Cindy immediately became more sober. “Probably.”
“Well,” said Beth, pausing awkwardly as a man in a neat but shabby suit edged his way hopefully past the young women toward the bathroom. “Do you mind?” Beth asked Cindy.
The woman shook her head and indicated that they should move out of the way.
“So—” said Beth.
“How’ve you—” said Cindy at the same time.
“You first,” said Beth. “It’s so good to see you. What are you doing here these days? How’s your family?”
“Well,” said Cindy proudly, “I’m married now.” She held out her ring finger for Beth to admire.
“Do I know him?” Beth asked.
“Billy McNeill,” said Cindy. “He was two years ahead of us.”
“Ahhh, one of the older boys,” said Beth slyly. “How did you manage that? We could never get them to look at us in school.”
Cindy blushed. “My luck changed.”
“Mine too,” said Beth. “Are you working?”
“I’m teaching. That’s one reason I’m here. Francie is in my class at school.”
“Oh,” said Beth, “I see.”
“A couple of her classmates are here too. They wanted to come. Although they were a little nervous. You know, kids.”
Beth, who did not want to admit that she didn’t have any idea about kids, simply nodded.
“Listen, Beth, there’s something I wanted to…Um, I need to talk to you about…Concerning Francie. Do you have a minute? I know this isn’t the greatest time, but…well, it’s on my mind, and it’s kind of important.”
Beth shrugged. “Sure, I guess so.”
“Beth,” said Aunt May, who had just made her way up the stairs and encountered the two young women on the landing. “Oh, hello, dear.”
“Hello, Mrs. Traugott,” said Cindy.
“Beth, dear,” said May, “may I borrow you a minute. I need to ask you something. Do you mind, dear?”
Cindy shook her head. “No, of course not.”
Beth looked at her questioningly.
“It’s all right. We can talk later or another time.”
Beth frowned at the uneasy look in Cindy’s eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Sure,” said Cindy. “Besides, I want a chance to hear about you.” She gave Beth a tight smile and then waved, noticing that the bathroom was again vacant. She went in and closed the door.
“What is it. Aunt May? Do you need me downstairs?”
“No, no. They’ll manage just fine. Everyone here has experience. They all know just what to do.”
“I guess so,” said Beth.
“I wanted to ask your opinion,” she said, starting purposefully down the upstairs hallway of the house. “I’ve been trying to decide which room to put Francie in.”
Reluctantly Beth followed her aunt down the hallway, with its faded lily of the valley wallpaper. “I don’t think you need to decide right this minute,” said Beth.
“Now Tommy’s room is bigger,” said May, opening the door and peering into the room, which had twin beds and was still decorated with pictures of ballplayers and trophies, which Tom had won in high school. Beth looked in over May’s shoulder, remembering her cousin, who was married now and lived in Colorado. She had thought him a most dashing figure when she was a child.
“Tommy’s room is nice,” she agreed patiently.
“Peggy’s room is smaller, but it gets lots of sunlight, and it’s such a pretty room,” said May as she toddled across the hall and opened the door to the pink and white room with a canopy bed and ruffled curtains.
“Well,” said Beth, “why don’t you let Francie pick? They’re both nice rooms.”
May pressed her lips together, one finger tapping her cheek, and nodded, still staring into the room of her daughter, who now had children of her own. “We want her to be happy here with us.”
“I’m sure she will,” said Beth automatically.
May smiled bleakly. “She hasn’t had it easy, the poor thing. Although Martin tried very hard, there was only so much he could do, working all day, trying to keep the house up. A lot of it fell on that child, I’m afraid. It must have been awfully tough for her, growing up without a mother the way she did.”
“Well, whose fault is that?” said Beth in a flat voice.
May’s mouth dropped open, and she turned and stared at her niece, who was leaning against the wall. “Beth,” said May sharply, “how could you say that?”
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” Beth said hurriedly.
May’s face had become very pink, as if she were going to cry again, and she shook her head at Beth. “Your mother’s death was an accident. You don’t mean to tell me that you think Francie was responsible—”
Beth was patting her aunt on the shoulder and trying to quiet her. “No,” she insisted, “I didn’t mean that. Please, Aunt May. I only meant…these things just happen. Nobody’s to blame for them.”
“That’s right,” said May. “It’s God’s will. He never gives us more problems than we can bear.”
“I know, I know,” said Beth. “Listen, maybe we’d better get back downstairs. All these people have been nice enough to come.”
“Well, yes, you’re right,” said May, composing herself like a plump bird rearranging her feathers. “I’ll decide about the room later.”
She went down the hall and started down the stairs. Beth followed her, greeting the various people they met along the way and responding numbly to the introductions. She could not tell, from May’s calm demeanor, whether she had believed Beth’s explanation of that chance remark. As soon as she said it she had wished she could snatch it back from the air.
“Did you eat something?” May asked when they again reached the kitchen.
“I’m not hungry,” said Beth, but a woman in an apron decorated with a print of squirrels wearing frills and hair ribbons was handing her a sandwich. Beth accepted it passively and began to eat, although the food was tasteless to her. As she stood by the kitchen table, chewing dutifully, the sound of guitar music wafted into the house from the backyard. May excused herself from conversation with a neighbor and walked over to the back door, looking for the source of the music. Beth put the sandwich down and walked up behind her to look out over her aunt’s shoulder.
A group of kids, huddled together in their heavy coats, whispering, giggling, and poking one another, were gathered outside in the cold gray afternoon. Seated on the front hood of one of the cars in the driveway was the young man from the garage, his long hair pulled into a messy ponytail, with stray bunches of hair being lifted by the wind. The boy’s guitar was perched on his lap, and he seemed to be wrapped in the cocoon of oblivion that often surrounds people at their instruments as he strummed away, singing along to his tunes in a nasal voice. A little apart from the others, Andrew had one elbow propped on the car’s roof, his shabby coat collar pulled up almost to the tips of his ears, which were red from the cold. Francie leaned against him, the ragged hem of her sweatshirt dress hanging out from under her parka. Occasionally she leaned up and whispered at his coat collar, and Andrew nodded with a bored expression.
May took in the scene with a deep frown of disapproval, which Beth noticed immediately. She felt a flash of anger at the braying guitarist, who clearly would take any opportunity to find an audience. Francie looked up and saw them in the doorway. Beth motioned for her to come over.
Francie walked over to where her sister and aunt were standing and looked up at them questioningly.
“Who is this guy?” Beth demanded in a low voice.
“Oh, that’s Noah. He’s a friend of Andrew’s. Doesn’t he play good?”
“Tell Noah,” said Beth, “that this is a funeral, not a hootenanny.”
“A what?” said Francie.
“Never mind.” Beth sighed. “Tell him to quit playing that guitar. It’s very rude.”
Francie’s face contracted into a bitter pout. “We’re not
hurting you,” she said.
“I thought you were the one who was so upset about having a party after the funeral.”
Francie glowered at her, but Beth could see that her remark had hit home. The girl turned her back on Beth and went over and spoke to Noah. The boy put his guitar down as if it were red-hot and looked up with a guilty expression on his face. The other kids, seeing what had transpired, scattered like a startled herd.
Thinking her aunt would be satisfied, Beth glanced at May and saw that she was still frowning, but there was more worry than disapproval in her eyes.
Beth tried to make her tone light. “Kids, you know. They can be pretty ignorant sometimes.”
“Yes,” said May distractedly.
“They don’t know any better, I guess,” said Beth.
“I’m afraid that’s true,” said May.
Beth studied her aunt’s lined face, wondering how she was going to cope with a youngster of Francie’s age. You’ve got to expect them to act like idiots from time to time, she thought.
“Well, I’d better see to the others,” May said.
“Do you need help?” Beth asked.
May shook her head and started back through the kitchen, her shoulders seeming to droop more than they had before. Beth chewed her lip, watching her go, and then looked out the door again. Francie and Andrew were still standing by the car. Francie looked up and caught Beth’s eye and then turned her back on her.
Beth watched them for a few moments, debating what to do, and then she pulled on an old coat from a hook by the door and, jamming her hands in the pockets, walked out to where they stood, trying to keep the heels of her black boots from sinking into the mud.
The pair straightened up at her approach, as if girding themselves for battle. “Muddy out here,” said Beth.
Andrew nodded slightly, but his narrow face was tense, and he watched her warily. Francie let out a deep sigh and looked up at the sky.
Beth bit her lower lip and then pressed her fists farther down in the pockets. “Andrew,” she said, “I—I think I should apologize to you for the way I acted last night. I was a little upset, and I hope you will understand that I didn’t mean to be rude to you.”
Francie turned and looked at her sister, her eyes widening slightly. Andrew kept his head cocked to one side, his eyes narrowed. “That’s okay,” he said.
“These times are difficult,” said Beth, realizing how pompous she sounded but unable to think of any other way to say it.
“Yeah,” he said. “Well, sure. It don’t matter.”
Beth nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Well, no hard feelings, I hope.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and started back toward the house. She could hear them whispering behind her.
That’s better, she thought, opening the door and going back inside the house. She hung the coat back up on the hook, and then she remembered Cindy, who had wanted to talk. She wandered through the rooms, looking at the various groups of people, but after a quick search she determined that Cindy had already left.
One of the guests saw Beth staring aimlessly around the living room and cleared a chair for her. Beth sat down with a grateful smile. The air in the house was stuffy, and she envied Francie out there in the clear air, leaning against her beau. She felt a stab of loneliness, and tilting her head back against the chair, she thought of Mike. She wished she could call him and at least talk, but he would be at the hospital now, in the thick of it. Later, she thought, closing her eyes. It will give me something to look forward to. The hushed conversation drifted around her, but she stayed slumped in the chair, feeling as if it were taking all her effort just to keep breathing.
Chapter 5
BETH CAME AWAKE SUDDENLY IN THE NARROW, LUMPY BED and lay still for a minute, sweat beading under her arms as she tried to remember where she was. Then the childhood room regained its familiarity, and she sank back on the pillow with a sigh.
Church bells tolled faintly through the town, announcing the end of a service, although it was hard to tell which service it was, for the light through the window was a metallic winter gray that defied the passing hours. Beth rolled over and put her face in the pillow. You have to get up, she reminded herself. You have a lot to do. This entire house has to be cleaned out. The thought of it was so depressing that she closed her eyes again.
But sleep was beyond her now. She felt sluggish, as if her heart were barely beating, but she forced herself out of bed and toward the bathroom. You have to face it sooner or later, she thought. She opened the door of the bedroom and heard sounds from downstairs. She hoped, briefly, that Francie was on her way out.
When she had dressed and gone downstairs, she was surprised to find her sister still in the kitchen. Beth looked at the clock. It was nearly noon, although she felt as exhausted as if she hadn’t slept at all.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Morning,” said Francie.
“How did you sleep?”
“All right. I was tired.”
“It was a long day.” Beth agreed with a yawn.
Beth went over to the refrigerator and looked inside. “God, there’s nothing to eat in this house.”
“Sorry,” said Francie sarcastically.
Beth ignored the sarcasm. She blinked at the meager contents, trying to assemble a meal in her imagination from what was there. “Is that little market on Main Street open today? I want to go get a few things.”
“Not on Sunday,” Francie said incredulously, as if Beth had asked if it were a good day for the beach.
“No, I suppose not.” Beth sighed. She reached into the refrigerator and sniffed at the carton of milk.
“It’s good,” said Francie indignantly.
“Look,” said Beth, “no one expects you to have kept up on the groceries at a time like this.”
Francie made a little grunting sound, but Beth could tell she was mollified.
“What about in Harrison? Anything open there?”
Francie nodded. “There’s a big shopping center with a supermarket that’s open every day.”
Beth shook her head. “Times have changed.”
Francie got up and put her dishes in the sink as Beth shook some dry cereal into a bowl. “The Seven-Eleven is open Sundays too,” said Francie.
“Well,” said Beth, “there’s a better choice at the supermarket. After I eat this, I’m going to take a ride over there. Do you want to go with me?”
Francie hesitated, balancing on one foot in the doorway like a crane. “I guess so,” she said.
“All right,” said Beth. “I’ll be finished in a few minutes.”
Visiting the Harrison Shop-Rite in a car was a luxury to Beth, who was used to carrying home a single bag from the crowded neighborhood grocery on her corner in the city. When she was entertaining, she would sometimes have a large order delivered, but as a rule, a single bag every few days sufficed.
“Family size everything,” Beth exclaimed, hefting a huge jar of tomato sauce in wonderment.
Francie, who was dawdling along behind the cart, turned her head away and made a face. “Very funny,” she muttered.
“I think it’s great,” said Beth. “I’m not making fun of it.”
“Who cares?” said Francie.
Beth made a clicking sound with her teeth and shoved the cart on down the aisle. The Muzak in the store cheerfully played on as they cruised the aisles, covering up their lack of conversation. Occasionally Beth consulted the girl about what she liked, but Francie was unwilling to give an opinion and kept insisting that she didn’t care.
“Did Dad do the grocery shopping for the two of you?” Beth asked.
“No,” said Francie shortly, “I did. While he went to the Laundromat.” Beth thought she heard the girl’s voice catch in her throat, but Francie had already walked over to the magazine section and was flipping through a rock magazine.
When Beth pushed the cart up to her, Francie eyed the cart, which was half full of ill-as
sorted items. “Can we get out of here?” she asked.
Beth nodded, realizing all at once that her sister had painful associations of her father here in this homogeneous, well-lit, unremarkable supermarket. She felt a stab of pity for the girl and a sudden urge to do something conciliatory, although it was hard to think of what it might be since Francie would not even admit which foods she liked. She thought of going to a movie. There was a theater right in the shopping center, and it would delay the inevitable return to the gloom of the house. But they had all these groceries in tow. Then she had a sudden idea. Company, any company, might make the evening less dreary.
“Look,” she said, “why don’t you ask Andrew to come to dinner tonight?”
Francie looked at her warily. “Do you want him to come?”
Beth summoned up the necessary enthusiasm in her face and voice. “Sure. I think it would be nice.”
Francie’s face cleared. “Okay,” she said. “I think he’ll come.”
Beth pointed the cart back up the meat and poultry aisle. “All right,” she said, pleased with the effect of her suggestion. “What do you think he would like to have?”
Francie frowned thoughtfully and then picked up some chopped meat off the shelf. “He likes hamburgers,” she said.
“Okay,” said Beth. “Hamburgers and what else?” More purposefully this time the sisters began to retrace their route through the store.
With the aid of a rubber spatula Francie swirled the instant pudding filling around in the ready-made crust and then stepped back to admire her creation.
Beth searched through the cupboards and finally turned to Francie. “Where do you keep the seasonings?” she asked.
Francie tore her gaze from the pie and licked the spatula. “What seasonings?”
“You know, spices. Oregano, basil, garlic. All that stuff.”
Francie picked up the pie and deposited it on the refrigerator shelf. “There,” she said with satisfaction. “I don’t think we have that Stuff. There’s salt and pepper on the table.”
Beth nodded and closed the cupboard door. “Do you want to put some onion or bread crumbs in these hamburgers?”
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