Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jun 4, 2009 21:06:35 GMT -5
Characters: Jerome Squalor, Justice “Kathy” Strauss, Friday Caliban, and Bertrand Squalor.
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own A Series of Unfortunate Events or any of its characters or places. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. Bertrand Squalor belongs to Very Funky Disco.
Rating: G
Genre: General, with a bit of romance and comedy mixed in.
Story-Type: One-Shot
Summary: Jerome, Kathy, Friday and Bertrand spend a weekend at the private beach house of Jerome’s parents.
Author’s Note: This is just a little something I cooked up for my good friend, Very Funky Disco— also known as quagmire44 —that incorporates all of her plotlines. I hope you like it, Quags.
As a boy, Jerome Squalor had spent every summer at his parents’ San Francisco beach house. He remembered waking up early and going down to the shore to watch the sunrise, where he had observed the sun as it mounted the ocean. From its place in the sky, it had generated a glorious mixture of oranges, yellows, blues and greens that reflected off the clear water.
Now, thirty-something years later, the time had come for Jerome to share these treasured memories with his family. It was the first Saturday of summer vacation, and the temperature was a hot but not entirely uncomfortable seventy degrees. Jerome had managed to convince Kathy to spend a weekend away from the courthouse for once, after she had seen the excitement reflected in little Bertrand’s eyes. He was five now, and so the idea of spending two whole days building sandcastles and chasing waves had immediately appealed to him. Friday, who had recently turned twelve, had been less enthusiastic about the idea. She much preferred spending the weekend at home on the phone with Becky, her best friend, and playing video games, as opposed to family outings.
The drive from California up to San Francisco was a prolonged affair— one which Jerome and Kathy Squalor had been prepared for. Friday had spent most of the drive sitting silently in the backseat, listening to Very Fine Dudes on her walkman and reading the latest issue of Tiger Beat.
Bertrand, on the other hand, had found it necessary to ask his parents the same question continually: “Are we dare yet?”
As he repeated this for the fifth time in one hour, Jerome momentarily took his eyes off the road to grin at his wife. Kathy smiled back at him before turning her attention to their young son, who was sitting in the passenger’s seat behind her.
“We will be soon,” she replied.
“Ask Friday if she remembered to pack Bertrand’s water-wings,” Jerome said.
Friday had not said more than two words to her parents throughout the duration of the drive that didn’t consist of “Can we stop somewhere? I’m hungry” or “I need to use the bathroom”. Her green eyes were focused on the view from her window, and she jumped as her adoptive mother touched her arm.
“What’s up, Mom?” Friday asked, as she reached up to remove the headphones from her ears.
“Did you remember to pack your brother’s water-wings, dear?” inquired Kathy.
“Yeah. And his bathing suit, too. I showed you the check-off list last night while we were packing. Remember?”
The statement caused the woman’s face to flush and she nodded, letting go of her daughter’s arm. Kathy was well aware that she could be a bit absent-minded at times, but that didn’t make her forgetfulness any less embarrassing.
The awkward silence was soon broken by Jerome’s voice cutting through the atmosphere as he came to a stoplight. “We all have the habit of forgetting things from time to time,” he said, and reached over to give his wife a demonstrative pat on the knee. “Even those which are of great importance.”
Kathy was still blushing when Jerome leaned forward to kiss her on the mouth. He had never been afraid of expressing the love he felt for his wife in front of their children, even if the reaction he received wasn’t always positive.
Yucko!” Bertrand said, and covered his eyes in distaste.
“Honestly,” Friday groaned, as she returned the headphones to her ears. “Can’t you guys save that sort of thing for the bedroom?”
“Since when is showing my wife how I feel a crime?” Jerome asked innocently.
“Since it makes your kids want to ralph.”
“Yeah!” Bertrand concurred, and clapped his hands together in agreement.
“See?” Friday said. “Even Bertrand agrees with me.”
The stoplight took that moment to switch to green, and Jerome felt secretly thankful as he pushed the Mercedes forward. He knew that Friday and Bertrand were only children, but that hadn’t stopped the billionaire’s stomach from tensing at what had felt to him like an argument in the making. Jerome didn’t suppose he would ever fully surpass a quality that had plagued him since childhood; but it eased his mind in knowing that those he was closely acquainted with would never shun him for it.
His parents’ beach house was just coming into view when he felt his wife gently lay her hand down on his knee.
Jerome had always been an incredibly careful driver; to a point where he had even been accused of driving more like someone in their eighties rather than someone in their fifties. But when it came to the safety of his dear family, he became incredibly conscious of every step he took. He hadn’t even liked to talk while driving until a year and a half after receiving his permit.
Kathy’s hand never left its spot on her husband’s knee, until Jerome had successfully parked the Mercedes in front of the guardrail separating the pavement from the beach.
“We here?” Bertrand asked, as Friday went about un-strapping her little brother from his seatbelt. “Dis beach?”
“That’s right, buddy,” Jerome said.
“Friday,” Kathy said, and turned once more to her daughter. “Why don’t you take Bertrand up to the house while your father and I start unpacking the car?”
“What about swimmin’?” Bertrand asked.
“We’ll all go down to the beach this afternoon, honey. I promise.”
“Come on, Bert,” Friday said. She snatched up the picnic basket and umbrella from between them, before pushing open the door on her side. “You can help me set the table for lunch.”
“‘Kay.”
While the children ambled their way up the sandy beach to the house, the two adults climbed out of the car and went around to the trunk.
“I was quite proud of you, you know,” Kathy remarked as her husband inserted the key into the trunk’s lock, “for putting your foot down when Friday asked to take along the Nintendo this weekend.”
“Well, I know your feelings on the amount of time she spends playing video games,” Jerome chuckled, hoisting a small suitcase out of the trunk. “And I can’t say I don’t agree. While I feel it’s very important for a child to have recreation in their life, I also believe they can benefit from expanding their hobbies.”
After picking up the cooler from its place inside the trunk, Kathy slammed it shut. Linking her arm with Jerome’s, the pair turned and began their short ascent up the beach to the house.
Friday had just finished setting the silverware down beside all four plates, when the sound of the front door opening captured her attention. She smiled as her parents stepped through the door, which led directly into the kitchen from the front porch.
Bertrand— who was standing beside his sister —let out an excited whoop of surprise, and then ran to greet their parents.
Kathy set the cooler on the floor, so that she could squat down and catch her son right before he dove into her waiting arms.
“Did you help your sister set the table?” she asked.
“Yeah!” Bertrand exclaimed, as his mother gathered him into her arms and stood up.
“I let him do the napkins,” replied Friday matter-of-factly. “Since I don’t completely trust him not to break the plates and glasses.”
Bertrand’s answer to this was to stick his tongue out at his sister. “I wouldn’t bweak nothin’.”
“Now, children, let’s not argue, please,” Jerome said, and Kathy could already sense her husband getting flustered. “Friday, why don’t you help me put some of this food away before it spoils? The rest we can leave out and use to make lunch.”
“Jerome,” Kathy said, “I’ll help Friday with that. Why don’t you take Bertrand for now?
While Jerome carried Bertrand over to the table to get settled, Kathy transferred the cooler from its place on the hallway floor to the kitchen counter.
“I hope you aren’t too angry with us,” she said to Friday, “for uprooting you from Hill Valley and all of your friends for a few days. But it was the only time I could get off work, and I’d love for us all to spend at least one weekend together as a family before summer ends. Since you’re going to be a teenager next year, you’ll probably prefer spending more time locked in your room than with your father and me.”
Friday shrugged as she set a bottle of Sunny Delight down on the side compartment of the refrigerator. “I guess I never really thought about it that way,” she admitted. “But I’m sorry if I ever gave you or Dad the impression that I was angry.”
Kathy smiled as she set a loaf of whole-wheat bread down on the counter. “I still remember the first time you referred to me as ‘Mom’,” she replied fondly. “It was the night of your eighth birthday party— that would’ve been the same year we adopted you —and you wandered into our room to thank us.”
“I still don’t know why I even waited so long,” said Friday. “I mean, it only took me a month before I started calling Jerome ‘Dad’. And it isn’t as if you ever gave me a reason not to call you ‘Mom’.”
“Well, it was less than a year after your biological mother died. It was only natural that you took some time to adjust to the idea of referring to someone else by that title.”
The perishables were soon put away, and all of the ingredients needed for sandwiches were laid out on the counter. While Kathy and Friday went about preparing lunch, Jerome looked up from where he sat playing paddy-cake with Bertrand at the table.
“Would either of you ladies like any help?” Jerome asked.
“Only in telling us what kind of sandwich you’d like,” Kathy said. “I think we all know by now that Bertrand prefers peanut-butter and jelly.”
“I know what kind of sandwich Dad wants,” Friday said, a sly smile edging its way around the corner of her mouth.
“And what kind of sandwich might that be?” her adoptive father asked.
“Salmon!”
Friday burst out into loud, unmanageable laughter at this, and soon enough Bertrand joined her. Jerome blushed, while Kathy put a hand to her mouth.
“It’s true,” Jerome confessed, once the laughter died down and he and Bertrand had resumed their game. “I can’t stand the taste of salmon.”
“Miss Esmé would beg to differ with you on that,” Friday said, as she spread a layer of liverwurst over a piece of bread for her mother.
“Oh?”
“Uh-huh. She said you were seen eating salmon puffs once at some type of event— an auction, I think it was.”
“I see,” replied Jerome. “And when did Miss Esmé tell you this?”
“Thursday evening,” Friday explained. “She called the night you and Mom were out to dinner. We talked for a while, and she asked me how I was doing in school, and if I was excited about starting summer vacation.”
“Esmé invited us to a Fourth of July garden party,” Kathy informed her husband. “But I told her that I wanted to discuss it with you first.”
“Can we go, Dad?” Friday begged. “Please? Esmé and Carmelita, they’ve got a pool and everything. Esmé even said that I can invite Becky if I want to.”
“Well, I don’t see why we can’t go,” said Jerome. “Esmé is a good friend of mine, as well as your mother’s. I’ll be sure to give her a call when we get back to Hill Valley.”
Content with Jerome’s answer, Friday and her mother returned to their task at hand.
“Jerome, dear,” Kathy said, as she carved off a slice of bread from the loaf. “What kind of sandwich did you say you wanted?”
While Friday and Bertrand chose to dash down to the beach immediately after lunch, Jerome and Kathy had decided to stay behind and clean up the kitchen. When Friday asked her parents why they didn’t wait until later to tidy up, her father had chuckled before replying: “‘We don’t want to leave a mess for your grandparents.’”
Twenty minutes had passed since then, and now the adults were standing together on top of the small hill.
“Friday,” Kathy called to her adopted daughter. “Keep an eye on Bert, and make sure he doesn’t get too close to the waves unescorted.”
Before the two children had left to walk down to the beach, Kathy had made Friday promise not to let Bertrand near the water. “‘It isn’t that I don’t trust you, Friday,’” Kathy had explained. “‘But rather those waves. I know you’re a strong swimmer, but Bertrand is so small that the water could possibly swallow him up before you even had a chance to reach him.’”
Tightening her hand around that of her younger brother, Friday Caliban Squalor waved in the direction of her adoptive parents.
“Don’t worry,” she assured them. “He’s perfectly safe with me.”
Because the trek down from the beach house was so much steeper than the trek up, Jerome made sure to keep an especially close eye on his wife. He would never forgive himself if she slipped and possibly twisted her ankle. Such a thing had happened only once, during a family hike up to Mount Fraught. Kathy had been right behind her husband when she’d caught her right foot between two rocks, which had caused her to fall forward and wrench her ankle. Luckily, though, Jerome had managed to hoist Kathy up onto his back and carry her back down the mountain to safety.
“Careful, dear,” Jerome said. He set aside the blanket he had been holding, and helped Kathy to slide the last few inches off the short mound.
As soon as his wife was standing once more on firm ground, the billionaire draped his arms around her. Holding her close against him, he inhaled the scent of her vanilla shampoo that always made her hair smell like a bouquet of freshly-cut flowers.
Jerome was just about to bestow a passionate kiss upon his wife’s lips, when a pair of high-pitched giggles interrupted him. The couple turned their heads to see Friday holding up her waterproof camera, a birthday present from the Baudelaires and the Quagmires.
“Say coconut cordial!” Friday commanded.
Jerome looked questionably down at his wife and asked, “Should we do as she says?”
“Why not?” Kathy said. “This is our vacation, and I’d like to have some photos to add to our summer album when we get home.”
The couple turned back to their daughter, and called to her in such a way that their voices rang clearly out across the beach:
“Coconut cordial!”
There was a blinding, yellow flash as Friday snapped the photo, followed by a shrill giggle from Bertrand.
“Take my picture next, Fwiday?” he asked.
Friday lowered the camera away from her face so that it hung freely from its string around her neck, and then turned to her brother. “Sure, Bert,” she said. “But you have to be doing something meaningful. I’m not going to take a picture of you if you’re just gonna stand around.”
“What you want me to do?”
“I dunno. Build a sandcastle or something.”
“No,” Bertrand countered. “That’s borin’. I’d wather go swimmin’.”
“O.K.,” said Friday. “But you’ll have to put on your water-wings first. Mom and Dad don’t want you setting foot in the water without them.”
“‘Kay.”
Taking Bertrand once more by the hand, Friday led him up the beach to where their parents were in the process of setting up the blanket.
“Bert’s really eager to get in the water,” she informed the two adults. “I told him I’d take his picture.”
“Knock yourselves out,” Jerome said, as he and Kathy spread the blanket out across the sand. “Not literally, of course. I hate to imagine anyone knocking themselves out, especially when they’re in the water.”
“I’ve got Bertrand’s water-wings right here,” Kathy said, reaching into her purse and producing a pair of bright orange water-wings. “Come over here, Bert, and let Mommy help you on with these.”
“Are you going to spend any time in the water, Friday?” Jerome asked, as Bertrand plopped himself down beside Kathy.
“Maybe later,” Friday replied. “I was just gonna take Bert’s picture. After he’s done playing in the water, I was thinking of going on a hunt for seashells.”
“Why don’t you let me put some suntan lotion on you? The last thing your mother and I want is to have either of you kids getting sunburned.”
“You don’t need to worry one bit about me. I lived on an island for the first seven years of my life, without any suntan lotion.” Friday paused. “Well, we did have a few bottles, but Ishmael always forced us to store them in the arboretum— along with every other useful item that washed up on the coastal shelf.”
“Be that as it may,” said Jerome, as Kathy handed him the bottle of suntan lotion from her purse, “it is a well-known fact that suntan lotion helps protect you not only from sunburn, but against cancerous diseases.”
“Really?” Friday asked, alarmed. “Then I guess you’d better sign me up, then, huh?”
Even as she said this, her adoptive father was already squeezing a generous amount of suntan lotion onto his palm. Settling herself down in front of Jerome, Friday allowed him to lather her entire back and arms with lotion. Though it had an unpleasant aroma, she knew that complaining would prove inadequate, and so she waited patiently for Jerome to finish.
“There you go, sweetie,” he said at last. “You’re all done. You and Bertrand run along now, and have fun.”
“But be careful,” Kathy added, as Friday tugged her brother up by the hand. “Stay where we can see you, and don’t—”
Kathy’s words trailed off, as Jerome seated himself beside her and wrapped his arm around her.
“They’ll be fine,” he assured his wife. “Friday is a very responsible young woman, and Bertrand couldn’t possibly be in better hands.”
“You’re right,” Kathy said, smiling as Bertrand attempted to fling water at Friday just before she snapped his picture. “I suppose it’s rather silly of me to worry so much, isn’t it?”
“Not at all, sweetheart. Not at all.”
The billionaire reached for the bottle of suntan lotion, which he held out to his wife.
“Would you like to be my next victim?” Jerome asked, flashing a seemingly innocent smile.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Kathy said, and leaned forward to plant a long and loving kiss on his mouth.
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own A Series of Unfortunate Events or any of its characters or places. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. Bertrand Squalor belongs to Very Funky Disco.
Rating: G
Genre: General, with a bit of romance and comedy mixed in.
Story-Type: One-Shot
Summary: Jerome, Kathy, Friday and Bertrand spend a weekend at the private beach house of Jerome’s parents.
Author’s Note: This is just a little something I cooked up for my good friend, Very Funky Disco— also known as quagmire44 —that incorporates all of her plotlines. I hope you like it, Quags.
***
As a boy, Jerome Squalor had spent every summer at his parents’ San Francisco beach house. He remembered waking up early and going down to the shore to watch the sunrise, where he had observed the sun as it mounted the ocean. From its place in the sky, it had generated a glorious mixture of oranges, yellows, blues and greens that reflected off the clear water.
Now, thirty-something years later, the time had come for Jerome to share these treasured memories with his family. It was the first Saturday of summer vacation, and the temperature was a hot but not entirely uncomfortable seventy degrees. Jerome had managed to convince Kathy to spend a weekend away from the courthouse for once, after she had seen the excitement reflected in little Bertrand’s eyes. He was five now, and so the idea of spending two whole days building sandcastles and chasing waves had immediately appealed to him. Friday, who had recently turned twelve, had been less enthusiastic about the idea. She much preferred spending the weekend at home on the phone with Becky, her best friend, and playing video games, as opposed to family outings.
The drive from California up to San Francisco was a prolonged affair— one which Jerome and Kathy Squalor had been prepared for. Friday had spent most of the drive sitting silently in the backseat, listening to Very Fine Dudes on her walkman and reading the latest issue of Tiger Beat.
Bertrand, on the other hand, had found it necessary to ask his parents the same question continually: “Are we dare yet?”
As he repeated this for the fifth time in one hour, Jerome momentarily took his eyes off the road to grin at his wife. Kathy smiled back at him before turning her attention to their young son, who was sitting in the passenger’s seat behind her.
“We will be soon,” she replied.
“Ask Friday if she remembered to pack Bertrand’s water-wings,” Jerome said.
Friday had not said more than two words to her parents throughout the duration of the drive that didn’t consist of “Can we stop somewhere? I’m hungry” or “I need to use the bathroom”. Her green eyes were focused on the view from her window, and she jumped as her adoptive mother touched her arm.
“What’s up, Mom?” Friday asked, as she reached up to remove the headphones from her ears.
“Did you remember to pack your brother’s water-wings, dear?” inquired Kathy.
“Yeah. And his bathing suit, too. I showed you the check-off list last night while we were packing. Remember?”
The statement caused the woman’s face to flush and she nodded, letting go of her daughter’s arm. Kathy was well aware that she could be a bit absent-minded at times, but that didn’t make her forgetfulness any less embarrassing.
The awkward silence was soon broken by Jerome’s voice cutting through the atmosphere as he came to a stoplight. “We all have the habit of forgetting things from time to time,” he said, and reached over to give his wife a demonstrative pat on the knee. “Even those which are of great importance.”
Kathy was still blushing when Jerome leaned forward to kiss her on the mouth. He had never been afraid of expressing the love he felt for his wife in front of their children, even if the reaction he received wasn’t always positive.
Yucko!” Bertrand said, and covered his eyes in distaste.
“Honestly,” Friday groaned, as she returned the headphones to her ears. “Can’t you guys save that sort of thing for the bedroom?”
“Since when is showing my wife how I feel a crime?” Jerome asked innocently.
“Since it makes your kids want to ralph.”
“Yeah!” Bertrand concurred, and clapped his hands together in agreement.
“See?” Friday said. “Even Bertrand agrees with me.”
The stoplight took that moment to switch to green, and Jerome felt secretly thankful as he pushed the Mercedes forward. He knew that Friday and Bertrand were only children, but that hadn’t stopped the billionaire’s stomach from tensing at what had felt to him like an argument in the making. Jerome didn’t suppose he would ever fully surpass a quality that had plagued him since childhood; but it eased his mind in knowing that those he was closely acquainted with would never shun him for it.
His parents’ beach house was just coming into view when he felt his wife gently lay her hand down on his knee.
Jerome had always been an incredibly careful driver; to a point where he had even been accused of driving more like someone in their eighties rather than someone in their fifties. But when it came to the safety of his dear family, he became incredibly conscious of every step he took. He hadn’t even liked to talk while driving until a year and a half after receiving his permit.
Kathy’s hand never left its spot on her husband’s knee, until Jerome had successfully parked the Mercedes in front of the guardrail separating the pavement from the beach.
“We here?” Bertrand asked, as Friday went about un-strapping her little brother from his seatbelt. “Dis beach?”
“That’s right, buddy,” Jerome said.
“Friday,” Kathy said, and turned once more to her daughter. “Why don’t you take Bertrand up to the house while your father and I start unpacking the car?”
“What about swimmin’?” Bertrand asked.
“We’ll all go down to the beach this afternoon, honey. I promise.”
“Come on, Bert,” Friday said. She snatched up the picnic basket and umbrella from between them, before pushing open the door on her side. “You can help me set the table for lunch.”
“‘Kay.”
While the children ambled their way up the sandy beach to the house, the two adults climbed out of the car and went around to the trunk.
“I was quite proud of you, you know,” Kathy remarked as her husband inserted the key into the trunk’s lock, “for putting your foot down when Friday asked to take along the Nintendo this weekend.”
“Well, I know your feelings on the amount of time she spends playing video games,” Jerome chuckled, hoisting a small suitcase out of the trunk. “And I can’t say I don’t agree. While I feel it’s very important for a child to have recreation in their life, I also believe they can benefit from expanding their hobbies.”
After picking up the cooler from its place inside the trunk, Kathy slammed it shut. Linking her arm with Jerome’s, the pair turned and began their short ascent up the beach to the house.
***
Friday had just finished setting the silverware down beside all four plates, when the sound of the front door opening captured her attention. She smiled as her parents stepped through the door, which led directly into the kitchen from the front porch.
Bertrand— who was standing beside his sister —let out an excited whoop of surprise, and then ran to greet their parents.
Kathy set the cooler on the floor, so that she could squat down and catch her son right before he dove into her waiting arms.
“Did you help your sister set the table?” she asked.
“Yeah!” Bertrand exclaimed, as his mother gathered him into her arms and stood up.
“I let him do the napkins,” replied Friday matter-of-factly. “Since I don’t completely trust him not to break the plates and glasses.”
Bertrand’s answer to this was to stick his tongue out at his sister. “I wouldn’t bweak nothin’.”
“Now, children, let’s not argue, please,” Jerome said, and Kathy could already sense her husband getting flustered. “Friday, why don’t you help me put some of this food away before it spoils? The rest we can leave out and use to make lunch.”
“Jerome,” Kathy said, “I’ll help Friday with that. Why don’t you take Bertrand for now?
While Jerome carried Bertrand over to the table to get settled, Kathy transferred the cooler from its place on the hallway floor to the kitchen counter.
“I hope you aren’t too angry with us,” she said to Friday, “for uprooting you from Hill Valley and all of your friends for a few days. But it was the only time I could get off work, and I’d love for us all to spend at least one weekend together as a family before summer ends. Since you’re going to be a teenager next year, you’ll probably prefer spending more time locked in your room than with your father and me.”
Friday shrugged as she set a bottle of Sunny Delight down on the side compartment of the refrigerator. “I guess I never really thought about it that way,” she admitted. “But I’m sorry if I ever gave you or Dad the impression that I was angry.”
Kathy smiled as she set a loaf of whole-wheat bread down on the counter. “I still remember the first time you referred to me as ‘Mom’,” she replied fondly. “It was the night of your eighth birthday party— that would’ve been the same year we adopted you —and you wandered into our room to thank us.”
“I still don’t know why I even waited so long,” said Friday. “I mean, it only took me a month before I started calling Jerome ‘Dad’. And it isn’t as if you ever gave me a reason not to call you ‘Mom’.”
“Well, it was less than a year after your biological mother died. It was only natural that you took some time to adjust to the idea of referring to someone else by that title.”
The perishables were soon put away, and all of the ingredients needed for sandwiches were laid out on the counter. While Kathy and Friday went about preparing lunch, Jerome looked up from where he sat playing paddy-cake with Bertrand at the table.
“Would either of you ladies like any help?” Jerome asked.
“Only in telling us what kind of sandwich you’d like,” Kathy said. “I think we all know by now that Bertrand prefers peanut-butter and jelly.”
“I know what kind of sandwich Dad wants,” Friday said, a sly smile edging its way around the corner of her mouth.
“And what kind of sandwich might that be?” her adoptive father asked.
“Salmon!”
Friday burst out into loud, unmanageable laughter at this, and soon enough Bertrand joined her. Jerome blushed, while Kathy put a hand to her mouth.
“It’s true,” Jerome confessed, once the laughter died down and he and Bertrand had resumed their game. “I can’t stand the taste of salmon.”
“Miss Esmé would beg to differ with you on that,” Friday said, as she spread a layer of liverwurst over a piece of bread for her mother.
“Oh?”
“Uh-huh. She said you were seen eating salmon puffs once at some type of event— an auction, I think it was.”
“I see,” replied Jerome. “And when did Miss Esmé tell you this?”
“Thursday evening,” Friday explained. “She called the night you and Mom were out to dinner. We talked for a while, and she asked me how I was doing in school, and if I was excited about starting summer vacation.”
“Esmé invited us to a Fourth of July garden party,” Kathy informed her husband. “But I told her that I wanted to discuss it with you first.”
“Can we go, Dad?” Friday begged. “Please? Esmé and Carmelita, they’ve got a pool and everything. Esmé even said that I can invite Becky if I want to.”
“Well, I don’t see why we can’t go,” said Jerome. “Esmé is a good friend of mine, as well as your mother’s. I’ll be sure to give her a call when we get back to Hill Valley.”
Content with Jerome’s answer, Friday and her mother returned to their task at hand.
“Jerome, dear,” Kathy said, as she carved off a slice of bread from the loaf. “What kind of sandwich did you say you wanted?”
***
While Friday and Bertrand chose to dash down to the beach immediately after lunch, Jerome and Kathy had decided to stay behind and clean up the kitchen. When Friday asked her parents why they didn’t wait until later to tidy up, her father had chuckled before replying: “‘We don’t want to leave a mess for your grandparents.’”
Twenty minutes had passed since then, and now the adults were standing together on top of the small hill.
“Friday,” Kathy called to her adopted daughter. “Keep an eye on Bert, and make sure he doesn’t get too close to the waves unescorted.”
Before the two children had left to walk down to the beach, Kathy had made Friday promise not to let Bertrand near the water. “‘It isn’t that I don’t trust you, Friday,’” Kathy had explained. “‘But rather those waves. I know you’re a strong swimmer, but Bertrand is so small that the water could possibly swallow him up before you even had a chance to reach him.’”
Tightening her hand around that of her younger brother, Friday Caliban Squalor waved in the direction of her adoptive parents.
“Don’t worry,” she assured them. “He’s perfectly safe with me.”
Because the trek down from the beach house was so much steeper than the trek up, Jerome made sure to keep an especially close eye on his wife. He would never forgive himself if she slipped and possibly twisted her ankle. Such a thing had happened only once, during a family hike up to Mount Fraught. Kathy had been right behind her husband when she’d caught her right foot between two rocks, which had caused her to fall forward and wrench her ankle. Luckily, though, Jerome had managed to hoist Kathy up onto his back and carry her back down the mountain to safety.
“Careful, dear,” Jerome said. He set aside the blanket he had been holding, and helped Kathy to slide the last few inches off the short mound.
As soon as his wife was standing once more on firm ground, the billionaire draped his arms around her. Holding her close against him, he inhaled the scent of her vanilla shampoo that always made her hair smell like a bouquet of freshly-cut flowers.
Jerome was just about to bestow a passionate kiss upon his wife’s lips, when a pair of high-pitched giggles interrupted him. The couple turned their heads to see Friday holding up her waterproof camera, a birthday present from the Baudelaires and the Quagmires.
“Say coconut cordial!” Friday commanded.
Jerome looked questionably down at his wife and asked, “Should we do as she says?”
“Why not?” Kathy said. “This is our vacation, and I’d like to have some photos to add to our summer album when we get home.”
The couple turned back to their daughter, and called to her in such a way that their voices rang clearly out across the beach:
“Coconut cordial!”
There was a blinding, yellow flash as Friday snapped the photo, followed by a shrill giggle from Bertrand.
“Take my picture next, Fwiday?” he asked.
Friday lowered the camera away from her face so that it hung freely from its string around her neck, and then turned to her brother. “Sure, Bert,” she said. “But you have to be doing something meaningful. I’m not going to take a picture of you if you’re just gonna stand around.”
“What you want me to do?”
“I dunno. Build a sandcastle or something.”
“No,” Bertrand countered. “That’s borin’. I’d wather go swimmin’.”
“O.K.,” said Friday. “But you’ll have to put on your water-wings first. Mom and Dad don’t want you setting foot in the water without them.”
“‘Kay.”
Taking Bertrand once more by the hand, Friday led him up the beach to where their parents were in the process of setting up the blanket.
“Bert’s really eager to get in the water,” she informed the two adults. “I told him I’d take his picture.”
“Knock yourselves out,” Jerome said, as he and Kathy spread the blanket out across the sand. “Not literally, of course. I hate to imagine anyone knocking themselves out, especially when they’re in the water.”
“I’ve got Bertrand’s water-wings right here,” Kathy said, reaching into her purse and producing a pair of bright orange water-wings. “Come over here, Bert, and let Mommy help you on with these.”
“Are you going to spend any time in the water, Friday?” Jerome asked, as Bertrand plopped himself down beside Kathy.
“Maybe later,” Friday replied. “I was just gonna take Bert’s picture. After he’s done playing in the water, I was thinking of going on a hunt for seashells.”
“Why don’t you let me put some suntan lotion on you? The last thing your mother and I want is to have either of you kids getting sunburned.”
“You don’t need to worry one bit about me. I lived on an island for the first seven years of my life, without any suntan lotion.” Friday paused. “Well, we did have a few bottles, but Ishmael always forced us to store them in the arboretum— along with every other useful item that washed up on the coastal shelf.”
“Be that as it may,” said Jerome, as Kathy handed him the bottle of suntan lotion from her purse, “it is a well-known fact that suntan lotion helps protect you not only from sunburn, but against cancerous diseases.”
“Really?” Friday asked, alarmed. “Then I guess you’d better sign me up, then, huh?”
Even as she said this, her adoptive father was already squeezing a generous amount of suntan lotion onto his palm. Settling herself down in front of Jerome, Friday allowed him to lather her entire back and arms with lotion. Though it had an unpleasant aroma, she knew that complaining would prove inadequate, and so she waited patiently for Jerome to finish.
“There you go, sweetie,” he said at last. “You’re all done. You and Bertrand run along now, and have fun.”
“But be careful,” Kathy added, as Friday tugged her brother up by the hand. “Stay where we can see you, and don’t—”
Kathy’s words trailed off, as Jerome seated himself beside her and wrapped his arm around her.
“They’ll be fine,” he assured his wife. “Friday is a very responsible young woman, and Bertrand couldn’t possibly be in better hands.”
“You’re right,” Kathy said, smiling as Bertrand attempted to fling water at Friday just before she snapped his picture. “I suppose it’s rather silly of me to worry so much, isn’t it?”
“Not at all, sweetheart. Not at all.”
The billionaire reached for the bottle of suntan lotion, which he held out to his wife.
“Would you like to be my next victim?” Jerome asked, flashing a seemingly innocent smile.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Kathy said, and leaned forward to plant a long and loving kiss on his mouth.
~The End~