Barefoot: A Novel

crowded church pews, Dare’s decision then and there to summon the courage to speak to Emily. He approaches her on the church steps after the service to offer his condolences.

Did you know my Thomas? Emily asks, perplexed. Were you a friend?

And Calvin Dare, taking a chance, answers, Yes, a friend from boyhood. I had not seen him in some time. I have been away.

Away? Emily asks.

Abroad.

Emily’s eyebrows arch. She’s young, she was only engaged to Beech for a short while, and (as Brenda argued in her thesis) she is something of an opportunist. She’s saddened by the death of her intended but also intrigued by this stranger, this friend of Thomas’s from boyhood who has just returned from abroad.

Really? Emily says, in a way that could mean almost anything.

The phone stopped, then rang again. “Fur Elise,” the ring tone, was truly awful—it sounded like an organ- grinder monkey inside a tin can. Brenda reached blindly into her purse and pul ed the phone out.

Her mother.

Brenda sighed. Put down her pen. El en Lyndon had gone into conniptions upon hearing about Vicki’s fever; she would want to know what the doctor said. Brenda had to go to the bathroom anyway. She took the cal .

“Hi, Mom.”

“How is she?”

“Stil in with the doctor.”

“Stil ?”

“Stil .”

“Wel , what did he say about the fever?”

Brenda moved down the hal to the ladies’ room. “I have no idea. She’s stil in with him.”

“They didn’t tel you anything?”

“They never tel me anything. They tel Vicki and Vicki tel s me. So, we have to wait.” Brenda pushed into the ladies’ room, where her voice bounced back at her from off the tile wal s.

“How long did they say . . . ?”

“They didn’t say, Mom.” Brenda chastised herself. She should never have answered the phone. This kind of conversation frustrated them both.

“Listen, I’l cal you when . . .”

“You promise?”

“I promise. In fact, I’l have Vicki cal so you can hear it straight from the horse’s . . .”

“Okay, darling. Thank you. I’m here waiting. I cancel ed my physical therapy appointment.”

“Why?” Brenda said. “You want your knee to get better, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be able to concentrate,” she said. “Kenneth always asks for a ‘dedicated effort’ with the exercises, and I wouldn’t be able to give it to him. He always knows when I’m distracted.”

I should be distracted, Brenda thought. But the opposite is true. Because I’m wired the wrong way.

“Okay, Mom,” Brenda said. “Good-bye.”

“Cal me when . . .”

“You bet,” Brenda said, then she hung up. There was a flushing noise and a bathroom stal opened. A girl stepped out. Brenda smiled sheepishly and said, “Mothers!”

The girl ignored Brenda, which was fine. But when Brenda stepped out of the stal herself a few minutes later, the girl was stil there, eyeing Brenda in the mirror.

“Hey,” the girl said. “I know you. Josh works for you.”

Brenda looked at the girl more closely. Of course. A push-up bra peeked out from the scoop neck of the girl’s white T-shirt, and then there was the streaky blusher. It was the little vixen from Admitting. Brenda eyed the name tag. Didi. Ah, yes.

“That’s right,” Brenda said. “I’m Brenda. I forgot that you knew Josh.”

“Damn right I know him.”

Brenda washed her hands and reached for a paper towel. Didi rummaged through her bag and pul ed out a cigarette, which she proceeded to light up.

“We real y like Josh,” Brenda said. “He does a great job with the kids.”

“You pay him a fuckload of money,” Didi said. This sounded like an accusation.

“I don’t know about that,” Brenda said. “I’m not in charge of paying him.”

“Have you slept with him?”

Brenda turned to Didi just as Didi blew a stream of smoke from her mouth. Brenda hoped her face conveyed