The Day Bob Greeley Died

by Kimberly A Bettes

  Resting her head on the back of the tub, she relaxed and closed her eyes. If she was lucky, really lucky, her headache would be completely gone by the time she got out of the bath.

  Emma spent a nice long while soaking. It wasn’t until her skin had become wrinkled that she washed and got out.

  When she’d finished the routine of patting her skin dry, brushing her teeth, and combing her hair, she put on her clothes and smiled.

  Her headache was gone.

  Of course it was never really gone. It always lurked just beneath the surface, eager to rear its ugly head. But the pounding and throbbing was gone, leaving Emma free to go about her day. At least until the pain returned.

  She started by cleaning the bathroom. Then she cleaned the bedroom, dusting and changing the bed linens. She intended to wash them, but that would come later. She didn’t want to push her luck with the headache. As it was, she did everything very slowly, careful to not aggravate her head. She’d learned long ago that the simplest thing could trigger it and cause it to return with full force.

  When she was finished with the bedroom, she rested by sitting on the couch and flipping through a magazine. In the magazine, there was an advertisement for Keith Highlanders. The man sporting the shoes looked remarkably like a Sweetwater resident. Emma brought the magazine closer to her face and scrutinized the man in the ad. Clearly, he wasn’t the man she thought he was, but he sure looked like Bob Greeley.

  She thought about Bob as she flipped through the rest of the magazine. She’d known Bob a long time. They’d gone to school together and neither had ever left Sweetwater. They weren’t friends. They didn’t socialize with the same people. Bob didn’t even attend her husband’s church. But from time to time, she saw him in town. He never smiled at her, though she always smiled at him. Rarely, he would ask her how she was, but she got the feeling that it was only something to say. It wasn’t that he was really interested or that he cared how she was.

  In elementary school, the two had been close. They’d even considered themselves boyfriend and girlfriend, though at the age of nine, what sort of relationship was there really?

  She’d always thought highly of Bob. At least she had back then. Lately though, she’d began to change her mind about him. He was still handsome, but he wasn’t the friendly kid she’d known so long ago. He seemed harder now, like life had beaten the nice out of him. Emma knew that couldn’t be because he hadn’t had a hard life. She couldn’t speak for his home life as a child, but his life now seemed good. He had a nice wife and a good job working for Leroy Russell at the garage. And unlike Bruce Lawson, Bob hadn’t had to go risk his life in the war. There was no reason he should’ve been so bitter, and yet he certainly seemed to be.

  With thoughts of Bob swirling around in her head, she felt a dull ache threatening to return. Intent on stopping it before it started, Emma closed the magazine and laid it on the coffee table. She then slowly leaned over until she was lying on the couch. She closed her eyes and tried to relax and think of nothing, determined to keep the pain away.

  In that moment, lying perfectly still and relaxed, Emma realized why she and Gerald had never been blessed with children. It was so obvious, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before.

  Children were noisy by nature. Their squeals of laughter, their cries of pain and sadness. They were just naturally that way. And since Emma was cursed with the headaches, having the sound of children in the house would only make it worse. The ache in her head intensified at the mere thought of a child in the house making noise while she was trying to recover from a headache.

  Though she desperately wanted to be a mother, to have a child to teach and love, she supposed now that it was a good thing she’d never had one. Besides, it’s not like she was the only woman who hadn’t had the pleasure of bearing a child. Grace Greeley never had a baby either.

  Thinking of Grace, Emma wondered why she and Bob had never become parents. Was it their choice or was there a reason?

  Emma drifted off into a light sleep thinking of Bob and Grace Greeley, wondering at the inner workings of their relationship.

  Chapter 9

  Gerald Andrews made sure the ladder was stable before climbing it again. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and went back to work. His hope was to have the church painted before dinner. He needed to go over his sermon for tomorrow’s services and tend to Emma.

  She was on his mind constantly. He didn’t say anything to her about it, at least not yet, but it certainly seemed that her health was declining. It was more than just the headaches. She had lost a lot of weight recently. She’d always been a petite woman, but now she was not much more than a skeletal frame covered with pale skin. The features of her face had sharpened. Cheek bones and chin protruded sharply, and her eyes seemed to be bulging from the sockets. Her hair had lost its luster, and her eyes had lost their shine.

  Gerald was afraid that meant she had given up. He could attribute her weight loss to her having no appetite. She wasn’t hungry when she had a headache, and it seemed she had one more than not these days. However, he couldn’t blame the light leaving her eyes on a lack of appetite. That was something more, something deeper.

  He’d been praying for Emma more than usual. Praying for her health to return, for her headaches to cease, and for her to be well. More than that, he prayed he was wrong about her giving up. When he wasn’t praying about it, he was hoping, hoping that she hadn’t given up at all, only grown weary. That was something he could understand, something he could deal with. He knew the pain zapped her strength, and he could imagine that after so many years of dealing with it, she had grown mighty tired.

  “What’s that boy of yours up to today?” Gerald called down to Ollie, trying to take his mind off Emma.

  “Oh he has a stomach ache. He’s in bed.”

  “What do you suppose is wrong?”

  “Too many sweets, I’d say. Of course you can’t tell Maude that. She thinks her own things and can’t nobody tell her any different.”

  Gerald chuckled. “I hear that. Well I certainly hope it’s nothing serious. Hope he gets to feeling better soon. Like to see him in church in the morning.”

  “I’m sure you will, Gerald. If he can make it through the day without stuffing himself with candy or cake, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  The two men worked in silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts.

  As the sweat dripped from the tip of Ollie’s nose, he shook his head and said, “Boy, it’s hot.”

  “Sure is.”

  “I keep hearing talk about a storm coming, but I’m starting to think it’s nothing more than a rumor.”

  “I’ve been hearing the same thing. It’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen. The Lord will give us rain when he sees fit.”

  Briefly, Ollie considered keeping his mouth shut and holding in what he wanted to say. But then his lips parted and he said it anyway. “Doesn’t make sense why the Lord saw fit to let the gardens shrivel and die in this heat. With no water.”

  “I’m sure there was a reason.”

  “Speaking of water, I hear the Smith’s well dried up last week.”

  “Is that right?” Gerald asked. He stopped painting and looked down at Ollie.

  “That’s what Maude said. She was in the pharmacy when Janice Smith came in. Said she was talking about having to get water from the neighbor. Said she didn’t know how long it would be before the neighbor’s well went dry. Said she didn’t know what they were going to do if that happened.”

  “Well I’ll be.” Gerald thought about how hard that must be for the Smiths. It was bad enough to not have water for your garden, but to have no water for your family’s meals and baths was downright awful. In this heat, a person needed to drink as much as possible, especially water. To not have any could be a disaster. “I’ll see what I can do for them.”

  “There’s not much you can do, is there? Unless you can make it rain.”


  Gerald grunted to himself and went back to painting. He hated to know that people in Sweetwater — people he knew personally — were suffering. He wanted to help. Ollie was right though. Unless he could make it rain, there really wasn’t a lot he could do for them. He could take them water, he supposed. He could offer his home to them anytime they needed water. But how would that affect Emma? She had a headache more often than not, and the Smiths had four young children. The noise would drive her mad with pain. So that was out of the question.

  “How’s Sara Miller doing? I’ve been so busy with Emma lately I haven’t had a chance to ask about her.”

  “Well, from what Maude says, her drinking’s getting worse.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Apparently it is. Maude says it’s so bad now, she can’t remember the last time she saw Sara sober. Says even when she comes in the pharmacy to buy those cough drops, she’s drunk as a skunk.”

  “You’re kidding,” Gerald said, once again stopping work to look at Ollie.

  Ollie shook his head and looked up at Gerald. “No sir. That’s what Maude tells me. It’s not just her drinking that’s getting worse, either.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I hear her affection for men is getting out of control too.”

  “Affection for men?”

  “Yes sir. She flirts with men openly. Doesn’t even try to hide it. Maude was in the market one day. Said she saw Sara in there flirting with Bob Greeley.”

  “With Bob Greeley, huh? Right there in the market in broad daylight?”

  “Right next to the tomatoes.”

  “What did Bob do?’

  Ollie shrugged his big, sweaty shoulders and wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. “Maude said he was smiling and talking to Sara, but she doesn’t know what they were saying.”

  “That’s awful. I can’t believe Henry allows that kind of behavior.”

  “I don’t think he knows.”

  Gerald considered this before agreeing. “You’re probably right. That’s just awful,” he added with a shake of his head.

  “I know. You know she even flirted with Frank Walter?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. Maude was in there when it happened. She said Sara knew she was there too. Didn’t care. She leaned over the counter and ran her fingers down Frank’s chest. Asked him if he got lonely living out there in that big old house all by himself. Told him if he was, to just say the word and she’d keep him company.”

  “Oh my.”

  “Even blew him a kiss before she walked out the door with her cough drops in her hand.”

  “What did Frank say?”

  “Maude said Frank just stood there dumbfounded. Said he didn’t say a word. His cheeks turned bright red and his mouth fell open. She said after Sara left, Frank looked at her, then looked away real fast like he was embarrassed.”

  “I imagine he was,” Gerald said, shocked at Sara’s behavior. He didn’t know much about Sara and certainly hadn’t spent any time with her, but he’d heard things throughout the years that gave him a sense of who she was and what she was like. From what he’d gathered, she had been heading downhill for quite some time now. From the sounds of it, she was nearing rock bottom.

  Gerald had always got the feeling that Sara hated living in such a small, out of the way town. For the first year, she didn’t talk to anyone. She didn’t attend picnics or barbecues. She never had anyone over for dinner, and she sure didn’t accept dinner invitations. She didn’t attend Sunday services. She kept to herself. Then, she started spending all her time with Henry at the bar. It was there she found an escape from the town she hated.

  For a while, no one knew her drinking had gotten out of control. How could they, when no one saw her? No one except the patrons of the bar anyway.

  As is always the case in a small town, word eventually got out that Henry’s wife drank too much. Everyone could understand that. She was the wife of a bar owner and was around alcohol all the time. Temptation was strong.

  Even when she started appearing in public in a drunken state, obvious by the slur of her words and the wobble of her walk, no one said anything. They didn’t feel it was any of their business, and they assumed she’d stop. But she didn’t.

  In addition to drinking heavily, she began to dress provocatively. The hem of her dresses got shorter while the neckline plunged lower, and they began to fit tighter around the waist and hips. She started wearing more makeup and perfume. It was clear to all who saw her that she was looking for something. Gerald had assumed it was attention, but now, after hearing about her flirtatious ways, he was thinking it was something far more sinful than that.

  “Maude said who knows what would’ve happened if she wasn’t there. But I guess Frank doesn’t have to worry about that. Maude’s always there.” Ollie chuckled. “Frank ought to put her on the payroll.”

  Both men laughed, though Gerald’s was more of a fake laugh, just meant to carry along the conversation. His thoughts were on Sara, Henry, and poor old Frank at the pharmacy.

  “Maude sees a lot of things over at the pharmacy, doesn’t she?” Gerald asked when the laughter stopped.

  “She sure does. And believe me, I have to hear all about it when she comes home.”

  “She likes to gossip, huh?”

  “Well, it’s not necessarily gossip,” Ollie said, defending his wife even though he’d thought the same thing many times. “She just tells me what she sees and hears. She doesn’t exaggerate it or anything like that. That would make it gossip. She just…relays the facts.”

  “I see.” Gerald didn’t see the difference. But when he realized that what Maude did with Ollie was exactly what Ollie was doing with him, he came closer to understanding. If not for Maude telling Ollie who then told Gerald about the Smith’s dry well, he wouldn’t have known. It wasn’t so much gossip as it was the conveyance of information.

  “Sure is hot out here,” Ollie said as he wiped his face with a handkerchief he produced from his pocket.

  “You bet it is,” Gerald agreed.

  Too hot to continue the conversation, the men worked in silence, eager to get the job done, both lost in their own thoughts.

  Chapter 10

  Tears fell from Miriam Lawson’s eyes as she drove home from Grace Greeley’s house. While it’s true that she was sad for Grace, sad for the life she lived and for the way she was treated by the man who was supposed to love her, the tears were born more out of the anger and frustration she felt toward Bob.

  Miriam had gone over there believing that Bob was an adulterer, but she’d left knowing that in addition to having extramarital affairs, he also beat his wife and denied her the simplest of joys.

  How dare he cheat on Grace and hit her? How dare he make her walk all the way to town under the blazing sun and tell her she couldn’t have a Coke? He certainly wasn’t denying himself anything. It was Grace who had to do without. It just seemed so unfair.

  Growing angrier by the second, Miriam wiped her eyes with one hand, while clutching the steering wheel tightly with the other.

  She had half a mind to drive right down the road to that whore’s house, drag Bob Greeley out into the road, and beat him black and blue so he knew what it felt like. Oh, how she wanted to do that. But she didn’t. What she did instead was pull into her driveway, shut off the car’s engine, and let her head fall to the steering wheel. Then she cried. Heavy sobs erupted from her, and she didn’t try to stop them. She let it all out, feeling terrible that such a sweet woman should have to suffer at the hands of a brute man such as Bob Greeley.

  Damn him, she thought. Damn him straight to hell.

  After several minutes of weeping, she heard Bruce ask if she was okay.

  She lifted her head and turned to face her husband, the man who would never treat her as Bob treated Grace.

  “Miriam,” Bruce said softly. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  Still bringing her crying to a full stop, she
nodded. She wiped at the tears in her eyes as Bruce handed her the handkerchief from his pocket. Miriam dried her eyes with it before wiping the snot from her nose and upper lip.

  When she had calmed down enough to speak, she said, “He’s just so awful to her, Bruce. So awful.”

  Bruce opened the door and held his hand out, waiting for Miriam to take it. She did, and he helped her out. He closed the door while she leaned against the side of the car.

  Stepping in front of her, leg aching fiercely, Bruce asked, “What do you mean?”

  “He doesn’t let her have a Coke. A Coke!”

  “That’s not so bad,” Bruce said softly, pushing loose strands of Miriam’s hair behind her ear.

  “Yes it is,” Miriam insisted. “You should’ve seen it, Bruce. She has this small shack of a house, and she keeps it immaculately clean.”

  “Maybe he can’t afford a better house.”

  Miriam looked at Bruce with fire in her eyes. “She still uses an icebox! He won’t even buy her a refrigerator. You know how she does laundry?” Not giving Bruce a chance to answer, she said, “With a washtub and washboard. Can you believe that? It’s 1952. She shouldn’t have to do the wash on her knees in the dirt like that.”

  “Now, Miriam. You don’t know everything about their situation. Maybe he really can’t afford to buy her those things.”

  “He sure can afford to drink his beer. I saw the empty cans,” she spat at him. His habit of always trying to see things from both sides and gather all the information before deciding to judge was certainly not helping her mood. She loved Bruce more than anything, but at the moment, he was pushing her beyond mad, beyond angry, right toward furious.

  He must’ve seen the look on her face, and probably understood what she was thinking. In his soothing voice, he said, “Why don’t you go over to the pharmacy and get you a soda? Sit in the cool air and calm down.” He leaned in and kissed her damp forehead. Pulling away, he added, “I think the heat is making you temperamental.”