whole lot of get-even.
Gillian nods. 'He won't go.'
'You're talking about this as if it were real,' Sally says. 'And it just isn't. It can't be! No one is out there.'
Kylie turns to look outside. She wants her mother to be right. It would be such a relief to look and see only the grass and the trees, but that's not all that is out in the yard.
'He's sitting up and lighting a cigarette. He just threw the burning match on the grass.'
Kylie's voice sounds breakable, and there are tears in her eyes. Sally has gone very cold and very quiet. It's Jimmy her daughter is in contact with, all right. Every once in a while, Sally herself has felt something out in the yard, but she's dismissed the dark shape seen from the corner of her eye, she's refused to recognize the chill in her bones when she goes to water the cucumbers in the garden. It's nothing, that's what she's told herself. A shadow, a cool breeze, nothing but a dead man who can't hurt anyone.
Now as she considers her own backyard, Sally accidentally bites her lip, but she pays no attention to the blood she's drawn. In the grass there is a spiral of smoke, and the scent of something acrid and burning, as if, indeed, someone had carelessly tossed a match onto the wet lawn. He could burn the house down, if he wanted to. He could take over the backyard, leaving them too frightened to do anything but peer through the window. The lawn is rife with crabgrass and weeds, and not mowed nearly often enough. Still, the fireflies come here in July. The robins always find worms after a storm. This is the garden where her girls grew up, and Sally will be damned if she lets Jimmy force her out, considering he wasn't worth two cents even back when he was alive. He's not going to sit in her yard and threaten her daughters.
'You don't have to worry about this,' Sally says to Kylie. 'We'll take care of it.' She goes to the back door and opens it, then nods to Gillian.
'Me?' Gillian has been trying to get a cigarette out of the pack with her hands shaking like a bird's wings. She has no intention of going into that yard.
'Now,' Sally says, with that strange authority she gets at these times, the worst times, moments of panic and confusion when Gillian's first instinct is always to run in the other direction, as fast and heedlessly as possible.
They go outside together, so close each can feel the beat of the other's heart. It rained all night, and now the sticky air is moving in thick mauve-colored waves. The birds aren't singing this morning, it's too dark for that. But the humidity has brought the toads away from the creek behind the high school, and they have a sort of song, a deep humming that rises up through the sleepy neighborhood. The toads are crazy about Snickers, which teenagers sometimes throw to them at lunch hour. It's candy they're looking for as they wind along the neighborhood, hopping across the squishy lawns and through pools of rainwater that have collected in the gutters. Less than half an hour ago, the newspaper delivery boy joyfully biked right over one of the largest toads, only to discover his bike was headed straight for a tree, which crumpled his front wheel and broke two bones in his left ankle and ensured that there'd be no more newspaper deliveries for today.
One of the toads from the creek is halfway across the lawn, on a path toward the hedge of lilacs. Now that they're outside, both of the sisters feel cold; they feel the way they used to on winter days, when they would wrap themselves up in an old quilt in the aunts' parlor and watch the windows as ice formed inside the panes of glass. Just looking at the lilacs makes Sally's voice naturally drop.
'They're bigger than they were yesterday. He's making them grow. He's doing it with hate or spite, but it sure is working.'
'God damn you, Jimmy,' Gillian whispers.
'Never speak ill of the dead,' Sally tells her. 'Besides, we're the ones who put him here. That piece of shit.'
Gillian's throat goes dry as dust. 'Do you think we should dig him back up?'
'Oh, that's good,' Sally says. 'That's brilliant. Then what do we do with him?' Most probably, they've overlooked a million details. A million ways for him to make them pay. 'What if someone comes looking for him?'
'Nobody will. He's the kind of guy you avoid. Nobody gives enough of a shit about Jimmy to look for him. Believe me. We're safe when it comes to that.'
'You looked for him,' Sally reminds her. 'You found him.'
Out in a neighboring backyard, a woman is hanging white sheets and blue jeans on a laundry line. It won't rain anymore, that's what they're saying on the radio. It will be beautiful and sunny all week long, till the end of July.
'I got what I thought I deserved,' Gillian says.
It is such a deep and true statement Sally cannot believe the words have come out of Gillian's careless mouth. They both measured themselves harshly, and they still do, as if they have never been anything but those two plain little girls, waiting at the airport for someone to claim them.
'Don't worry about Jimmy,' Sally tells her sister.
Gillian wants to believe this is possible, she'd pay good money to, if she had any, but she shakes her head, unconvinced.
'He's as good as gone,' Sally assures her. 'Wait and see.'
The toad in the middle of the lawn has come closer. In all honesty, it's quite pretty, with smooth, watery skin and green eyes. It's watchful and patient, and that's more than can be said for most human beings. Today, Sally will follow the toad's example, and will use patience as her weapon and her shield. She will go about her business; she'll vacuum and change the sheets on the beds, but all the while she's doing these things she'll really be waiting for Gillian and Kylie and Antonia to go out for the day.
As soon as she's finally alone, Sally heads for the backyard. The toad is still there; it's been waiting right along with Sally. It settles more deeply into the grass when Sally goes to the garage for the hedge clippers, and it's there when she brings them over, along with the stepladder she uses whenever she wants to change light bulbs or search the top shelves of the pantry.
The clippers are rusty and old, left behind by the house's previous owners, but they'll certainly do the job. The day is already turning hot and sultry, with steam rising from the rain puddles as they evaporate. Sally expects interference. She's never had any experience with restless spirits before, but she assumes they want to hang on to the real world. She half expects Jimmy to reach up through the grass and grab her ankle; she wouldn't be surprised if she clipped off the tip of her thumb or was toppled right off the ladder. But her work goes ahead with surprising ease. A man like Jimmy, after all, never does well in this sort of weather. He prefers air-conditioning and several six-packs. He prefers to wait until night falls. If a woman wants to work in the hot sun, he'd never be the one to stop her; he'd be flat out on his back, relaxed in the shade, before she'd even have time to set up her stepladder.
Sally, however, is used to hard work, especially in the dead of winter, when she sets her alarm for five a.m. so she can wake up early enough to shovel snow and do at least one load of laundry before she and the girls head out. She considered herself lucky to get the job at the high school so she could have time with her children. Now she sees she was smart. Summers have always belonged to her, and they always will. That's why she can take her time cutting down the hedges. She can take all day, if need be, but by twilight those lilacs will be gone.
In the far section of the yard only a few stumps will be left behind, so dark and knotty they'll be good for nothing other than a toad's home. The air will be so still it will be possible to hear a single mosquito; the last call of the mockingbird will echo, then fade. When night falls, there will be armloads of branches and flowers on the street, all neatly tied with rope, ready for the trash pickup in the morning. The women who are called to the lilacs will arrive to see that the hedges have been chopped to the ground, their glorious flowers nothing but garbage strewn along the gutter and the street. That is the moment when they'll throw their arms around one another and praise simple things and, at long last, consider themselves to be free.
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO, people believed that a hot and steamy July meant a cold and miserable winter. The shadow of a groundhog was carefully studied as an indicator for bad weather. The skin of an eel was commonly used to prevent rheumatism. Cats were never allowed inside a house, since it was well known that they could suck the breath right out of an infant, killing the poor baby in his cradle. People believed that there were reasons for everything, and that they could divine these reasons easily. If they could not, then something wicked must be at work. Not only was it possible to converse with the devil, but some in their midst actually made bargains
