The Help

and hot red. I haven’t seen Hilly with one of those since Johnny broke up with her in college.

She looks me up and down. “What are you, some kind of hippie now? God, your poor mama must be so embarrassed of you.”

“Hilly, why are you here?”

“To tell you I’ve contacted my lawyer, Hibbie Goodman, who happens to be the number one expert on the libel laws in Mississippi, and you are in big trouble, missy. You’re going to jail, you know that?”

“You can’t prove anything, Hilly.” I’ve had this discussion with the legal department of Harper & Row. We were very careful in our obscurity.

“Well, I one-hundred-percent know you wrote it because there isn’t anybody else in town as tacky as you. Taking up with Nigras like that.”

It is truly baffling that we were ever friends. I think about going inside and locking the door. But there’s an envelope in her hand, and that makes me nervous.

“I know there’s been a lot of talk, Hilly, and a lot of rumors—”

“Oh, that talk doesn’t hurt me. Everyone in town knows it’s not Jackson. It’s some town you made up in that sick little head of yours, and I know who helped you, too.”

My jaw tightens. She obviously knows about Minny, and Louvenia I knew already, but does she know about Aibileen? Or the others?

Hilly waves the envelope at me and it crackles. “I am here to inform your mother of what you’ve done.”

“You’re going to tell my mother on me?” I laugh, but the truth is, Mother doesn’t know anything about it. And I want to keep it that way. She’d be mortified and ashamed of me and . . . I look down at the envelope. What if it makes her sick again?

“I most certainly am.” Hilly walks up the front steps, head held high.

I follow quickly behind Hilly to the front door. She opens it and walks in like it’s her own house.

“Hilly, I did not invite you in here,” I say, grabbing her arm. “You get—”

But then Mother appears from around the corner and I drop my hand.

“Why, Hilly,” Mother says. She is in her bathrobe and her cane wobbles as she walks. “It’s been such a long time, dear.”

Hilly blinks at her several times. I do not know if Hilly is more shocked at how my mother looks, or the other way around. Mother’s once thick brown hair is now snow white and thin. The trembling hand on her cane probably looks skeletonlike to someone who hasn’t seen her. But worst of all, Mother doesn’t have all of her teeth in, only her front ones. The hollows in her cheeks are deep, deathly.

“Missus Phelan, I’m—I’m here to—”

“Hilly, are you ill? You look horrendous,” Mother says.

Hilly licks her lips. “Well I—I didn’t have time to get fixed up before—”

Mother is shaking her head. “Hilly, darling. No young husband wants to come home and see this. Look at your hair. And that . . .” Mother frowns, peering closer at the cold sore. “That is not attractive, dear.”

I keep my eye on the letter. Mother points her finger at me. “I’m calling Fanny Mae’s tomorrow and I’m going to make an appointment for the both of you.”

“Missus Phelan, that’s not—”

“No need to thank me,” Mother says. “It’s the least I can do for you, now that your own dear mother’s not around for guidance. Now, I’m off to bed,” and Mother hobbles toward her bedroom. “Not too late, girls.”

Hilly stands there a second, her mouth hanging open. Finally, she goes to the door and flings it open and walks out. The letter is still in her hand.

“You are in a lifetime of trouble, Skeeter,” she hisses at me, her mouth like a fist. “And those Nigras of yours?”

“Exactly who are you talking about, Hilly?” I say. “You don’t know anything.”

“I don’t, do I? That Louvenia? Oh, I’ve taken care of her. Lou Anne’s all set to go on that one.” The curl on the top of her head bobs as she nods.

“And you tell that Aibileen, the next time she wants to write about my dear friend Elizabeth, uh-huh,” she says, flashing a crude smile. “You remember Elizabeth? She had you in her wedding?”

My nostrils flare. I want to hit her, at the sound of Aibileen’s name.

“Let’s just say Aibileen ought to’ve been a little bit smarter and not put in the L-shaped crack in poor Elizabeth’s dining table.”

My heart stops. The goddamn crack. How stupid could I be to let that slip?

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten Minny Jackson. I have some big plans for that Nigra.”

“Careful, Hilly,” I say through my teeth. “Don’t give yourself away now.” I sound so confident, but inside I’m trembling, wondering what these plans are.

Her eyes fly open. “That was not me WHO ATE THAT PIE!”

She turns and marches to her car. She jerks the door open. “You tell those Nigras they better keep one eye over their shoulders. They better watch out for what’s coming to them.”

MY HAND SHAKES as I dial Aibileen’s number. I take the receiver in the pantry and shut the door. The opened letter from Harper & Row is in my other hand. It feels like midnight, but it’s only eight thirty.

Aibileen answers and I blurt it out. “Hilly came here tonight and she knows.”

“Miss Hilly? Knows what?”

Then I hear Minny’s voice in the background. “Hilly? What about Miss Hilly?”

“Minny’s . . . here with me,” Aibileen says.

“Well, I guess she needs to hear this too,” I say, even though I wish Aibileen could tell her later, without me. As I describe how Hilly showed up here, stormed into the house, I wait while she repeats everything back to Minny. It is worse hearing it in Aibileen’s voice.

Aibileen comes back onto the phone and sighs.

“It was the crack in Elizabeth’s dining room table . . . that’s how Hilly knew for sure.”

“Law, that crack. I can’t believe I put that in.”

“No, I should’ve caught it. I’m so sorry, Aibileen.”

“You think Miss Hilly gone tell Miss Leefolt I wrote about her?”

“She can’t tell her,” Minny hollers. “Then she admitting it’s Jackson.”

I realize how good Minny’s plan was. “I agree,” I say. “I think Hilly’s terrified, Aibileen. She doesn’t know what to do. She said she was going to tell my mother on me.”

Now that the shock of Hilly’s words has passed, I almost laugh at this thought. That’s the least of our worries. If my mother lived through my broken engagement, then she can live through this. I’ll just deal with it when it happens.

“I reckon they’s nothing we can do but wait, then,” Aibileen says, but she sounds nervous. It’s probably not the best time to tell her my other news, but I don’t think I can keep myself from it.

“I got a . . . letter today. From Harper and Row,” I say. “I thought it was from Missus Stein, but it wasn’t.”

“What then?”

“It’s a job offer at Harper’s Magazine in New York. As a . . . copy editor’s assistant. I’m pretty sure Missus Stein got it for me.”

“That’s so good!” Aibileen says, and then, “Minny, Miss Skeeter got a job offer in New York City!”

“Aibileen, I can’t take it. I just wanted to share it with you. I . . .” I’m grateful to at least have Aibileen to tell.

“What you mean, you can’t take it? This what you been dreaming of.”

“I can’t leave now, right when things are getting bad. I’m not going to leave you in this mess.”

“But . . . them bad things gone happen whether you here or not.”

God, to hear her say that, I want to cry. I let out a groan.