Were just getting to be the best of friends, she said to me, presumably of her relationship with my son.
Arch said, Huh?
I said, Im sorry. We need to go.
Arch, said Lucille, I just need to talk to your mother fro another moment.
Arch gave me a questioning look. You want me to go to the van, or back up to the TV room? Is this about the church again? I guess you want me to just go.
I said evenly, Stay where you are.
Lucilles cheeks colored. She said fiercely, The problem is that she wont tell me where she was yesterday morning. If she would just tell me. Thats all I ask.
Does Zelda live near here?
Lucille opened her mouth to talk, but nothing came out first time Id ever seen that happen. Arch sighed deeply, the same sigh he always gave when faced with an interminable number of boring errands. Mom, he begged, Cant we go home? Nobody knows where we are, and somebody might have called, and Julian will get worried
I said, Yes, soon. Where does Zelda live?
Im sorry. Lucille faltered. I should have told you yesterday, or the police, or something. She caught hold of herself and wagged a finger. You mustnt frighten her. When I made an impatient noise, she went on, A one-story white brick on Gold Course Lane. Less than two blocks away, on the left side of the street. You know she might be swimming. Her back is acting up severely, and she though it might help to do some extra laps.
I didnt answer. We were walking hurriedly through the marble entryway on the way to the van. Arch was trotting ahead of me. Since he was dedicatedly unathletic, this was a sure sign of his desperation to leave. I felt the need to keep a semblance of relationship with Lucille, in case Zelda knew nothing of Olsons death and Toms disappearance. There wasnt a soul in church who knew more about its inner workings and dark secrets than the elegant woman escorting me out of her house. And after all, she had apologized.
Is it possible she might have been at the doctor yesterday? Seeing about the back pains? I asked.
We dont talk about it, Lucille said without looking at me. She put her hand to her throat again. No necklace. When you get to be our age, its too depressing to discuss your aches and pains and those of your peers. It would be all that we talked about. Not that you would be interested in something like that, of course. People dont want to hear about getting old.
We came out her gleaming front door and stood on the stone steps. The April afternoon air had gone from chilly to intensely cold. I said, But I care
She waved this away. And when you dont have someone to look out for you, you just have to do it yourself. Or do as Zelda and I do, take care of each other. Ted Olson, she added fiercely, did not give a tinkers damn about us. In fact, I think he would have been glad to see us gone.
Oh, Lucille, you cant be serious.
My dear, I am entirely serious.
This outburst of personal bitterness meant either Lucille was letting her guard down or pretending to do so in a very convincing manner. In spite of my anger over her refusal to help and my desire to be out of there, I felt an intense pang of sympathy for her. I knew well what it meant to be unnoticed by a man whose appreciation and affection you craved. I had wasted seven years trying to get from The Jerk what he was incapable of giving to any human being. I reached out for the papery skin of Lucilles forearm. Maybe I could act convincing, too.
I said, I know about taking care of myself; Ive done it for almost a decade. Lucille shrugged my hand away; we kept walking. If Zeldas in a lot of pain, I ventured, why didnt she … talk to Olson, even if she didnt like him? I mean, after all Ive been hearing lately, things like that Sunday School teacher, and then Roger Bampton
Lucilles sudden laughter was crude and shockingly hoarse. What hogwash! What utter and complete nonsense! You dont honestly believe that, do you, Goldy? If you do, youre even less intelligent than I thought.
We had reached the door of my van. I let Lucille opinion of my IQ pass. So you dont believe Roger recovered from leukemia? I asked with a brow I hoped was innocently furrowed Arch, who was already sitting in the front seat, gestured impatiently for me to come on.
The whole thing was a lie! Lucille faced me, her ice-blue eyes blazing with indignation. Her wrinkled hands made a dismissive gesture. A complete fabrication! Roger Bampton is a drunk. Going in to see a doctor because he felt bad? I ask you. He probably thought chemotherapy was like sticking a needle full of Jack Daniels into one of his arteries. Of course, Father Pinckney tried to Roger into alcohol rehabilitation, but no one remembers that.
You remember.
Her laugh this time was much lower, kind of self-mocking. One of the few who does, my dear. Not that it matters. She hesitated, then returned the affection of my gesture, pressing her fingers into my arm. Soft green cashmere brushed my skin. Zelda is my dear friend, she said earnestly. You mustnt upset her. You mustnt let the police frighten her. She is easily hurt you know what she went through when her son died. Surely you know that she hasnt dealt well with the way Olson treated her.
I wanted to hug her, but remembered in time her objection to displays of affection. Besides, what I wanted most was to be away from this perfect Tudor house with its perfect rooms and perfect landscaped garden. Look, Lucille. Probably his will turn out to be nothing. When the bishop gets back, maybe his office will find a copy of the letter in his files, or maybe theyll find out he never wrote to Olson after all. Although I hoped not. Oh, God, I wanted Tom Schulz to be over at Zeldas house. I wanted Zelda to have killed Olson in a fit of passion, I wanted this all to be over.
Will you call me? Lucille pleaded earnestly when I had climbed into the van and rolled down the window.
I thought you had a meeting. When she gave me a blank look, I added, Do you have an answering machine?
Of course not. I hate those infernal things. Her authoritarian chin wobbled ominously. Dont disrupt Zelda, she warned with the same commanding tone and finger she had used during the prewedding instructions. She took a quick step in front of my van. And call me as soon as you know anything. Promise.
Yes, Lucille! I revved the engine and cursed her silently for making me feel like a dutiful twelve-year-old daughter. Thanks for the cocoa. When she did not move, I threw the gearshift into reverse and backed out of her driveway, miraculously avoiding the laddered plantings of shrubbery and aspens.
Doesnt have an answering machine! Arch cried when I passed to read a street sign. Man! She doesnt have cable! She doesnt have remote control! Not to mention that she doesnt have any video games! Where has that woman been for the last fifty years? Brother!
I finally figured out how to get to Zelda Prestons one-story white brick house on Gold Course Lane. On the way, I reflected that ecclesiastically as well as technologically, Lucille and Zelda both would have preferred to turn back the clock.
Man, Mom. Arch was still disgusted. I dont know why you stay at the church. If I went to a church like that and everybody was mean, Id leave.
I groaned. Its my family, hon. And not everybody is mean.
Two police cars already had arrived in front of Zelda Prestons home. Not more than fifteen minutes had passed since Id called from Lucilles. When they were looking for a fellow officer, they sure could move quickly. No red and blue lights flashed; I had heard no siren. I remembered Toms words: When youre trying to catch somebody, you dont announce your arrival. I was stopped by a deputy who recognized me.
Theyre securing the perimeter.
Please let me go with them, I begged. I have to see if Tom is in there.
His face turned from impassive to stony. There isnt a chance in hell youre getting any closer to that house than you already are.
Cops.
At that moment a very confused-looking Zelda Preston, wearing what looked like a bathrobe, appeared at the door. She squinted at the officers on her steps, at the police cars, and at my van stopped on the grass by her driveway. Her front door immediately opened as she let the officers in. My heart sank. If shed had Tom inside, she surely would have at least put up some kind of resistance.
Ten minutes later, Boyd and Armstrong came out together. Boyd hoisted his rotund self up the driveway while Armstrong, long and lanky, strode alongside. I glanced at the sky, now turned darkly ominous with a promise of evening snow. Whether my teeth were chattering from the cold or nervousness at the message I was about to receive, I did not know. As if to prepare me, Boyd shook his head. I crossed my arms and sagged against the van.
This Preston woman is beside herself, he began. She wants us to search through her house so that shell be above suspicion. Her words. We did a quick look-see. No Schulz. Whatever made you think
Now dont start, I warned, my voice shaking. You told me to call you and I did. Where was she yesterday?
Towering above us, Armstrong cleared his throat and answered for Boyd. Interviewing for the organists position at the Catholic church.. Although she doesnt want the people at your place to know.
My eyelids felt like sandpaper. My brain had turned to the consistency of dryer lint.
Look, Goldy, said Boyd. His tone was compassionate but undeniably impatient. I told you wed keep you informed. Ive asked you questions about that church of yours, sure. But theres a difference between your answering questions and trying to do our job for us, okay? This is the second time today Ive responded to a frantic call from you about where you think Schulz is.
Havent you found anything? I despised the pleading in my voice, but wanted to hear any shred of news or hope.
Boyd bit on each word. I cant find anything when Im running around on your wild-goose chases! He shook his head. Ill call you.
As I gunned the van and rolled it past Zeldas house, Arch muttered, Man! Was that guy grouchy or what?
Theyre just trying to find Tom, hon, you know that.
But lack of progress brought depression. Or perhaps it was the end of the day, the hardest time to be reminded of separation from someone you love. To the west, there was no fiery sunset, only a further darkening of they sky caused by the sun slipping past the clouds and behind the mountains. The temperature had dropped at least fifteen degrees. As we rounded Aspen Meadow Lake on our way home, large, wet snowflakes powdered my windshield. In front of the van, the wind whirled the flakes into thick tornadoes of white. Spring snow: good for the crops, or so they were always telling us on the radio. But bad for someone kidnapped, who might be in an unfamiliar and unheated place. When I finally pulled the van in front of the house, it felt as if all the energy had drained out of my body.
Come on, Mom, said Arch. Cheer up. He pointed at the Jaguar parked at a precarious angle by the sidewalk. Look, Marlas here.
And indeed she was, fretting around in the kitchen, setting the table and standing back to admire the enormous basket arrangement of flowers she brought with her. Oblivious of her, Julian pinched and pressed pizza dough into springform pans. When we came through the door, the two of them stared at our disconsolate faces.
Goldy? Julians eyes were wide. Any news/
I shook my head grimly. I didnt trust my voice.
Dinner is Mexican Pizza, he announced, turning away so I couldnt see the despair on his face. Fifteen minutes.
I sat heavily in one of my kitchen chairs. Tell me how youre doing, I said to Julian. Im getting tired of always focusing on my own crises.
Mexican Pizza
2 ź ounce envelopes (5 teaspoons0 active dry yeast
2 cups warm water
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon salt
4 teaspoons olive oil
5 to 6 cups all-purpose flour
olive oil and cornmeal for the pans
1 1/3 cups picante sauce
6 cups grated cheddar cheese
In a large mixing bowl, sprinkle the yeast over the warm water. Add the sugar, stir, and set aside for 10 minutes, until the mixture is bubbly. Stir in the salt and olive oil. Beat in 5 cups of flour, then add as much extra flour as needed to make a dough that is not too sticky to knead. Knead on a floured surface until the dough is smooth and satiny, 5 to 10 minutes. (Or place the dough in the bowl of an electric mixer and knead with a dough hook until the dough cleans the sides of the bowl, approximately 5 minutes.) Place the dough in an oiled bowl, turn to oil the top, cover with kitchen towel, and let rise in a warm place until doubled in a bulk, about 1 hour.
Preheat the oven to 425 . Brush a little olive oil over the bottom and sides of four 9-or 10-inch springform pans. Sprinkle cornmeal over the oiled bottoms and sides. Punch the dough down and divide it into quarters. Press each piece of dough out to fit the bottom of a pan, making a small collar around the edges. Spread 1/3 cup picante sauce on top of the dough circles; top each pizza with 1 ˝ cups cheese. Bake for 10 to 20 minutes or until the dough is cooked through and the cheese is completely melted.
Makes four 9-or 10-inch pizzas
He looked up from his work. Me? He had not shaved; the circles under his eyes made him look haggard. The college admissions. He was supposed to hear this week, and he hadnt ventilated any of his worry. He shrugged and wiped his hands on the white apron he was wearing over a much-washed black sweatshirt that had frayed at the sleeves. His baggy black cotton pants had lost their knee patch. It was one of Julians scrounged outfits from the Aspen Meadow secondhand store. He carefully sloshed picante sauce over the dough in the pans. In his typical offhand manner, he said, Dont worry about me.
But I do, I said, and my voice choked. I felt a sob welling up, the first one in twenty-four hours. I am worried about you, I cried. Involuntary tears came in earnest.
Come on, Goldy, commanded Marla. Out of the kitchen. Into the living room. Arch, do you know what sherry is?
Its from Spain, right? Comes in a bottle in a burlap bag? Mom uses it for cooking.
Yeah well, right now Moms going to use if for her psyche. Could you find it and bring it out to the living room with two small glasses? Please? And Julian, Marla added, keep going with that pizza. Ill bet she hasnt had food in a while, either.
Julian nodded grimly as he sprinkled handfuls of cheddar cheese on his creation. Out in the living room, Marla sat me on the couch, eased down on the adjoining cushion, and pulled out a tissue from one of her pockets.
Do you need a hug? she asked when the outburst of crying was over and I was reduced to sniffles. She waved a hand at the bottle of Dry Sack that Arch had brought out. Or do you just need sherry?
Both.
She obliged. The sherry warmed my throat. Arch, who had been watching me nervously from the hearth, set about constructing a complex fire of aspen, pine, and Russian olive logs.
I said to Marla, Tell me why all this is happening.
She gazed at the first flames licking the fireplace wood. How about, because the church is a strange place/
Our church in particular, or the church in general?
She turned her mouth down at the corners. Aw, go for the broad view. Big hospital for sinners. Only some people stay sick. She tipped up her glass to finish her sherry.
But you knew Father Olson, I insisted. My voice had a watery, hiccupping tone from crying. I mean, you went out with him a couple of times, didnt you ? Was he really so bad? Why would someone hate him that much? I mean, so he had charismatic churchmanship. So what? Just because someone doesnt agree with you doesnt mean you have to kill him.
Marlas expression was full of sadness and affection. depends on how much they disagree with you, I guess. She smiled and looked at her Rolex. Fifteen minutes!
Come on, Goldy itll make you feel better to eat. As if on cue, Julian swept into the living room carrying a tray with plates and steaming pizzas.
After shed had a few mouthfuls and made the appropriate noises of praise, Marla said reflectively, You know, I didnt really date Ted Olson, I was single, he was single, we went out for dinner a couple of times. I always thought he was more interested in my net worth than my body or soul. She giggled and finished a last bit of pizza. Not necessarily in that order. Besides, I told you, the guy was squirrelly.
Arch tore a piece of crust from his mouth with sudden interest. You dont mean, like a rodent, do you?
Of course not, said Marla as she smilingly accepted a second large piece of pizza from Julian. This is my last piece, I promise. She took a dainty bit. I mean, hed say, Dont leave a message on the church voice mail or the women will say were having an affair. What was the matter with that, I wanted to know? Give the religious man an air of mystery. Which he got anyway, once Roger Bampton opened his big mouth.
Squirrelly in what other ways? I asked. I bit into the pizza and felt a shiver of delight: Hot melted cheese oozed around spicy picante sauce and a light, chewy homemade crust. Julian was an artist.
Well, Marla went on, when I ran the jewelry raffle last year, we had the worst ruckus over who was going to keep the gold chains. You know Lucille always insists on getting a separate insurance rider, and I have a safe in my house. Either of those would have been better than letting Ted Olson keep them out at his unsecured place in the boonies. But no. He insisted on being the caretaker for the chains, said he could outwit any thief, and he had to take responsibility for something of that value.
The Last Suppers gbcm-4 Page 18
