hasn't done a thing about dinner and is hoping I'll cook.Does she ever offer to bring anything? Does she care that I'm an old woman and practically a cripple? Maybe you can talk some sense into Lucy.”“In what way is Lucy lacking sense?” I asked.“She doesn't have any friends except this one girl you have to wonder about.You should see Lucy's bedroom.It looks like something out of a science fiction movie with all these computers and printers and pieces and parts.It's not normal for a teenage girl to live inside her brain all the time like that and not get out with kids her own age.I worry about her just like I used to worry about you.”“I turned out all right,” I said.“Well, you spent far too much time with science books, Katie.You saw what it did to your marriage.”“Mother, I'd like Lucy to fly here tomorrow, if possible.I'll make the reservations from my end and take care of the ticket.Make sure she packs her warmest clothes.Anything she doesn't have, such as a winter coat, we can find here.”“She could probably borrow your clothes.When was the last time you saw her? Last Christmas?”“I guess it was that long ago.”“Well, let me tell you.She's gotten bosoms since then.And the way she dresses? And did she bother to ask her grandmother's advice before cutting off her beautiful hair? No.Why should she bother telling me that-”“I've got to call the airlines.”“I wish you were coming here.We could all be together.”Her voice was getting funny.My mother was about to cry.“I wish I could, too,” I said.Late Sunday morning I drove to the airport along dark, wet roads running through a dazzling world of glass.Ice loosened by the sun slipped from telephone lines, roofs, and trees, shattering to the ground like crystal missiles dropped from the sky.The weather report called for another storm, and I was deeply pleased, despite the inconvenience.I wanted quiet time in front of, the fire with my niece.Lucy was growing up.It did not seem so long ago that she was born.I would never forget her wide, unblinking eyes following my every move in her mother's house, or her bewildering fits of petulance and grief when I failed her in some small way.Lucy's open adoration touched my heart as profoundly as it frightened me.She had caused me to experience a depth of feeling I had not known before.Talking my way past Security, I waited at the gate, eagerly searching passengers emerging from the boarding bridge.I was looking for a pudgy teenager with long, irk red hair and braces when a striking young woman met my eyes and grinned.“Lucy, “ I exclaimed, hugging her.“My God.I almost didn't recognize you.”Her hair was short and deliberately messy, accentuating dear green eyes and good bones I did not know she had.There was not so much as a hint of metal in her mouth, and her thick glasses had been replaced by weightless tortoise-shell frames that gave her the look of a seriously pretty Harvard scholar.But it was the change in her body that astonished me most, for since I had seen - her last she had been transformed from a chunky adolescent into a lean, leggy athlete dressed in snug, faded jeans several inches too short, a white blouse, a woven red leather belt, loafers, and no socks.She carried a book satchel, and I caught the sparkle of a delicate gold ankle bracelet.I was fairly certain she was wearing neither makeup nor bra.“Where's your coat?” I asked as we headed to Baggage.“It was eighty degrees when I left Miami this morning,” “You'll freeze walking out to the car.”“It's physically impossible for me to freeze while walking to your car unless you're parked in Chicago.”“Perhaps you have a sweater in your suitcase?”“You ever notice that you talk to me the same way Grans talks to you? By the way, she thinks I look like a 'pet rocker.' That's her malapropism for the month.It's what you get when you cross a pet rock with a punk rocker.”“I've got a couple of ski jackets, corduroys, hats, gloves.You can borrow anything you wish.”She slipped her arm in mine and staffed my hair.“You're still not smoking.”“I'm still not smoking and I hate being reminded that I'm still not smoking because then I think about smoking.”“You look better and don't stink like cigarettes.And you haven't gotten fat.Geez, this is a dinky airport,” said Lucy, whose computer brain had formatting errors in the diplomacy sectors.“Why do they call it Richmond International?”“Because it has flights to Miami.”“Why doesn't Grans ever come see you?”“She doesn't like to travel and refuses to fly.”“It's safer than driving.Her hip is really getting bad, Aunt Kay.”“I know.I'm going to leave you to get your bags so I can pull the car in front,” I said when we got to Baggage.“But first let's see which carousel it is.”“There are only three carousels.I bet I can figure it out.”I left her for the bright, cold air, grateful for a moment alone to think.The changes in my niece had thrown me off guard and I was suddenly more unsure than ever how to treat her.Lucy had never been easy.From day one she had been a prodigious adult intellect ruled by infantile emotions, a volatility accidentally given form when her mother had married Armando.My only advantage had been size and age.Now Lucy was as tall as I was and spoke with the low, calm voice of an equal.She was not going to run to her room and slam the door.She would no longer end a disagreement by screaming that she hated me or was glad I was not her mother.I imagined moods I could not anticipate and arguments I could not win.I had visions of her coolly leaving the house and driving off in my car
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