by Mary Daheim
She was also feeling remorse: Two days had passed since Herself’s phone call. Judith still hadn’t given the news to Joe. On a whim, she called the Manhattan Grill and requested a seven-thirty dinner reservation for two. It was there that Judith and Joe had become engaged almost four years earlier. Actually, it was their second engagement, but, as Judith thought wryly, who was counting?
“What’s the occasion?” Joe asked when he arrived home shortly before six. “Did I miss your birthday?”
“Of course not,” Judith said with her most enchanting smile. “That was in October, and you gave me a Wacky Vac.”
Joe arched an eyebrow. “And perfume and earrings and a silver negligee that matches your hair and makes me crazy.” He nipped Judith’s ear. “So what’s going on tonight?”
Picking up the appetizer tray for her guests, Judith evaded her husband in more ways than one. “Just…us. This time of year gets so hectic that I thought it would be fun to have an evening all to ourselves. I don’t mind knocking myself out for everybody else during the holidays, but we can use some time off. You’ve been working too hard.”
Joe didn’t argue. There was still no breakthrough in the Shazri case. He and Woody were extremely frustrated. Judith listened to his complaints as she went between the kitchen and the living room, playing hostess to her guests. Hillside Manor was full on this Tuesday night, mostly with visitors who had come to the city for a marathon day of shopping. It was only after Judith had taken dinner out to Gertrude that she made her suggestion about cleaning the Goodrich house.
“Do you think Morgan and Rael would go for it?” she asked, trying to keep the eagerness from her voice. “It’s got to be done, and I know Phyliss would be willing. She used to work there.”
As he looked up from the evening paper, Joe’s expression was exasperated. “I don’t know what your fixation is about the Goodrich murder. George has had second thoughts, that’s all. It happens.”
“Were his prints on the hatchet?”
“I told you, the handle had been wiped clean. That doesn’t mean a thing.”
“I think George and Mrs. Swanson are in love.”
“Good for them. That gives George an even better motive.” Joe started to open the local news section of the paper, then glanced at the clock. “Hey, we’d better change. It’s going on seven.”
Judith decided not to press the issue. An hour later, they were at a linen-covered table in the Manhattan Grill. The brass fittings and soft leather were enhanced by evergreen garlands and big wreaths tied with golden bows. Judith permitted herself to be enchanted through the first round of drinks.
They had placed their orders by the time the second round arrived. Judith took an unusually large sip of scotch. “Herself is coming for Christmas,” she blurted. “It’s not my fault.”
It appeared that Joe hadn’t heard Judith. As usual, the restaurant was teeming with customers. They seemed to be in a festive mood, and their laughter reverberated off the mirrored walls and oak paneling.
“I could eat a whole cow,” Joe said, puffing at his cigar. “What did you cook for your mother tonight?”
“Liver and onions.” Judith tipped her head to one side. “Joe? It was Sunday, when you were working overtime, and I got a phone call around…”
Joe was watching a pair of beauteous young women in short skirts exiting a booth. “I know.” He took another puff on his cigar. “Why do girls giggle so much? Is it because they’re nervous? Or because they think it’s cute? It is, but once they hit twenty-five, they stop.”
Mouth open, Judith stared at Joe. “I’ve no idea. What do you mean, you know?”
The magic green eyes once again rested on Judith’s face. “Vivian called me at work last week. I was wondering if she’d have the nerve to go through with it. My guess was that she wouldn’t.”
Judith’s shoulders sagged. “Joe! Here I’ve been stewing and fretting and hating myself for not telling you. Why didn’t you say something?”
Joe waited until the Caesar salads had been delivered. “Why upset you if she changed her mind?” He paused just long enough to let the thought sink in. “Well? When does the bomb land?”
“The twenty-third, the same day as Caitlin. Oh, Joe, what will your daughter think about all this? Should we tell her?”
“I already did.” Joe forked up an anchovy. “I called her Friday, just in case. Caitlin can handle it. She’s remarkably mature. Growing up with an alcoholic mother will either make or break you. It made Caitlin, and she’s not entirely ungrateful.”
Judith let out a rippling sigh. “I’ve been so upset. I should have known everything would be okay.”
Joe’s green eyes glinted. “I didn’t say that. Hey, I’m sorry as hell that Vivian’s going to impose on you. But she is Caitlin’s mother, and we were family for a long time. Don’t let it spoil your Christmas. We’re all grown-ups.”
Briefly, Judith felt that old stab of envy. Herself had been Mrs. Joseph Flynn for almost a quarter of a century. Judith couldn’t quite get over her resentment. She still felt cut off from a large part of Joe’s life. In many ways, those twenty-three years had been a wasteland for Judith. But it was Advent, with Christmas fast approaching, and Judith knew that she should rid herself of such ugly feelings.
“I just wish sometimes that I didn’t feel like a stranger,” she said in a hushed voice.
Joe frowned. “You aren’t. You never were. You were always there, even in the roughest times. Especially then.” He lowered his gaze, concentrating on his salad.
“Oh, Joe!” Judith reached across the table and placed her hand on his.
Joe grinned. “Hell, Jude-girl, there isn’t anything you don’t know about me. All the fights with my brothers, the downside of breaking in as a rookie cop, the vicious cycle of trying to deal with Vivian—all my hopes and dreams were always tied up in you. The only thing you couldn’t give me was my fantasy of being a pilot in World War Two. I’d have loved shooting the crap out of the Luftwaffe.”
Judith’s black eyes were wide. “You never told me that.”
“I didn’t? I thought I had, years ago, when we booked a room at the Ebbtide Inn and fished from the window, or took a picnic lunch out on a rented tugboat.”
Judith’s mind flew back to the halcyon days of their first courtship. Those times had been exciting, romantic, even outrageous. But in middle age, she preferred a quieter pace: watching old movies on TV, playing gin rummy, having dinner in a fine restaurant like the Manhattan Grill. She sighed with contentment.
“I feel so relieved,” she said with a wide smile. “It was silly of me not to tell you about Herself’s phone call. It was even sillier to get so upset.”
Joe made a dismissive gesture. “Basically, this is my problem. I’m used to holiday horrors. I’ll make sure it doesn’t spoil your annual Christmas fantasy.”
The irony in Joe’s tone didn’t sit well with Judith. But this romantic interlude wasn’t the time to say so. Instead, she shrugged. “Okay. Now I can concentrate on Christmas with a free mind.”
The waiter removed their salad plates. Joe looked up from his half-finished scotch. “Can you?” His tone was sardonic.
Judith didn’t answer.
In the Roman Catholic Church’s liturgical calendar, December eighth was the feast of the Immaculate Conception. Thus, Judith and Renie found themselves at the eight-thirty A.M Mass, which was celebrated by Father Francis Xavier Hoyle amid the entire student body from Our Lady, Star of the Sea Parochial School. Two pupils from each grade read petitions, or rather mumbled, stuttered, shouted, and in one distressing case, fell off the lectern. By the time Mass was over, Judith and Renie were both feeling somewhat less than spiritually uplifted.
Arlene Rankers, however, was energized. “That little Grazini boy—isn’t he adorable? I love the way he lisps!”
“‘Thar of the Thea’?” Renie mocked, as they exited through the north vestibule. “‘Bleth our letthonth’? What the hell does that mea
n, Arlene?” It wasn’t quite ten o’clock, and Renie was only now becoming fully conscious, though still in a cranky mood.
Arlene evinced annoyance. “You know perfectly well what it means, Serena. I remember when your Tony read the Epistle in fourth grade and his pants fell down.”
“They did not!” Renie countered. “He walked out of his shoes. Your Kevin was the one who stepped on Frances Cabrini Dooley’s hem and ripped her skirt off! I always figured he did it on purpose.”
Arlene’s blue eyes flashed. “Nonsense! One of the Duffy boys tripped him! What about the time your Tom was an altar server and put his cassock on backwards?”
“At least he didn’t drop the chalice like your Tim,” Renie shot back.
It appeared to Judith as if Renie and Arlene were about to square off in the church parking lot. It wouldn’t be the first time the two women had almost gone beyond verbal blows. They liked each other a lot, but both were volatile as well as feisty.
Just as Judith tapped Renie’s arm, Carl put a hand on Arlene’s shoulder. “I like the part where we left the church,” he said at his most pleasant. “Which is what we’re going to do now. Come on, Arlene, let’s go home and move the camels.”
Arlene fired a parting shot: “Your Anne made out with one of the Kramers behind the Big Toy on the playground!”
“Your Mugs played doctor with a Paine kid!” yelled Renie. “That was second grade, and man, was he ugly!” Brushing Judith off, Renie nodded. “Okay, okay, I’m done. Mugs wasn’t so pretty at that age, either.”
“Your children and the Rankers’ kids have grown into good-looking, responsible adults,” Judith said in a reasonable voice. “Why do you and Arlene have to rake up all that old grade-school stuff?”
Renie checked her watch. “Because it’s only five to ten and I’m still crabby. Let’s have coffee at Moonbeam’s. Then I’ll be my usual charming self.”
Judith sighed, peering up into the relentless rain. “We can’t. We’re supposed to get our mothers’ trees. Come on. Let’s see what they’ve got in our very own parish. We know there are small ones, because that’s all we could find on Sunday.”
The cousins did indeed find two suitable trees that would fit into Gertrude’s toolshed and Aunt Deb’s apartment. Naturally, they cost considerably more than the two-fifty maximum Gertrude had given her daughter. Renie had been allotted a slightly more generous five-dollar figure, and ended up paying four times as much. By the time the cousins had put the trees in their respective trunks, Renie still wanted coffee.
On a drizzly Wednesday morning, Moonbeam’s was predictably crowded. Judith and Renie waited more than five minutes in line but were lucky to find two stools just being vacated by the window that looked out onto Heraldsgate Avenue.
Judith was telling Renie about her dinner with Joe when JoAnne Goodrich came through the door. She appeared frazzled and seemed daunted by the long line.
“She’s up early,” Renie remarked in a low voice. “Maybe she didn’t work last night.”
A faint memory clicked in Judith’s brain. “She worked last Tuesday night. I know, because Rochelle Porter saw Greg hassling his mother while she was checking customers.” Judith kept her gaze fixed on JoAnne, who apparently hadn’t noticed the cousins at their counter perch.
Renie sipped her mocha, oblivious to the whipped cream that adorned her upper lip. “I should stop at Falstaff’s on my way home. I promised Bill babyback pork ribs for tonight, but they were out yesterday. Harold, the butcher, was having a fit because he said they only got half their order Tuesday morning.”
Briefly, Judith gazed at Renie. “Really? I should figure out what we’ll have Saturday night when you and Bill and the Prices come for dinner. How about a standing rib roast?”
Renie licked her lips, inadvertently wiping away half of the whipped cream. “Sounds great. But you’d better order ahead. Harold claims they’re getting screwed over by their meat supplier.”
Judith frowned into her latte. “How can that be? Falstaff’s does a huge business. You wouldn’t think their wholesalers would dare cheat them. The store ought to…” She stopped abruptly.
“What?” Renie asked. “Change wholesalers? Raise their own cows? Let live pigs wander up and down the aisles?”
But Judith gave a sharp shake of her head. “Skip it. Here comes JoAnne.”
Art Goodrich’s wife had ordered her coffee to go. She spotted the cousins as she headed for the exit. They weren’t easy to miss, since Judith was waving wildly.
“How’s everybody doing since the funeral?” Judith inquired, lowering her voice along with her arm.
JoAnne rubbed her temple with her free hand. New lines seemed to have crept around her eyes in the past week. “Oh—okay, I guess. It’s hard having Gramps live with us. I wish the police would let him go home.”
“Have they scheduled the arraignment yet?” Though Judith’s voice was barely above a whisper, several customers were casting curious glances in JoAnne’s direction. Heraldsgate Hill was in the heart of a big city, but its relative isolation lent it the air of a small town. People often knew, or at least recognized, each other.
“No,” JoAnne gulped, apparently aware of the prying eyes. “Really, I should go. I had last night off because of the funeral yesterday, but tonight I have to…”
Judith had gotten to her feet, escorting JoAnne to the door. “If there’s anything I can do, just ask,” she said with sincerity. “I know what it’s like to have an elderly parent under the same roof. Or almost. Old folks can be a real trial, even more so sometimes than kids.” The two women were now out on the sidewalk under the coffeehouse’s canopy. Judith could glimpse a vexed Renie through the window. “It’s a relief to have our boys raised, isn’t it?”
“It’s a relief not to have them living at home,” JoAnne replied, grimacing slightly. “Greg and Dave have had their apartment for almost two years, but rents are so high on the Hill. It wouldn’t surprise Art and me if they had to move home eventually.”
The conversation had almost taken the turn that Judith wanted. She allowed herself a small detour. “But they’ve both got good jobs, don’t they? Plus their Alaskan fishing season.”
JoAnne’s face seemed to crumple around the edges. “I don’t know what kids do with their money these days. Art and I’ve always been so careful about spending. Since Art lost his job, the boys don’t have us to fall back on. I’m hoping it’ll make them see they have to cut down.”
A fleeting remark made by one of the Goodrich sons struck Judith. “What do they spend it on? I recall them saying they didn’t have much furniture. And that van isn’t new. Do they share it?”
Once again, JoAnne seemed anxious to be off. Her glance darted around the intersection, to Holiday’s Pharmacy, Begelman’s Bakery, and the state-owned liquor store. “Sometimes. Dave wants to trade in his beater for a Jeep of some kind. Greg wants a motorcycle. That’s the problem—there’s always something.” The lines around JoAnne’s eyes deepened.
“Oh, isn’t that the truth?” Judith put a hand on JoAnne’s arm, as much to detain her as to offer comfort. “And their timing is usually off! They’re like two-year-olds, pestering you when you’re on the phone or in the bathtub! They never seem to outgrow that nasty habit. Rochelle Porter told me how you had to deal with Greg the other night while you were checking. Believe me, I felt for you!”
There was no sign that Judith’s overblown sympathy raised JoAnne’s suspicions. “It was so embarrassing,” she said in her usual abject manner. “And all because Greg left his wallet at Mama and Pappy’s house. These kids are so careless. Forgetful, too. Really, Greg’s almost thirty. Do they ever grow up?”
Helplessly, Judith shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. Mike’s only twenty-six. In fact, he must be the same age as Dave.”
“Dave’s a year older.” JoAnne was looking rueful. “I wish now I hadn’t told him where to find that key.”
Judith tensed. She felt as if she had missed somethin
g. But JoAnne had spoken more to herself than to Judith. Now she was starting around the corner, presumably to where her car was parked.
Braving the rain, Judith was right beside her. “Why did he need the key?” She made her voice sound innocently confused. “I mean, his grandparents were home, weren’t they?”
JoAnne had reached the Goodrich Toyota, which was pulled into a slot by the laundromat. “Oh, yes,” she answered distractedly. “But they were in bed. At least Greg had the good sense not to disturb them. That’s why he needed the key. And of course he didn’t want to drive without his license. It was in his wallet. I shouldn’t blame him, I guess. He and Dave already have too many traffic tickets.” The thought must have triggered a reaction in JoAnne. She looked up at the sign on the utility pole indicating that parking was limited to an hour. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “I’ve plenty of time left. To park, I mean. Good-bye, Judith.” JoAnne got into the car with a vague sense of triumph. Any victory, however small, seemed to satisfy JoAnne Goodrich these days. Feeling sad, Judith returned to Moonbeam’s.
Renie was drinking a second mocha. Judith’s latte had grown cold. “Well?” Renie inquired, apparently mollified by her caffeine intake. “Did you nail that poor woman to the telephone pole?”
Judith held her head. “Sometimes I hate myself. I deep-six good manners for the sake of tact, and it all comes out wrong. Does that make sense?”
“No.” Renie shook an extra packet of sugar into her mocha. “Life doesn’t make sense. So what else is new?”
Judith thought about it for a while. “I guess that’s why we went to church this morning.”