Wallpaper with Roses

by Jenny Andersen

  “What’s that, dear?” her mother asked.

  “I’m just wondering what’s taking them so long.”

  Violet wandered back to her chair. “Oh, I hope they don’t put that awful yellow tape all around the yard. It looks so tacky. Like a trailer park or something.”

  “Probably not,” Sarah said. “Here’s your sherry, Violet. And Rob seems to be finished with the police. Perhaps he’ll tell us what’s going on.”

  But when Rob came up the walk, the police officers came with him.

  The first officer up the stairs was Violet’s great nephew, Brent. The other was a stranger. He stood off to one side.

  “Aunt Violet, Mrs. Gault,” Brent said. “Hi, Sarah.”

  Don’t say anything about catching me speeding, Sarah prayed. “Hi, Brent.”

  “I need to ask you all a few questions,” Brent said.

  “Of course,” Hilda replied. “We’ll be happy to help you, won’t we, Violet?”

  “Of course. I just love to see you acting like a real policeman. And how’s your mother, dear?” Violet said.

  “Just fine, Aunt Violet. I got a postcard from her this morning. She sure is loving Hawaii. And I am a real policeman. If you’ll excuse us, I’ll talk to Sarah first.” He led Sarah along the porch out of earshot. “Now, Sarah. What happened here?”

  Sarah closed her eyes, let the scene play through her mind, and gave Brent the most concise description she could manage, leaving out all the horror that she’d felt watching it.

  “Well, that seems pretty straight forward. But you sure you can’t describe the car or the license?”

  Sarah shook her head. “No. The car was old. And dark. But I was trying so hard to see who was in the car that I didn’t look at the outside all that closely.”

  “Okay. I’m not surprised.” He sighed and led the way back to where the two elderly ladies sat comparing notes. “Okay. Aunt Violet, Mrs. Gault.”

  Sarah smiled when they both started talking at once.

  Brent held up a hand. “One at a time.” It took work, but he managed to extract the story from them. When they ran down, he had a story that agreed with Sarah’s version remarkably well. Anything else?”

  “I don’t think so, Brent,” Hilda said. “I was really focusing on how badly he was driving.”

  “You’re sure the driver was male?” Brent interrupted.

  “Oh, no. The driving was so bad I just assumed the driver was male,” Hilda said with a touch of asperity. “Or old,” she added under her breath.

  “Now, Mama,” Sarah murmured.

  “I saw the car quite well, Brent, dear,” Violet said.

  Brent turned to her. “Yes, Aunt Violet?”

  “Don’t use that tone with me, young man. I still have eyes in my head, you know.”

  Brent rolled his eyes at his fellow officer. “Of course you do.”

  “Well, Mr. Smarty, it was a 1976 Oldsmobile, mahogany poly with primer on the right front fender, and the license plate was E908PZS,” Violet announced.

  Sarah’s mouth dropped open and she turned to stare at Violet.

  Rob laughed. “That’s my mum.”

  Brent scribbled furiously in his notebook. When he had finished, he raised his head and fixed Violet with a stunned stare. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Don’t you remember the one your Uncle Lester had? It was dark green poly, but we spent a long time deciding between that and the mahogany. Every line of that car is burned into my brain. I stared at pictures and the real thing until I thought my eyes would fall out.”

  “All right, all right. I believe you.” Brent turned to the other officer. “Get an APB out on that, would you?”

  “Sir.” The officer made a salute-like gesture and bounded down the stairs.

  “Who’s that boy, Brent?” Violet demanded. “I don’t recall that I’ve ever seen him before.”

  “Hank Zidell. He’s new in town. Just graduated from the academy up in Aliceburg.”

  “Oh, that’s nice, dear. We’ll have to ask him to dinner one of these evenings, if it’s all right with Sarah.”

  “Of course, Violet,” Sarah said.

  ****

  A May afternoon was a fine thing, Sarah decided. The laundry was done, it was Saturday so she didn’t have to gird herself for work the next day, and Hilda and Violet were off at some church function that included dinner so she didn’t have to cook. Rob had mowed the lawn that morning, and all she had to do was wander through the garden checking the roses.

  As if her thought had conjured him, he crossed the lawn to her side. “Rob. I wasn’t expecting you. Violet’s not home.”

  “I know.” He looked down at her, his expression oddly anxious. “I came to see you.”

  A rush of heat warmed her, and she couldn’t stop the memory of Rob rescuing her at that awful bar. “Me?” Her voice squeaked, making her feel like she was still in junior high.

  “You. I thought as long as we’re both alone for the evening, maybe we could go to a movie or something.”

  “A movie?”

  “Yeah. You’ve heard of those. There’s this big screen with pictures on it, and people move around and talk.”

  She didn’t know whether to be exasperated or amused. “I know what movies are, Rob.”

  “What was the last one you saw?”

  “Indiana Jones. It’s Mama’s favorite.”

  “And it was on television three nights ago. I meant in a theater.”

  Sarah tried to think. She and Beth had gone to see...she couldn’t remember. Oh, yes, that really bad Johnny Depp movie—and wasn’t that a contradiction—Libertine. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to admit to Rob that she’d voluntarily gone to see something billed as debauchery. Or the way she and Beth had snickered through it. Or how long ago that had been.

  “So did the moms put you up to this?”

  “No. Unilateral decision. Well, actually, Beth said you needed company tonight. If you’d rather not, I can leave,” Rob said. “Or we could just go have a drink.”

  “At DeLucca’s?” That’d be the day. She never wanted to go there again.

  “No. Anyplace you want. Maybe the Crowley Inn?”

  Go out for a drink? With Rob? Like a date? Hadn’t she just said “never again”?

  The only problem was, every time she wasn’t thinking about all the problems that littered her life these days, Rob stirred her juices in a way that hadn’t happened for more years than she wanted to count. She wanted to go.

  The phone interrupted. Saved by the bell. She had no idea what she’d been about to say. “Excuse me,” she said, and bolted for the kitchen to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Go out with him.”

  Beth. Didn’t it just figure? “What, you have the place bugged? Or are you doing surveillance across the street?”

  “No, I just figured Rob was there by now, and you were saying no.”

  “Beth, I have an absolute ton of things to do tonight.” It wasn’t really a lie. There was always a mountain of paper work, and housework was never really done. “I can’t take the time to go out.”

  “You’d better, or you’re going to go stir-crazy. I’ll help you catch up tomorrow. Even though you never go anyplace with me again, you might go with Rob.”

  Sarah didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Beth sounded both forlorn and loving. “Oh, Beth.”

  “Just go. Go have a drink. Go to a movie. You could even take the dog for a walk. Just do something.” Her voice sharpened. “Talk about the moms until you’re both sick of the subject, and then maybe you’ll be fit company for other people.”

  Irritation rippled through Sarah like wind on a field of wheat. Honestly, sometimes Beth was so childish. But the irritation mixed with guilt over the way she was treating her friend. “I’m not sure it works that way, but all right. Have it your way. I’m going.”

  “Good.” Beth hung up before Sarah could say she’d changed her mind.

  Sarah slo
wly put the phone back in its cradle. What had she gotten herself into this time? She turned to go back outside to tell Rob and slammed into him.

  He caught her upper arms and steadied her. “Whoa.”

  “That was Beth. We’ve been ordered to go out for a drink so we can get all the mom talk out of our systems and be fit company for others.” Just saying the words made her mad all over again.

  “We could do that. Or...”

  Manipulation. It was pure manipulation. She knew it, but she couldn’t keep from biting. “Or what?”

  “Or we could just enjoy ourselves. Not even think about The Moms.”

  The touch of his hands made her dizzy. A picture of her enjoying herself with Rob shot through her mind, producing a rush of heat that she was pretty sure translated into a seven-shades-of-red blush.

  She wanted to go out with him. Really, really wanted to. This was like the rebellious, undaughterly thoughts that had led her to go to DeLucca’s with Beth, only squared. Cubed. Those thoughts to the nth power. And look how that evening had turned out.

  “No.” Guilt forced the word out, plain and ungracious. “No, thank you,” she stammered. “I can’t. I really can’t. I’m sorry, Rob.”

  His expression turned stony. “Sure. Sorry to have bothered you. See you around.” He turned and stalked out the door, leaving Sarah in the ruins of her evening.

  ****

  The next morning, peace reigned at the breakfast table, at least after Rob picked up Violet for a doctor’s appointment. Sarah had been prepared for awkwardness, but he acted as though that conversation had never taken place. That should have made her happy. It didn’t.

  “You’re looking very dressed up this morning,” Sarah told her mother. “Are you planning to go out? I don’t remember anything on the calendar.”

  “Of course not, because we hadn’t talked about anything. I know you planned to stay home today, but I was hoping you’d take the time to drive me downtown.” Hilda finished her tea and patted her lips with her napkin.

  “Of course, but where?”

  “To the hospital, of course.”

  “The hospital?”

  “I’m going to visit that poor young woman. Naturally. Where is your mind this morning, Sarah?”

  On bills to be paid and housework to be done. Clearly not on her mother’s archaic Emily Post ideas. “She isn’t anything to do with us, Mother. I don’t see why—” she began, but stopped at her mother’s frown.

  “Because it’s the decent thing to do. Don’t argue. If you won’t drive me, perhaps Brent will be kind enough to do it. I believe this is his day off.”

  Sarah knew when to give up. “I said I’d take you.” She got her coat and car keys. “I’ll run over to the feed store and pick up some dog food while you’re visiting and then wait in front of the hospital for you.”

  Hilda smiled. “I knew I could depend on you. But I think you should come upstairs with me. I have an idea.”

  Wonderful. Now what?

  Chapter 8

  Hilda stopped at the information desk in the hospital lobby. “Oh, Sarah,” she cried in dismay. “I just realized we don’t know the girl’s name.”

  But to her relief, the volunteer recognized the accident immediately. “Christine Pelletier,” she said. “Room five B.”

  “Thank you. Come along, dear.” Hilda took the arm Sarah offered.

  From Sarah’s resigned expression, it was clear she didn’t want to be here, but the dear, helpful girl didn’t protest. How fortunate she was to have such a good daughter.

  At the door to five B, she almost collided with a large woman leaving the room. The woman eyed them as though they were personally responsible for all the auto mishaps in the whole town. “Good morning.”

  Oh good. The poor girl must have family. Hilda smiled. “Are you visiting Miss Pelletier?”

  “Yes. Are you relatives?”

  “No.” Hilda explained again that the girl’s accident had involved her front yard.

  “I see. Well.”

  How oddly this woman was behaving. “Are you a friend?”

  “I am Miss Harkness, the hospital discharge coordinator.” Her gaze sharpened and focused on Sarah. “Do I know you?”

  Hilda felt Sarah quiver. “We’d like to see Miss Pelletier now,” she said, avoiding the question.

  Miss Harkness studied them for a moment, one foot tapping a rapid rhythm against the tiled floor. “I don’t understand why you would come see her if there is no relationship,” she said with a frown.

  Hilda drew in an exasperated breath. “There is no personal relationship. I am here out of simple, common courtesy.” She wondered if this rude woman could understand that.

  “We need someone to assume financial responsibility for Christine. Apparently she is indigent.”

  That explained the odd behavior. Sarah had told her about the person in charge of getting people out of the building whether they needed care or not, and non-payers probably were treated even more rudely than this.

  “I have the financial responsibility forms right here.”

  “No.” Hilda pressed her lips together tightly. People like Miss Harkness understood only the most direct answers.

  “I suppose if there really is no personal relationship, you don’t have to take responsibility.”

  Hilda felt her blood pressure go up about ten points at the woman’s skeptical tone.

  “But she is likely to sue you. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  And if the poor girl hadn’t thought of it, this woman would suggest it. “We’ll worry about that if it happens. Please excuse us now. I find prolonged standing quite uncomfortable,” she said, using her most imperious voice and shamelessly playing the age card. “I need to sit, and I wish to take Miss Pelletier these flowers.”

  “Aha, you do feel responsible.”

  Hilda had had enough and her voice reflected her impatience. “I certainly do not. Stop harassing me and step aside. Now, if you please.”

  Either the woman recognized that you couldn’t get money out of a senior, or the autocratic manner worked, because she stepped out of the doorway. She caught Sarah’s arm. “I’d like to speak with you for a moment, please,” she said and huffed off down the hall.

  “I’ll join you in a minute, Mama,” Sarah said over her shoulder.

  Hilda hesitated for a moment. But Sarah could take care of herself, she was sure, and she entered the room.

  The girl lay in the high bed, almost as pale as the hospital gown that slipped off one thin shoulder, and fiddled with the remote control for the TV muttering in the background. “My roommate went home this morning,” she said without looking up.

  “I came to see you, Christine.” Hilda set the vase of flowers on the bedside table.

  “Me? Oh, you’re another one of those discharge ladies. I told you, I don’t have any money. I can’t pay the hospital bill.” Christine rubbed at her cheek and winced at the pressure on a purpling bruise. She looked up at Hilda, her bright blue gaze defiant. “You can do whatever you want, but I don’t even have enough money to buy a cup of coffee once I get out of here. You might as well send me straight to jail because I can’t pay.”

  The poor child. She had lovely cheekbones in spite of the bruise, and looked as young and innocent as Alice in Wonderland. What she must have suffered. “Stop. I am not one of those discharge ladies,” Hilda said. “It was my front lawn you landed on, and I simply came to see that you had survived. I really do not see my lawn as a proper place for a murder.”

  The corners of the girl’s mouth lifted. It wasn’t much of a smile, but Hilda was amazed at the change. “Why, you’re beautiful.”

  Under the stark white bandage on her forehead, the girl blushed.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, my dear. But it’s true. Especially when you smile.”

  “Sorry, but somehow I don’t feel like I have much to smile about right now.”

  Hilda tilted her head and regarded the gi
rl. “I’m Hilda Gault,” she said.

  “Christine.” After a long silence, she added, “Thank you for the flowers, and for coming to see me. It was very nice of you, ma’am.”

  Manners. This child had all the good manners that dreadful discharge woman lacked.

  “How do you feel?” Hilda asked, knowing as she spoke that it was a stupid question, but something about the girl’s composure robbed her of words.

  “Like I’ve been thrown out of a car.” The girl leaned toward the vase of roses Hilda had picked that morning. “Oh, my. Don’t they smell wonderful. And they’re Damasks. York and Lancaster?”

  Hilda nodded. Interesting. The girl recognized old roses. Hilda looked at her carefully. Everything about the girl spoke of a good upbringing, with “old money” somewhere in the past. Even though her hair was tousled, the cut was excellent, and her nails were cared for.

  Probably a runaway. Hilda wondered how old she was. If she was under age, surely there would be authorities involved, and if Hilda asked outright, the girl would surely lie if she were under eighteen. “How old were you when you ran away from home,” she asked instead.

  “Six— Sneaky, sneaky. It doesn’t matter. I’m eighteen now.”

  “You’ve been living on the streets for two years?” Hilda knew her voice revealed her incredulity. This child? This innocent-looking child had been on her own for two years? She shuddered.

  “I’ve been on my own for a year. I left home the night before my seventeenth birthday, and I just turned eighteen. So one year.”

  “When?” Shock, from the evil visions of life on the street, from the girl’s calm admission of what must have been a year in hell, robbed Hilda of her normal polite, social skills .

  Christine peered up at her through a fringe of bangs and eyelashes. “This morning,” she said grudgingly. “And I wasn’t on the street. I got a job. And rented a room from an old lady.”

  Hilda sank into the visitor’s chair and inspected Christine. The girl was full of surprises, it seemed.

  “I apologize in advance for being unduly curious.” That sounded so much better than the modern slang “nosey” that Sarah and her friends would use. “But I must ask. How did you come to be in that awful car, with that awful person who threw you out onto my lawn?”