Читать книгу A FLOCK OF SPARROWS - Helen Foster Reed - Страница 5

SYBIL WAS THE first to recover from Carly’s unexpected comment. “Why, sure, hon.”

She’d undoubtedly noticed Maggie’s disapproving expression, as well as my own shock, and immediately reached for a smaller pot. Visually measuring a cupful of the plump beans, she said, “Carly, you and Dana don’t know this about me, since neither of you were around then, but before I got my teaching degree, I worked in the cafeteria at Martin’s Mill Elementary. Just like these girls remember it from their school days, everyone ate the same thing, or else they brought their lunches from home. Nowadays, things are way more complicated. So many people have food allergies. Even in the classroom we have to be very careful about making sure there’s no cross contamination. Last year, a student in my second-grade class was extremely allergic to peanuts. That sweet little boy broke out even if he touched a crayon another child had been using, one who had eaten a peanut butter cookie. So believe me,” she said, rinsing the beans then filling the pot with fresh water, “this is a small request and no problem at all.”

Right then and there, I decided the S in Sybil also stood for saint. I was the hostess for pity’s sake, and I hadn’t recovered from my surprise fast enough to put my guest’s comfort first. I’d focused only on the bizarre-ness of her request—and, okay, what I’d perceived as her rudeness. It was easy to see Carly’s relief at Sybil’s kindness. For a moment her remote, cool expression warmed under Sybil’s caring nature.

“I can’t imagine having to deal with such a condition,” Carly replied, looking overwhelmed. “My decision not to eat meat has nothing to do with an allergy. It’s more about a path toward a healthier lifestyle. Mostly, though, I simply don’t like the idea of killing something so I can eat it.”

Maggie uttered a skeptical grunt as she removed the cork from one of the bottles of wine she’d unpacked. “I gather those fine sensibilities don’t extend to the poor critters that became your designer boots and handbag?”

“They’re all street vendor imitations, but I’m flattered you think they look like the real thing.” Carly’s expression turned cool again as she met Maggie’s sharp scrutiny. “So is the jacket. Excuse me. I believe the socially preferred term is faux.”

What we needed at that moment was a bolt of lightning to rescue me from what I could foresee as the invitation I wish I’d never extended. But knowing I couldn’t even hope for a three-foot icicle to impale me—since it hadn’t even begun to snow yet—I stumbled out of my own tongue-tied state and said too enthusiastically, “Oh, what a good idea, Maggie, you know where the glasses are. Who else wants wine? Dana, I have water from our own well, which is wonderful, tea . . .”

“Pour me a glass of that potion.” Sybil grinned at Maggie. “I want to feel like those chefs on those TV cooking shows that always have a glass of something on their work stations.”

“It’s Merlot,” Maggie said. “If you prefer something else, there’s Chardonnay, Cabernet, Pinot Grigio, Pinot Noir . . .”

“I’d love a glass, too,” Carly told Maggie. “Thank you.”

“I don’t care what the wine snobs say, I like Merlot,” Sybil replied. “Bring it on.”

Although Maggie’s raised eyebrows suggested what she thought of finding herself in the position of having to serve the leggy beauty, she efficiently collected enough glasses for us. I didn’t know whether to kiss her for resisting the impulse to make some smart remark, or pinch her Spanx-covered butt for not hiding that she’d been tempted.

She poured the velvety-red wine into the first glass. Giving Carly a lethal smile, she all but purred, “No problem with grapes, I take it?”

Although it looked as though every drop of blood drained from her face, Carly managed a calm, “None whatsoever.”

Patting Carly’s back, Dana shifted sideways to ease her protruding belly past her. She gazed around the French-country cabinets with the top-tier glass doors, and the stainless-steel appliances with nothing short of awe and envy. “I’ll take some water, Retta, thanks. I’m so envious of you having a well. You know how our city water reeks of chemicals. I keep a purifier in the bathroom, too, just to avoid having to brush my teeth with the awful stuff. Oh, my . . . this kitchen! It’s exactly what I’d always dreamed of having. And everything is arranged so well. Where were you when we were trying to set up the restaurant kitchen?”

Before I could reply, my three-year-old Australian shepherd, Rosie, was at the back door giving me a soft, “Woof,” to announce she had finished her business, or had her fill of exploring, and was ready to investigate what was happening inside. Rosie was as good a watchdog as she was company, and knew Maggie’s platinum-silver Mercedes well. She hadn’t been threatened by the vehicle’s arrival. However, now we would find out how she would react to Carly’s little fur ball.

“Carly, is your puppy intimidated by larger dogs?” I asked, hoping my tone exuded concern, not negativity. “Rosie is amiable, but I haven’t had any other dogs inside to test her territorial instincts.”

Carly’s expression turned doubtful, and she gave Dana a see-I-told-you-I-shouldn’t-be-here look. “I honestly don’t know. But Wrigley likes me to hold him most of the time, so maybe that won’t be a problem.”

“Well, we can’t leave sweet Rosie out in the cold, so we might as well put this to a test,” Maggie said, abandoning the wine pouring to let my brown-and-black sweetie inside. “Hello, darling girl! Have you been telling the squirrels to leave your mommy’s pecans alone? Missed me? Come see what we have for you to play with.”

To be fair, Maggie enjoyed Rosie’s company almost as much as I did, but she was laying on the saccharin-sweet tone a little thick. And I’m sure I wasn’t the only one to catch the underlying dark humor when she made that last comment.

“Mags,” I drawled, injecting only a hint of warning into my voice. “Do you need me to make you sit through back episodes of Dog Whisperer so you remember how to deal with canines unfamiliar with each other?”

My lifelong friend straightened from giving Rosie a two-handed rubbing to scoff, “Oh, where’s your sense of humor?”

“I’ve always wanted a dog.” Dana’s confession matched her expression—sheer wistfulness. “What with Jesse having been at the restaurant at all hours, it would have been nice to have the company at night, but then he was concerned about an animal in the house and transferring dog hair to the restaurant.”

Seeing Rosie had already noticed Wrigley and was venturing closer, I said in a conversational tone to Carly, “Just ignore her and act normal. What breed is he? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one with a face so small yet framed by so much hair. Don’t take this the wrong way, but he looks like a Christmas ornament.”

“Or, a dashboard one,” Maggie piped in.

Ignoring her, Carly directed her words to Sybil and me. “Wrigley is a Maltese. Walter got him for me last Christmas. Knowing we would never have a child together, I guess he thought Wrigley was as close as we could get. We spoiled him terribly.”

In the next instant, the tiny dog leaped from her protective embrace and bounced toward Rosie, barking as though someone had flipped a switch on a battery-operated toy.

With the hair on the back of her neck bristling, and her tail rising high in alpha, pack-leader position, Rosie stood her ground with the yappy intruder. Her stare and body language said it all: “My house. So you can just take your mouthy self elsewhere.”

Something must have reached through Wrigley’s nerve-grating rant. Before our eyes, the Maltese suddenly went mute, did an impressive about face, and launched himself back toward his mistress. Carly bent to catch him just in time to save him from a belly flop on the hardwood floor.

Returning to fill the wine glasses Maggie noted, “Well, we know who won that territorial battle.”

I couldn’t have been more disappointed and embarrassed with Maggie’s latest dig at Carly if she’d tried to high five Rosie. “No such thing, Mags. I thought Rosie handled that with her usual restraint. She’s had to deal with far worse conduct from our cattle.”

“I’m sorry, Retta,” Carly offered quickly. “I’ll do my best to keep him in control from now on.”

I gave Rosie the hand signal to lie down beside me, before assuring Carly that I was comfortable with how things had turned out. “Given some time, they’ll probably become friends.”

Carly looked pleased and about to say something when a bright flash of light, followed almost instantly by a loud crack of thunder, had us all tucking into ourselves like turtles. The meteorological surprise was quickly followed by the lights flickering on and off a few times. Realizing that the storm had arrived, we all rushed to the wall of windows that ran the length, and half the width, of the kitchen and breakfast nook. I had yet to close the white plantation shutters I’d had installed to help against summer’s heat and winter’s cold, and the view was impressive.

“Oh, wow,” Dana breathed in awe. “Thunder snow. Look at it coming down now. Minutes ago as we drove here, there was only an occasional flake hitting the windshield. Now it looks like an Alaskan blizzard out there.”

“‘Thunder snow?’” Carly looked as stunned as her pup that abruptly began burying himself deeper into the warmth and protection provided between her jacket and sweater. “That’s a new one to me. Those flakes have to be the size of quarters. Do you think it will keep snowing as heavily the entire time?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, awed myself. “But if the weather warnings are correct, we could see record-setting accumulations by this time tomorrow. Did anyone besides me hear the weather guy say they were studying several computer scenarios, and no two were agreeing on the same forecast?”

“I did,” Dana replied. “Why do you think I didn’t need Maggie to twist my arm to come out here?”

The others continued to stare outside as though mesmerized, until Sybil clapped her hands and headed back toward the stove. “Okay, beans are on and the bad weather is here,” she said in her school teacher voice. Returning to the stove where she adjusted the flames under both pots, she continued, “Did we get everything we needed from the car? It’ll get dark faster than usual with the skies so dense with moisture. The stairs and sidewalk will get slippery, too, and we’ll trudge in all kinds of mess onto Retta’s beautiful floors. We should go ahead and bring in whatever’s left in the car that we need, and start putting our Girl Scout skills to use preparing our quarters.”

Noticing the younger women exchanging concerned glances, I couldn’t help but grin. “She’s not suggesting that we need to stake tents.” To Sybil, I said, “I think Dana and Carly have their things inside. Maggie, it has to already be getting slick out there. You’re liable to break your neck in those high-heeled boots before you get halfway to your car. I’ll get whatever else you need.”

“You aren’t going out there, either.”

Another flash and ear-splitting thunder had Maggie putting down her glass to cover her head with her arms. By then I already had grabbed my red jacket with the hood from the mud room. It was what I used for quick town errands.

“I think it’s mostly sheet lighting,” I assured her. “The activity seems to be caught up in the higher level mix of warm and cold air. At any rate, we sure aren’t going to dawdle.”

“In that case, I want to catch a snowflake on my tongue.” Before anyone realized what she was up to Dana hurried to the front door. She pressed her thumb onto the door latch, just when a frigid gust of wind pushed back at her from the outside, almost knocking the mother-to-be to the floor.

“Oh no, you don’t!”

Carly and I protested in union, but Carly beat me to Dana. However, with Wrigley in one arm, she could only partially stabilize her friend. Fortunately, I was just a step behind and managed to put a bracing arm around the beautiful brunette, as well as slam the door shut with my foot.

“See there?” I gasped. The storm’s power had surprised me as much as it did the others. “Even with a few extra pounds that wind is strong enough to knock you off your feet. Stay put, please.”

“Click your trunk button again, Maggie,” Sybil said, slipping back into her jacket. “I’ll go with you, Retta. I think all that’s left is my bag and Maggie’s anyway.”

“Wrigley’s kennel is there, too, along with the tote containing his bowl and food,” Carly informed us. “Oh, let me go with you. I hate to be such a bother.”

“You just stick close to Little Mama,” Sybil replied. “We’ve got this.”

What Carly did was to stay by the door to open it the moment Sybil and I made it back to the porch. “The next trip to bring in wood is on me,” she assured me.

“Brownnoser,” Maggie muttered from the kitchen doorway, glass in hand.

Pretending that I hadn’t heard the uncalled for comment, I handed over the bag to the young blonde. “I appreciate that. So far, though, it’s all under control. Dana, dear, I think you would be more comfortable sleeping on the couch here on the first floor. That way, you don’t have the challenge of climbing stairs. Actually, the couch converts into a bed and will put you close to the fireplace.” Pointing to the right corner of the room, I said, “Another plus is that the bathroom is convenient. It opens on the other side directly to the mud-laundry room.”

“You’ve really put a great deal of thought into this, Retta. Thanks.”

“Believe me, it’s my pleasure. I love that you’re here. Between you needing to give up being the church pianist, and me trying to keep my head above water here, we’ve barely had a chance to visit.” I turned to my youngest guest. “Carly, would you like to take the kennel upstairs to the first bedroom on your right? I suspect Wrigley will prefer to stay close to you during the night.”

Her expression suggested that she would rather face the lightning and freezing temperatures. “Couldn’t I stay down here with you?” she asked Dana. “Would you mind?”

“I’d love it. That way I won’t feel like I’m missing all the pajama-party fun.”

Their arrangement made better sense to me, too, and I nodded my approval. If Dana had any health problem arise, I was relieved that someone would be near. “Great. And Rosie will be upstairs standing guard over us old hens, so you don’t have to worry about her. I’ll just put the kennel next to your case, Carly, and you can decide where you want it.”

After Sybil and I hung up our jackets again, I said to Sybil and Maggie, “Come on you two. Sacrifice the glass for a minute, Mags, and help me with your bags. I swear, did you pack the family jewels along with half of your wardrobe, or is all this extra weight your a.m. and p.m. beauty regimen?”

“Hilarious. No, smarty, it’s my good jewelry. What’s the use of an alarm system if there’s no power? The larger suitcase is packed with my coats and boots. Shoes and slippers, as well, I guess. I didn’t want to end up with cold, wet feet.” She gave Sybil a mischievous grin. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll share my footwear.”

Looking from Maggie’s feet to her own, Sybil remained unimpressed. “Baby, in case you haven’t noticed, my clodhoppers are the size of a basketball player’s, so it’ll have to be one of your furs or nothing.”

Halfway up the stairs, Sybil’s phone erupted with the sound of the ’60s rock band The Troggs blasting their classic, Wild Thing. Maggie and I burst into laughter, which had us grappling not to lose our grip on the luggage. It was virtually impossible to merge the idea of such a song with sensible Sybil. Giggles from the younger two floated up from the main floor, too.

Muttering under her breath, Sybil reached into her pants pocket. “You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered. “Hang on. I have to take this. It’s Debra—also known as my youngest child. She’s the one who is going to have me lying beside Elvin before my next birthday if she keeps driving her mother crazy with worry. No telling when or if she’ll check back in again.”

She swiped her finger across the screen of her cell phone and soon began what to the rest of us was a fascinating one-sided conversation. There was never any question about giving her privacy. We were having too much fun.

“Of course, I’m okay. Tell me how you’re doing, since you got this mess first. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Oh, Debra. Don’t change the subject. I’m with a few neighbor-friends at Retta Cole’s farm where we will have heat and hot water, as well as a propane stove to cook on. What’s that noise? You’re doing what? Okay, I understand they cancelled classes, but you shouldn’t be partying, you should be studying or looking into doing something for extra credit, since you almost flunked your last test. Well, hallelujah, you’re staying off the roads, but Debra. Debra. You know my mantra. Make wise choices. Wait! Don’t hang up! Keep your cell phone charged. Well, if I’m sounding like a broken record, it’s because you never listen. Besides, I want to be able to stay in touch.”

After a short silence, Sybil reared back her head, only to glare at the phone in her hand. “Well. Goodbye. I love you, too.”

With a sigh, she glanced down at us. “This is why I wanted her to commute to a college nearer to home. That girl has developed an annoying habit of disconnecting in the middle of our conversations.”

“Sybil,” I crooned. “Take it from an expert, if the oldest child didn’t succeed in making you believe in hair color products, the youngest will.”

“You know full well that it was Elvin who gave me my first grays,” she replied, finally smiling. “And I haven’t been without an extra box of L’Oréal in Leather Black ever since.” With a sideways tip of her head toward me, she asked Maggie, “Did she really have the nerve to say that to me with her Norman Rockwell family? My wild child is having a party at Tech because, although the worst of the storm has pushed east of them, the frigid temperatures are promising to keep the campus closed for several more days. Is it asking too much to just get that child some credentials and gainfully employed?”

We all knew she was referring to Texas Tech University at Lubbock where Debra was attending college. During our last visit, Sybil was fretting over Debra wavering on the decision to pursue a teaching degree, but I reminded her that the girl was only a freshman taking basic courses, and there was still time to explore options if she continued to have any doubts about her future.

Maggie waved away Sybil’s concerns and went back to dragging her suitcase upstairs. “Retta’s right. You worry too much. She’s a good kid. Debra is just having a little fun like the rest of us did when we finally got beyond the city limits of Martin’s Mill for the first time, instead of acting tied to our parents like horses tethered to a hitching post with a simple loop of the reins. She’ll be fine.”

Unable to resist, I teased, “Words of wisdom sanctioned by the woman who recently almost crashed the Division of Motor Vehicles computer system for having too many last names.” It was good to feel that at least among the three of us, things were on a safer plane again.

After snickering, Sybil asked, “Retta, I know I don’t even have to ask if you’ve heard from your kids?”

“Bless them. You are right. This storm won’t affect Jamie much in Houston, except for a deeper plunge in temperatures than they anticipated, but it will probably hit Rachel in Virginia in a couple of days, as badly or worse than anything we’ll get. Nevertheless, they keep tabs on me as though I’m a week away from needing to move to a senior living facility.”

Once again, the lights dimmed. I also heard a suspicious pinging sound against the window up on the landing. Glancing outside, I saw the heavy downpour of snow was now mixing with sleet. I could barely see the stables. At the rate it was coming down, the precipitation would quickly pile up on roofs and trees. It was yet another reminder that there would be continuous work to be done to keep access into buildings, and to avoid areas where the weight of frozen matter could prove dangerous.

“Mags, Sybil, while I light the fire in the master bedroom, do me a favor and go from room to room and make sure I shuttered all of the windows. Also, in the bathrooms leave the cabinet doors open under the sinks. Let’s keep all the bedroom doors open to the hallway, too. The fireplace heat is going to be welcome when we go to bed and I turn down the thermostat.”

Sybil waved her agreement then turned into her room. In the master suite, Maggie dropped off her luggage and went to handle the other bedrooms at our end of the hallway.

Upon her return, her cell phone began to buzz. She wasn’t as skilled yet with modern contraptions as Sybil, so all of her calls came in with the factory set sound. While I continued to work on the fire, she dropped onto my queen-size bed.

“Phil, darling,” she crooned into the phone.

Although I mentally rolled my eyes at the theatrics, I was pleased to know who was checking on her. I’d also heard another sound to my right and realized that Sybil had joined us, and had a quizzical look on her face. Clearly, she was thrown by Maggie’s come hither tone.

“It’s not what you think,” I said in a loud whisper. “That’s Father Phil.” Sybil’s blank expression had me reminding her, “Monsignor Lamar in Dallas. Maggie’s stepson.”

With dawning recognition, Sybil whispered, “I’ll get her for pretending she’s got another man again. I’ve only heard her refer to him as ‘Hollis’ son, the Catholic.’”

That sounded about right. Yet, if Maggie didn’t heard from Phil in more than three days, she’d get all anxious and call him regardless of the hour. “One and the same,” I told Sybil. “No matter what she implies, she adores him.”

“I’m sorry I worried you when I didn’t answer the house phone,” Maggie continued. “You remember my dear friend, Retta? She’s invited a few of us to her place to ride out the storm. How are conditions there?”

Not bothering to put her hand over the phone, Maggie announced, “He says the garden Jesus is butt-deep in snow.” A moment later she burst into giggles.

“Oh, I know that’s not what you said, but we’re five widow ladies here. Let us have our fun. Yes, and you check in whenever you have a minute. This rhinestone-crusted cutie is juiced. Not me, the phone, silly.” With another laugh Maggie disconnected.

Forcing myself to overlook the “juiced” comment, I simply said, “He’s always so considerate and tender with you.”

“Hell, he’s already halfway to becoming a saint. Why do you think they moved him up at such a young age?” With a bemused smile she added, “Who would have ever believed Hollis’ only child would have converted to Catholicism let alone felt a calling to become a priest?” Her expression turned serious. “This is just between us, okay? The Pope has stopped a lot of the elevation process because he feels a good deal of it is excessive, but there’s word that he’s very pleased with Phil’s work with the poor and ill, and may call him to the Vatican to expand his responsibilities.”

Both Sybil and I landed on our bottoms—Sybil beside Maggie, and me on the hardwood floor grateful for the brick ledge to support my back. I said, “Why, Maggie, how exciting, and what an honor!”

Sybil added, “I’m Baptist. I don’t know diddly about Catholic stuff, but I have to admit that every time they’ve picked a new Pope I’ve been as glued to the TV as anyone else. How proud you must be.”

In a rare moment of humility, Maggie pressed the black-and-white rhinestone-encased phone to her chest and her eyes welled with tears. “There are no words. He’s the son I never had.”

I wanted to give my friend a hug for this moment of transparency, but knew her well enough to understand she would be embarrassed, so instead I teased. “How many candles will he have to light and Hail Marys will he have to recite for that ‘butt-deep’ comment you pulled on him?”

“Oh, believe me,” she replied with a chuckle, “when he and his compadres get together tonight for an evening drink he’ll share that and get a good laugh.”

I could see the fire was going to be fine now. Replacing the screen, I stood and brushed off my hands, then my jeans and rust-colored tunic sweater that my style-savvy daughter sent me, insisting it would go well with my dark-blond coloring. From the admiration I’d seen in Sam’s eyes when I last wore it I was convinced Rachel was right. Although I usually wore work clothes around here, I knew Maggie would be dressed Dallas chic, and guessed Carly would, as well. I’d had no desire to feel any frumpier than necessary.

“We should get back to the girls, unless you two want to unpack first?” I asked.

“My stuff is mostly wash and wear. These days, if it isn’t easy-care, I ain’t buying it,” Sybil intoned with carefree rebellion. “Besides, those beans need to be stirred.”

“I’ll come back up in a bit and do mine,” Maggie said. “I’d like to finish my wine first.”

As we neared the bottom of the stairway, we could hear hushed voices, that universal signal that secrets were being shared. It made me happy to think that Dana had found a confidant in Carly.

“We’re back and headed to the kitchen,” I called to them. “Can I get you two anything?” When both young women looked at me, something made me pause to correct myself. I stepped aside to allow Sybil to pass me. “I hope y’all know that I want you to feel at home here? Midnight raids to the fridge, or the bar, whatever. Have at it. If you’ve forgotten any toiletries, you’ll probably find something you can use in the bathroom. If you don’t find it down here, I’m sure I have it upstairs. As you can see I’m no glamour girl, but my Rachel is always sending me new products she’s discovering, in the hopes of getting me interested in a semi-serious beauty regimen. She finds my soap-water-moisturizer routine positively archaic.”

With a grateful smile, Dana said, “It works for you, Retta. And you can’t deny that you were blessed with great genes. Thank you for the welcome. For everything. Being here is such a treat. I’ve never been this spoiled before. I feel like I’m at a ski lodge.”

“Oh, she’s right,” Carly added. “Your house reminds me of our honey-moon in Aspen.”

Not realizing that’s where they’d gone, I asked, “Did you get to ski?”

Before she could reply, Maggie opined from behind me, “I can see it now: you, Walter, and the paramedics.”

“Actually, we seldom left the hotel suite,” Carly said.

“I need a drink.” Maggie made a beeline for the kitchen.

Venturing closer to the younger women, I patted Carly on the shoulder. “Good for you. I’m glad you have some beautiful memories to hold close.”

“I’m so envious,” Sybil said, once I entered the kitchen. She had taken the alternate route there, but had heard our conversation. “Elvin and I spent our honeymoon at the Alps Motel in Mount Pleasant.”

“We didn’t get much farther,” I told her. “Charlie and I ended up at the Excelsior House Hotel in Jefferson. Charlie was expected to be back helping at his family’s place on Monday. As much as his father liked me, and approved of the idea of our properties eventually merging, Burnett reminded him that he and Miss Myra had been married on a Friday evening and that he was on the job at six-thirty Saturday morning.”

“Y’all are just too depressing,” Maggie said. “Sybil, did you know that I made it all the way to the Riviera?”

“Yeah, it just took you three weddings to get there.” Of course, after reminding her of that, I half expected Maggie to smack my backside as I refilled Rosie’s water dish. Instead, she offered a theatrical moan.

“No lie,” she admitted to Sybil. “My first wedding night was spent under my in-laws’ roof hoping that Scotty wouldn’t shoot our bed’s headboard straight through into his parents’ room. Talk about being mortified. But I was just a baby then and most of Scotty’s sex education was from watching farm animals go after it.”

As our joking continued, I peeked around the corner to check with Carly about Wrigley’s feeding schedule. When she said she had it under control—was in fact feeding him—I prepared my Rosie’s dinner. By then, Maggie had perched herself on a bar stool and seemed to be enjoying her wine, while Sybil was collecting the ingredients for the cornbread.

After a minute, Carly entered the kitchen with Wrigley’s dirty food bowl. “Retta, where would you prefer I wash this? In here or the bathroom?”

“This sink is fine, hon. It gets disinfected with bleach every night. Just do me a favor and throw any leftover food into the trash. The garbage disposal works, but I only use it in an emergency. Septic tanks don’t respond well to too much diversity.”

I couldn’t see if the bowl was empty or not, nor did I hover over her shoulder to check. Rosie had finished her meal, and I intended to let her out the back door for a minute, as was her routine. This time, however, she took one look at the frozen commotion outside, and turned back into the kitchen to plant herself on her daytime doggy bed, which I kept for her by the huge palm plant at the entryway to the kitchen. The tropical greenery had been one of the gifts sent for Charlie’s funeral, and Rosie loved to lie under the fronds as though she was an African lioness enjoying the privacy and protection while surveying her territory. She had other cat traits, as well, such as a predisposition to crouching in tall grass to keep an eye on the barn cats. What else could I have expected considering that she was born in July under the sign of Leo?

Noting Sybil was heating a little water in the microwave to add to Carly’s beans, I could tell she had everything under control, so I looked around, ready to sit for a minute myself. “What did I do with my glass?”

“There,” Maggie said, pointing to where it had been hidden by the case of wines.

After getting it, I finally enjoying a sip, then had a twinge of conscience. “Sybil, do you want any help making that cornbread?” Maggie was making me uneasy. She was watching Carly at the sink as though she wanted to take a serrated knife to all of that glorious hair.

“You just rest your feet for a few minutes and enjoy your drink,” Sybil replied. “I know you’ve been preparing for us all day. You girls entertain me while I piddle. This is so nice not having to be on a schedule and all.”

Having finished with cleaning Wrigley’s dog bowl, Carly refilled her glass. Giving Sybil a shy smile, she quietly carried it and the bowl to the living room.

Noticing Maggie’s snooty expression, as her eyes followed Carly’s every step, I gave her a warning nudge with my elbow. In return she sent me a dismissive one-shoulder shrug.

“Please tell me that you’re making your mother’s renowned jalapeno and Vidalia onion version of corn bread?” Maggie all but cooed to Sybil.

“Is there any other? Why mess with perfection, although—” with a shake of her head, she looked up at the ceiling as though seeking Elvin’s confirmation “—I did experiment once with a can of condensed milk and Elvin almost ate the whole pan by himself. They say for every slice of bacon you eat, you lose nine days off of your lifespan. I don’t know what the ratio is for that sweet goo, but he was up all night eating what I call digestion candy, yet he still insisted, ‘That cornbread was so good, honey.’”

Her reminiscing triggered some of my own. “Poor Charlie. I confess most of the time, he had to settle for the packaged mixes. As much as I like to cook, I’m just not as in love with cornbread as the rest of you. Now give me a good sturdy rye bread like my grandmother used to make and I’m in heaven. Only I almost never made it because Charlie’s dentures couldn’t handle anything that hard.”

“I didn’t realize Charlie wore dentures,” Maggie said, looking sincerely taken aback.

“A partial. He admitted it was his own fault,” I told her. “His family could afford for him to go to the dentist, but he just couldn’t stand drills, let alone needles, so he usually found a way to avoid going.”

“I’ve heard some people fear a dentist more than a medical doctor,” Sybil replied. “But, girl, considering that you worked side by side with Charlie on this place, raised your family, and kept this splendid house, I don’t think he ever complained—or had a right to—over whatever you did or didn’t cook.”

Maggie raised her hand as though requesting her time to speak. “If I could have found a house without a kitchen in it, I would have bought it on the spot. I did give it a good try in the new house, until my realtor convinced me that such a thing would be hell on the resale value.”

Sybil snickered. “I can picture you trying to get away with that. Well, look at it this way—the person who buys your house will be tickled silly to get virtually all new appliances.”

“They won’t believe they are, unless the stickers are still all over the darned things, which is nothing I care to look at day in and day out—especially after the same realtor said, ‘Sellers are liars, and buyers are worse.’ I’m sure someone would accuse me of plastering them on things myself!”

“What an awful perspective of human nature,” Sybil replied. “At any rate, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I couldn’t be in a kitchen at least a couple of times a week. I like to think that God lives in my kitchen. He’s the executive chef and I’m the sous chef.”

Laughing, Maggie slapped the counter. “Leave it to you Southern Baptists to figure out a way to be in church more than three days a week!”

Giving her a mild look, Sybil replied, “A little more church could do you good.”

Without missing a beat, Maggie held up her glass. “Every time I pour myself one of these, honey, I’m having communion.”

Sybil’s lips still had a pinched look as she whipped together the cornmeal batter and poured it into the two muffin pans. Once they were in the oven, she set the timer.

“There, now,” she said, wiping her hands in her apron. Untying it, she put it on an empty bar stool and reached for her drink. “Why don’t we go socialize with the younger ones?”

Ignoring Maggie’s muttered, “Party pooper,” I picked up my glass. “Good idea.”

We filed into the living room and Sybil declared, “No wonder y’all have been so quiet!”

Carly had unpacked her tote full of pedicure paraphernalia. She was in the process of giving Dana a foot massage. By now we all knew she used to work at a nail salon at a strip mall just off of the interstate in Sulphur Springs. That’s where Walter met her. Self-conscious about how his diabetes demanded he take extra care of his feet, he’d preferred to go to a place out of town where he wouldn’t be so easily recognized. Regardless of what the gossips charged, whenever I’d seen Walter in those last months, it struck me how happy he’d looked. I had to respect Carly for undoubtedly taking good care of him.

As for Dana, the poor expectant mother had the typical swollen lower limbs of a woman only weeks away from giving birth. But she also looked darling in her black yoga pants and turquoise tunic top. “You seem to be enjoying that,” I said.

“I told her it was too much trouble,” Dana replied. “But oh, my goodness, this is sheer ecstasy.”

Although her answering glance spoke of modesty, Carly continued with her ministrations. “I had to do it. Just looking at your ankles makes mine hurt. Sit up now and put your feet over the side.”

She washed off and dried whatever remaining oils were on Dana’s feet. Recognizing my bowl and towel, I knew she had used the other entrance to the downstairs bathroom to avoid us. I didn’t mind at all, but it told me if Maggie had gone viral in the kitchen, Carly wouldn’t have missed a single one of her verbal stabs. I feared that was something I would have to guard against for the sake of everyone’s harmony.

Draping herself on the other end of the L-shaped couch, Maggie eyed Carly’s attentive care with half-hearted interest. “You know I treated Retta to a manicure once.”

“Oh, here we go,” I groaned. “Is it too much to hope that I would never have to listen to that story again?”

“Well, it was just so . . . unforgettable,” Maggie mused, all innocence.

Sybil settled herself on the long ledge of the brick fireplace and stretched her legs before her. “What happened?” she demanded.

“Exactly what you’d expect from an ingrate. I was trying to convince her that a little pampering would do her a world of good. Her fingernails looked like something out of a horror movie from all the laboring around here. I can’t imagine what condition her toes are in.”

“It’s not like I intentionally neglect myself,” I protested.

Ignoring me, Maggie continued, “I booked an appointment for her with Shan Li at The Lotus Flower Day Spa in Tyler. He’s an absolute magician when it comes to making your hands as soft and beautiful as the rose petals he puts in the soaking bowls. So we get in there and Retta goes immediately into panic mode. She doesn’t have a clue as to what to do, and I have to point to the wall of nail polish samples and tell her to choose one.”

Sybil gave me a sympathetic look. “I bet you started to hyperventilate.”

“If a cop had come in and directed her to walk along the tile’s grout line, she would have gotten arrested for pedestrian-under-the-influence,” Maggie declared. “Then she went completely anal picking a shade that was practically clear. I mean in that case, why bother? Even Shan Li encouraged her to throw caution to the wind. Do you know what color she ended up with? Something a whisper beyond her naturally fair skin tone.”

“Another exaggeration,” I said with hard-won patience. “It had been summer and, as usual, I was both wind and sun tanned, not what Maggie calls, ‘cloistered-nun nude,’ which is how she refers to my winter coloring.” I held out my work-hardened hands. “Seriously, can you see me in black, or with those cute little decals like the young people wear?”

“No one suggested that. Only for pity’s sake, when you get a manicure for the first time, you should—upgrade a bit. But back to my story.” Maggie pointed toward me. “Shan Li’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he first realized the condition of her hands.”

Remembering all too well, I explained to the others, “He must have thought it his professional duty to show me every bit of dead skin he dug out and cut away from my cuticles. Excuse me? I’m busy, not blind. Bottom line? The man is a sadist, and has a fetish.”

Puffing up like an indignant hen, Maggie offered a waspish, “You may not worry about your cuticle care, but he does.”

Once again ignoring her, I all but snorted. “There were definite control issues. ‘Sit still. No do dat!’”

“Admit it,” Maggie replied, “you’re a closet bigot and you were uncomfortable with his accent.”

She might as well have slapped me. Me, who she well knew had spent almost all of my youth in the company of a Japanese family that I’d adored. Maggie also knew that I loved to watch international movies and learn as many words and phrases in new languages as I could.

I turned to Carly and Dana. “How would you feel if someone yelled—not asked—‘Wah you haan!’” I turned back to challenge Maggie. “Honestly? The first time you walked into that place, you understood him?”

“He made hand gestures when you continued to just sit there and stare at him.” Maggie said to the others, “I told her, ‘Go wash your hands.’”

“So I did.” Determined to take control of my own miserable experience once and for all, I continued, “When I finished I looked for something to wipe off with. There was nothing. But I caught sight of Maggie pointing to this microwave-like box. Inside, there were warm towels. Can you believe it?”

Looking sympathetic, Carly said, “It is simply a towel warming appliance. Didn’t that feel wonderful, Retta? So soothing after his digging at you.”

“All I remember was that I wanted to go home.”

It could have ended there; I prayed it would. Unfortunately, Maggie wasn’t getting the laughs she expected, which made her reluctant to leave well enough alone.

“That was just the beginning. When she gets back to her chair, she notices the lady at the end of her row getting a pedicure.”

The woman had her pants rolled up over her knees and an attendant was rubbing small smooth rocks up and down her legs. I said, “Maggie, the woman was moaning and writhing. I didn’t know whether to call 9-1-1 or ask them to continue what they were doing in one of the back rooms where they would have more privacy—if you catch my drift.”

Already giddy with laughter, although she’d told the story at least a half dozen times to various people at my expense, Maggie wheezed, “She was not having the Big O, she was only sitting in a massage chair.”

That earned a few chuckles from Dana and Sybil. Carly, bless her, sent Maggie an unamused glance, but otherwise kept her gaze on her work.

“It gets better,” Maggie said. “See, what I love about Shan Li, is that when he’s finished with the manicure, he always treats you to a nice, soothing neck massage. But you should have seen the look on Retta’s face when he walked up behind her, lifted her hair and started rubbing warm, lotion onto her neck.”

“Never mind the neck. His hands were down in my shirt!” I resented her diminishing the episode as much as I’d been offended by the act.

“He was only trying to reach your shoulders. You were beyond tense.”

“Oh, and being groped by a complete stranger was supposed to relax me? Excuse me if I’ve only been with one man in my life. I didn’t know if what the guy was doing was foreplay or what!”

“Well, what did she want him to do—announce in front of the whole salon that he bats for the other team?” Maggie asked our audience. She added to me, “How was I to know you weren’t worldly enough to have watched his behavior and figured out that much?”

Dana sighed and leaned back against the pillows, all but lost in her pleasure. “Don’t stress any more, Retta. It is a cute story. I’ll also give this Shan Li the benefit of the doubt, but it does sound as though he has a bit of an ego thing going on. As far as I’m concerned, Carly gives the best massages and pedicures I’ve experienced. By the time she’s finished, I feel as if I’m cocooned in a cloud of utter peace.”

It was hardly what Maggie wanted to hear after giving her performance her all. I could tell she wouldn’t resist having the last word, much like an impudent child seeking revenge by poking someone else’s balloon with a pin.

“It’s so good that you’re keeping in practice, Carly,” she crooned. “You never know when you might need to put those skills back to use.”