No Story to Tell (15 page)

The girls, born in a rapid-fire succession that didn’t quite span three years, were absolutely dutiful toward their mother but seemed a constant source of complaints for their teachers at school. Bullying and stealing lunches were occasional misdemeanors leveled against them. The biggest concern brought continually to Rose’s attention, however, was their propensity for lying. Yet at home they were very good children, obeying their mother with a swiftness and respect that Rose’s very presence seemed to demand, and receive, from almost everyone.

Victoria was unsure about her relationship with Rose at first, crushed under her biting criticism one time only to be restored gently on the wing of a compliment the next. But as time wore on, she began to appreciate Rose’s fussing concern for her, accepting her bossiness much like one would with an older sister. Eventually, she found herself seeking Rose’s company more and more; her words of reprimand offset so remarkably by her moments of kindness that Victoria would end up feeling somehow indebted to her. And, however distressing the relationship proved to be at times, Victoria knew by bare instinct that Rose was one person who’d make a far better friend than an enemy, someone you felt privileged to have on your side.

Rose handed the plate to Jennifer-Ann, her eldest, and surveyed from above as the three children presented the cookies to Victoria with clear, distinct, hand-lettered sentences that ran automatic from their mouths as if well rehearsed. She accepted the gift, fluttered gracious nonsense over the girls and wished they’d scatter off to the television. But they stood, vacant eyes placed mistakenly in cherub faces, boring into her as if they could see straight through, waiting for their mother’s note of dismissal. They’d have been cute children if one discounted the condescension in their eyes. She tried to like them but found she could only accomplish this from a distance. Up close they made her feel wary.

Presently Rose clicked her tongue, flicked her head and the children turned as one and walked into the living room, where cartoon voices sprung to life and restored a sense of normality. The visits had become a regular event ever since Rose’s television had quit working, and she’d promised the girls she’d drive out to the trailer for a quick visit while they watched their Sunday afternoon cartoons. Victoria settled into making tea, placing two steaming mugfuls on the table as Rose began the process of disrobing. Her penchant for display fascinated Victoria; she stood and observed as Rose unraveled from a brilliant cocoon of colors: turquoise cloak, two layers of boldly striped sweaters and a magenta scarf, all of which she piled onto an empty chair, creating the illusion of a third person at the table. Finally stripped down to her classic black turtleneck and jeans, she joined Victoria at the table and picked up a cookie to go with her tea.

“Poker night, huh?” She flashed her eyes at the pile of empties still sitting on the counter beside a stack of clean dishes.

“Oh, ya. I’d asked Bobby to take them out to the shed. Guess he forgot.”

“Bobby would forget his head if it wasn’t screwed on. He get your car fixed yet?”

“Not yet. This week though, I hope.”

“That’s what you said last week.”

“I know, but he’s been busy. And it took longer to get the part he needed, too,” Victoria defended, even though her own mind had cursed him many times for what she knew was nothing more than his procrastination. His procrastination plus his inability to say no to the various calls he’d received requesting his help. The weeks since he’d dragged the car home passed on the back of his excuses— each one lamer than the one before—until what he’d initially said would be a one-hour job had expanded into a full day. Her requests that he fix it now seemed to him like a huge infraction of his time.

“So what’s he expect you to do, stay stuck out here all winter?”

“No, he’ll get it fixed. Probably this week.” She sipped her tea. “How’s work going? Keeping busy?”

“Work? Oh, well it’s going, but barely. I don’t think I’m going to keep doing it for much longer. I’ve just about had it with mending seams for all those old cows. You’d think they’d take a hint and quit filling their fat faces all the time.” She took a bite from her cookie. “You got it easy that way, Vic. I guess if you’re willing to put up with him, anyhow. Be a hell of a lot simpler. No way I could do it though. Pride’s worth more to me, I guess.” She sipped her tea, breathing the steam away with her nostrils, slashing the rim of the mug a rich burgundy.

Victoria felt the impact of the words, stiffened and resolved to ignore them and drink her tea. But irritation pushed itself free from her before she could raise the mug to her mouth.

“What do you mean by that?”

“By what?”

“That you have more pride than me.” She’d committed herself now, suffocated anger arriving hand in hand with indignation.

“I didn’t say that.”

“What, then?”

“I said my pride is worth more to me. Obviously it is. Look at what you’ve sacrificed.”

“What do you mean, Rose? I haven’t sacrificed that much. Bobby’s had a hard time keeping the farm going, but he feels it will do better now. It’s been a—”

“Oh, come on, Vic. Get real! He’s been rattling that same old chain ever since I’ve known him and nothing has changed yet.”

The opposite of most people, who raise their voices when vexed, Rose lowered hers into a husky growl that forced her listener to pay close attention to catch each word rather than half listening while they arranged their next objection. Because of this attribute, she invariably led the conversation while the other party stumbled along to keep up.

“You must get tired of it, hey? I mean, it must be embarrassing sometimes.” She looked Victoria in the eye, prepared to debate anything that she would deem a less than honest answer. Victoria tried for diversion.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Rose. Sure, I’d like a nicer place—”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?” she blurted, even though she desperately did not want to know. But Rose, having forced the question, now felt the only decent thing to do as a friend would be to answer it honestly.

“Well, just with the whole town knowing, it’s got to be pretty humiliating for you. I don’t know how you put up with it.”

“Put up with what?”

Rose paused her second cookie mid-bite. She assessed Victoria’s face curiously, then laughed. “Come on, Vic. Other people might fall for that, but don’t expect me to believe you’re that stupid. Jenny! Turn it down!” she hollered into the living room, where Woody Woodpecker had careened upward several decibels, his ricocheting laughter driving Rose’s words into Victoria’s head. As sure as Rose was, this time she was wrong. She was that stupid, had no idea what Rose was alluding to. Her body felt as if it had abandoned her and her mind floated randomly, aware she was talking and breathing but without understanding how. Taking in her friend’s waxen image, the drifting nonsense of her reply, Rose’s features grew softer.

“You did know, Vic, didn’t you? I mean everyone seems to, I thought for sure—”

“I knew, Rose. Of course I know. Only an idiot wouldn’t know,” she bluffed, fastened shaky hands around her cup but didn’t dare lift it. “Doesn’t matter to me, I couldn’t care less what the jerk does. I’ve got plans. I won’t be hanging around here forever.”

“Yeah, I was sure you knew. Pretty common knowledge around town. You going to want some more tea? Hmm. See you finally got yourself a new kettle. About time. Your old one looked like someone kicked the crap out of it.” Rose attempted unsuccessfully to read Victoria’s averted face as she checked the water in the kettle and turned the burner on high.

“So. You’ve got plans. Good for you, Vic. I knew you would.”

“Yeah, I’ve got plans,” she agreed, almost believing herself.

“So, what are they?” Rose sat down enthusiastically, as if ready to partake in a verbal feast.

Victoria’s mind scrambled.

“Come on, Vic, you can trust me to keep my mouth shut. You know that. Do they happen to include that artist guy?”

Victoria nodded. She didn’t know why, but in having to hatch this impromptu plan Elliot seemed an ideal component. Just including his name felt like a small vengeance against whatever it was Bobby had done. “He thinks I should open a dance studio. He even offered to help me.”

“I knew it! I knew there was something you weren’t telling me,” Rose said emphatically, jumping up to silence the kettle.

“Tell me more. Are you sleeping with him? You are, aren’t you! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Panicked, Victoria attempted to return the conversation back to reality. “No Rose, I’m not sleeping with him. We’re just friends,” she said sharply, but a self-conscious smile sabotaged the words and whet Rose’s appetite for more.

“Yeah, right. Come on, tell me more.” She settled back into her chair with her mug of tea and waited expectantly.

But there was no more to tell: Victoria was painfully aware that the part already told was more fabrication than fact. Fearful it would find its way from Rose’s lips to Elliot’s ears, she tried to think of some way she could reverse the order of what she’d done. A giggle, partly suppressed, reached them from the living room, which, she now noticed, had grown unnaturally quiet, Sunday afternoon cartoons having been shifted to a low, low volume.

“Rose! Do you think the kids—?”

“No.” Rose waved burgundy-dipped fingers. “Don’t worry about them, they don’t pay any attention to us.” And then to prove it she yelled into the living room. “Hey! What are you doing in there?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Just watching TV.”

“What’re you laughing at then, Woody?”

“No.”

“What, then?”

Smothered giggles rolled across the floor.

“Jenny! I asked you a question. What’s so funny?”

“Lindsey farted!”

“Did not!” They collapsed under a fit of laughter that should have calmed Victoria’s suspicions but had much the opposite effect.

“So. You going to let me in on it?” Rose pressed, her curiosity unsatiated.

“Not much to say, Rose. We’re not even friends, really. God, I’m still married, Rose, can’t forget that.”

“Haw! Yes, I can. And you sure as hell should.”

“Not just something I can forget, Rose. I’m sort of committed.”

“Yeah, well, that’s nice in theory, Cinderella, but what are you really committed to? Bobby? The marriage? Sounds like a good way to end up being committed to the loony bin! What the hell’s a marriage, anyhow? A word? A truce? Half the time it’s nothing more than a bloody lie. Just like your ring. Wasn’t that a lovely way to start your life together?”

Her wedding ring had been a contentious issue from the start. Rumors had sprung up immediately after their engagement that the ring Bobby had flourished on her was the same one he’d bought for Diana. Bobby denied it vehemently, saying it was similar but not the same one. Three days before the wedding, however, Pearl Bentley had announced to Victoria and the rest of the café that she knew full well it was the same ring. She’d been in the pawn shop when he’d come in to sell it; upon hearing he’d only recover less than half of its value, he had abruptly changed his mind and stormed out, calling the shop owner a friggin’ crooked kraut. Victoria moved her hands from the table as the sway of the conversation directed Rose’s eyes toward them, but it was too late.

“Vic! What on earth happened to your hands? They look terrible.”

“Oh, nothing. I uh, I used some cleaner without wearing gloves. Stupid, hey?”

“Yeah, really. What the hell was it, acid? Let me see.”

Reluctantly Victoria slid her hands over the table where Rose inspected them and then yelled to the kids.

“Come here girls, I want you to see something. Jenny, Jessica, Lindsey! Come look at this. See what your silly Auntie Vic did? She didn’t read the instructions and look what happened to her hands. Don’t they look awful? You want your hands to look like that?”

Curling up their faces, the three shook their ringlets vigorously, then stared at Victoria as if her stupidity was of a considerable and possibly irredeemable depth.

“And what should Auntie Vic have done so her hands didn’t end up so yucky?”

The two younger girls looked up at their sister, who glanced smugly at Victoria then delivered their answer, her oversized teeth gleaming as she snapped out the simple words.

“Worn rubber gloves.”

“That’s right. And I’ll bet Auntie will remember to read the directions next time, don’t you?”

Three heads nodded dubiously. She was not their aunt, but Rose felt it was disrespectful for children to address adults by their first names and insisted that they call her that. Victoria herself would have preferred Mrs. Lackey, but Rose deemed that far too rigid. She felt the girls would benefit from some sense of family, her own nonexistent and any contact with Steve’s barred at her behest.

“Your show over? Okay then, get your coats and give Auntie a kiss goodbye. I’ve got things to do today.”

The kids scrambled into their coats, kisses were mutually endured and Rose filed the girls out the door toward the car.