The Quartet

I brought a friend, my daddy said tentatively when he arrived for dinner, Hope you don't mind. The well dressed and attractive woman beside him, her arm linked casually with his, smiled at me. Not at all! my husband said, smoothly intervening and swinging open the door, The more the merrier!

I was twenty-four that summer and had had my share of awkward moments but Emily Post had never covered the etiquette of meeting your daddy's girlfriend and for a moment or two I was too surprised to react. Then my daddy smiled and said to me, You remember Trudy, and the pretty woman extended her hand. My husband gave me a sharp nudge and somehow I came to my senses, recovered my manners, and shook her hand. Of course, I managed to say, From the quartet. My daddy beamed at me and said, I thought a little gratefully, Exactly!

The quartet had consisted of my mother and daddy and Trudy and her husband, Mitch. They had performed for years at lodge events, church socials and birthday parties and had gathered every Tuesday night in our basement to rehearse. I remembered the sweet harmonies of "Goodnight, Irene" and "Maryanne", a nonsense song about a witch doctor and several old Baptist hymns - all sung with enthusiasm and feeling if not great talent. Afterwards there was beer and pretzels as they stood around the kitchen and made small talk, drinking and telling stories, washing up and joking with each other about who had forgotten what lyric or key change, about what they would sing at the next gig and who should solo. And now half of the quartet was on my doorstep - with my mother safely thousands of miles away and Mitch long dead from a heart attack at fifty.

Dinner, drinks and a game of hearts went off without a hitch but at some point several things began to become clear to me. I slowly realized that this was not a new relationship - it was small things mostly, the way he looked at her, the barely noticeable intimacies in the way he briefly touched her hand, the feeling behind the smiles and the unspoken things that you sense rather than see - this affair had been going on for years. I would never know if he intended to make me an accomplice that night or had just jumped on an opportunity and never looked back and while I was glad for him, I also felt a little angry at being manipulated. You should have a chance to choose the secrets you're expected to keep.

We saw them on and off that summer and for several summers after. My mother's name was never mentioned, marriage never came up, and my brothers were never included. Even small bits of happiness have a price.