by Ann B. Ross
As Horace started out of the car, he turned back to me and said, “I’m not that old.”
Chapter 32
Hoping, indeed expecting, to hear the chatter and giggles of small girls playing, I walked into a silent house. I stood for a second inside the door and picked up the murmur of a television cartoon in another room.
“How’s Mrs. Allen doin’?” Lillian asked as she turned from the counter where she was rolling out biscuits.
“She couldn’t have visitors and the nurses wouldn’t tell us anything, so I don’t know. I assume, though, that she’s doing well enough to want something decent to wear. And they’ve moved her from ICU to a private room, so that’s encouraging. But I declare, Lillian,” I said, coming out of my coat, “conversing, or rather trying to converse with Horace Allen is like pulling teeth. He is in another universe.” Then, noticing the neatness of Latisha’s table in the corner, I asked, “Where are the girls? They’ve not been coloring?”
“They in the lib’ry watchin’ TV. An’ no’m, Honey didn’t do nothin’ but watch Latisha when she wanted to color, so that didn’t last long. But, Miss Julia,” Lillian said as she held up flour-coated hands, “I’m still worriet about that chile. She jus’ shake or nod her head without sayin’ anything. ’Course Latisha, she take up the slack, but it’s not right for her not to be talkin’.”
“Oh, my,” I said, sinking into a chair at the table. “You’re right, it’s not right and it’s not normal, either. I just wonder exactly what happened last night to put her into such a state. I’m guessing that she was forgotten in all the hubbub of whatever happened to Mildred. And Ida Lee told me that Horace was disturbed by it, so he was up and wandering around. Then all the first responders descended on them. It must’ve been like an invasion of some kind, and there was nobody who thought to go in and comfort a small girl.”
“Yes’m, I ’spect Ida Lee and Mr. Peeples had their hands full.”
“Oh, you’re right about that. I know for a fact that Mildred does not suffer in silence. And Horace apparently needs somebody holding onto him all the time. I’m not criticizing—just explaining how Honey could’ve been overlooked. Of course,” I went on with an edge to my words, “if her mother had been here . . .” I trailed off, for there was no use stating the obvious.
“No use cryin’ over spilt milk,” Lillian said, finishing my thought. “’Sides, they’s other things to take care of. Miss Etta Mae needs you to call her soon as you can. She already called two times.”
Struggling to my tired feet, I said, “Yes, I expect she’s getting anxious. I’ll call her right now.”
“Miss Julia!” Etta Mae said as soon as she recognized my voice, even as I recognized the distress in hers. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Lurline’s made a counteroffer, and she wants an answer in twenty-four hours. Mr. Blair is waiting for me to do something, and I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s all right, Etta Mae. I’m sorry I was out of touch, but a neighbor needed help. But don’t worry, we don’t want to appear too eager to respond. So tell me, what’s her counteroffer?”
“You won’t believe it,” Etta Mae said, sounding on the verge of tears. “I didn’t think she would do it this way. I thought she’d either stay with her first number or she’d make a decent counteroffer. I don’t think she’s playing fair.”
I smiled at Etta Mae’s innocence. “Nothing says she has to play fair. Just tell me what she’s done.”
Etta Mae took a deep breath, then said, “She’s lowered her price by a thousand dollars. By one measly thousand dollars and that’s all.”
I almost laughed, although it was disappointing. “Well, she’s a sharp lady, Etta Mae. But you see what she’s doing, don’t you? She’s indicating that she’s open to negotiation, and she wants to keep us on the hook. It may also indicate that she’s had no other offers, especially from Mr. Sitton.”
“Well, but what do we do?”
“We let her dangle overnight. Nothing says that we have to immediately respond. In fact, we let her think that we’re seriously considering her offer.” I let that sink in for a minute, then asked, “Have you talked with Mr. Blair? What does he say?”
“He says I should make another offer, higher than the first, but it’s up to me how far I want to go. And, Miss Julia,” she said as her voice broke on a sob, “I don’t know how far I want to go. I’m already worried sick about paying back our first offer.”
“Etta Mae,” I said, “you’ve got to be strong now. I promise you that I will not let you get in over your head. I’ve counted the cost, and I know what the business will bear in the way of repayments.” Actually, it had been Sam who had counted the cost, but it sounded better to have come from me. “So,” I went on, “if Lurline won’t negotiate a decent price, we’ll drop out. I know how far to go, and I know when to stop.”
“Okay,” she said with a tremble in her voice. “It’s just that I’m not used to all these big numbers.”
I wasn’t all that used to them myself, but I trusted Sam who was.
“I know,” I said, “but let’s sleep on it tonight, so we don’t appear too eager. Besides, we have twenty-four hours to respond, anyway. We’ll go up with our counter, but I’ll let you know tomorrow just how much. In the meantime, let’s hope that our, or rather, your silence will give Lurline a restless night.”
* * *
—
It was a busy evening, enlivened by Latisha’s monologue at the table, a phone call from Mildred, and a discussion of where Penelope would spend the night. Lillian suggested that she go home with Latisha and her, but she had been left in my care so I felt she should stay with us. Penelope herself did not indicate her preference, remaining as quiet as she had all day.
The phone call from Mildred both reassured and disturbed me. She called about seven that evening to tell me that she’d had several tests during the day, none of which had determined the cause of her attack.
“It was my heart,” she’d said. “It had to be a heart attack, I don’t care if all the tests in the world say different. I know what I felt, and you would not believe how terrifying it was. I couldn’t catch my breath, and I broke out in a cold sweat, and there was this awful pain in my chest, and I thought I was going to die. I’ve never had anything like it, and if it hadn’t been for Ida Lee, I would’ve died right there in my bed. And now,” she said with a catch in her voice, “all I can think about is when I’ll have another attack.”
“But, Mildred, you may never have another one,” I said, wanting to encourage her. “Especially since they’re telling you it wasn’t a heart attack. It should be a great relief to know that it wasn’t.”
“Oh, it would be, if I didn’t know better. The cardiologist said my heart is as strong as a horse, which isn’t all that comforting when you think about it. But there’re other things it could’ve been that they’re still looking into, although I don’t know what they could be. One doctor even said it could’ve been indigestion—can you believe that? I told him in no uncertain terms that I knew the difference between a heart attack and heartburn.”
Then, in an aggrieved tone, she went on. “I have been poked and prodded all day long, Julia, and I’ve had one test after another. They’re going to do even more tomorrow. I don’t know if I can survive much more, but Ida Lee tells me that you have Penelope, so I want to thank you for that. Let me know if she gets to be too much for you, and I’ll make other arrangements.”
Although wondering what other arrangements could be made with both the child’s mother and grandmother taken up with their own concerns, I let that hang in the air.
But fearing, as Ida Lee had, that I could be overstepping, I dared to ask, “Would you like me or Ida Lee to call Tonya and let her know you’re in the hospital?”
“Absolutely not!” Mildred said in a tone so abrupt and harsh that I almost dropped the phone. “No one is to ca
ll her, not Ida Lee, and certainly not you.”
“I understand,” I said, although my mouth was so stiff that I could barely get the words out. “I’ll let you get some rest. Call if you need anything.”
Just as I was about to hang up, Mildred whispered, “Wait, Julia, wait. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. It’s just that . . . that I’m afraid if anybody called Tonya, she, well, she wouldn’t come, and that would be more than I could bear. I’d rather she just not know.”
“Oh, Mildred,” I said, my heart aching for her, “there’s no need to apologize. I do understand.”
Of course I didn’t fully understand anything other than that she was under terrible stress, and I didn’t at all understand how she could ache for her child without realizing that her grandchild could be aching for her.
* * *
—
That evening I told Penelope that her grandmother was much better and had sent her love and a good-night kiss. I’m not in the habit of out-and-out lying, but it seemed to be called for in this case.
I put her back in Latisha’s bed, suggesting that she think of what she would ask Santa to bring her for Christmas, hoping that such thoughts would put her to sleep with sweet dreams. Just as I was about to leave the room, I turned back and sat on the side of the bed.
“Let’s say your prayers, Honey,” I said, then had my usual period of tongue-tied silence at the thought of praying aloud.
To my surprise and for the first time all day, Penelope spoke. She began to whisper, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” and I joined in, elated that somebody at some time in her erratic life had been concerned enough to teach the child to pray.
Chapter 33
After discussing Lurline Corn’s ridiculous counteroffer with Sam, who had a good laugh over it, I settled on our counter-counteroffer. It was a nice jump from our equally ridiculous first offer, but not our best and final although it was getting close.
Etta Mae, of course, was shaken by the increase when I called her the next morning. I reassured her that we were still well within what I, or rather, Sam, thought the business was worth.
“And, still no word from Mr. Sitton?” I asked. “Are we sure that Lurline isn’t playing us off one another?”
“Pretty sure,” Etta Mae said. “If she had two offers, she wouldn’t keep it to herself. We’d hear about it all day long.”
“Then pass our new offer along to Mr. Blair, and be sure to impress on him the need for secrecy as to who you are. Lurline is not to know who’s buying her business until the closing.”
“Yes’m, I tell him that every time we talk. If Lurline found out it was me, she’d kick me out on my you-know-what so fast it’d make my head swim. But she’s not said a word about Mr. Sitton in several days. Maybe he’s looking at something else.”
“That would be nice,” I said, but thinking that if so, I’d like to know what it was. Ernest Sitton had an eye for a good business deal.
* * *
—
Later that morning, after a stop at The Flower Basket for a nice bouquet, I made the trek back to the hospital to see Mildred. I considered taking Penelope with me, but recalled that with flu season on us, she would not be allowed to visit.
Instead, I told her that when Latisha got home that afternoon, I would take the two of them wherever they wanted to go.
“We could go to the library and check out some books,” I suggested, but was met with a blank look. “Or if there’s a decent movie playing, we could go see it, or maybe we could go downtown to the ice cream parlor. You be thinking about what you’d like to do, although Latisha will probably have some ideas, too.”
Lillian laughed. “I ’spect she will.”
So, hopefully leaving Penelope with something to look forward to, I went to see her grandmother.
I found Mildred resting against her raised bed. Wearing one of the gowns and a bed jacket that Ida Lee had sent, she looked tired and somewhat forlorn.
“How’re you feeling?” I asked, because what else do you ask a hospitalized patient?
“Terrible,” she said, reaching for a tissue. “Julia, I’m thinking of going somewhere else. I’m just not sure that I’m getting the quality of care that I should.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I thought that for a small town we have excellent physicians. I know they’re quick to refer patients when they need to.”
“Well,” Mildred said with a loud sniff, “I’m about ready to refer myself. That cardiologist that Dr. Hargrove brought in is the most next-to-nothing I’ve ever seen. He patronizes me, Julia, and tells me I’m fine when I know I’m not.” She adjusted her bed jacket and sighed pitifully. “I’m thinking of going to Duke or maybe to the Mayo Clinic where cutting-edge medicine is practiced. The doctors around here are too set in their ways. They don’t listen to their patients.”
“I’m sorry you’re not pleased with the care you’re getting,” I said, hardly knowing how to reassure her. “I thought they were doing every test under the sun.”
“They were. They have, but they’re wrong in their conclusions. Julia,” she went on, struggling to sit up higher, “you won’t believe this, but they’ve decided that my heart attack was nothing but a panic attack. Now, even I know better than that. But they want me to have some psychological tests and talk to a psychologist. Or maybe even to a psychiatrist. Now, listen,” she went on, grasping my arm, “don’t tell anybody about that because I do not want it discussed all over town. But you know that I am the last person who needs psychological counseling.”
“Well, but, Mildred, you’ve had a lot on you lately, what with the Tonya situation, and Horace’s heart attack, and now his memory problems. Then to be surprised by the appearance of a grandchild, it’s no wonder that you’ve been under extreme stress. It might be a real relief to talk with a counselor. It might prevent another panic attack.”
“Heart attack,” she said firmly, “and talking to a counselor is not going to prevent another one of those.” Then she leaned back against the bed and looked away. “I really should talk to my lawyers again—to be sure I’ll be leaving everything in good order, you know.”
Before I could respond to such a despondent comment, a nurse came into the room with a stethoscope around her neck. It was an opportunity to take my leave, so I did, knowing that once Mildred had her mind set, there was little chance of changing it.
As I approached the elevator to leave, I realized that Mildred had not asked about Penelope—a clear indication to me of where her interests lay, or didn’t lie, as the case might be.
The elevator door slid open and I stepped aside to allow an orderly to push a patient in a wheelchair out into the hall. Avoiding a direct gaze in case the patient preferred anonymity in an incapacitated state, I started to enter the elevator.
“Well, Mrs. Murdoch,” the patient said, holding up his hand to stop the orderly, “if you came to see me, I’ll be receiving in my room. If you didn’t, I bid you good day.”
Almost tripping at being spoken to, I stepped back in confusion. “Why, Mr. Sitton! Ernest, I mean. My goodness, I didn’t know you were in the hospital. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” he said. Then, with an edge of sarcasm, said, “That’s why I’m here. Push me out of the way, Roy. People want in the elevator.”
Moving out of the door of the elevator, the orderly pushed Mr. Sitton to the side, and I, nervously mindful of the competition we were in and wondering if he knew it, followed.
“I expect you’ll soon be home,” I said, as cheerily as I could manage. “You’re looking quite well.”
Actually, he wasn’t, but a flannel bathrobe is a poor substitute for a three-piece suit. Ernest Sitton was a small man in stature, but a rotund one in girth. His powerful personality, though, made up for any physical lack as, according to Sam, he dominated a courtroom by intimidation and pure legal knowledge. To tell t
he truth, the man scared me, especially since I knew something he didn’t. At least I hoped he didn’t know that I intended to buy something out from under him.
“Just in for some tests,” he said. “A minor matter, and nothing to be broadcast around town.” Then, reverting to his usual courtly manner, he went on. “I sincerely hope you don’t have someone incarcerated here. How is Sam?”
“Sam is fine, thank you. And, no, I’m here visiting a neighbor—a friend who may soon be discharged. But I must let you get on to your room. Is there anything I can do for you? Bring you anything?”
“Thank you, madam, but no,” Mr. Sitton said quite formally. “Please don’t burden yourself with concern for me. I expect this little unexpected meeting qualifies as fulfilling your Christian duty of visiting the sick, so nothing more will be required.” Then, with a finger pointing forward, he motioned to Roy to push him on.
Startled by the clear sarcasm I heard in his words, I turned on my heel and left. But what had brought that on? Sick people, I knew, often expressed their discomfort in ways that they wouldn’t ordinarily do. Maybe Ernest Sitton was suffering from some extreme discomfort, like from hemorrhoids, for instance, which would make anybody slightly prickly in their choice of responses.
On the other hand, if he had even an inkling that Etta Mae and I were after The Handy Home Helpers, he would view me as an unwelcome competitor and give me the cold shoulder, as I felt he had just done.
Chapter 34
Still unsettled by the chance meeting with Ernest Sitton, I started home while going over in my mind every word spoken between us. So intent on trying to determine the meaning behind his, I almost ran a stop sign. Did he know something or didn’t he?
