Much Ado About Mother (25 page)

EPILOGUE

SUZANNA

“M
other, you can't call a dance studio
Great Feets
!” Erinn objected over a family dinner in the Huge Apartment.

“Why not?” Virginia asked, serving chicken breasts stuffed with apples—another comfort food staple that Virginia made when trying to get her way.

“You know why,” Erinn said, cutting into the chicken.

“It's fun,” Virginia said. “The kids like it.”

“I'm with Mom,” said Suzanna. “Who cares if it's grammatically correct?”

“I do! Especially if my production studio is going to be in there,” replied Erinn.

“Do you have a better idea?” Suzanna asked.

“I was thinking The Wolf and The Rabbit Productions.”

“I forgot the peas,” Virginia said, leaping up.

Erinn watched her mother head into the kitchen. She called after her, “I thought you'd like it!”

“Did I say I didn't like it?” Virginia asked, returning with a steaming bowl.

“Do you?” Erinn asked.

“You're talking about the Native American children's story, ‘The Wolf and the Rabbit,' ” Suzanna said. “The one Dad told us?”

“Of course,” Erinn said. “I thought it was clever, since our last name is Wolf, Dymphna's knitting show features rabbits, and the story is about dance.”

“Yes,” Virginia said. “But it's a terrible story! Your father should never have told you kids about it—it's worse than Hansel and Gretel.”

“All children's stories are terrible,” Eric said. “I can't believe we're all not scarred.”

“Who says we're not?” Erinn said. “Besides, you said it yourself, all children's stories are terrible, so why not?”

“I don't know if I remember that story,” Eric said.

“Of course you do,” Erinn said. “It's the one about the wolf who wants to cut off the ears of the rabbit, but the rabbit tricks the wolf into dancing until he's dizzy, and the rabbit gets away before the wolf can cut off his ears.”

Lizzy suddenly let out a little whimper. All the adults turned to look at her. She was taking in a breath that promised to produce an ear-splitting bellow.

“Poor bunny,” Lizzy wailed.

The sonic blast of her cry rocked the house.

Suzanna picked up Lizzy and rocked her, all the while glaring at her sister. Erinn reached out and patted Lizzy.

“Don't cry, Lizzy,” Erinn said. “The rabbit still has his ears.”

“Oh my God, Erinn!” Suzanna said, quieting Lizzy. “Face it, that name sucks.”

“Not to mention, dear,” added Virginia, “that the wolf sounds not only mean but stupid. It won't inspire confidence.”

“Are you going to make sure there are no small children around every time you explain the name of your production company?” Suzanna asked. “And trust me, you'll have to explain it forever.”

“At least it's better than Happy Feets.”

“Great Feets,” Virginia said.

“We need a name that reflects the fact that it's a TV studio. The name should reflect storytelling.”

“Well, you shouldn't leave out the rabbits,” Suzanna said.

“You can't leave out dance, either. It's half the equation,” Virginia added.

“I think we should tie it to the Rollicking Bun,” Suzanna said. “I mean, maybe we could sell the Angora yarn or knitted shawls at the Bun.”

Suzanna was surprised that her mother and sister seemed to think this was a good idea. Of course it didn't solve the problem of the name. If anything, it added to the dilemma.

“When we were trying to think up a name for the Rollicking Bun, Fernando and I were at each other's throats,” Suzanna continued. “Eric just said, ‘Let me know what you decide and I'll order the sign.' ”

Suzanna cut chicken, peas, and baby carrots into little pieces for Lizzy, who, if Suzanna had to be truthful, really liked them much better than kale. Suzanna thought about her old friend Fernando up on Vashon Island running his bed and breakfast. She missed him. She and Fernando had always fought passionately: about the name of the shop, about the menu, about the customers. They had fought for weeks over the name; Suzanna wanted to call the place the Rollicking Bun. Fernando was insistent that the name reflect his baking—the shop should be called the Epic Scone. Leave it to Eric to come up with the Rollicking Bun . . . Home of the Epic Scone. He solved problems even when he was staying above the fray.

“Eric.” Suzanna turned toward her husband. “You always seem to come up with something that makes everyone happy. Don't you have any ideas?”

“I do have one suggestion,” he said. “For what it's worth.”

“Miles, Ray, be careful with that!” Virginia called from the unit in Mr. Clancy's Courtyard that used to be Rio's dance studio. The boys were carrying the new sign that was to hang over the door. Christopher had made it, and he had been very secretive about it. The sign looked like it was about the size of a surfboard but it was completely wrapped up in brown paper so no one could see it before the great unveiling.

Ray and Miles carefully guided the draped sign into the studio. The Wolf women, as well as Lizzy, Dymphna, Ray, Miles, Winnie, Mr. Clancy, Bernard, and several loyal tea-shop patrons were standing by to see the new studio's name. Ray and Miles held the sign while Donell did a sage blessing on the space. Then it was time for Christopher to rip off the paper for the reveal.

Carved into the sign were goofy-looking rabbits climbing up the lettering. Some of them, wearing ballet slippers, danced above the letters. To one side, a friendly wolf held a movie slate.

The sign read:

Everyone cheered. Champagne was opened and everyone in Venice seemed to have a toast to offer.

“Thank God we got away from that awful Great Feets name,” Erinn whispered to Suzanna. “I'm so happy Eric ran with my idea.”

Moments later, Virginia refilled Suzanna's glass with champagne and said, “Eric really is a genius. I am so relieved he tossed that horrible Wolf and Rabbit story and saw things my way.”

Suzanna looked over at her husband. He was in an animated conversation with the Grumpy Old Men. He seemed to sense her gaze and looked right back at her. There didn't seem to be anyone else in the room. At the moment, Suzanna couldn't imagine ever needing a Get Out of Jail Free card.

The studio suddenly filled with pulsing music. Miles and Winnie, those two sullen kids who were now glowing with purpose, dragged Virginia, Suzanna, and Erinn into the center of a circle of jubilant, spontaneous celebrants. The Wolf women reacted true to form: a hopeful Suzanna, a grateful Virginia, and an embarrassed Erinn. The three joined hands.

Everyone sang.

The music said it all.

 

 

2 large skinless, boneless chicken breasts
1 cup chopped apple
1 tablespoon chopped walnuts
3 tablespoons shredded mozzarella cheese
1½ tablespoons Italian-style dried bread crumbs
1 tablespoon butter or margarine
½ cup dry white wine
¼ cup water
1 tablespoon water
1½ teaspoons cornstarch

 

 

Flatten chicken breasts.

Combine apple, walnuts, cheese, and bread crumbs.

Divide apple mixture between chicken breasts and spread evenly on each breast before rolling. Roll up each breast. Secure with cooking twine.

Melt butter or margarine in a skillet over medium heat. Brown stuffed chicken breasts. Add wine and ¼ cup water. Cover. Simmer until chicken is no longer pink, about 20 minutes.

Transfer chicken to warmed platter or plates.

Pour juices from pan into small saucepan. Combine 1 tablespoon water and cornstarch—add to juices. Cook and stir until thickened. Pour over chicken.

Serve.

This book is about family.

To my brothers and your fabulous spouses: Thank you for being weird. The inspiration never ends.

Without my mother's guidance, nothing would get written—or at least edited. I love you, Mom. To my aunt, A. Jacqueline Steck: I miss you every day, but especially when I was writing this book. I will love you forever.

To my father, Joseph Bonaduce: You made writing look easy. I wish you were around so you could tell me how you did that. I am grateful for everything you taught me. I'm sure my editor appreciates the fact that you drilled “never miss a deadline” into me at a young age. I love you, I miss you—and thank you.

To my sprawling, supportive, fantastic family by marriage, what can I say except: There is never a dull moment.

To Patti, your generosity in accepting my family as your own makes me want to cry. To Liz, my partner in crime, thanks for always listening. To Anne, I'm constantly surprised you aren't my biological sister! To Clare, my kickstarter, where would this writing adventure be without you? And to Mary, thanks for introducing me to your brother.

To my husband's brothers: When I'm writing the good guys, if they are not my husband, they are one of you.

It's been said that you can't choose your family but you can choose your friends. I have made sterling choices. While I may have doubted myself on this road to authordom, my friends Nancy Barney, Melinda Wunsch-Dilger, Elle Fournier, Lisa Insana, Vivien Aladjem-Mudgett, and Patricia Rogerson never wavered in their faith. Thank you.

My friend and mentor Jodi Thomas says there are no stupid questions. There are. I asked them. Thank you, Jodi, for always answering with a straight face and for years of encouragement.

Many thanks to Charmaine Lorelli, for your time and kind words. To Jaidis Shaw, your thoughtful guidance has been invaluable. To Bruce Hsiao, thank you for sharing your amazing story.

To Amanda Spitzer, Beth Kinsolving, and Evelyn Dolphin, my proofreaders; Sharon Bowers, my agent at Miller Bowers Griffin Literary Management; and Martin Biro, my editor at Kensington Books; thank you for allowing me use of the possessive when speaking of you.

Finally and always: to the man who defines family for three generations, my husband, Billy—you raise me up.