by Ann B. Ross
Hoping, though, to direct her away from airing her problems in such a public place, I asked, “So how are you getting along?”
“Better by the day,” she said, squeezing a lemon wedge into a glass of tea. “You know, Julia, this is the first time in my life that I’ve lived alone—I had sisters at home and roommates in college, then I got married and had my boys. So this is the first time I’ve ever had constant peace and quiet. And also the first time I’ve not had to pick up after anybody.” Wiping lemon juice from her hands with a napkin, she added, “And that’s a blessing.”
“I can understand that.”
“No, you can’t. You’ve got Lillian to do your picking up.”
“LuAnne,” I said in exasperation, “you could’ve had help if you’d wanted it, and you know it.”
“Maybe so,” she agreed, amiably enough. “But like a lot of women, I thought that taking care of a husband was my job.”
“So did I! Not just taking care of him, but putting up with him, too. LuAnne,” I went on, as if imparting a sudden insight, “I think I know the secret. You either marry the right man, as I’ve done but only on my second try, or you get out and live by yourself, as you’re doing. Staying married for the sake of being married is ridiculous. And probably bad for your health as well.”
“It certainly would’ve been for Leonard’s,” she said so seriously that I had to laugh, and, after a second, so did she.
“So you don’t miss him?” I asked, relieved to hear her laugh.
A distressed look swept across her face. Then she said, “A little. Just now and then—for the company, you know. But then I think of not having to cook a big breakfast the next morning, and I get over it.”
“Good for you,” I said, rescuing a tomato slice that was sliding out of my sandwich. “And I mean that.”
“Well, anyway,” she said, “the trick is to stay busy, and that reminds me—Madge Taylor dropped by the other day. And, as usual, she wanted me to help her with some kind of fund-raiser.”
I waited to respond while the waitress refilled our glasses. Then, as casually as I could manage, I asked, “Fund-raiser for what?”
LuAnne shrugged. “Who knows? I told her I couldn’t since I’m having to raise funds for my own self these days. But she also wanted to make sure that I’d be coming to a tea she’s having to show off a place for the homeless or something.”
“I hope you told her that your regrets were already in the mail, because if you didn’t you’ll miss something that’s never been done before—Mildred and I are giving back-to-back parties on the same date and at the same time as Madge’s. And anybody who goes to hers instead of, or in addition to, ours will be on our do-not-invite list for about fifty years.”
LuAnne’s eyes widened. “You mean that?”
“Try us and see,” I said with a firm nod of my head. “Madge Taylor has overstepped for the last time, and all gloves are off from now on.”
“Well, my goodness, I know she’s a busybody, but I always thought she had a good heart.”
As I rolled my eyes, LuAnne went on. “Madge also wanted to know if I’d be interested in being a house mother or a foster mother or some such thing. She said I’d get my own room, complete with a large television set and a small salary. She thought I’d be perfect since, as she said, I no longer have a husband to fill my time.”
I dropped the last half of my sandwich onto my plate and leaned back, just so disgusted I could hardly speak. “I hope you told her what she could do with that.”
“Oh, well, you know, I was flattered that somebody wanted me. If I didn’t already have the perfect place to live, I might’ve been interested.”
“LuAnne! Do you not know what it’d be like to take care of five or six teenage boys? Day and night? Seven days a week? And do you not know that she wanted to move you into that house next door to Hazel Marie, and that J. D. Pickens is doing everything he can to drive them away? Because they’re breaking the law by being there?”
“Oh, is that the house? I’ve been wondering who was doing so much work on it.”
I mopped my brow with my napkin, wondering where in the world she’d been for the past few weeks. Well, I knew, for LuAnne had had her own problems—no one leaves a husband one has had for forty years without having one’s mind filled with ifs, ands, and buts—and very little else.
And to confirm what I’d just been thinking, LuAnne said, “Leonard called me the other night.”
“Really? What did he want? He’s missing you, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know if he’s missing me or my cooking.” LuAnne squinched up her face at the memory of the phone call. Then she said, “He wanted my recipe for squash casserole so Totsie could make it for him.”
“Why, the nerve of him! What did you say?”
“Nothing. I hung up.”
“Good for you, LuAnne. I declare, that beats all I’ve ever heard. You are doing so well, now that you’re on your own, and I hope you won’t let yourself get dragged back into the mess he’s made.”
“I know. And I don’t intend to go through all that emotional turmoil again.” LuAnne stopped, looked around the restaurant, then said, “Do you really think I’m doing well?”
“I certainly do. You look better than you have in years. You have more confidence because you know you can do this, and everybody admires you for refusing to put up with Leonard’s idea of a mixed marriage. You’re doing fine, LuAnne, but I’ll tell you who isn’t.”
She leaned forward. “Who?”
“Helen Stroud. Mildred is concerned about her, and I guess I am, too. She’s so taken up with that house of Thurlow’s and spending so much of his money that it seems she’s lost any sense of moderation. Everybody’s always assumed that Thurlow is wealthy, but who really knows? He thinks she’s spending him into the poorhouse, and it is a fact that even the very wealthy can reach the end of the road eventually.”
LuAnne frowned. “Yes, but how would anybody know? He’s such a tightwad, he might just resent spending any of it. You would think, though, that Helen knows how much he has and how freely she can spend. Didn’t you say that they have a contract or something?”
“That’s what she told me. And Helen is good with money—she’s had experience with having plenty and having hardly any. So it’s hard to believe that she’d be extravagant enough to pauperize him. Because if I understood her correctly, spending it all would do the same thing to her.”
“Well, my goodness,” LuAnne said, reaching for another napkin. “Is there any way we could find out? I mean, if Thurlow just thinks she’s overspending, we could at least reassure him. If he would listen to us.”
“Well, don’t say anything about this, because I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not. But Mildred is worried that Helen might be, well, I guess, addicted to that house. She’s thinking we ought to stage an intervention and get her back on track.”
LuAnne’s eyes lit up with interest. “Really? How would an intervention work?”
“I looked it up, and what you do is have the subject—that would be Helen—come to a meeting of family and friends without knowing their plan. Then everybody takes turns telling the subject what she or he is doing wrong and warns of the consequences of continuing to do it. Then, according to what I read, they’re supposed to immediately take the subject to rehab.”
“Rehab! I’ve never heard of a rehab place for spending too much.”
“I know,” I said tiredly. “And that’s certainly a problem. But I thought I’d run the idea past you, because of all of us, you’ve known Thurlow the longest.”
“Yes, I guess I have. We were in school together, although he was a couple of grades ahead of me. But, Julia, as long as I’ve known him, he’s always had money. I mean, that was the assumption—that his family was loaded. And he was the only child, so he inherited everything, including th
at house he grew up in. It was just his cantankerous character that made him live like a street bum. I think he enjoyed the contrast—knowing he had a lot, but acting like he didn’t.”
“Where did the family money come from?”
“I don’t know. They just always seemed to have it. And, Julia, they were highly thought of around town. His father was a state senator for several terms, and I can remember my mother thinking the world of his mother. She was a real lady, and every year she’d entertain the Abbotsville girls who’d been invited to make their debut at the Rhododendron Ball.” LuAnne’s eyes glowed with the memory. “I’ll never forget my year and that lovely supper dance she gave for us.” She blew out her breath and went on. “It’s hard to believe that Thurlow came from such stock, knowing what he’s like now.”
“Well, no longer ‘now’ because Helen has taken over. Even though she’s gotten rid of Thurlow’s dog, she’s making sure he’s taking his medicine, eating right, and has clean sheets on his bed. Thurlow’s bed, I mean, not the dog’s.”
Chapter 26
After I’d cautioned LuAnne against repeating anything I’d said about intervening in Helen’s control and distribution of Thurlow’s funds, I still went home worried that I’d said too much to the most talkative woman in town. I knew better than to tell LuAnne anything that wasn’t for general broadcasting, yet I’d let my concern get the better of me and had said too much. Trying to rectify my lapse, I’d warned LuAnne that if she passed it along, I would not only never tell her anything else ever again, I’d stop speaking to her entirely.
But who knew whom or what she’d tell? The thing to do, I concluded, was to urge Mildred to proceed with the intervention fairly soon if she was convinced that it had to be done. In other words, we should get it done before LuAnne could hold it in no longer.
But first things first, so I hurried home to call Mildred and tell her we’d better get on the phone right away.
“Mildred,” I said when she answered, “we’ve overlooked something. Madge’s tacky tea invitations have gone out, so we ought to call around and tell everybody that something better is in the offing—and do it before they RSVP Madge with an acceptance.”
“You think? I don’t care if they accept her invitation, just as long as they don’t show up for it and come to ours instead.”
“Oh, well, I don’t know how many will do that. I mean, there’re people who’ll feel obligated to go to Madge’s tea if they’ve said they will. They may not want to, but they’ll think they ought to.”
“You’re probably right,” Mildred agreed. “We should divide the list and make a few calls, I guess. We can tell each one to let somebody else know, and pretty soon the word will get around.”
“You don’t sound very concerned, so maybe I’m overly so. I just know that some will feel obligated to honor an acceptance.”
“Oh,” Mildred said with no concern at all, “they’ll change their minds. Just wait, Julia, because I’m already having my house decorated for the party. And for Christmas, of course. And a reporter and a photographer will be here in a couple of days from that beautiful new regional magazine Scenic. You’ve seen it, haven’t you? Anyway, they’re featuring my house in the next issue which will be out a week before our parties. I plan to play up both of our parties in the interview, and everybody will be eager to come—whether or not they’ve accepted Madge’s invitation.”
I had to laugh. “I should know better than to ever underestimate you, Mildred. You’re always two steps ahead of me. But, listen, are you sure they’ll have your house in the upcoming issue—before our parties? I thought those features were planned months in advance.”
“They probably are,” Mildred agreed with an air of complacency, “but I told them either now or never, and they jumped at it.”
“Well, good for you for thinking of it. Pictures of the interior of your house all decorated for Christmas will bring out our guests in droves. But, Mildred, I have to admit something to you, and I hope you won’t hate me for it.” I stopped, hesitating before telling her what I’d done.
“Oh, I can’t believe you’ve done anything that terrible. What was it?”
“I told LuAnne that you and I were thinking of doing an intervention with Helen.” I stopped again, waiting for her response.
“Well, we are. What’s wrong with that?”
“Just that LuAnne can’t keep anything to herself, so it sort of pushes us to go ahead and do it before she lets it slip to somebody who’ll tell Helen. And I wouldn’t put it past her to tell Helen herself. And if I understand how an intervention is staged, the subject is not supposed to know she’s going to be put on the spot. She probably wouldn’t show up if she did. I wouldn’t.”
“Hmm, well, I guess we should go ahead, then. It’ll have to be at your house, though, because mine is full of ladders and boxes of decorations and pine needles, and will be for days to come. So when do you want to have it?”
“It’ll have to be soon—maybe tomorrow night? Sam will be home next week, and I think it’d be better if he’s not around. Helen—well, nobody—would like it if they thought somebody was listening in another room.”
“Okay, who’re we going to ask to take part in this? Who knows her and what she might be doing well enough to express concern?”
“LuAnne, of course,” I said, “and you and I. What about Sue Hargrove?”
“No,” Mildred said. “She’s too nice. She’d never be able to say anything that might be hurtful, which is exactly what Helen needs to hear.”
“Emma Sue Ledbetter?”
“Well, she could do it. Even though Pastor Ledbetter has retired, she hasn’t. And she’s known Helen about as long as we have. Who else?”
“I can’t think of anybody else. Everybody knows Helen, but there’re not many I would call close to her. Although,” I mused, “I wish we could have Mr. Ernest Sitton. He’s her lawyer, so he’d know if she’s overspending. But even if she is, he wouldn’t tell us.”
“Couldn’t, you mean,” Mildred said. “He’d be disbarred. What about Hazel Marie?”
“Well, we could, I guess, although she’s even nicer than Sue.”
Mildred laughed. “How’d we get mixed up with so many nice people? We need to reconsider the kind of people we take up with.”
“That may be true,” I said, although I thought the problem was more that Helen had so few close friends than it was the type of people we knew. “But four may be enough, unless you want to consider Pastor Ledbetter himself.”
“Well, that’s a thought, but I had the impression that Helen doesn’t have much respect for him. Even though he was her pastor for years. And yours, too, so you make that decision.”
“Let’s just say that even though he’s known me for decades, I wouldn’t want him at my intervention. If you ever decide that I need one.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you if I ever do.” After a few seconds of silence as we considered the dramatic step before us, Mildred said, “I’m thinking it’d be better if just the two of us confront Helen, with, I guess, LuAnne, since you’ve already told her, although she’s likely to go off on a tangent.”
“I guess so,” I conceded. “We’ll just have to keep her in line. And I’d rather not involve Hazel Marie, either. She’s much too kind and much younger, too. Helen might resent being criticized by a lesser mortal, so to speak. The same goes for our former pastor, although not because of the age difference.”
“That suits me,” Mildred said. “You and I are the only ones who seem to know the problem and who’re willing to put our lives on the line to do something about it. So if you put it that way to LuAnne, she may back out. And I’d just as soon leave Emma Sue out, too.”
“So would I,” I said. “We’d have to sit down with her and tell her why we’re concerned, and first thing you know, Emma Sue would accuse us of gossiping. She’s been known
to view things just a little bit off kilter from what you’d expect.”
“Don’t I know it! Back when I was going to the Presbyterian church, she confessed to me one day that she’d been guilty of estimating how much I spent on clothes and wondering if I pledged the same amount to missions. She asked my forgiveness for secretly judging me, which I was happy to give since it had never bothered me. It’s easy to forgive something you’ve never known about. Except then I kept wondering what else she was wondering about.”
“That sounds like something she’d do. Emma Sue lets a lot of things occupy her mind, including how much makeup Hazel Marie wears. Which I admit occupied mine when Hazel Marie first came to live with me. But what she put on her face didn’t bother me after I saw her one morning with her natural look.”
“Oh, Julia, you are funny. But back to the plan,” Mildred said, getting down to business. “You, me, and Helen, and maybe LuAnne—okay? And tomorrow night, right?”
“Yes, I’ll ask all of you to dinner—consider this your invitation and come over about six. Lloyd will be at a basketball game and Lillian will be back in the kitchen. It’ll be just the three or four of us with no interruptions or distractions. But I’m going to be as nervous as a cat until it’s done.”
“Well, me, too,” Mildred said. “But we need to do it for Thurlow’s sake. I mean, he’s part of old Abbotsville, and even though none of us can stand him, I think we have some sort of obligation to make sure he’s not being taken advantage of.”
“I think so, too. Well, let me call Helen and see if she can come tomorrow night. If she can’t, we’ll have to regroup, but prepare your accusations.” I stopped, then said, “I just wish we had a rehab place to send her to so we wouldn’t have to look her in the eye afterward.”
* * *
—
If that wasn’t enough, Lloyd came home from school with something else to worry me half to death. He dropped his backpack on the kitchen floor, greeted Lillian and me, and sniffed appreciatively at the aromas of supper on the stove.