All the Single Ladies

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m going to put my phone number right here next to your phone, so if you need a single thing just call me, okay?”

  “Well, that’s awfully nice,” she said. “Did you know that I’ve learned how to steam PBS on my iPad?”

  “Do you mean ‘stream’?” I said, smiling.

  “I imagine so. ‘Stream’? ‘Steam’? Doesn’t matter one fig to me. Except that Miss Pickle and I are going to watch season four of Downton Abbey today, aren’t we, sweetie?”

  My dog looked at me, made a whiny sound, and then she looked up at Miss Trudie and yipped.

  “Well, I guess that settles that.” I laughed. “See you later!”

  I gave my furry little love a ruffle on her neck and left.

  The day, as I had hoped, was uneventful. But I stopped in Dr. Black’s office to confirm what Suzanne told me about my hours.

  “Is it true?” I said.

  “So she told you? I’ve never met a woman who could keep a secret. Well, I probably should’ve told you first but you know how I hate delivering bad news. Anyway, it’s only temporary, for a few months, until we can start renting some of the new space. All the nurses are taking a haircut. It’s better than laying anyone off.”

  “Right. But I’ve already had a haircut on my hours, and I think I would rather have heard this from you.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about that.”

  No, he wasn’t.

  “It’s not the end of the world,” I said.

  “Good. Hey, you know I’m taking Suzanne to dinner tomorrow night. Did she tell you?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. He was as animated as I’d ever seen him.

  “Yes, and she’s looking forward to it too.” Though only the Good Lord knows why, I thought. “Try to behave yourself, okay? She’s a really nice person.”

  “What do you mean? I’m not? Come on, St. Clair! The milk of human kindness flows through these veins. You know that.”

  “That’s exactly what I always say about you.” I wagged my finger at him and left his office.

  Judy gave me samples and the accompanying literature on alarm devices and I put them in a Palmetto House tote bag. And I picked up a blood pressure cuff at CVS. At some point over the weekend, I’d get together with Suzanne and Miss Trudie and walk them through the details.

  The next night I was on the porch with Miss Trudie and our jointly held dog waiting for Dr. Black to arrive. The weather had cleared up somewhat and it was nice to sit in the fresh air. Suzanne had blown out her hair and tried on ten different outfits before she finally settled on the dress we’d all told her to wear in the first place. Carrie had done her makeup and accessorized her, and she looked great. So did Carrie, who had a date with Mike. Suzanne came out on the porch with Carrie to join us.

  “Wow! You look beautiful!” I exclaimed.

  “Thanks!” she said.

  “Doesn’t she clean up good?” Carrie said.

  “Get back in the house this minute!” Miss Trudie said.

  “Why?” Suzanne said. “It’s not like I’m sixteen and going to prom.”

  “Oh, I know that,” Miss Trudie said. “I just want to make him squirm a little. Can’t I have some fun too?”

  “Carrie? Lisa?” Suzanne said, rolling her eyes. “Do y’all have ten milligrams of something I might swallow to unrattle my nerves?”

  “Yes,” Carrie said, “you know I do. But if you take it you can’t drink any wine.”

  “Oh, fine! God! I wish we hadn’t given up donuts!”

  Suzanne disappeared inside the house and let the screen door slam behind her.

  “She’s just nervous,” Miss Trudie said. “Can’t blame her. She hasn’t had a date since George Bush Senior was in office.”

  “Junior!” she called back from inside the house.

  “Aren’t you going out tonight?” Carrie said to me.

  “No,” I said, “I’m seeing Paul tomorrow. He’s working tonight, getting caught up on some stuff.”

  Harry Black’s car pulled into the driveway. When he got out, Miss Trudie sat up tall so that she could see over the porch banisters. She gave him the once-­over and turned to me.

  “Handsome!” she whispered, arching her eyebrows.

  “Meh,” I replied, and shrugged my shoulders.

  He rapped his knuckles on the screen door. Pickle hurried to the door ostensibly to protect us from the Dark Side and Darth Vader.

  “Hi!” he said. “Can I come in?”

  “Hello, Dr. Black,” I said, thinking, Use the Force, Pickle! “Come meet Miss Trudie and Carrie.”

  “Call me Harry, Lisa. No formalities tonight,” he muttered, and then brightened up, extending his hand to Miss Trudie. “Miss Trudie! My word! Suzanne has done you a great disser­vice!”

  He smelled like the entire men’s fragrance counter at Dillard’s. And he ignored my dog.

  Miss Trudie pulled back and said, “And how is that?”

  “She did not tell me how regal you are,” he said, and bowed a little. “You remind me of Maggie Smith.”

  I wanted to barf right on his shoes. Regrettably, I did not.

  “Regal? Really? Maggie Smith? I adore her,” Miss Trudie said. “Will one of you girls tell Suzanne her handsome date is here?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am! ‘Regal’ is the only word there is to describe you.” He turned to Carrie. “And you’re Carrie? I remember you from when you came to visit . . .”

  “I’ll go get her,” I said, although no one heard me.

  “Kathy Harper,” Carrie said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Yes! That was her name. Well, it’s nice to see you too. Who’s the lucky man?”

  “What do you mean?” Carrie said.

  “Well, surely, you’re going somewhere special because you wouldn’t dress up to sit on the porch, would you?”

  “Oh! My! Well, yes. Mike Kelly, we’re . . .”

  I slipped around them and went inside the house. Suzanne was in the living room, listening to everything.

  “How’s it going?”

  I wanted to say, Well, the disingenuous son of a bitch has them eating out of his hand and he makes me want to throw up and cut off my ears from listening to his bull.

  Perhaps that seemed harsh, so I didn’t say it. Of course.

  Instead I said, “Fine. It’s going fine.”

  “Should I go out there?”

  “If you want to keep your date with him, yes, I expect you have to.”

  My smile was involuntary. Suzanne was so excited and nervous. It was just completely priceless to see her this way. Usually, she was a take-­charge-­and-­everyone-­get-­out-­of-­the-­way kind of woman. But Harry Black had unnerved her? I just couldn’t help how I was feeling about Harry. I wasn’t wild about him at the moment.

  “Okay, okay. My hair’s okay?”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, go on out there and go have some fun. No worries. I’m in all night.”

  “Thanks!” she said, barely able to contain herself.

  Suzanne went to the porch and I heard Harry say, “Wow! You look gorgeous!”

  “Oh! Really? Wow, thanks! And you look great too!” Suzanne said.

  Oh, brother, I thought, and then decided maybe superflowery compliments weren’t the worst thing in the world.

  I went out to tell them to have a good time just as Mike’s car was pulling up to the curb.

  Mike came up on the porch and scratched Pickle’s ears. She was satisfied with that and went back to Miss Trudie’s side to sit. He said hello to everyone, but when he looked at Carrie I could see this guy was completely taken with her. It was genuine. And lovely.

  Finally, they all left with their unbridled enthusiasm and pheromones and it was just Miss Trudie and me. Pickle walked in a tiny circle,
checking her territory, and then lay down next to my chair.

  “How’d you like Harry Black?” I said.

  “He’s full of it,” she said. “But on the other hand, it’s not like I get that many compliments. Maggie Smith indeed. What do you think of him?”

  “Well, I only know him professionally. At work he’s not that friendly, but he’s got a tough job and he keeps his professional distance, which is the right thing to do. He’s a great doctor.”

  “Well, you could light a small village with the spark between them, don’t you think?” she said.

  “There’s something icky about thinking about my boss that way,” I said. “But what do I know?”

  “Me too. So that’s that. Want to order a pizza?” she said.

  “Sure, why not?” I said. “It’s Saturday night. We should live it up.”

  “The menu’s in the kitchen junk drawer. Get whatever you like. My treat. And if it’s not too much trouble?”

  “Olives?” I said.

  “You’re such a dear!”

  “A dear?” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Who’s full of baloney now?”

  She chuckled to herself and took a sip of gin, realizing I knew it wasn’t Evian in her glass.

  I called for a pizza with pepperoni and mushrooms and a house salad. They said they’d deliver within the hour.

  I said, “Great! Thanks!” and hung up the phone.

  After a gourmet dinner of mediocre pizza, salad, and iced tea, Miss Trudie excused herself for the evening.

  “I want to help you get settled upstairs. Is that all right?”

  She looked at me curiously, as though I might be on the verge of invading her privacy or overstepping my bounds. But then, probably because she remembered I was a geriatric nurse, she said, “If you want to see how an old dame piles her bones into bed, be my guest!”

  We rode up together in the elevator.

  To break the ice I said, “You know, I just thought it might be a good idea for me to give a little attention to how your bed is made.”

  “I don’t mind if you do. Do you think I like to wake up on the floor?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m sure you don’t.”

  The elevator stopped and I held the door for her to get out.

  “Old age is like this. Your brain is still fifty but your body betrays you whenever it feels like it. If it wants to throw you out of bed, it will.”

  “Well, let’s see what we can do to hold back the beast,” I said.

  “Good idea.”

  When we reached her room, I pulled down the covers on her bed. There was a bottom sheet, a top sheet, two blankets, a blanket cover, and a spread. A quilt was folded over the bottom of the bed in case she got a chill.

  “Miss Trudie? I’d break my neck with all these linens. What you need is a bottom sheet, a summer-­weight duvet inside a duvet cover, and that’s it.”

  “You know, I get so cold at night, even though it’s as hot as Hades,” she said.

  “Most ­people your age have the same complaint,” I said. “It’s circulation. If you can make it through the night without killing yourself, I’d be glad to go to Bed Bath & Beyond first thing in the morning and straighten this all out for you.”

  “You would? Then I’ll be careful.” She leaned against the doorframe. “Thank you, Lisa.”

  “Get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning,” I said, and left her for the night.

  Back downstairs, I wrapped up the leftover pizza, threw out the box, and washed the dishes. I took Pickle out for her evening stroll. When we got home I decided to tackle a box of Kathy’s things.

  The first one was all linens. As was the second one. They were in decent shape but not anywhere close to new. We could cut the towels up for cleaning rags. So I shoved them back in their boxes and set them aside. The third box had scrapbooks, much like the other ones I had seen. I began flipping through the pictures and nothing there jumped out at me, even though I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, beyond the furniture, magnifying glass, and letter opener that Wendy claimed were hers. It was too late in the evening to scrutinize photographs from someone else’s past. I reached back into the box and pulled out a Bible. From the cracks in the leather cover, it was clear that Kathy had spent a good amount of time in its pages. That made sense to me, as it seemed like something someone like Kathy would do—­take some time to read the Bible. I began flipping through it and came upon an official-­looking document folded in thirds. It was a marriage license. I took it over to the bedside table lamp to give it further inspection. Kathryn Gordon Harper had been married to a man named David Harper. I sat down and thought about it for a few minutes. Maybe Carrie and Suzanne knew that but I never did. Wait! They couldn’t have known because they would’ve said they knew Kathy had some family somewhere when she died. They would’ve notified him. I went back to the Bible. There I found one more document. It was a divorce decree.

  I thought, How terribly sad. Oh, Kathy Harper, is this what you wanted me to find?

  It was as though I could hear her in my mind saying, Yes, it was. And for no good reason other than my unreliable intuition, I felt like there was more to discover.

  When Suzanne and Carrie came in later that night, I told them the news. I was positively gushing. They were stunned. We sat around the kitchen table going over and over the documents.

  “Lisa! This is an awesome discovery,” Suzanne said. “I had no idea. None whatsoever.”

  “Me either. This calls for a glass of wine,” Carrie said.

  “It definitely does,” Suzanne agreed.

  I got up and opened the refrigerator door. There was a bottle of white wine we had opened a few days ago. It was nearly full, which was unusual. I took three juice glasses from the cabinet and poured some in each one. Juice glasses go into the dishwasher. It was too late to hand-­wash goblets.

  “Here you go,” I said, handing a glass to each of them. “Somewhere out there in the world might be Kathy’s ex-­husband. He might want Kathy’s ashes.”

  “Here’s to Kathy!” Carrie said. “God bless you, baby, wherever you are!”

  We raised our glasses together and then took a sip.

  “Wait! Suzanne? How was your date with Harry?” I asked.

  “He’s a little on the weird side,” she said, “but I liked him.”

  “How was dinner?” Carrie asked.

  “It was out of this world. He’s sweet,” she said. “We’ll see.”

  “Is he worthy of the thirty-­six questions?” I prayed she’d say no.

  “Too soon to tell,” Suzanne said.

  “Well, if anybody cares, Mike’s taking me to Bermuda for Labor Day,” Carrie said.

  “What? Lisa and I certainly hope you’ll have separate rooms,” Suzanne said.

  “Of course we will or I won’t go!” Carrie said, and winked at me.

  “I wouldn’t either,” I said, and didn’t mean it any more than she did.

  “God, I hope Mike Kelly has plenty of life insurance,” Suzanne said.

  “Very funny,” Carrie said. “He goes by ‘Mike,’ not ‘John.’ ”

  “Let’s hope that brings him luck. Not to change the subject but you’re right, Lisa. Somewhere out there might be Kathy’s former husband and he might want her ashes and he might know things,” Suzanne said. “Y’all! I’m so glad I didn’t spread them around my rosemary bushes, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I know she said she wanted me to but—­”

  “It’s okay, Suzanne. It really is. Poor Kathy!” Carrie said. “She must have really had her heart broken if she never told us she was married.”

  Maybe Marianne wasn’t speaking to me but at least I knew she was alive. I still had hope of restoring our relationship. Kathy was gone.

  “We have to try and find him,” Suzanne said. “He might be
able to answer some other questions too.”

  “Oh! Speaking of the evil one who thinks she owns the furniture?” Carrie said. “Mike and I took a ride by her house and guess what?”

  “I’m not sure I have the strength for any more surprises tonight,” Suzanne said.

  “Well, she doesn’t have any boxwoods or azaleas!” Carrie laughed.

  “What? You mean the landscapers repo’d them?” I started laughing. It was just about the funniest thing I’d ever heard.

  “Yes, see?” She showed us a picture she had taken on her phone. Wendy’s yard, no shrubs. “That yard’s as naked as a jaybird.”

  “I love it!” Suzanne said. “Finally, an ounce of justice!”

  Later on, when I was getting ready for bed, I plugged my phone into its charger. I had a text message. It was from Marianne.

  It said, Love you, Mom. I’m so sorry.

  “Thank you, Lord. Thank you,” I said to the heavens above.

  That was all I needed for now. I sat on the side of the bed and tears of joy began to flow. It was a start. In fact, it was more than I expected.

  Chapter 14

  A New Groove

  The first thing I did Sunday morning was reread Marianne’s text. I’d never delete it. I read it over and over sitting on the side of my unmade bed. Here’s why I thought my text message worked when the others had not. In those words I had laid my anger aside. My daughter’s career choice really and truly was not a personal attack on me, and, in fact, it really didn’t have a blooming thing to do with me. It was Paul who’d pointed that out, and once I let the idea rattle around in my head for a while, I came to see things another way. In fact, by viewing Marianne’s choice as a personal attack, I had been throwing the proverbial baby out with the bathwater over and over again.

  The wood floors felt cool beneath my bare feet and I noticed that overall the room was cooler than normal. And I was relaxed for the first time since my last horrible fight with Marianne, proof positive of the connection between comfort and anxiety. I should have taken my blood pressure because I was sure it was normal for the first time in months.

  And now I had to answer her. I wanted to respond in words that would bring her back to me and make her want to stay. This too was something Paul had ever so gently pointed out to me via the Dalai Lama. I decided the best way to do this was to suggest that we talk about other things besides her business. And her father too. He was anything but neutral territory. But there were many safe topics, weren’t there? Movies? Books? So, I composed a text to her that said, You have no idea how happy your message made me. There have been some changes in my life I’d love to share with you. Let’s not talk about business for now. Let’s just talk about other things and try to get close again. I miss hearing your voice and about your friends and I don’t even know if you have someone special in your life. Can I call you at eleven my time? Love you, baby. xxx