by Ann B. Ross
We reached the door at the same time, opened it and stood aside as LuAnne Conover sailed in, all atwitter.
“Julia,” she said, her hands fluttering with excitement, “you won’t believe what’s happened!” She grabbed my arm and practically dragged me into the living room. “Come sit down. I’ve got to tell you…Oh, hey, Lillian. You’ll excuse us, won’t you?”
Lillian mumbled, “Yes, ma’am,” and left for the kitchen, her dignity undisturbed. If it’d been me, my eyes would’ve rolled right up inside my head, but Lillian had better manners than most people, including me on occasion.
“What is it, LuAnne?” I asked, as visions of some catastrophe sprang to mind. “Has something happened at the courthouse? Sam’s down there. Don’t tell me there’s been an accident?” All I could picture was a wall of bricks, timbers and nails falling askew and burying the crowd of spectators, Sam among them.
“No, no,” she said, her hands flying every which way. “Nothing like that. No, this is good! In fact, it couldn’t be better. At least, I think so, but it really puts me on the spot, and I need some advice.”
“Well,” I said, mentally wiping my brow in relief, “thank goodness for that. Now, what kind of spot are you in?”
She leaned close, her eyes dancing with delight, her color high and her voice low and intense. “Leonard called.”
“He did? Why, that’s wonderful, LuAnne. He wants to come home?”
“Not yet, he doesn’t,” she said with some satisfaction. “Oh, you’ll never guess.” She actually hugged herself.
“Well, I probably won’t. So why don’t you tell me.”
“He wants to take me to the soiree tomorrow. Don’t you just love it? I mean, like a date. It’s like he wants to start over again and, you know, court me.”
“He actually asked for a date?” I could hardly believe it of the staid and unimaginative Leonard Conover. To tell the truth, I had a hard time picturing him in a courting frame of mind under any circumstances. But she knew him better than I did, so I took her word for it.
“Well, no, not in so many words,” she admitted, “but he said he didn’t want to go to the soiree by himself, and since he knew I’d be going, we ought to go together. But that’s the way he is, Julia. You have to read between the lines, and I know he wants to date me. So what am I going to do?”
“Why,” I said, “I guess you go with him, if that’s what you want to do. I mean, it looks as if he’s making the first move and that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“I did, but now that I have another opportunity, I really don’t know what I want.” She had calmed down by this time, and had her hands clasped in her lap. “You know what just frosts me? All this time I’ve been patiently waiting for Leonard to come to his senses and now that he has, it’s at the absolutely worst time in the world.”
“I don’t understand. Why?”
“Don’t be dense, Julia. You know why.” She leaned over and hissed. “Arthur! That’s why. He’s expecting me to be his date at the soiree. You told me so yourself.”
“Oh,” I said, recalling my rash words of a few days before, and with the recall, feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself for misleading a friend. My only excuse was my desperate effort to make Arthur Kessler change his mind about our town and its inhabitants. Which hadn’t worked anyway, as the demolition of the courthouse proved.
“Well, LuAnne,” I said, trying to decrease her expectations, “if Arthur hasn’t called and asked you—specifically, that is—then I wouldn’t burn any bridges. A bird in the hand and all that, you know. And, after all, you are still married to Leonard.”
“Oh, that,” she said, waving her hand to brush aside that little snag. “He left me, which in some cultures is as good as a divorce. And don’t shake your head at me. I know it’s not in ours, but, Julia, when have I ever had a chance like this? I mean, Arthur Kessler! A man of the world and a man of means and he’s interested in me! I owe it to myself to give him a chance. Every time I think about what it could mean, my heart just starts racing.”
“Well, I don’t…”
“Stop right there, Julia. I don’t want or need cold water thrown right at this minute. Let me enjoy having two desirable men panting after me. My goodness,” she said, fanning her face with her hand, “I feel like a girl again.”
“All right, no cold water,” I said, although I couldn’t help but think that she was not only feeling like a girl, but acting like one as well. “But do remember that Arthur hasn’t declared himself, so don’t count on him.”
“I don’t intend to. No, what I’m going to do is play one against the other. I’m not committing to either one. They can both dance to my tune, for a change. Listen, Julia, I know men. And I know that they want what they think they can’t have and that’s why I’m not going with either one. I’ll make my choice when we’re all there.” She pushed her hair back and settled into the sofa with a look of satisfaction on her face. “Now, what should I wear?”
“I’m not sure, LuAnne, I guess it depends on whether you’re going to the tea inside Mildred’s house or to the barbecue outside. I would think that each one calls for a different look.”
“Well, I’m going to both, depending on where Arthur and Leonard are. I mean, I may have to switch back and forth. So what do you think? A nice pantsuit, maybe?”
Before I could respond, she went on. “Oh, I know. I’ll wear my full-cut black pants. The ones that look like a long skirt when you stand still. And I have a see-through organdy top to go with them.”
“See-through?”
“Oh, Julia, it has a camisole underneath. Don’t be so quick to think the worst.” She jumped to her feet, smoothed her dress and started for the door. “I’ve got to go. So many things to do, you know. I’m having my hair done and my nails, which’ll take the rest of the day. Then I have to get a good night’s sleep, so I’ll be at my best tomorrow. Thank you, Julia, for your help. You’re always so encouraging.”
I didn’t think I’d been all that helpful, but all I could do was wish her well and wish I hadn’t had a hand in what was sure to be a delusion. A delusion where Arthur Kessler was concerned surely and maybe even where Leonard was, too.
I followed her to the door, but before she left, she turned quickly and said, “Oh, I almost forgot. I passed Mildred’s house on my way here, and there was a car parked across the street and down a little ways. Whoever was in it ducked down just as I went by so I didn’t get a good look. But, Julia, it looked just like Horace, so if it was, I don’t guess he’s dead. But what could he be doing, just sitting there without going in? It’s all very strange, if you ask me. Well, I have to run. See you tomorrow.” And off she went without a care in the world, much less any interest in the possibility that Horace Allen may have risen, alive and well, from the wreckage of his car.
Horace Allen, I thought as I closed the door and turned back to the living room. Had it been him? I could’ve shaken LuAnne for being so taken up with her own affairs that she hadn’t stopped to make sure. And if it had been him, why was he sitting outside his own home, just watching and waiting? Of course, I could understand that it would take a lot of getting ready and girding oneself in preparation for facing Mildred’s wrath, but he couldn’t sit out there all day. Or could he?
There was only one thing to do. “Lillian,” I called. “I’m going to walk down to Mildred’s. I’ll be back in a little while.”
As soon as I was out of sight of my house, I crossed the street and strolled innocently down the sidewalk toward Mildred’s. I passed the brick wall of the Family Life Center, refusing to even look at it, especially since Pastor Ledbetter was running another Retire-the-Debt campaign, and proceeded on until I was almost past the magnolia trees in Mildred’s yard. As nonchalantly as I could, I leaned over and looked into each car that was parked along the street. There wasn’t that many, but I regretted not asking LuAnne what kind of car she’d supposedly seen Horace in. Not that she would’ve known, but a color w
ould’ve been helpful.
Finally, I glimpsed the sliver of a head barely sticking up in the driver’s seat of the next-to-last car on the block. Before approaching, I glanced across the street, noting the crepe myrtles and tall azaleas at the edge of Mildred’s yard, obscuring the car from the sight of anyone in the house.
I padded softly up to the passenger side, bent down to peer through the open window and said, “Horace?”
“What!” He jumped a mile, sparks from his cigarette spraying across his none-too-clean shirt as he beat at them with his other hand. “Good Lord, you scared me to death!”
“Not any more than you’ve scared everybody else.” I opened the door and slid inside. “Mind if I sit a while? Horace, where in the world have you been? Don’t you know that Mildred has been frantic and that the whole town’s been mourning you, thinking you were dead? You should’ve seen the flowers and food they brought. What happened to you?”
He shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Well, of course, I do. Everybody does, especially Mildred, so you might as well get your story straight.”
His mouth turned down and big tears welled up in his eyes as he slumped farther in the seat. “I’m ruined, that’s the truth of it. She’ll never forgive me.”
I looked him over. He looked ruined, for I’d never seen him in any state but the most well dressed and put together of any man in our set. In fact, he’d seemingly prided himself on his made-to-order suits—bespoken, he called them—which made the most of his slim and lanky frame. But now, a rip in his pants leg revealed a white length of leg, dried mud spotted his shirt, his arms and hands were red and scratched and he could’ve used a haircut as well as a good scrubbing. He was no longer Mildred’s dashing attendant, quick to satisfy her every whim, but a pitiful remnant sitting there feeling sorry for himself.
“Well,” I said sternly, unwilling to commiserate with him since I have little sympathy for grown men who cry over fixes they’ve gotten themselves into. “You’re not helping matters by sitting out here, bemoaning the situation. You need to pull yourself together and see about getting some medical attention, for one thing. You don’t look so good. Where’d you get this car anyway?” It was a far cry from the one he’d left wrecked on the mountainside. When it was in its original condition, I mean.
“Borrowed it.”
“Well, I wish you’d borrowed some clothes while you were at it. Mildred’s not going to recognize you.”
“I tried to get some clothes the other night,” he said, wiping a tear from one eye, “but Mildred tried to kill me.”
“Was that you? It was you who was climbing up the side of the house? My word, Horace, why didn’t you just ring the doorbell? What possessed you to try to sneak in that way?”
“I couldn’t face her,” he said, while I noted that he couldn’t face me either and I’d never lifted a gun. He sat there, slumped over, his eyes on his lap, unable or unwilling to look up.
“You need to come to some conclusion here, Horace. You need help and sitting in a car all day is not going to get it. And what’re you going to do if a deputy sees you? They’re looking all over creation for you as it is, and, believe me, you don’t want to get crossways of Lieutenant Peavey.” I shuddered at the thought, not wishing Lieutenant Peavey on my worst enemy. “Besides, you know I’m going to tell Mildred I saw you. I can’t let her go on thinking you’re among the dead or missing forever.”
“She doesn’t care.” Then he lifted his head to stare at me with eyes full of hurt and maybe a little anger. “She’s having a party tomorrow. A big party! I’d hardly be cold in my grave, if I was in one.”
“Well, my goodness, Horace,” I said, thinking fast, “she’s only doing it because you wanted her to be more community-minded. She’s doing it for you, in your memory, so to speak.” I didn’t mention that she was also doing it to show the town that she could rise above being forsaken by an errant husband. “Now, why don’t you go on in and throw yourself on her mercy? Think of all those nice, clean clothes hanging in your closet.”
“I’ve lost a lot of her money,” he mumbled so low that I had to ask him to repeat it. Then a little stronger and with a hint of self-justification, he went on. “It was Richard’s fault. It was supposed to be such a sure thing.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “It’s all gone now, and Mildred will never forgive me. She always said I didn’t know how to handle money and, boy howdy, I’ve proved her right. I guess the only thing I can do is just go on in and face the music.” He swatted his hand across a muddy splotch on his shirt, which did no good, then opened the door and shambled off across the street.
And I just sat there, too stunned to hinder him. He’d said Richard? Richard Stroud?
Chapter 41
I lingered beside Horace’s borrowed car vacillating between going home and knocking on Mildred’s door to see what kind of reception Horace was getting. Discretion prevailed, though, and I turned toward home. I had no desire to be within wounding distance if Mildred dove under her bed after that shotgun again.
But I nearly jumped out of my skin when a motorcycle one street over backfired, then roared off toward town. I declare, I’d been in so many near-combat situations lately that I was beginning to suffer from one of those stress syndromes.
I forgot about that, though, and picked up my pace when I saw a familiar car parked at the curb in front of my house. Hurrying through the kitchen door, I was greeted by a hubbub of welcoming smiles and hugs and kisses, some of which I could’ve done without. Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens were home.
“Oh, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said, her eyes shining with the wonder of it all, “you should’ve been with us. San Francisco was beautiful. The Golden Gate Bridge! The fog! The hills and the streetcars! I’ve never seen anything like it. You would love it. Oh, and I’ve got pictures. I took pictures of everything. I can’t wait to show you.”
“And I can’t wait to see them. You look wonderful, Hazel Marie.” And she did. Like a million dollars, in fact, which probably wasn’t too far off the mark. Whatever she and Mr. Pickens had been up to, it had done wonders for her complexion.
And speaking of whom, there he stood, one hand on a chair back, smiling complacently at Hazel Marie’s excitement.
“Well, Mr. Pickens,” I said, “thank you for getting her back safely. I hope you had a good time, too.”
Lillian broke in then, telling us to sit down, she was slicing a caramel cake.
“I wouldn’t turn that down,” Mr. Pickens said, then to me, “Yes, I had a good time and a successful one, too.”
“Oh, that’s the best thing,” Hazel Marie said, pulling out a chair. “That insurance company hired him! He’s on retainer, which means he can work for them and for himself, and he’ll be making a mint! I’m so proud.”
“Hardly a mint,” Mr. Pickens said with a deprecating shrug. But I could tell he was pleased with himself, probably for more than just getting hired. “Lillian, I’ve been missing your cooking.”
“Oh!” Hazel Marie hopped up from her chair. “Lloyd’ll be home any minute and I’ve got to get his presents out of the suitcase. I’ll be right back.”
“Latisha comin’ with him,” Lillian said. “I hope that’s all right.”
“Oh, good. I’ve got presents for her, too. For everybody, in fact.”
Lillian put the rest of the cake slices on the table, then followed her out. “She have them clothes strung all over the place, I don’t go right behind her.”
“Well, Mr. Pickens,” I said, picking up my fork and taking advantage of one of the few times I had him alone. “I guess now that you have regular employment, you’ll be making an honest woman of Hazel Marie.”
He glanced up over a forkful of cake halfway to his mouth, then put it down. “I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Don’t think too long, especially if you’re sitting there trying to think up some other delaying tactic. May I remind you that your last excuse of not wanting to li
ve off Lloyd’s money from his father didn’t hold much water with me. That’s commendable of you, but it’s plain that you’re prospering now and it’s time to take the next step.” I gave a sharp nod of my head for punctuation. “And if you don’t know what that step is, I can certainly tell you.”
“My goodness,” he said, close to laughing at me, “you’re a little testy today. She may not have me. Have you thought of that?”
I snorted, but somewhat delicately, at the thought and waved my hand. Before I could finish my response, Lloyd and Latisha came through the door. Bookbags hit the floor and Lloyd said, “Last day of school! Hallelujah!” Then he saw Mr. Pickens and his face lit up. “Mama’s home? Where is she? Hey, J.D. Where’s Mama?”
Mr. Pickens stood up, offered his hand to the boy, then drew him close in a hug. “She’s upstairs unpacking a few presents. Well, actually, we had to buy another suitcase to bring them all home.” Lloyd started for the stairs, calling his mother, but Mr. Pickens said, “Wait, she’s bringing down some surprises.”
“She better hurry,” Lloyd said, beside himself with excitement. “I can’t wait to see her.”
Mr. Pickens laughed, then squatted down in front of Latisha. “Hey, little girl. Remember me?”
She ducked her beribboned head, smiled and gave him a flirtatious glance. “Maybe.”
Mr. Pickens clutched at his heart. “You’ve cut me to the quick, forgetting me like that. Get up here and have some cake. Maybe it’ll improve your memory.”
Latisha giggled. “I don’t forget you. I jus’ don’t want you to know it.”
Mr. Pickens’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at me. “They learn early, don’t they?”
When Hazel Marie and Lillian came back down, their arms were loaded with bags and boxes. After hugging and carrying on over Lloyd, Hazel Marie began handing out the gifts she’d brought. I’d never in my life seen so many T-shirts and miniature bridges and other odds and ends that constituted mementos of San Francisco.
