The Family Fortune Read Online Free

was around my age, but she always acted like an older sister. She must have thought I needed one, despite the obvious fact of Miranda.
    â€œThe king is ready,” I said.
    â€œWell, I’m not,” she said. She chopped with ferocity. Astrid joined our family on the heels of my mother’s death. We always had cooks and housekeepers, but compared with Astrid they had all the emotional depth of a kitchen appliance. Astrid floated up our walk one winter, swinging her hips like a Brazilian Mary Poppins, and I don’t know what I would have done without her.
    I picked a mushroom from the cutting board, slipping my fingers around her moving knife.
    â€œI cut your fingers off,” she warned.
    â€œNot on purpose, I hope.” I popped the mushroom into my mouth. “Need help?”
    â€œYou take the coffee out.” She nodded toward the Limoges coffee service.
    â€œAstrid?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œDo you know what’s going on here today? What this brunch is all about?” She looked at me. She knew. “Tell me,” I said.
    â€œOuch,” she said. I looked at her hand. She had sliced into her finger. The cut was bleeding into the mushrooms. “Damn,” she said. “Toss those, will you, Jane? The ones with the blood.” She went over to the sink to run some cold water over her hand, then wrapped her finger in a paper towel.
    â€œAre you all right?” I asked.
    â€œTake the coffee out,” she said.
    â€œAstrid?”
    â€œPlease, Jane, take the coffee out.”
    I lifted the heavy coffee urn, balancing it with one hand on its base, and carried it into the dining room, where the entire party was now seated.
    â€œAbout time,” Teddy said. “Where on earth is Astrid?”
    â€œShe cut her finger.”
    â€œThat was clumsy of her.”
    My father liked to think that one person—Astrid—could handle every chore in our house. It was as if he never noticed me picking up after him, folding his clothes, putting Miranda’s shoes away, throwing in a load of laundry, dusting a room. The illusion of “help” was especially important to him when we had company. We were a family with a full-time servant, and for Teddy, the show was more important than the service itself.
    â€œShe’s finishing the frittata,” I added. This was his favorite of all Astrid’s dishes and I knew that this would appease him.
    â€œI do love Astrid’s frittatas,” he said.
    I poured coffee for Dolores. Although she hadn’t been invited, she was still a guest. Priscilla, who sat across from her, was a guest also, and older, so proper etiquette would indicate that she should be served first, but Priscilla was as good as family.
    Whatever was going to happen that morning, I wanted them to get it over with. Maybe Teddy was sick. Whatever it was, I wanted to know. If something had happened to my sister Winnie or to one of her boys, someone would have told me before this. There would be no need for Littleton, no buildup.
    Astrid came in with the frittata. She had a bandage on her finger. I followed her back into the kitchen to help her with the biscuits, bacon, and fruit.
    â€œYou’re not going to tell me anything, are you?” I asked.
    She gave me a bowl of berries.
    â€œNot my place,” she said. Astrid, who came to us speaking very little English, was now fluent, but she still retained a mild accent. She shouldered me gently to let me know I should head back into the dining room.
    â€œThat never stopped you before,” I said.
    â€œWell, it’s stopping me now.”
    Between us, we put everything on the table. Astrid didn’t stay to serve. That was my job. Or, if Miranda was so inclined, she could play lady of the house.
    When I sat down, Dolores was talking.
    â€œI was in Starbucks,” she said, “in West Hollywood.” She talked as if we should all have a clear picture of the West Hollywood