Busting through the usual dinner banter, Charlotte announced, "We need to talk." All eyes faced her. All eight of them. And for once their mouths were still. Never had that happened before. Previous announcements of urgency had met with total disregard. This time, they were all ears.
"I don't need to talk with all of you, just daddy." Then looking at him directly she repeated her request.
"Now?"
"No, afterwards. While the girls are doing dishes."
Dinner limped along until the dessert dishes were cleared. No one said a word. Cursive glances crossed the table. Inside Charlotte laughed. She knew these girls. Usually these need to talk discussions were about them. One of them, or all of them had stepped out of line. Pushed her over the edge. An idea of grandeur, an image of mother of the year, running down the street with a suitcase flashed through her mind. A pen tucked behind her ear, a dictation notebook tucked under one arm and a ringing cell phone in the other.
But this wasn't about them. Even so, she'd let them stew.
All the while, Sam sat there confident he was out of the dog house. Smug, and ruling over the kitchen process. "Are those dishes clean? Don't forget to wash the table. Those don't belong in there." He always thought he was a help, but after a while that voice, that constant voice always telling, telling, telling, wore on Charlotte's nerves.
"Don't forget to sweep...."
She interrupted, "Come on, we need to talk."
Still with his Teflon air, Sam got up from his lord and master chair and followed her upstairs. She wondered just how thick his coating was.
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