Mother (28 page)

When the waitress was out of sight, Dave leaned in close. “Listen to me, Andrew. You need to stay away from Priscilla Martin. I don’t want you to do anything that might upset her, but you need to keep a wide distance. I don’t care what you have to tell her: tell her you’re busy, tell her you’re ill, but don’t ever go into her home again. Ever. Nothing good can come of it.”

“But how do I avoid her at church?”

“Simply don’t let her separate you from a crowd at any time. I don’t care how you do it, just make it so.”

“What about the confessional?”

“Let your assistant, Father Phillip, take her confessions. I don’t even want you alone with her in that capacity.” His eyes were grave. “This is a serious matter, Andy.”

Andy’s next words tumbled from his lips of their own accord. “Tell me what she did to you, Dave.”

Fear or anger - Andy couldn’t be sure which - flashed in the old man’s eyes. “This is not a discussion I’m willing to have with you, Andrew.”

“But you
must
tell me. You say I need to be cautious of Priscilla Martin, that I need to avoid her at all costs, yet you won’t tell me why.” The beer had loosened his nerves. Now, the frustrations he’d been feeling for weeks came pouring out. “Take me into your confidence, Father. I think I deserve-”

“Absolutely not.” The tone left no room for argument and again, Andy felt like a naughty child under his father’s glowering gaze. “Nothing good can come from rehashing the past, Andrew. Some things do not need to be said. Sometimes, you just have to have faith.”

“But how can I have faith when I don’t know what’s going on?”
 

Dave smiled. “This, coming from a priest?”

Despite himself, Andy felt his lips twitch a little.

Dave went serious. “Have faith, Andy, that the less you know the better. Have faith when I tell you that you must not have any personal association with Priscilla Martin. Trust that I’m telling you this with good reason, and more importantly, trust that what I’m
not
telling you is with good reason as well.”

The men watched each other a moment. “All right,” Andy said. “I’ll take you at your word.”

“You’ll steer clear of Priscilla Martin?”

Would he ever. He was now certain of one thing that had been haunting him: Dave Flannigan had retired early because of Priscilla Martin. “Yes. I’ll stay away from her. I give you my word. But I have one question for you, Dave, and I want an answer.”

Dave eyed him.

“It won’t leave this table, Dave.”

Dave sat back and sighed.

“Did you have an affair with Priscilla Martin?”

Dave was silent a long moment, his eyes downcast. He took a sip of beer, then looked up at Andy. “I did.”

Even though he’d thought as much, hearing the words was like a punch in the gut.

“But that isn’t why I resigned. My affair with Priscilla is only one drop of water in an ocean of trouble.”

The Telltale Neighbor

The trip to Briar Rose Cemetery had been exhausting, and Priscilla Martin breathed a sigh of sadness and relief as she let herself into her house. She unloaded a single grocery sack into the refrigerator - some Greek yogurts for the kids, and her own dinner, a pre-made Cobb Salad - then headed into the living room where she turned on the record player. As soon as the Andrews Sisters began, she felt better and headed upstairs.

She changed out of her church clothes and slipped into a pink velour top printed with snapdragons and a pair of matching pants then blew wistful kisses to her shih tzus. “Such good little boys,” she murmured before heading down the hall to Frederick’s room.

As she unlocked the door, she sighed. The Lord had given her a burden, but she never shirked it, no matter how much she wanted to. Frederick had been a good man in his time, even if he wasn’t a hero like her first husband, his twin Franklin. But oh, Frederick’s time had been short, only a few years, and then he had the accident that changed her life. She’d had to go back to work at the hospital for a while, but only part-time, since Frederick couldn’t fend for himself and tended to get into trouble because of his independent streak.

“Frederick, are you awake yet?” She entered the room. He was propped up on his pillows in bed, eyes half-shut. “No, you’re not very awake, are you, dear?”

He didn’t answer. He was easier to take care of now that his independent streak wasn’t as wide as when he was a younger man. He’d obviously been awake - he’d put an extra pillow behind himself - but thankfully he rarely tried to get in his wheelchair and go exploring on his own these days. Still, she locked his door religiously, just in case, and whenever she left for more than an hour, she gave him a sedative.

She approached him. “Frederick? I’m home from visiting Timothy.” Slipping her hand under the covers, she checked his diaper. It was slightly damp. That was a side effect of the sedative; an annoyance, but well worth it to keep him safely in bed. She fetched a fresh diaper from his nightstand and quickly and efficiently changed him. He watched her, not attempting to say a word. He hadn’t been vocal around her for two years now, but she knew it was an act; she’d heard him talking to himself - and to Carlene. She didn’t let on, though.

She crossed to the mini-fridge, extracted a can of Ensure, and offered it to him. He didn’t take it, so she set it on the nightstand. “It’s strawberry. Your favorite. Drink it when you’re ready, but don’t wait too long. I’ll bring you your dinner in just a few hours. You’re having creamed corn and crackers and a slice of chicken, all blended into a nice shake so it’s easy to eat. You’ll love it.” She patted his head. “But first, your little Prissy has some work to do.”

She went to the door, then turned and fixed him in her gaze. “Frederick, has Carlene come to see you today?”

His stony eyes gave no answers. “It’s fine if she does, dear Frederick. You can tell me.”

He didn’t respond, but turned his gaze toward the blank TV screen.

“Okay, be that way,” she said sweetly, then headed downstairs, where she turned up the volume on the record player and hummed along as she began tidying up.

She wondered if Carlene had snooped again while she was gone. She set her dust rag down and headed back upstairs. Though Carlene had no idea, Prissy knew she and Jason had slinked through the rooms upstairs on two separate occasions. Oh, they thought they were so clever, but the first time, they’d made a mess, toppling her movie and music cassettes in one of the rooms. Prissy spent over an hour restacking them properly.
It was quite a project!
After that, she’d checked the other rooms, and while she’d found nothing else so telling, it was easy to see they’d snooped in her workroom and her bedroom, among others. Poor Timothy’s was the worst.
 

A brief flash of anger took her, but she fought it down.
The nerve!
She’d immediately set traps in case they did it again, and they had, during the yard and bake sale.
Kids these days!
She’d said nothing, but if they’d done it again while she was out today, she was going to give them a stern talking to. The Lord didn’t abide by sneaks, and neither did Priscilla Martin.
 

Just as she was about to go check on the nearly invisible threads she’d placed in the drawers and on knobs in Timothy’s room, the doorbell chimed out
The Star-Spangled Banner
.
 

She sighed.
No rest for the righteous.
Trotting downstairs, she smoothed her hair and clothing. The bells began their patriotic chime again as she opened the door.

Phyllis Stine, reeking of tobacco and bad taste, smiled at her and held out a plate of gingerbread. “Leftovers from the bake sale,” she said.

“Thank you.” Prissy accepted the plate. “It’s very kind of you.”

Phyllis stepped inside. “Do you have time for coffee?”

Prissy wrinkled her nose. “If you’re going to insist on smoking, please take a shower before coming. You know I’m allergic.”

“Sorry, I forgot.”

“And put on fresh clothes. Let’s go in the kitchen where I can open the window and have you sit on a wooden chair so you won’t leave residue on my upholstery.”

Under her makeup, Phyllis reddened. “My goodness, you sure are sensitive!”

Prissy lifted her chin. “I have very delicate sinuses.”

“And that perfume of yours doesn’t bother them?”

Anger shot through Prissy. “
Opium
is one of the few my system can tolerate. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before.”
 

Sometimes Phyllis made her so mad that she wanted to let her know she wasn’t fooling anyone with all that plastic surgery - that Prissy knew exactly how old Phyllis
really
was.
And maybe I’ll ask her how she likes living with a cross-dresser for good measure.
Clyde Stine’s late night exploits had been one of Prissy’s more interesting finds in the deep neighborhood closet.
 

Phyllis sat at the kitchen table and stared up at the kids’ apartment while Prissy made coffee and brought dessert plates, knives, and forks. “How is your son-in-law this afternoon?” she asked. “I hope he’s feeling better.”

“I’m sure he is. I haven’t seen him or Claire today.”

“That’s too bad. I thought they might come to church with you this morning.”

“So did I,” Priscilla grumbled. “Or at least drive with me out to Briar Rose to see Timothy. But no, they refused both and have been holed up all day as far as I know.” She watched Phyllis’ reaction and saw that there was something the woman wanted to say. Prissy had an idea what it might be.

“That’s too bad,” she said. “Children must be so trying.”

Prissy brought mugs of coffee and sat down. “They certainly are.”

Phyllis tried her coffee and swallowed with an unseemly gulp that set Prissy’s nerves aflame. “So, I talked to Aida earlier.” She feigned a sad look. “I’m afraid she’s been running her mouth again.”

Prissy sighed. “What is it now?”

“Well.” Phyllis leaned in close, her eyes excited. “She was discussing the suit you wore to church today.”

“Oh? And what did she have to say about it?”

Phyllis looked around. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but she’s been telling everyone your suit’s in bad taste. She says it looks like the one Jackie Kennedy wore on the day of the assassination. She says she thinks it’s morbid. I, of course, think the suit is lovely. I just thought you should know what’s been going on behind your back.”

Prissy sipped her coffee, certain that Phyllis had agreed - and added her own two cents - to the conversation with Aida.
 

“I didn’t say a word, of course,” said Phyllis. “I was so …
shocked
by the whole thing, I was speechless.” Another slurp of coffee.
 

Prissy’s hands tightened around her cup. “I’m sure you didn’t, Phyllis, and I appreciate that.” She offered her a smile but let her eyes go dark. “You’ve always been
such
a good friend to me.”

Phyllis blinked. “I do try.”

“Well, we’ll just let Aida think whatever she wishes, and go on dressing ourselves in the ways we see fit, won’t we?” Her gaze slid down Phyllis, taking in the low-cut, too-tight, flared-sleeved peasant blouse that exposed her bony shoulders, the skirt that showed too much stick-like thigh, and, of course, the outdated go-go boots.

Phyllis nodded. “You know what I always say.” She inhaled more coffee. “People ought to mind their own damn business.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more, but please don’t swear in this house.”

“Oh!” said Phyllis. “I almost forgot to tell you: I saw something earlier, while you were gone, that I thought you might like to know about. I just happened to glance over at your house and-”

The national anthem cut her off.

“Oh, good heavens, who might that be?” Prissy dabbed the corners of her mouth and rose. “Hold that thought, Phyllis.” She bustled into the living room. “Coming,” she called.

It was Aida Portendorfer, no doubt here to tattle on Phyllis for smoking. She held out a plate of snickerdoodles. “I thought you might enjoy these, Prissy.”

Prissy stood back. “Come in, dear. I just made some coffee.”

“Lovely.” Aida trundled toward the kitchen, her wide buttocks fighting it out beneath a flower-print skirt.

Prissy followed her, a few steps behind, and smiled when she heard Aida and Phyllis say each other’s names. Both sounded surprised, neither happy.

Prissy entered, her very best smile gleaming. “Sit down, Aida,” she ordered as she brought a third mug to the table. “How lovely to have a coffee break with you both this afternoon.”

Claire had gone back to work on her client’s new website after rifling quickly through one of Timothy’s composition books. It had made her smile; it was filled with drawings of junior high classmates. Tim had been a good caricaturist, and some of the faces looked familiar. There was a boy with twinkling eyes and a happy smile that was labeled “Paul S.” She marked the page to show Jase when he finished his phone call. She’d always liked Paul Schuyler - he’d listened to her when she was a kid. The next page featured a girl simply labeled “Steffie.” Even with the large head, too-wide mouth, and tiny body, Claire recognized Stephanie Banks. She’d been a tall, skinny girl, with curly auburn hair, big green eyes, glasses, and full lips. Her caricature was beautiful, despite the exaggerated features.
 

Claire recalled all the times Tim and Steffie had taken her along on dates. The fair, of course, but there were so many others - picnics, horseback riding, the cavern tour. When the cavern guide turned out the lights for sixty seconds, the darkness had been so thick that she was terrified and had pushed between Tim and Steffie, practically pulling their fingers out of their sockets with her grip. Both had bent to pick her up and had bumped heads in the dark. They’d giggled, breaking the silence, breaking the fear.
 

Jason entered the dining room, phone in hand. “That was Paul. He was telling me about some work that needs to be done next week.” His eyes twinkled. “What do you say we get out of the house for a while?”

“And go where?”