Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 05 - Trouble on the Doorstep (21 page)

THE HOSPITAL SENT me home later Saturday night. There wasn’t a surgeon around to put a pin in my wrist, and they said my blood pressure was a bit too low to think about surgery now, anyway. I felt like it was high, given that my heart raced when I stood up. They said that was the pain meds and not to stay by myself for awhile.

Ramona spent Saturday night with me at the Cozy Corner.
Once he was sure I was okay, George reverted to his new aloof attitude. I wondered how long it would take for things to get back to normal.

I was stretched on the loveseat late Sunday morning with my left arm on a pillow and a glass of water on the coffee table.
Thankfully, Ramona is a much better cook than I am. She didn’t even have to look twice at Aunt Madge’s Dried Fruit Muffin recipe. And she is much better at schmoozing with guests. I was glad the guests had just been here for Saturday night. Ramona works on Mondays, and I thought it would be awhile before I did any baking.

I felt a small pang of guilt.
Aunt Madge and Harry would be home late Monday, and the Cozy Corner was as clean as it was going to get.

Ramona left about ten o’clock and George and Scoobie came by about noon.
I really wanted to talk to George alone, and I suspected he was avoiding that by coming with Scoobie.

When they were settled in chairs across from the loveseat, I asked, “Did you find out anything else?”

“I asked around a lot,” George said. “Seems she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder years ago, but she’s fine when she takes her meds, and people seem to think she was doing her best ever after she married Eric.”

“And then she did the classic I-feel-so-good-so-I-won’t-take-my-meds bit,” Scoobie said.

“How do you know all this?” I asked.

“Some from Bill Oliver, some from a couple of people I know who graduated with her,” George said.
“Oh, Bill’s coming over this afternoon.”

“I feel bad if she was sick,” I said, “but it wasn’t just that.
She’s spoiled. Still, she mostly struck me as kind of…up and down.”

“Bingo,” Scoobie said.
He stood. “I gotta go study.”

“I’ll drive you,” George said, quickly.

“No, you won’t,” Scoobie said. He didn’t say anything else, just picked up his gloves from the oak table as he walked out.

It took about ten seconds before George and I looked at each other.
“Are you going to stay mad at me?” I asked.

He shrugged.
“What’s the point?”

I suddenly felt cold.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you. I just thought you’d get really ticked, and then I waited too long to talk about it…”

He gave me a scathing look.
“Yeah, but when Brennan gave me that dig about how I should be able to find out about the bid, or something like that, it would have been the time to ‘fess up.”

I swallowed hard.
“Yes, it would have been.”

George just stared at me.

“What if I promise never to keep anything from you, ever again?” I was trying to sound cute, and failed.

“It’ll be awhile before I can answer that,” he said, and stood. “You need anything, just call.
Especially before Madge and Harry get back.”

He left.

I sat there for a long time, not looking at the television or Sunday paper or even thinking, really. I had always thought of George as more interested in a relationship than I was, but it was slowly dawning on me that this was not necessarily true.

I wasn’t at all sure if I loved him.
That’s not something that happens fast, at least not for me. Now I maybe wouldn’t have the chance to find out if that would ever happen.
Don’t be such a pessimist
.

My mobile phone was on the coffee table.
Ninety percent of me wanted to pick it up and beg George to come back, even if just to harass me. The other ten percent told me begging is not attractive, and could even be counterproductive.

I was reaching for the phone when it rang.
“Hello?”

“Jolie, you sound a lot better than I thought you would,” Bill Oliver said.

“Oh, right.”

“Is this a good time for me to stop by?” Bill asked.

I wanted to say no, that I was beginning a period of mourning, but Bill didn’t want to hear that and I wasn’t sure I could say it without crying. “Sure, come on by.”

WHEN BILL ARRIVED a few minute later I had dried a few tears and combed my hair. When the doorbell rang I told myself I was ready for a visitor. And I wanted to find out if Bill knew anything I didn’t.

His smile died when he looked at me. “What in the hell happened to you?”

“Pooki,” I said. “Come on in.”

“She what, broke your arm?” he asked.
“I knew she got you to meet her at Silver Times, but I didn’t know she hurt you.” He was holding a bouquet of yellow roses and he let them drop to his side as he walked in, staring at my arm.

“She shoved me and I fell on my wrist.
It doesn’t hurt too terribly much.” I walked ahead of him into the great room and plopped on the loveseat. My wrist was wrapped tightly and braced, but with the pain meds I was taking I felt a bit lightheaded. Pillows looked good.

“I’ll, uh, put these in something for you in a minute.”
He placed the roses on the draining board.

Bill sat across from me.
“I wanted to thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but I really didn’t do much.”

“You got hurt because I asked you to…” he began.

“Nope.
I got hurt because Pooki kicked me.” When he gave me an odd look, I changed the subject. “How are your parents holding up?” I wanted to talk about anything but me. Or Pooki.

“Better, somewhat.
They say closure helps, but it only goes so far.”

I nodded.
“If it’s any comfort, I don’t think she planned it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Nuts. Morehouse said I shouldn’t talk about any of it. I don’t know anything, it’s just what she said, but please don’t repeat it. I guess there will be lots of lawyers and stuff.”

“I won’t say anything.
I can believe she didn’t go up there to hurt Steve,” he said, slowly. “She was so impulsive about everything.” His eyes started to fill with tears. “I always thought she liked Steve a lot.”

“She probably did,” I said.

He blew his nose, seemingly working hard not to cry. Mister Rogers, apparently remembering that Bill was good for a scratch, came over and placed his head on Bill’s knee. “Good boy,” Bill said, and obliged with a head rub.

“You’ll have a friend for life,” I said.
Mister Rogers gave a small yip. I pointed a finger at him. “Not in the house.”

“Did you go
talk to many people who went to the meeting at Silver Times night before last…oh, I guess not,” Bill said, as he looked more closely at my bandaged arm and its sling.

“I went for that walk with Pooki, and it didn’t end the way I thought it would.”

“I guess I missed some of that in the paper. George usually talks you up in his articles,” Bill said.

“I think he might be over that.”

GEORGE HADN’T talked to me in three days. I knew he would be polite if he ran into me somewhere. I wasn’t looking for polite.

I was heeding Aunt Madge’s advice to leave him alone.
“He’ll come ‘round or he won’t. You’ll still be you.” She can be maddeningly wise.

I was in Harry’s — our — office finishing the write-up for an appraisal.
It takes forever with one hand. Against all medical advice I had my wrist put in a cast and I’m waiting to see if it will heal without surgical pins. It doesn’t hurt at all, now that it’s in a cast. I take this as a good sign.

They can take x-rays through casts, so Scoobie is trying to talk his instructor into using me as what I think of as a model for one of his radiology classes.
He uses the phrase guinea pig.

The doorbell rang.
Since Harry spends most of his time at the Cozy Corner these days, I was the only one in the house.

There was no one on the porch.
Sitting on the top step of his porch steps was a box almost twelve inches long, but not very tall. It had a large red bow. It was below freezing and the air smelled of the snow we were about to get. I stepped outside to get the box and quickly went back inside.

I assumed it was a present for Aunt Madge and Harry, but when I put it on his desk the bow fell off and I saw a small piece of white paper was taped to the box.
My name was on it.

“That’s odd,” I said.

Since the people who are mad at me have no bomb making skills that I know of, I clumsily opened the box. Inside there was a line of joined carved lettering. For half a second I expected to see my name. I thought Harry might have had it made for me to put on my work table.

Not my name.
It was one word, lower-case letters, probably in Spanish.
entrometida

I had Spanish in high school, but I didn’t recognize the word.
I was about to go to a web site that translates words and phrases, when the doorbell rang again.

This time I looked out a window near the door.
George.
A present from George!
I opened the door.

“It means busybody,” he said.

“Hello to you, too.” I opened the storm door and he came in. “Did you get one for yourself?”

“Actually, Scoobie gave each of us one.
Yours is the feminine form of the word, of course.”

Harry has never had much furniture in this house.
He’s been remodeling it since he bought it a couple of years ago. We sat on the wide staircase that leads to the second floor.

“Are you still mad?” I asked.

“Mad’s easier to get over,” he said. “I suppose it sounds corny to say I was more hurt, but there you go.”

I felt tears coming and cleared my throat.
“I can see why you’d say that.” When he didn’t say anything, I asked, “So, where do we go from here?”

“Not sure.
I don’t want to be a pain in the ass about it. We’re going to run into each other a lot, and I’d like to maybe still have the four of us get together for dinner and stuff sometimes. Maybe invite Bill, too.”

“Me, too.”
It was almost a whisper.

He stood up.
“I gotta go.”

“I miss you,” I said.

He had his hand on the doorknob and turned to face me.
“You could’ve trusted me, you know.”

I nodded.

He left.

Trust
. There was that word again. Aloud I said, “And how many times has someone broken trust with me in the last couple of years?” My ex-husband came immediately to mind, followed by Pooki.

I looked down at the carved word in my hand and carried it back into the office and placed it on my work table.
entrometida
. Half of a matched pair. I decided I liked the idea of having the pair sitting together. I’d have to earn George’s trust again.

As I looked at the word I pictured Scoobie’s face.
Him I trust. Something to build on.

AUNT MADGE’S RECIPES

Apple-Cranberry Muffins

1 3/4 cups plus 2 tablespoons flour

1/2 cup sugar

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 egg

3/4 cup milk

3/4 cup sweetened applesauce

1/4 cup butter or margarine, melted

1 cup fresh or frozen cranberries, coarsely chopped

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

In a medium bowl, combine flour, 1/4
cup sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Add cranberries (thawed if they were frozen), and toss to mix. In a small bowl, combine egg, milk, applesauce, and butter; mix well. Add egg mixture to flour mixture, stirring just until moistened. Spoon batter into muffin cups. Combine remaining sugar and cinnamon and sprinkle over batter. Bake in 400 degree oven 20 to 25 minutes. Makes 12 muffins.

Aunt Madge’s recipes are the real-life creations of author Leigh Michaels. These and other recipes are in her book,
Simply Good: Recipes for the Busy Cook
, available at on-line retailers.

Dried Fruit Muffins

8 ounces dried fruit, coarsely chopped (pitted dates, apricots, prunes, raisins, cranberries, cherries, blueberries, pineapple)

3/4 cup boiling water

1/4 cup canola oil

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

1 cup flour

1/2 cup whole wheat flour

1/4 to 1/3 cup sugar (depending on how sweet the fruit is)

1/3 cup coarsely chopped walnuts or pecans, or 1/3 cup wheat germ

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon cinnamon (optional)

In small bowl, combine fruit, water, oil and vanilla; stir to mix. In a large bowl, combine flours, sugar, nuts or wheat germ and baking soda. Add fruit mixture to dry ingredients, stirring just until moistened. Spoon 1/4 cup batter into each greased or paper-lined muffin cup. Bake at 375 degrees for 15 minutes. Makes 12 muffins.

Mister Rogers and Miss Piggy highly recommend the prune muffins.