by Ann B. Ross
“Uh-huh, I understand,” I said, nodding but reluctant to add anything of substance, being unsure of what her mood was at the moment. Then, preparing myself for another round of Leonard this and Leonard that, I set my mind to letting her talk while I tried tuning her out. Mentally scanning for a suitable topic to tune in on while she talked, I found nothing that held my attention for more than a second or two. It was like trying to find a good music station on the car radio.
My attention suddenly swung back to LuAnne when she abruptly said, “When you go to the grocery store. . . .” Then she stopped and sat up straight. “Well, of course, you don’t go to the grocery store, do you? Lillian does the shopping for you.”
“I most certainly have been to the grocery store—not often, I admit, but plenty of times.”
“Whatever,” she said with a wave of her hand. “But when you’ve gone, have you ever noticed how some wives treat their husbands? They’re always older couples—the ones I’m talking about—and obviously retired or he wouldn’t be with her in the middle of the day. I mean, he has nothing to do but follow her around, and you can tell that she doesn’t like it. All the years of their marriage, she’s done the shopping and the errands and seen after the children, while he’s been occupied with more important things. You know, like running a company or building a business, giving orders to underlings, and so forth. But now, when he’s no longer in charge of anything, he tags along a few steps behind her just to have something to do. I bet he even goes to the hairdresser with her. And every time he makes a suggestion or asks a question, she just snaps his head off. I mean, I once saw a woman shove her husband with the cart when he wasn’t fast enough to get out of her way. And the tone of voice! Telling him to keep up and stop dawdling, to stop putting things in the cart, and to watch out for other shoppers. I mean, Julia, if you weren’t looking right at them, you’d think she was talking to a child.”
“Now that you mention it,” I said, recalling a few incidences, “I have seen something like that.”
“Well, you know what I think? I think that that kind of husband has lorded it over his wife all the years of their marriage, maybe making her feel she wasn’t important, criticizing and lecturing her about every little thing, and now that he’s slowed down and no longer sits at a desk giving orders, she’s getting back at him.”
“You may be right, but it’s a sad thing to see.”
“I don’t know,” LuAnne said, musingly. “What it means to me is that he’s reaping what he sowed. If he’s treated his wife like hired help all those years, what can he expect? I think that after a lifetime of it, a wife has nothing left for her husband but just what he’s taught her.”
“Well,” I said, smiling, “now that you’re getting into psychobabble, as Sam calls it, I’ll have to reserve judgment.”
“I don’t blame you,” LuAnne said, reaching for the coffeepot to refill her cup. “But what I’m saying is that it’s an illustration of what’s good for the goose is also good for the gander, and Leonard better take heed.”
She had switched the genders, but even so, it came out as a threat to do as the gander was doing, and it startled me so much that coffee sloshed over into my saucer.
Chapter 28
“Oh, LuAnne,” I said, “you don’t mean that.” She’d halfway threatened the same payback once before, but I’d discounted it as simply a means of saving face. But here she was, doing it again and much more seriously.
“Well, why not? If he can do it, so can I. And don’t think I haven’t had opportunities, because I certainly have.” Then she added darkly, “And you’d be surprised to know who with. With whom, I mean.”
“But at our age? Think about it, LuAnne, it would be so . . . unseemly.”
“Oh, I’m not talking about falling in love, or anything so silly and romantic. That’s for starry-eyed teenagers, anyway. No, what I’m saying is that if Leonard can get his solace outside of marriage, then there’s no reason that the goose or the gander—whichever one I am—can’t do the same.”
That might depend, I thought but didn’t say, on just how one defined solace.
Voices—Lloyd’s and Lillian’s—in the kitchen saved me from responding aloud to LuAnne’s astonishing statement, and thank goodness, because she had rendered me speechless.
Lloyd walked across the hall, then stopped in the door of the library. “Oh, sorry, Miss Julia,” he said, “I didn’t know you had company. Morning, Mrs. Conover, nice to see you again.”
“And you, too, Lloyd,” LuAnne said, almost offhandedly. She didn’t much like being interrupted while delivering another tirade against Leonard.
I, however, welcomed the interruption. “How’s everything at your mother’s house?”
He grinned. “Hectic. Mama said it’ll take days to get the twins back in their routine. They were both crying because they didn’t have a beach to go to this morning.”
“Sometimes,” I said, shaking my head, “it seems easier to forgo vacations than to have schedules disrupted. But is there something you want? Anything you need?”
“No’m, just wanted to talk a little, but it can wait. Nothing important. We can talk later.”
That put me in a quandary. Lloyd didn’t often come to me wanting a private conversation, so I deemed his request important. Besides, having had difficulty finding a topic with which to tune out LuAnne, I was open to an interruption.
LuAnne, however, made no effort to give us a few minutes alone, and since she didn’t take the hint, I could hardly ask her to excuse us. So I excused myself.
“Excuse me, LuAnne,” I said, standing. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Walking over to Lloyd, I put my hand on his shoulder and turned him around. “I have something upstairs for you. Walk up with me.”
When we got to the upstairs hall, I said, “Now, honey, what’s bothering you?”
“Well, I’m not sure, but I think I saw that car again.”
I frowned. “What car?”
“That black Suburban I saw on the interstate—you know, the one with those people we saw on the beach. It was parked on the other side of the street about a block down, facing our house. Mama’s house, I mean. Not this one.” Lloyd had two homes—mine and Sam’s, and his mother’s and Mr. Pickens’s.
“Well, that’s strange. Are you sure?”
“Wel-l-l, no. Not positive, anyway, because with those dark windows, I couldn’t see inside. But when I left the house, I walked up the block away from it, then circled around so I could come up behind it and check the license plate. But it was gone when I got back around.”
“Would you have recognized the license plate if you’d seen it? I mean, did you get the number when you saw the car on the interstate?”
“No,” Lloyd said, grimacing. “There was a big truck up close to the back of the SUV, so I couldn’t see the plate without being obvious about it. I sure would like to get that number, though, so I’ll know if I see it again.”
“Well, I don’t know what to think, Lloyd,” I said, not wanting to either discount or increase his concern. “I can’t imagine what those people, if it was them, would be doing in Abbotsville. Clearly, they were not from here.”
“No’m, you could tell by the way they talked. You know, kinda northern or something.”
I nodded. “And by all the jewelry that man was wearing. You wouldn’t normally find that around here.” I thought for a second or so, then went on. “I think you should talk to your father, and see what he makes of it. Just to be on the safe side.”
“Oh, man,” Lloyd said, throwing out his arms. “I would if I could, but he left early this morning for Richmond—some insurance case, I guess.” Mr. Pickens was on retainer to a large insurance company, so he was often called away to investigate cases of possible fraud.
“Then,” I said, “again to be on the safe side, let’s talk to Coleman and let him k
now what’s going on. He can have deputies drive by your mother’s house every now and then. He’ll be interested because I think it might be against the law to have car windows blacked out.”
“No good,” Lloyd said, shaking his head. “Binkie called Mama this morning and told her they were leaving to go camping up in Pisgah Forest. They still have a few days off because we had to come home so early.”
“Well, for goodness’ sakes,” I said, feeling slightly abandoned by the ones on whom I would normally rely. “I guess that means that you and I will just have to keep an eye out and watch for those people. If it’s them in the first place. And if it is, we should tell Sam what’s going on. By the way,” I went on, “did Latisha see them? Where is she, anyway?”
“She stayed to play with the twins. Mama said it would give her a chance to get some things done. So, no, she didn’t see them, either on the interstate or across the street.”
“Good, let’s keep it that way. And in the meantime you and I can be keeping our eyes open as we’re out and about. But Latisha shouldn’t be out walking by herself. Lillian wouldn’t like it.”
“No’m, she won’t be. Mama wouldn’t let her. In fact,” he said, looking at his watch, “I need to go get her. It’s lunchtime, and Lillian’s fixing hot dogs.”
“And, Lloyd,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder, “I wouldn’t be too concerned about this. Black SUVs are a dime a dozen everywhere you look.”
“I know,” he said with a grin. “But I’m gonna be checking every one I see.”
As he left to retrieve Latisha, I mulled over what he’d told me, and the more I mulled, the less credence I could give it. What would those flashy people we’d seen on the beach be doing in Abbotsville? And, as I’d mentioned to Lloyd, there were so many black SUVs on the streets, you couldn’t stir them with a stick. On the other hand, new, expensive Suburbans with blackened-out windows were a different kettle of fish and tended to stand out from the crowd.
—
Putting off rejoining LuAnne in the library, I walked into the kitchen to see how Lillian was doing. Fine, it seemed, for she was sitting at the table reading the newspaper.
“I’m glad to see that you’re resting,” I said. “Why don’t you elevate that foot while you’re sitting there?”
“’Cause I got to get right back up soon as Latisha an’ Lloyd get here,” she said, folding the paper and putting it aside. “Now, Miss Julia, I know you don’t much care for hot dogs even with chili, but the chil’ren do, an’ they’s more goin’ on here than you know.”
“More? Like what?”
“Like Miz Conover don’t like ’em, either.” Lillian smiled. “She say they give her gas.”
“I see,” I said, smiling back. “Well, don’t offer to make anything else. You should stay off that foot as much as you can.”
Lillian had a sixth sense about such matters as less-than-appreciative guests, and often did her part, pleasantly and unobtrusively, to hurry them on their way.
“Lillian,” I went on, following her from the table to the sink, “I tried what you suggested about tuning out somebody who talks too much, but it didn’t work too well. I couldn’t keep my mind centered on a different station.”
“Yes’m, they can us’ally tell when your mind wander off of what they sayin’. So then they all of a sudden come out with something right smart that get your ’tention back.”
“Yes! That’s exactly what happened. So,” I said, leaning against the counter, “do you have any other suggestions? Was there anything that worked for you with Miss Bessie?”
“Well, here something that’ll work ever’ now and then, ’cept you got to choose something that give you lots to say ’cause you have to keep their ’tention on what you’re sayin’. See, what you do is start talkin’ ’bout something else—it don’t matter what—jus’ something that’ll get them thinkin’ on what you sayin’ for a change. But you got to be ready to talk an’ talk, an’ keep on talkin’ so they got to listen an’ maybe wonder what you talkin’ ’bout an’ why you goin’ on an’ on ’bout it. But that don’t matter, ’cause what you doin’ is keepin’ them from talkin’ ’bout whatever it is they keep talkin’ ’bout, so they have to let you get a word in edgewise for a change.”
“Hmm, that would be a change, and a welcome one.” I thought about Lillian’s suggestion for a few minutes, wondering just how I could go about changing the subject whenever LuAnne started in on her favorite one. “You know, Lillian, I enjoy conversing with a friend as well as the next person, but when that friend begins to sound like a broken record, it gets to be downright tiresome. The hard part of it is that I care for this friend—she would do anything in the world for anybody in need. But I’m beginning to think that she really doesn’t want help with her problem. I mean, I don’t see her actually doing anything that might solve it. She just wants to talk about it.”
“Yes’m, I know that kind, an’ Miss Bessie one of ’em, too. ’Cause she can talk an’ talk till the sun go down an’ come back up again ’bout how she want Mr. Robert back, but she know good an’ well he gone for good. She can talk all she want to—she know she safe.”
Hmm, I thought, maybe LuAnne knows she’s safe, as well. Leonard wasn’t about to go anywhere—she made his life too easy even if he was seeking solace elsewhere.
Chapter 29
So, with a renewed plan of defense against LuAnne’s bombardment of words, I returned to the library. Apologizing for leaving her alone, I took a seat and began to head her off by making a suggestion.
“Speaking of grocery stores,” I said, “would you like to go shopping with me? Lillian can’t very well go, and she shouldn’t, but the pantry and refrigerator need to be restocked. It won’t take long—Lillian will give us a list. And I thought there might be a few things you need.”
“Well, I guess I could, but it’s certainly been a relief to be free of that chore for a few days. You know, there’re some things that Leonard can’t eat—he gets indigestion real bad—so I have to plan his meals carefully. Of course, who knows what he’s eating now. I hope he’s suffering for it, too. Wonder if that woman would take care of him like I do? I bet she wouldn’t, don’t you?” LuAnne took a deep breath, then went on as I frantically searched for a change of subject. “And, you know, Julia, I don’t even know who she is. That ought to be the first thing on my list—find out who she is. I should know my enemy, shouldn’t I? Be thinking about how I can find out, if you will. I’ll bet half the town knows, but would anyone tell me? No, they wouldn’t. Do you know, Julia? I want you to tell me if you do.”
“No, LuAnne, I don’t have any idea, but—”
“Well, anyway, I keep thinking I ought to kick him out, or leave him, or something. I mean, who wants an unfaithful husband? But, Julia, at one time—and you may not believe this but it’s true—Leonard was an absolute dreamboat. Every girl in school tried to get his attention, but he had eyes only for me.” She leaned back against the sofa, a faraway look on her face. “He was the strong, silent type, don’t you know.” Then she sat straight up. “Of course I didn’t know he’d stay that way the rest of his life.” Which of course was a good thing because she’d had no competition.
But now, she was just beginning to warm to her subject again. So I sat there, wracking my brain for a change of subject—any subject. Any topic would do if it would replace the one that constantly monopolized our conversation.
“Have you ever noticed,” I began, landing on something as far from Leonard as possible, “how everything seems to be abbreviated to initials these days?”
“What?”
“Why, you know, on television. They do it on practically every commercial, although I’ve noticed that it’s mostly on commercials about medical disorders. It’s as if all the commercial makers have gotten together and decided they should use a kind of shorthand.”
“What’re you t
alking about?” LuAnne was staring at me with a befuddled look on her face.
“Well, just listen to this—IBS, OIC, UTI, COPD, RA, OAB, BED, and AMD. Now, I can understand using initials for some disorders. After all, some of them stand for problems that one shouldn’t discuss publicly, especially in mixed company. But why discuss them on television in the first place? They belong in the sanctity of a doctor’s office, it seems to me. At least, that’s where I’d discuss them if I had any.”
“Julia . . . ?”
“But, see, LuAnne, here’s what I think. I think that rather than being reticent about airing a personal problem, those afflicted are actually and deep down quite proud of it. So proud, in fact, that using initials indicates their membership in an exclusive group, and only other afflictees will recognize a fellow member. Sort of like a particular handshake which I’ve heard is used by Masons in order to recognize one another. Have you ever heard of that?”
LuAnne frowned even more. “Maybe, but—”
“Well, maybe not. I don’t know, but I’ve heard that early Christians had certain signs that enabled them to recognize each other, but which unbelievers wouldn’t understand. But I don’t think that would work with these commercials. After all, they’re right out in public for anybody to see and understand if they listen carefully. Because they’ll say—at least once—in each commercial the full name of the disorder so the uninitiated, if they’re quick, can interpret the initials.”
“Julia, I—”
“Oh,” I said, quickly resuming, “I understand if you don’t catch it the first time, but just wait. They’ll run the thing a dozen times a day, and if you’re suffering from chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder, or age-related macular degeneration, or binge-eating disorder, or rhematoid arthritis, you’ll be able to place yourself in the right club because you’ll know the password. Pass initials, I mean.”
