some of the brownies, and she took both, but I swear she didn’t taste a thing.
“Maybe we ought to go see Ed now,” I told her, when lunch was obviously over. I had called him as soon as we’d gotten home, and he’d told me to bring Hildy as soon as she was done eating. He promised he’d drive her back home when they had finished and make sure all was well at the house before leaving her. I figured if the police were still on the premises, Ed might have a better chance of getting information.
Hildy took her dishes to the sink, but she didn’t even try to wash them. Instead she gazed out the window.
“I used to like this view,” she said. “I could see just enough of the church to know it was there. I felt like I was right in the center of things.”
I subscribed to the other school of thought. I insisted the shrubs be allowed to grow between the parsonage and the church proper, so that I wasn’t constantly reminded of Ed’s job.
“I bet our kitchen still feels like home,” I said in another conversational foray. “It’s hardly been touched in the past decades.”
She faced me. “You’ve asked for renovations?”
I wasn’t sure whether I was being criticized, but Hildy went on. “You should ask, you know. Congregations can forget so easily. You have the right to a comfortable, attractive house.”
I figured my grilled cheese had done her some good after all. She must feel better if she was advising me again. “The board promised a new kitchen floor, but that was a couple of years ago. Unfortunately, these old asphalt tiles may have asbestos in them, which makes them harder to replace. So the board says they’ll get to it eventually. In the meantime I mop and wax a lot.”
Her gaze drifted floorward to the big black and white tiles. “I always liked this floor. Too bad it’s beyond saving.”
I had never liked the floor, which reminded me of a 1950s soda parlor, but I didn’t quibble. “I’m hoping they’ll install laminate right over it. Someday.”
“I guess I need to talk to Ed.”
“I’ll walk you over.”
She looked as if she knew she ought to protest, but I shooed that away. “Besides, I could use the exercise after that brownie.”
She smiled back. If she knew I was just coming up with an excuse to walk with her, she didn’t call my bluff.
Although the sun was shining now, an early-morning rain had gifted the parsonage with a muddy path from our side door. I steered Hildy to the front porch, and didn’t bother to lock up, since I’d be home soon. Outside along our sidewalk, grape hyacinths bloomed and daffodils prepared to launch. Spring was in the air, and as we started down the steps, the sun warmed my hair and shoulders. I stretched a little, and hoped the weather was a sign that better times were ahead.
Hope lasted about three seconds, until I realized that Marie Grandower was walking toward a dark Mercedes parked just down from our house. The last thing we needed was a catfight in front of the parsonage.
Sometimes the last thing you need is the first thing you get.
Marie saw Hildy before Hildy saw her. Of course, it was too late to haul Hildy back inside the house. Even if she’d wanted to go—unlikely—she would not have sacrificed her pride. She continued down the steps, but I heard her draw a breath. Like a bull before he charges the cape.
I grabbed her arm. “You know what? Let’s cut across here.”
Hildy shook off my hand. “I have no reason to avoid anyone.”
By now Marie had stopped, as if she, too, was preparing. All we needed was a crowd of onlookers shouting “Olé!”
I grew up with sisters, and a mother who dislikes conflict. Junie—the only thing I’ve ever called my mother—was adept at heading off trouble before it began. But even though Junie’s on speed dial on my cell phone, that wouldn’t help a lot right now. She was teaching at a quilt show on the West Coast, and unlikely to answer.
I struggled to remember how she’d
“Maybe we ought to go see Ed now,” I told her, when lunch was obviously over. I had called him as soon as we’d gotten home, and he’d told me to bring Hildy as soon as she was done eating. He promised he’d drive her back home when they had finished and make sure all was well at the house before leaving her. I figured if the police were still on the premises, Ed might have a better chance of getting information.
Hildy took her dishes to the sink, but she didn’t even try to wash them. Instead she gazed out the window.
“I used to like this view,” she said. “I could see just enough of the church to know it was there. I felt like I was right in the center of things.”
I subscribed to the other school of thought. I insisted the shrubs be allowed to grow between the parsonage and the church proper, so that I wasn’t constantly reminded of Ed’s job.
“I bet our kitchen still feels like home,” I said in another conversational foray. “It’s hardly been touched in the past decades.”
She faced me. “You’ve asked for renovations?”
I wasn’t sure whether I was being criticized, but Hildy went on. “You should ask, you know. Congregations can forget so easily. You have the right to a comfortable, attractive house.”
I figured my grilled cheese had done her some good after all. She must feel better if she was advising me again. “The board promised a new kitchen floor, but that was a couple of years ago. Unfortunately, these old asphalt tiles may have asbestos in them, which makes them harder to replace. So the board says they’ll get to it eventually. In the meantime I mop and wax a lot.”
Her gaze drifted floorward to the big black and white tiles. “I always liked this floor. Too bad it’s beyond saving.”
I had never liked the floor, which reminded me of a 1950s soda parlor, but I didn’t quibble. “I’m hoping they’ll install laminate right over it. Someday.”
“I guess I need to talk to Ed.”
“I’ll walk you over.”
She looked as if she knew she ought to protest, but I shooed that away. “Besides, I could use the exercise after that brownie.”
She smiled back. If she knew I was just coming up with an excuse to walk with her, she didn’t call my bluff.
Although the sun was shining now, an early-morning rain had gifted the parsonage with a muddy path from our side door. I steered Hildy to the front porch, and didn’t bother to lock up, since I’d be home soon. Outside along our sidewalk, grape hyacinths bloomed and daffodils prepared to launch. Spring was in the air, and as we started down the steps, the sun warmed my hair and shoulders. I stretched a little, and hoped the weather was a sign that better times were ahead.
Hope lasted about three seconds, until I realized that Marie Grandower was walking toward a dark Mercedes parked just down from our house. The last thing we needed was a catfight in front of the parsonage.
Sometimes the last thing you need is the first thing you get.
Marie saw Hildy before Hildy saw her. Of course, it was too late to haul Hildy back inside the house. Even if she’d wanted to go—unlikely—she would not have sacrificed her pride. She continued down the steps, but I heard her draw a breath. Like a bull before he charges the cape.
I grabbed her arm. “You know what? Let’s cut across here.”
Hildy shook off my hand. “I have no reason to avoid anyone.”
By now Marie had stopped, as if she, too, was preparing. All we needed was a crowd of onlookers shouting “Olé!”
I grew up with sisters, and a mother who dislikes conflict. Junie—the only thing I’ve ever called my mother—was adept at heading off trouble before it began. But even though Junie’s on speed dial on my cell phone, that wouldn’t help a lot right now. She was teaching at a quilt show on the West Coast, and unlikely to answer.
I struggled to remember how she’d
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