Mother (26 page)

Another Snapdragon Sunday

The eight o’clock service had been ... okay.
 

Phyllis Stine generally preferred going to the later mass, but she was eager to see Prissy Martin, who always went early. In fact, most of the churchgoers from Morning Glory Circle were there: The Portendorfers sat in the front row, and Geneva-Marie Collins and her two sons fidgeted near the confessionals. Phyllis was not at all surprised to see that Burke Collins didn’t attend.
Sleeping off the hangover.

As Father Andy read a verse from the bible, Phyllis regretted sitting directly behind Prissy Martin. With each enthusiastic bob of the woman’s head, Phyllis was struck by a nauseating wave of perfume -
Does she spritz it in her hair? -
and Prissy Martin bobbed her head a lot in church, no doubt to show Father Andy her rabid agreement with the Word of God.
Ass kisser.
 

Next to Phyllis, Clyde was relaxed, his eyes heavy-lidded as if it were dawn instead of nearly nine in morning. He, too, preferred the later service, but Phyllis had insisted. A tiny snore escaped and she gave his love handle a hard pinch.
 

He jumped and slapped her hand away. “Goddamn it, woman!”
 

Prissy gasped, craned her head, and shot Clyde an icy look.

Bertie and Nelly Dunworth - whom Phyllis hadn’t noticed before - swiveled their heads to stare.

Aida Portendorfer giggled.

If Father Andy had heard her husband’s blasphemous outburst, he showed no sign of it.
 

Phyllis ignored them all and fished around in her purse for another mint, tilting the bag slightly so Clyde wouldn’t see the pack of cigarettes. Swishing her hand around, she found a roll of sugar-free peppermint Lifesavers buried beneath the assortment of other diabetic candies. Phyllis wasn’t a diabetic, and she had no intention of becoming one.
 

Father Andrew raised his fist. “‘Why hast thou forsaken me!’” he quoted.

Prissy Martin bobbed her head with great vehemence. “Amen,” she called.

Phyllis rolled her eyes and sucked her mint. As the minutes droned past, it occurred to her that after the service, Clyde would have time to change the oil in her car.
 

She quietly spun her plastic bangle bracelets - white in honor of Sunday- keeping her eyes on the altar and trying to follow along, until finally, right on the hour, Father Andy ended the service with a prayer. Phyllis had to give Clyde another nudge, and together they knelt. Phyllis didn’t pray, though. She waited for Prissy, who was obviously adding to the priest’s prayer, and after a long interval during which she undoubtedly talked the Lord’s Celestial ears off, Priscilla snapped her head up. She turned and smiled at Phyllis, but didn’t give Clyde the same courtesy. She glowered at him. Clyde yawned.

“How is your son-in-law, Prissy?” Phyllis had been eager to hear about Jason Holbrook’s recovery. After all,
she
had been at his side when it happened, but she couldn’t bring herself to call or stop by. Once Prissy started talking, it never ended - Phyllis couldn’t get a word in edgewise - so she figured church would be the perfect place to ask. Prissy was a lot less talkative in public.

“Oh, he’s just fine,” said Prissy. “The doctor told him to rest today, but he’ll be well enough to return to work tomorrow, and-”

“Is he epileptic?”
 

Prissy nodded, a sad expression on her face. As she blathered on about the details of the young man’s malady, Phyllis became annoyed. Priscilla made absolutely
no
mention of Phyllis’ pivotal role in the young man’s ordeal.
Why, I practically saved his life!
She found herself inspecting the hideous pink and black suit Prissy wore. She even had a red rose pinned to her bosom. Overall, the effect was ridiculous, offensive, and somehow familiar.

“-so as long as he takes his medication every day he shouldn’t have any more episodes, but-”

“My nephew has epilepsy, you know. He almost died in a hot tub when he had a fit! Did you know there’s something about hot water that instigates epileptic fits?”
 

Prissy ignored Phyllis and continued on and on about her son-in-law’s very
minor
condition. It was much less interesting than Phyllis had hoped. Not that she’d wanted to hear Jason Holbrook had endured any permanent damage, but she’d hoped he’d at least have been hospitalized. She doubted even Aida could squeeze any juice out of this dull narrative. Since it was clear she wasn’t going to get any gratitude from Priscilla, she looked at her watch.
 

“Jason was a pilot. Thank God he didn’t seize in the air. He misplaced his medication, you see. The doctor gave him a new prescription, of course.”

When she could bear no more, Phyllis broke in. “That’s wonderful. Clyde and I ought to get home. He’s promised to change the oil in the car. It’s needed it for some time now, you know. My oil is as dirty as a politician in a mud wrestling competition. Clyde? Are you ready?” At the sound of his name, Clyde grunted. “I just wanted to be sure Jason was okay,” Phyllis said, offering Prissy one more chance to thank her.

Prissy smiled. “He’s recovering just fine.” She placed a hand on Phyllis’ shoulder. “Thank God you were there, Phyllis.”

There it was.
Finally!
Phyllis waved away the compliment but soaked up the spotlight just the same.
 

“I don’t know
what
might have happened if he’d been somewhere else,” said Prissy. “Somewhere where no one was watching.” She sighed. “Thank God for you, Phyllis.”

Phyllis smiled. She only wished Prissy would speak a little louder so the rest of the congregation could overhear.

It was a crisp and beautiful morning, the sky clear blue with big puffy clouds, as Prissy drove out of the church parking lot. The lovely little violet plant sat happy and healthy on the passenger seat. It would be perfect on Timothy’s grave until the snapdragons began blooming.
Oh, how you love your snapdragons, Angelheart!
But first, she had another errand to run; she needed to take care of something she should have dealt with a long time ago. It had been eating at her a lot lately, and after yesterday’s yard and bake sale, Earl Dean’s behavior positively rankled her -
How dare that man urinate outdoors?
She might have to wait for Officer Roderick Crocker to handle
that
vulgar issue, but she would deal with the rest of Earl’s neighborhood negligence herself. Never had she met a man more disrespectful and it was high time someone did something about it.
My work is never done!

She drove into downtown, found a parking spot on Main, and began walking. Across the street was the Snapdragon Hotel and Daffodil Grill where Carlene and Jason had gone to spoil their dinner the day they’d arrived.

She’d hoped church would settle her nerves - she didn’t want a trace of irritation left in her body when she drove out to Briar Rose. She’d nearly had Timothy interred in Holy Sacramental’s memorial park, but opted instead for Briar Rose because he would hate being talked about; suicide was frowned upon so heavily by certain judgmental Catholics, and she knew he’d be uncomfortable there.
Oh my little Angelheart, your love will sustain me until the day I join you
.

Main Street was fairly empty this early in the morning. She passed Collins’ Fine Furniture. It was closed of course, but would open at noon, according to the sign in the window. She wondered if Burke would be recovered enough to do it himself, or if he’d have an employee do it for him. She’d always detested the man, but at the moment, his behavior was her delight - it would help keep his scarlet harlot wife, Geneva-Marie, out of her territory. She paused, inspecting the store’s interior - rather barren and somewhat unkempt, judging by the dust on the windowsills - then examined her own reflection. Today she wore a pale pink suit, discreetly trimmed in black, designed in the manner of Jackie Kennedy’s famous outfit. She even wore a red rose on the lapel in honor of the blood spilled that horrible day. She smiled. Everyone at church had looked at her - it had been an excellent choice.

“Onward,” she said softly. She passed two small storefronts: Wholly Cheeses and Penelope’s Pet Shoppe, neither of which would open for another hour or two. Right next to the pet shop was The Fudge Depot, the store owned by Earl and Earlene Dean. Decadently rich odors of chocolate and caramel assaulted her nostrils before she even entered. The Deans opened early Sundays, beating everyone else by two hours. Earl and Earlene loved money more than anything else - including the welfare of Morning Glory Circle.
 

Old-fashioned bells jangled as Prissy entered; looking up she saw no bells, only an electronic device that aped the sound of real bells.
That thing must have cost them a fortune, but they can’t even donate to Morning Glory Circle’s events!
 

“Hello!” called a male voice. “We’ll be out to help you in just a moment.”

“Very well.” She didn’t recognize the friendly tone.

“Hello, lady,” two childish voices said in unison.
 

Prissy jumped, then whirled to face Daphene and Delphine Dean, who stood behind her, holding hands, in matching green-and-red plaid pinafore dresses emblazoned with “Get Your Piece at THE FUDGE DEPOT.”
 

 
“Where did you come from?” Prissy demanded. “It’s not polite to sneak up on people!”

The pinch-faced girls’ oversized heads swiveled on skinny necks to consult one another. Something wordless passed between them, then the one on the right looked back at Priscilla. “We were just standing in the corner is all.” The one on the left pointed to a dark nook with wallpaper similar to their pinafores, then raised her hand to her mouth and licked brown goo off it. “Mmm.”

“Are you standing in the corner because you’re being punished?”

Another swivel, then, simultaneously, “No.”
 

“Girlsss,” called a female voice from the kitchen. “Don’t play with the customerssss!” Earlene Dean came out from behind the bat-wing kitchen doors to stare at her children. Her dull dark red hair hung in two braids, just like those of her daughters. She wore a dress in the same plaid underneath a green apron. It was hideous.

“I’m sssorry,” she said, “they do like to have fun, my girlsss do.” She turned to face Prissy. “How may I help yo-- What are you doing here?”
 

“Is that how you treat a paying customer?” Prissy asked. The woman, whom she rarely laid eyes on, had the same whey-faced complexion as her daughters and her eyes were pinched so close together that rats were surely envious.
 

“You’re here to buy sssomething?” She hesitated, staring at her daughters. “Jusst a moment. I’ll be right back.” With that, Earlene darted into the kitchen. The twins, however, stood at attention, staring up at Prissy with dull eyes that wandered independently every now and then.

“You live in the White House,” one intoned. “My daddy says you are the president of the street but we didn’t vote for you.”
 

“You have plastic grass,” said the other. “And flags.”

Prissy gazed out the window and pretended the girls didn’t exist.

“My daddy says you have a stick up your butt,” said one.

“Is it fun?” asked the other.

“We wanted to try it, but our mommy said not to because it would hurt and make us bleed from our butts.” This was spoken with great solemnity.
 

“And leave splinters,” supplied the other, in a tone suited to Wednesday Addams.

Prissy could stand it no longer. “What is the matter with you children? Were you born in a barn?”

“Mrs. Martin!” Earl Dean came through the swinging doors so fast they slapped his rear end. An instant later, Earlene peered over one batwing, her buckteeth biting her lower lip. “What can I do for you?” Earl Dean asked.

“Daddy, we can’t see the stick. You said there’s a stick.”

Earl, his close-set eyes magnified behind Coke-bottle lenses, swiveled his gigantic head the same way his daughters did. Prissy wondered how those toothpick necks could hold those pumpkin-noggins up.

“Earlene, take the girls for a walk.”

Earlene nodded but hesitated.
 

“Come on out, honeycomb, she won’t bite.” He looked at Prissy. “Promise not to bite Earlene?”

Beyond words, Prissy raised an eyebrow.
 

Earlene dashed past her and tried to get between her daughters, but they wouldn’t unclasp their hands, so she got behind them and pushed them out the door. She reminded Prissy of a farmer herding lazy cattle.

“I’m sorry about all that,” Earl Dean said. “My girls are a little special, you know?”

“A
little
special? They’re about as
special
as they come, Mr. Dean.”

His magnified eyes goggled at her and a fleshy orange mole on the side of his nose did a little dance. “Best watch your mouth, missy,” he drawled. “Those are my ladies. I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“What the bejabbers is the matter with you?” Prissy glared at the man, thinking maybe it was a good thing they didn’t participate in the neighborhood events after all. Still, she needed to resolve the situation.
 

“I haven’t a clue what you mean, Mrs. Martin, but I’ll thank you to keep a polite tongue, if you don’t want to be banished from The Fudge Depot.”

“I congratulate you on the success of your business.”

“Thank you.” He nodded and she thought he might lose his balance, but the head successfully came back up. “Would you like a salty chocolate nut ball?”

“How dare you!”

He nodded at a big glass candy jar full of fudge balls. “I was only being polite. We do offer samples.”

“You should think more carefully about what you call your candy.”

“I don’t understand.” His head bobbled. “Perhaps you’re looking for caramel or penuche? We also have some fine divinity. The recipe was passed down from Earlene’s mother. Or perhaps it was her older sister. We don’t quite recall.”

“I’m sure it’s quite a mystery,” Prissy said, nearing the counter, squaring her shoulders.