Good Graces

Galecki’s sickness and nothing I say to her makes any difference. Even radish sandwiches or reading her Nancy Drew doesn’t put a smile on her face.

“You better get out here. I’m dealing, Sally,” Mr. Gary calls to me from the porch.

Troo and me have gotten too big for Old Maid, but Mr. Gary loves this game and we’re his guests. Ethel would be ashamed of me if I didn’t play along. My sister and me are the only friends this poor man’s got left in the neighborhood.

The reason his name is mud around here is because when he went back to California after his visit last summer, he took our old pastor, Father Jim, with him so they could grow flowers together, not fruits, like everybody keeps saying. I really miss Father Jim. He always gave the easiest penances after confession and his fingernails weren’t shiny like Father Mickey’s are. Father Jim’s were always dirty. I used to help him pot plants in his gardening shed the Men’s Club built for him behind the rectory. I have never seen somebody with such a green thumb. He had a lotta rosebushes growing in the backyard, but the irises were his trademark. They were just magnificently purple and that’s a very popular Catholic color, especially during Lent. Even Mary Lane telling me she peeped on him up at the rectory last summer and saw him dancing around in a white dress to Some Enchanted Evening didn’t change my opinion of him one iota, or Dave’s neither. We had a long talk about Father Jim and Mr. Gary and the both of us agreed that it’s kinda unusual, but if you love somebody it shouldn’t matter if you both wear the pants in the family. The Bible even says so. We are all created in God’s image. His own Son doesn’t have a girlfriend in the Bible and he was really good pals with the Apostles who were all guys, so that kinda makes you think.

After Mr. Gary shuffles and deals and we get our cards straight, he draws the Milking Maid out of my hand with one of his beautiful ones that God musta given to him to make up for his ears, which are only somewhat smaller than Dumbo’s.

He says, “I understand you were the belle of the ball at the Fourth of July party this year, Troo.”

My sister, who is next to him on the little wicker couch in her baby doll pajamas, says, “See?” and points down to her neck. She’s wearing her blue ribbons that she never takes off even when she’s in the tub. “And that’s not all.” She brought over her trophy that she won at camp for being so talented. Troo lifts it out of the shopping bag and sets it down. She spent an hour yesterday trying to clean off the green color it’s turning, which didn’t work, so now it looks like a lucky tomahawk instead of a golden one.

Mr. Gary wolf whistles, picks up the trophy and lets his hand drop almost to the floor. He’s pretending it’s too heavy for him. At least I think he is. He takes his tortoiseshell glasses from his shirt pocket and reads the writing stuck to the side. “First place… Heap Big Talent Show… Camp Towering Pines 1960.”

“And I’m going to be Queen of the Playground this year, too, right, Sal?”

When I say, “Saaaright,” just like Senor Wences on the Ed Sullivan Show, that makes Mr. Gary crack up, which was exactly what I was trying to do. His face is longer than it usually is. I’ve already given him plenty of lanyards, so the next time I come over here I’m going to give him one of those leather coin purses I made at camp and a matching one to take back to Father Jim. Because they’re going steady, they should match. Those purses could be the silver lining of the dark cloud that’s hanging over him.

Mr. Gary says, “Ethel tells me there’s going to be a wedding in September. You must be so excited. Helen will make a lovely bride. She’s got such beautiful coloring.” He went to high school with her so he’s known Mother for a long time. They weren’t friends because he wasn’t popular like her. Mother told me Mr. Gary was kind of a twerp. “I always liked Dave. Great basketball player. He was smart, too, and kind. Different from the other boys.” He plucks a card outta Troo’s hand, but winks at me. “You know what they say, Sally, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”

I want to ask him to tell me more about Dave, but Troo says, “My turn,” and changes the subject because she still is not thrilled about the wedding, but most of all because the sun isn’t shining unless it’s on her.

“How’s your mother feelin’?” I ask. That’s the same thing everybody always asked us when our mother was in the hospital, even more often than they do now.

“Mom… she’s…” When Mr. Gary leans forward with his elbows on the knees of his nice slacks, I can see all his cards, which I will try not to use against him. “Do you understand what’s going on, girls?”

I take a sip of milk out of my favorite lilac metal glass that Ethel so thoughtfully also left out on the counter next to the brownies and say, “The only thing we know is what Dave told us.”

“Your mother’s in a comma,” Troo says. I don’t want to embarrass her and Mr. Gary must not either because neither one of us corrects her. “Her heart’s on its last legs.”

Mr. Gary runs his fingers through his hair, which is even lighter than mine. Nell told me his comes out of a bottle. “The doctors don’t think it’s her heart this time.”

Like she’s been studying Mother’s maroon medical book day and night and is quite the authority, Troo says, “Really? Huh. I thought for sure it was.”

“It must be her tummy then,” I say. I’m sure Ethel already told him how sour his mother’s stomach has been on their every-Sunday long-distance phone calls. “It’s really been botherin’ her no matter how much Pepto she takes.”

Mr. Gary lays down his cards, picks up his whiskey drink and gives Troo and me such a serious look. I am getting the feeling that he didn’t just invite us over here to play Old Maid. “I want… I need to ask you two a couple of questions,” he says. “Is that okay?”

The O’Malley sisters can only nod because we’ve got bites of Mississippi brownies in our mouths.

“Have you seen or heard anything unusual going on around here lately?”

I gotta try hard as I can not to see or hear anything unusual going on around here. Things are getting unusualer by the hour, the minute, the heartbeat.

Troo swallows and says, “What do you mean by unusual?”

“You know… have you noticed anything out of the ordinary? Especially you, Sally. You’re so observant,” Mr. Gary says. “For instance… would you say that Ethel’s been doing her usual excellent job of taking care of Mom?”

“A course she has!” I say. “She never even complains about having to wipe drool or puttin’ together strawberry shortcake every week or pushin’ your mom for walks around the block even though her bunions are just killin’ her and she can hear people call her names even though they don’t think she can and…” I could go on and on, but listing every single one of Ethel’s virtues could take days.

“The reason I ask is,” Mr. Gary says, “you know I think the world of Ethel, always have, but… there’s been some talk about her being negligent. Not giving Mom her medicines or too much of one-”

“No! No! She would never do that,” I say much louder. “She’s so careful!” Mrs. Galecki’s bottles are lined up on the sill above the sink. Ethel takes out what she needs, puts them into a little cup and hands them to her patient every day at two o’clock with a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade. She even stands watch until she’s sure she’s swallowed them down and doesn’t hide them in one of her cheeks, which she has tried many times.

Mr. Gary says, “And Mom called Jim and me a few times complaining that Ethel was stealing her jewelry. I put that off to old age, but now… I don’t know.”

“That’s right. I’m sorry, but you don’t know. You don’t see her every day the way I do. You should go look under your mother’s bed,” I tell him, almost frothing at the mouth. “I bet you find her emerald necklace that’s been missing right off the bat.” I made Troo put it back already when he was up at the hospital.

“And Father Mickey has made quite a few comments to Doc Keller,” Mr. Gary says like he didn’t even hear me.

At the mention of Father’s name Troo and me raise our eyebrows at each other.

“Mickey’s been casting aspersions on Ethel’s abilities. He told Doc that during his visits he noticed that Ethel doesn’t seem up to the task of caring for Mom anymore. That she’s falling down on the job.” And then more under his breath, he says, “Not that I’d take anything he’d say to heart.”

“I don’t know what aspersions are… but the rest of it… that’s a doggone lie! She never falls down,” I out-and- out shout. “She’s tripped a couple of times on the back steps, but she’s never landed hard. Ever.”

Troo, who is remaining a lot calmer than me for once, says, “Why wouldn’t you take anything Father Mickey says to heart?”

“I… uh…” Mr. Gary says. “Let’s just say that Mickey and your uncle Paulie were quite the pair when they were kids. They used to lie in wait for me right back there.” He lifts his finger and crooks it toward the alley. “Your uncle