“I know. I was there.” He stayed silent a moment, then he was thoughtful enough to remind me, “You went to Frank Bellarosa’s funeral Mass and burial.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“We should have a few beers one night.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.” I asked him, “Are you and the county police in touch?”

“Detective Nastasi and I spoke last night.”

“I’m happy to hear that. And are you still assigned to this case?”

“Until it’s resolved.”

“Great.” I asked him, “How is the war on terrorism going?”

“Pretty good today.”

“Well, it’s still early.”

He informed me, “Every day that nothing happens is a good day.”

“I know the feeling.”

Our business concluded, we signed off with promises to speak again, and I sat down and contemplated my granola muffin. I said to Susan, “This tastes funny.”

“It’s made with yogurt. What was he saying on his end?”

I filled her in, but decided not to mention Mr. Mancuso’s suggestion that her parents get out of our house. Or was that my idea? Anyway, I thought I should hold on to that and use it if the Stanhopes became insufferable. Also of course, I really didn’t want to alarm everyone, especially Edward and Carolyn.

But Susan asked me, “What was he saying about my parents?”

“Oh, he said if he heard anything that would change our alert level here, then he’d advise us, and we should ask your parents to find other accommodations.”

She thought about that, then said, “I would be very upset if I had to tell Edward and Carolyn about our problem and ask them to sleep elsewhere.”

“Not a problem. Mancuso said the children will be fine here. It’s only your parents who would have to leave.”

“I don’t understand…” Then she understood and said to me, “John, that’s not funny, and not nice.”

“Sorry. It’s my ace in the hole.” I suggested, “Think about it. Less chance of friction. More chance of bonding.”

She actually seemed to be thinking about it, and said, “Let’s see how it goes today.”

“Okay.” I pointed out, “You seemed a bit impatient with them last night.”

“It was a long, tense, and emotional day.”

I didn’t reply, which was good because I heard Them on the stairs.

William and Charlotte came into the kitchen, and Susan kissed her parents, and I satisfied myself with “Good morning.”

William, I recalled, liked his cold cereal in the morning, and Susan had lined up six boxes on the counter of these godawful sugar concoctions, and William picked something with cocoa in it that I wouldn’t feed to the pigs.

Charlotte doesn’t eat breakfast and doesn’t drink coffee, so Susan had set out a chest of herbal teas, and Susan boiled water for the old bat.

I mean, it wasn’t even 8:00 A.M., and I was already strung out.

I was impressed, however, that to look at them, you would never know that they had consumed enough gin and wine last night to float a small boat. Amazing. Maybe they had annual liver transplants.

Anyway, the four of us sat around the kitchen table and made small talk.

Then William said to me offhandedly, “I didn’t realize from Susan’s e-mail and phone calls that you were actually staying here.”

I replied, “Well, I moved in only a day or so ago.” I explained, “Upon Ethel’s death, Mr. Nasim, as you know, was able to reclaim the gatehouse, and he wanted to install his security people there – as you saw – so that left me homeless in New York, and Susan was kind enough to let me use my old bedroom here.”

He thought about that, then pointed out, quite correctly, “That’s also her bedroom.”

Susan explained, unnecessarily, “We’re sleeping together.”

William, of course, knew that by now. Hello? William? But I guess he wanted to hear it from the sinners’ own mouths. Meanwhile, I was sure he and Charlotte had not been too judgmental of Susan when she lived and dated in Hilton Head. I mean, really, Susan is an adult, and I have adult tendencies, and it’s none of their business what we do behind closed doors. Not to mention we’d already been married to each other, and we had two children, for God’s sake. But, as I say, William is a control freak, plus, of course, this really had to do with John Sutter, not propriety.

Anyway, we dropped that subject, and William shoveled spoonfuls of milk-sodden Cocoa Puffs into his mouth, and Charlotte sipped tea made out of Himalayan stinkweed or something.

I was thinking of an excuse to excuse myself, but then William said to Susan, “Your mother and I were thinking that you have enough company with Edward and Carolyn coming – and John here – so we’ve decided to stay at The Creek.”

Thank you, God.

Susan objected, and I did my part by saying, “Won’t you reconsider?” Maybe you should go home.

Anyway, we went back and forth, and when I was sure they were adamant, I said, “Maybe you can stay just one more night.”

“Well…”

Oh my God. What did I do?

Then William stuck to his guns and said to Susan, “Please call The Creek and see if a cottage is available.”

Charlotte chirped in, “We’ve always enjoyed staying there, and it’s no reflection on your wonderful hospitality, dear.”

I replied, “I understand that.”

Charlotte looked at me and said, “I was speaking to Susan.”

“Of course.”

Susan went to the phone, called The Creek, and secured a cottage for Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope, her parents, and instructed the club to put all charges on her bill, including food, beverage, and incidentals. William was happy. I was giddy.

I said to Susan, “See if you can get Mom and Dad golf privileges. And don’t forget the cabana. And maybe tennis lessons.”

Susan ignored me, finalized the arrangements, then hung up and said, “You’re booked until Monday.”

So it was settled. I guess the Stanhopes didn’t want to share a house with me, and probably they were afraid of another spontaneous or planned house gathering, and I’m sure they found the guards at the gate to be inconvenient. Not to mention the possibility of Iranian assassins hiding in the bushes.

But for the record, everyone agreed that it might work out better if Mom and Dad had their own space, close to here, but not too close, though we were all a little disappointed, of course.

I inquired, “Can I help you pack?”

William assured me that they could do that themselves, but he asked if I’d carry their luggage to the car.

I replied, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Charlotte slipped up and said, “We’re packed.”

“Well, then” – I stood and said – “I’ll just go and get your things.”

And off I went, taking the steps four at a time.

So, within half an hour, William, Charlotte, John, and Susan were outside saying ciao, but not arrivederci.

William announced that he and Charlotte had some old friends they wanted to see, and maybe they’d play golf with them and have lunch and also dinner, and unfortunately wouldn’t be at Ethel’s wake today or tonight, and they were sorry to miss Edward and Carolyn this evening, and so forth.

But we’d all get together Friday night at the funeral home, then play it by ear – whatever that meant. I hoped it meant we wouldn’t see them until the funeral service Saturday morning, if then. But we were all on for Father’s Day, and I reminded William, sotto voce, that we’d speak no later than Monday morning. I winked, but he didn’t return the wink.

Susan and I stood in the forecourt and waved as they drove off. I flashed William the V-sign, but I don’t think he saw it.

Susan and I walked back to the house, and she said, “Well, I’m a little disappointed, but a little relieved.”

“I know exactly how you feel.”

“Come on, John. You practically pushed them out the door.”

“I did not. He stumbled.”

We returned to the kitchen, and I tried another muffin. “This smells and tastes like manure.”

“It’s bran.” She said to me, “Well, you tried, and I tried, but I don’t think they were comfortable with this situation.”