The House on Persimmon Road

by Jackie Weger

  Agnes, on the other hand, was at the opposite end of the spectrum. She looked as if she had not only built the cross she had to bear, but had carried it around the block a few times. She was wearing her favorite purple blouse that clashed with a skirt of a different shade. The soft breeze left Pauline’s carefully coifed hair alone, but it was taking Agnes’s livid locks apart in frazzles.

  “Medaglia d’oro,” Pauline said as she poured Justine’s coffee. “I had a tin in one of my suitcases.”

  “It’s wonderfully tasty,” said Agnes.

  Wonderfully tasty? Justine’s cat sense told her something was afoot. “All right. Out with it. What’ve you two done?”

  Agnes went on the defensive. “Nothing.”

  “Well, that’s not true, Agnes, dear. We had ourselves a chat.”

  “That’s not what Justine means.”

  “Agnes,” Pauline managed through clenched teeth. “We agreed—”

  “Yes, tell me. What did you two agree on? Did the earth shake? Did one of you get smote by lightning?”

  “My dear daughter, you’re such a cynic. Agnes and I have agreed to get on with each other.”

  Justine had the cup almost to her mouth. She lowered it. “How did this come about?”

  “I couldn’t sleep last night,” said Agnes. “I had the feeling that someone was in my room. I kept getting up to look.”

  Pauline patted Agnes on the hand. “That’s neither here nor there, old dear. What we’re trying to say is that both of us felt a trifle out of sorts last evening. We neither of us could sleep, new surroundings and all that.”

  “Mother, you sound awfully like defense counsel preparing an alibi for—”

  “I told you she wouldn’t believe us,” said Agnes.

  Pauline went on as if neither of them had spoken. “So we sat out on the front porch in the moonlight and talked out our differences. Not all of them mind you, but enough. And since we have, we thought you might like to go into town and buy groceries today.”

  “I must be dense, but I don’t get the connection between the two of you sitting down to a peace conference and my going shopping.”

  “Well, you’ve never left us alone together before for fear of…well, whatever. Now you can. We’ll hold down the fort. All we could find to cook Pip and Judy for breakfast was instant oatmeal and dry toast.”

  “Mother, if you can convince me that you actually took a pot, filled it with water, and stirred oatmeal into it, I’ll take you at face value.”

  Pauline stiffened slightly. She shot a glance at Agnes.

  “She watched,” said Agnes.

  “But I was in the kitchen. You know cook never allowed us in our own kitchen. It was—”

  “A learning experience,” Agnes finished for her.

  Pauline beamed. “Right.”

  “Mother, for more than twelve years, I’ve had to keep you two apart, shuffle visits on holidays—”

  “That’s all in the past.”

  “Worse, you’ve been going at it like a pair of alley cats fighting over dead fish ever since you, Mother, decided to make the move with us.”

  “I know, dear. I behaved frightfully. I don’t usually. It was just that I could bring so little—”

  “Fifteen suitcases and half the moving van is so little?” murmured Agnes.

  Beneath Pauline’s scrutiny, Agnes shriveled.

  Justine had never known Agnes to retract her claws quite so quickly. It almost convinced her of the grandmothers’ sincerity.

  Pauline continued. “As I was saying—that dreadful law clerk inventoried everything…watched what I put in my suitcases even. Agnes and I are in the same boat now. Neither of us has any place to go if you were to decide you didn’t want us here. Isn’t that so, Agnes?”

  “Well…”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  “There, you see. Now, Justine, you just run along to the grocer’s. I’ve made a list.”

  “I had planned to put my office together today, set up my computers; I have a September first deadline on the contract. If I blow it—”

  “You won’t. You’re a computer whiz, your father always said so and he was seldom wrong. And anyway, it’s for an insurance company, isn’t it? They never do anything on time. Evan used to own stock in any number of them and he was always complaining how slow they were to pay dividends.”

  Justine’s slowly widening smile took in both grandmothers. “Give me a minute to get used to the idea that you two have buried the hatchet outside of one another’s back.”

  Pauline relaxed, and wore a look of supreme virtue; Agnes’s expression was of more modest proportions and a lot less readable.

  Out by the line of persimmon trees a rooster crowed. Justine sipped her coffee and mused on good fortune. She felt a little like crowing herself.

  If the grandmothers were sincere about a truce, then she would be allowed the concentration necessary to produce the program she had contracted to write. It was a plum of a job and had come her way only by accident.

  Philip had not wanted her to work after Judy Ann was born, but obstinately, she had persevered until she’d been able to sway him, though not without compromise on her part. She had been able to accept only a part-time job with a software distributor.

  She had hoped to get full-time work after the divorce, but the computer industry had suffered an inopportune slump and she, being only a part-time employee, had been the first let go. Yet, the last week on the job had been fateful.

  A representative of an insurance company had called asking for the name of a company in Silicon Valley. Justine had taken the call and had given the number. On her last day at work the representative had called back. Could she recommend another company? The first was too expensive. His employer, the rep had said, was relatively small, licensed to do business in only five states. He chatted a moment to give Justine an idea of what was needed, and the upshot was that the following day she had an appointment to meet with him.

  Since he had mentioned the outrageous figure the Silicon Valley company had proposed to charge for the job, Justine clinched the contract by quoting a figure of only half as much. Her overhead was nil. She had the equipment, and she could work at home, and she could work anywhere under the sun, as long as she had the electricity to run the computers.

  Later that evening she’d suffered a crisis of confidence and had almost picked up the phone to refuse the contract. But a review of her finances had convinced her confidence or not, she needed the work.

  A lot rode on bringing the program in on time. A lot—as in their entire future. If the job was done well and priced right, she was certain to make a name for herself in the software industry; especially if she could develop a clientele that the software giants considered too small to take on.

  Justine sent a thank you heavenward to her father, who had had the foresight to fill first his brokerage office and later his study with computers and allow her access to them even as a small child. Early on, the machines had been huge, bulky, and sensitive. Now they were small, not so sensitive, and much smarter.

  Thinking of smart, Justine mused on the notion that the grandmothers were outsmarting her. Somehow.

  She reminded herself she had promised to “go with the flow.” And right now harmony was flowing like a flood. Who was she to dam it up?

  Justine eyed the grandmothers. “Just how long is this truce between the two of you supposed to last?”

  “We expect to have differences,” enunciated Pauline. “We’ve just decided to handle them in a more conservative fashion.”

  “What’re you going to do while I’m shopping? If I go…”

  “Unpack,” said Agnes. “The hall is barely navigable.”

  “Arrange the great room,” said Pauline. “I made a sketch of where things can go.”

  Judy Ann, hair brushed and plaited, came hurrying onto the porch carrying her shoebox of paper dolls. “I can’t find my scissors.”

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p; “Go put on your sandals, sweetie,” Justine said. “You can go shopping with me.”

  “I wanna stay here.”

  Justine was nonplussed. For weeks the child hadn’t wanted her out of her sight, yesterday in the kitchen, for example. Now, less than twenty-four hours later, Judy Ann was suddenly blasé on the subject?

  “I may be gone for more than a couple of hours. In fact, I’m certain I will.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “The telephone’s not installed yet. I won’t be able to call and check on you.”

  Judy Ann shrugged. “I wanna stay here and play.”

  “Well…if you’re sure,” Justine said limply. “Maybe Pip would like to go. Oh. Mother, Pip was upset because you sent him to find some flowers for the table.”

  “The field on the other side of the house was full of wild—”

  “Pip didn’t think cutting flowers a manly thing to do. I’d like it if we all treated him in a more adult fashion.”

  “Pip’s doin’ puberty,” said Judy Ann.

  “He’s what?” the grandmothers trilled in unison.

  “He’s growing up,” warned Justine, “and very much aware of it.”

  “Oh,” said Pauline.

  “We’re in for it now,” said Agnes. “I remember when Philip—”

  Quickly Pauline reached over and patted Agnes’s arthritic hands. “Not now, dear,” she said affably.

  Justine studied both of them dispassionately. “It’s all too easy.”

  “What is?”

  “Never mind, I’m not staring a gift horse in the mouth.” Justine took a final sip of coffee and stood. “I’ll just get my purse and the road maps. Judy Ann, go find your brother.”

  Lottie slipped into the chair Justine vacated.

  Pauline passed her daughter the list she’d made “just as a reminder.” She took up the silver pot again. “More coffee? Agnes?”

  “Yes, thank you, Pauline.”

  Justine rolled her eyes.

  Her mother said, “Was there something else, dear?”

  “It’s Sunday. Stores might not be open.”

  “They are. I believe you should look for a Delchamps. The nearest one is in a town called Spanish Fort or Fair Hope. I’ve forgotten which.”

  Justine’s eyes narrowed. She was beginning to see the light from which all the sweetness flowed. “And from whom did you get this tidbit of information?”

  Pauline hesitated a beat too long. “From that welcome packet the bank sent you. There were all sorts of brochures about shops, schools—”

  “Good try, Mother. I don’t want the man hanging around while I’m gone.”

  “Who?”

  “Our neighbor.”

  “But—” Agnes began.

  “But, what, Mother Hale?”

  “I’m suddenly cold again. I just don’t understand it. I feel like something is continually eluding my perception.”

  “I feel the same way,” Justine said dryly.

  “I’ll get your sweater for you, Agnes,” said Pauline and hurriedly maneuvered Justine into the house proper.

  “Mother, I know you’re up to some devilment.”

  “I’m attempting to be kind to you. I thought about it. I’m grieving only for your father, but you have two griefs, your father and Philip…and on top of that, all the stress of changing your whole life.”

  “The same applies to you.”

  “I know, but I’m older, and I’ve had a wonderful life. I can adjust because I can take myself back to better times. Memories, you know.”

  “I have a few good memories myself.”

  “You do?” Pauline was genuinely surprised. “With Philip?”

  Justine laughed. “Mother, on that note, I think I’ll leave it to you. I’m going to put on some makeup. See if you can find Pip, will you?”

  “I’m certain he wants to stay here.”

  “You’re certain?”

  Pauline examined an imaginary hangnail. “I do believe that fishing trip is on. There’s a creek or a river nearby.” Justine nodded and sighed. She could forbid Pip to go and unleash no telling what kind of havoc. Highsmith wasn’t the man she would choose for Pip to emulate, but then, neither was Pip’s own father…now. Considering the situation of the moment, any male companionship would be a boon for Pip. If necessary, she could put the skids on it later, gently.

  It dawned on Justine that Pauline probably wanted her gone so there would be no confrontation between Justine and Tucker Highsmith when he came to collect Pip. Pauline need not have worried on that front. Before she’d drifted to sleep last night, she had given the man a moment’s thought. She had been a tad harsh on him. If and when the opportunity arose, she meant to apologize. There was no good reason to leave him with the impression that she was a bitter and foolish divorcee. After all, they were neighbors.

  “I don’t suppose it’ll hurt anything for Pip to go fishing,” she said. “The attention will do him good.”

  “Of course it will. Now go along. Do take your time.”

  “Mother?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  Justine lifted a hand, and let it fall. “For some obscure reason, I feel bested.”

  “You’re just not used to things going well. Now they are. Accept it.”

  “The same way you’re suddenly accepting of Agnes?”

  “I’m beginning to understand her. And we do have something in common for the first time. We’re both widows.”

  Justine didn’t think it the prudent moment to mention there had been grandchildren in common for eleven-plus years.

  “Whatever the reason, Mother, I’m pleased.”

  “You’re going to be even more pleased when I tell you that I’ve thought of a way to get some money for the communal purse. It came to me last night when I was trying to get used to all the creaks and thumps this old house makes at night.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll tell you after I’ve worked out the details.”

  “It isn’t illegal, is it?”

  “Why should you think that?”

  “My suspicious nature and your ambiguity.”

  “Justine, go shopping. I’ve got to find that eyesore of a rag Agnes calls a sweater. I don’t want her coming down with pneumonia. We’ve got work to do.”

  “Eyesore of a rag, Mother?”

  “It slipped. I’ve never been fond of purple. Tell the truth, have you?”

  Justine laughed. “Some truths are better left unsaid.”

  “I love your laugh, Justine. It’s such a gay, throaty sound.”

  “Why, thank you, Mother.”

  “You still need to lose five pounds.”

  “Why do you keep saying that? I don’t see it!”

  Pauline waved in the direction of her daughter’s derriere. “That’s because you’re always walking away from it.”

  “Next time,” Justine said, “I’ll stop while I’m ahead.”

  Excusing herself, Justine disappeared into her bedroom for makeup, car keys, and purse. On her way out she glanced over her- shoulder into the armoire mirror. Maybe there was just the tiniest hint of spread there. Her mind’s eye carried her five years into the future until she was visualizing hips over which she could not tug a pair of hose.

  Cottage cheese. Lots of it!

  — • —

  “You just want to get close to the mother without a tadpole hanging on a teat,” grumbled Wheeler.

  “Dad, I didn’t tell the boy I’d take him fishing. He asked me what there was to do around here, and I said the river’s nearby, and I know a good fishing hole, and that I’d take him sometime. He said maybe tomorrow and I said ‘maybe’ just off the top of my head.”

  “Kids don’t hear ‘maybe.’ Their ears ain’t situated right.”

  “He’s got his heart set on going. Apparently he’s never done any fishing. But if you don’t want to take him, I’ll talk to him, put it off. I’d take him myself, but the old ladies snared me when I was coming bac
k from my run this morning. Somehow I found myself agreeing to shuffle furniture.”

  “You’re just full of virtue this weekend, ain’t you, son?”

  Tucker grinned. “I’m always full of virtue.”

  “Full of somethin’ else, if you ask me. Tell you what, I’ll take the boy fishing if you make it worth my while.”

  “Hold on! You love to fish.”

  “This don’t come under the heading of fishin’, it comes under babysitting.”

  Tucker sighed. “Keep it reasonable.”

  “I wanna take my pipe, a couple of cold beers, and you gotta agree to clean and cook any fish we catch before you haul me back to Iron Bottom’s clutches tonight.”

  “Done,” said Tucker.

  Wheeler’s hangdog affectation fell away. “Somehow I find myself in a right merry mood to dig worms,” he said cheerfully. “What’s the boy’s name?”

  “Pip.”

  “What kinda name is that?”

  “Short for Philip, I think. You want me to drive you down to the river, or you want to walk?”

  “We’ll walk. I think I can handle a quarter mile without bringin’ in the medics. Call the kid.”

  “He’s hanging around outside.”

  Wheeler eyed his son. “You knowed all along I’d agree!”

  “I was hoping.”

  “Huh! What you’re hopin’ ain’t fit to voice. I guess you’re aiming to rub elbows and no tellin’ what else with the boy’s mother.”

  “All I’ve done so far is rub her wrong.”

  Tucker did think helping out up at the house might give him a chance to get on a better footing with Justine. Perhaps, he decided wryly, he would apologize for his snide remarks—provided the opportunity arose so he could do it without sounding mealy-mouthed.

  Wheeler thumped Tucker on the back. The idea of two beers, his pipe, and nobody looking over his shoulder put him in an expansive mood. “Like as not, by day’s end you’ll have her eatin’ outta the palm of your hand. Anybody who can charm old Iron Bottom ain’t got to worry about lesser folk.” In the midst of adjusting his hat lower on his brow, Wheeler stopped. “Say, tell me what the two that’s my age look like. Maybe one of ’em is my type.”

  Tucker drew his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. It had been his mother’s death that had put his Dad on the road to perdition, but the years since then had softened the blow. Wheeler still had a lingering weakness for drink and tobacco. But recently he’d begun to show more interest in other people, particularly women. Unfortunately there wasn’t a suitable female at the old folk’s home with faculties up to Wheeler’s rough, sparring nature.