First and foremost was to think of a way to foil Madge Taylor’s intent to avoid the zoning laws. A letter to the editor? No, that would instigate a spate of letters pointing out my lack of pity for homeless children—if the paper would print mine in the first place. They reserved the right to refuse letters that didn’t suit the editor’s stance.
Maybe I could strengthen the resolve of the neighbors by having a meeting and facing down the board of the Homes for Teens with a board of our own.
Or maybe I should suggest that Hazel Marie begin to look for another house—one in town with a large yard that would suit Mr. Pickens. But, Lord, I hated to do that. It would be just giving up and letting Madge have her way—giving everybody a lesson in how to successfully avoid obeying the law.
And there was an idea! Maybe I could report Madge to the Internal Revenue Service. If she flouted the law in one area, maybe she did in others as well. But, of course, I wouldn’t do that. No need to draw the attention of the IRS to either a reportee or a reporter, namely, me.
Mildred Allen, my friend and next-door neighbor! I should’ve already thought of her. When Mildred spoke, people generally listened, especially because, unlike me, she rarely threw her weight around. So when she did, she made a great impact. Of course I wouldn’t word it exactly like that to her, as she carried a lot of weight not only in financial terms but in number of pounds as well.
So I got up, dressed, and faced the day with a heavy heart. Madge was determined to plunge ahead, and I’d seen her reduce a city commissioner to a red-faced, cowering blob when he dared vote against renaming a local street for Mother Teresa.
“Ronnie,” I said, meeting the huge dog as he lumbered up the stairs, “we are lined up against a steamroller of the first order.”
“Woof,” he said, turning to follow me down.
Lillian looked up as we entered the kitchen. “I already doctored his ears and took him outside. I figured if you wasn’t up, you needed the sleep.”
“Thank you, Lillian. I guess I did—too much on my mind, I suppose. You haven’t heard from Helen Stroud, have you?”
“No’m, I tell you when somebody calls.”
“Oh, I know. It’s just that I don’t know how long she expects us to keep Ronnie. I thought she’d at least call and ask about him. Or Thurlow would.”
“Maybe,” she said, darkly, “Mr. Thurlow can’t get to no telephone. If they don’t put one right next to him, he’ll be out of luck.”
“Oh, Lillian, don’t put such notions in my head. I’m worried enough about him and everybody else, too.”
Our own telephone rang then, and I’d still not had my first cup of coffee. So, unfortified, I answered it.
“Julia?” LuAnne Conover sang out, much too perkily. “Let’s have lunch. Are you free?”
“Oh, I’ve just been thinking of you, LuAnne,” I said, only half truthfully, although I’d given her untold amounts of thinking time in the past. Having finally gotten the gumption to strike out on her own, LuAnne had only recently set up housekeeping as a single woman. “I’m so glad you called. And, yes, let’s do have lunch and catch up with each other. Where and when?”
“Let’s go to the tearoom. They serve light lunches, and I’m watching my weight. Let’s aim for eleven-thirty—they fill up fast.”
—
LuAnne always looked well put together. She never left home without makeup, carefully done hair, and appropriate clothing whether she was going to a garden club meeting or to the grocery store. And that day was no exception, except she looked even better than usual.
She was already seated at a table for two by a window when I arrived right on time. The first thing I noticed was the bright, fresh look on her face, and the second thing I noticed was the wineglass in her hand. Whether one was the cause of the other I couldn’t tell, but the glass unnerved me. For as long as I’d known her—which was ever since I’d come to Abbotsville as a bride—LuAnne had been a teetotaler. Now here she was, sipping away in public.
Seating myself across from her and slipping off my coat, I said, “LuAnne, you look marvelous. How are you doing?”
“Thank you, Julia. I feel marvelous. I’ve just about gotten my, or rather, Helen’s, condo arranged to my liking and I’m all unpacked. And, Julia, I’ll tell you the truth, I don’t know why in the world you married a second time.”
“Well,” I said with a surprised laugh, “because Sam came along, that’s why.”
“He’s a good one, I agree. But once you had a taste of doing exactly what you wanted, when you wanted, with no one expecting one thing from you, it’s a wonder you were willing to give that up.”
Uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going, I said, “It sounds as if you’ve really adjusted to single life, and if so, I am glad.”
“You should be. I’ve not only adjusted, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I should’ve left Leonard years ago. Julia, it is such a joy to get up when I want to, eat when I want to, and watch what I want to watch on television. Now, I admit that Leonard was a very quiet person—why, lots of times I hardly knew he was in the house—but it’s very different knowing that no one is there, and that I’m not going to be asked what we’re having for supper.”
“I imagine so. Let’s order. Do you know what you’re having for lunch?”
“A refill of this, for one thing,” she said, tilting her wineglass. “Have one with me, Julia.”
“No, I’ll stick with coffee. A glass of
