That Invisibility Thing

 “I will not share another meal with a person who is invisible,” my Aunt Helen announced haughtily, “It's simply not the done thing.”

My grandmother refused to take the bait. “Suit yourself, Helen, dear,” she said blithely, “I reckon you kin make yourself a plate if you've a mind to.”

She was making applesauce while my mother was putting the finishing touches on a blueberry pie and the kitchen smelled of sunshine and cinnamon. “Porkchops for supper,” she remarked to me, “Go and see if Merrill and Harry will stay to supper.”

I trotted obediently off while my scandalized aunt stalked out.

“No need to mention the porkchops,” Nana called after me knowing that Aunt Helen would hear and not able to resist a parting shot, “Harry's not partial to 'em.”

My mother, delicately and neatly laying strips of dough across the top of the pie until she was satisfied with the basket weave effect, laughed out loud. It was one of those infrequent moments when mother and daughter put aside their differences and united. She methodically pressed her thumb all around the rim of the piecrust then stepped back and gave it a critical look before pronouncing it oven ready.

“Ayuh,” Nana agreed, “It'll do. Dont' forget to light the pilot light.”

The moment evaporated.

“Mother, I never forget to light the pilot light,” my mother said testily, “You'd think I'd never baked a pie before!”

Aunt Helen stalked back in, hat and gloves in hand and in a snit. Uncle Eddie was trailing behind her, an amused expression on his face.

“We're going to Digby for the day,” she said pointedly, “We'll be back after supper.”

“Whatever you think best, Helen, dear.” Nana shrugged.

“Waste of a perfectly good day, in my opinion,” Uncle Eddie said with a rueful grin, “That Harry's a nice enough fella 'cept for that invisibility thing.”

“Edgecomb!” Aunt Helen exclaimed in horror and turned deathly pale. She disliked calling attention to the family's more colorful eccentricities. Uncle Eddie obediently held the screen door for her and gave her a smart salute.

“Coming, dear.” He stopped long enough to give Nana's apron strings a playful tug and reminded my mother to save him a slice of pie then reluctantly followed his headmistress wife.

“Really, Helen, such a fuss over a harmless figment.” I heard him call. Aunt Helen stiffened her spine and marched on.

“What's a pigment?” I immediately wanted to know.

“Figment! Figment!” my exasperated mother howled, “It means Merrill made him up!”

“No call to shout, Jan,” Nana snapped, “Child ain't deaf and neither am I!”

“I reckon there's worse things than bein' invisible,” she added philosophically, “Jan, did you remember to light the oven?”

My mother threw up her hands in defeat.