Then, after he’d washed his hands and pulled out a chair at the table, he said, “Guess who I ran into on my way home.”
“I don’t know. Who?”
“Sonny Taylor. I didn’t think he even knew me, but when we passed on the sidewalk, he stopped and said, ‘Hey, boy, why’s your old man being such a jackass?’”
“Lloyd!” I said, shocked at Lloyd’s easy use of the word, even as I pictured Madge’s languid son using such language.
He shrugged. “I’m just repeating what he said, so I don’t think that counts.”
Lillian, interested, came over to the table. “What’d you say back to him?”
“Well,” Lloyd said, as if being accosted by an older boy were an everyday occurence, “I knew he was trying to intimidate me, so I just told him the truth. I said, ‘He’s being a jackass because that’s what he does when people mess with him.’”
“Lloyd!” I said again.
Lillian, ignoring me, asked, “An’ what he say to that?”
“He said, ‘Well, ain’t you the lucky one.’ And I said, ‘I sure am. Be seeing you, Sonny.’ And I walked off.”
Lillian said, “My Jesus, that boy coulda hit you, Lloyd, you standin’ up to him like that. He twice your size.”
“No’m,” Lloyd said, shaking his head, “Sonny’s too lazy to hit anybody. Besides,” he went on, grinning, “I’m faster than he is, and now I know that he knows I live with a jackass of the first order.”
Relieved that the encounter had not led to fisticuffs, I could do no more than feel grateful toward Mr. Pickens—his prickly reputation had preceeded him and served as a protection to his son, adopted though he was. And, as Lillian later reminded me, boys were always teasing and picking on one another, and Lloyd had more than held his own, so I should stop worrying about it.
Chapter 27
So I tried, mainly because I was so worried and anxious about what we were about to put Helen through that I couldn’t add another topic, much less revel in the prospect of Sam’s imminent return. Everything I’d read about interventions seemed to imply that the ones who instigated such a public condemnation were the ones who cared the most about the subject.
Somehow, though, I didn’t think Helen would view it that way. We were just before hurting her irrevocably and losing her friendship by meddling in business that should be of no concern to us or to anybody else. I wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to us again.
The only thing that kept me going was that old man’s fear of being at Helen’s mercy and losing everything that he’d held on to for so long. Granted, Thurlow was not the most trustworthy of souls, so who knew if his fear was realistic. It was a settled fact that he was used to having his way, so I knew that he would bitterly resent anyone who blocked him—even for his own good, which might be all that Helen was doing. Add to that the fact that he wasn’t well and being confined to bed as he was could skew his thinking even more.
Whatever the truth was, Mildred and I had committed ourselves to finding it. My hope was that Helen would take our meddling with good grace and laugh at our concern. I hoped that she would assure us that the town’s grouchy old man was simply trying to rule the roost as he’d always done. He’d been known for years as a troublemaker—not in a criminal sense at all, but by taking an inordinate delight in shocking, even outraging, people, and that could be all he was doing now.
So I steeled myself to pretending that I simply wanted to have a few friends to dinner and called Helen. And felt like an absolute hypocrite when she expressed such pleasure in accepting.
“It’s been so long,” she said, “since I’ve had dinner out with anyone. And to see you and Mildred and LuAnne—just the four of us—it’ll be lovely to catch up with all of you. Thank you, Julia, I would love to come. It will have to be an early evening, though. Mike can’t stay too late and I can’t leave Thurlow alone.”
“I’m so glad you can come,” I said, “and I’m sure that an early evening will suit everybody.”
More than she knew, I thought as I hung up. She’d probably be so glad to see the last of us after we’d done what we were planning to do that she’d be out the door as quickly as she could. Lord, I hoped we weren’t overstepping ourselves, because when it came down to it, we would essentially be accusing Helen of elder abuse, and she was smart enough to recognize that. And I had a sinking feeling that we might ought to eat dinner together and leave well enough alone. Since when, I asked myself, had Thurlow Jones ever needed protection from anyone?
Well, I answered myself, since he fell off a roof and put himself out of commission and at the mercy of someone else, that’s when.
—
Mildred came over early the following evening, and after I took her coat we sat in the living room to plan our assault on Helen. Lillian, in her usual unobtrusive way, lit the candles on the dining room table, then, with an approving glance at the centerpiece, went back into the kitchen.
“I think you should start it,” I said to Mildred, before she could suggest that I do it. “It was your idea, and I know you’ll set the right tone.”
“Well, I don’t mind,” Mildred said, “if you and LuAnne will jump in and not leave me hanging. Helen has to understand that we’re all concerned, not just me.”
“Oh, we will, but give me an idea of what you’re going to say so
