part.
Roscoe thinks Heddi is a bad influence on Holly. She is, she suspects, unwittingly the cornerstone upon which this latest crisis in his life is founded.
“I need you to come and stay at the house tonight,” he says without hesitation. This is the rehearsed part; he’s on terra firma, at last. “I can’t go looking for Holly and stay home and wait for Rosebud to come back, too. You’re the only other person Rosebud might come to. I need you to come here and watch for her. I’ve got some chicken defrosting in the fridge. If she comes around, lure her to you with a piece of chicken, then slip the leash around her neck. Think you could handle that?”
This last question oozes with such condescension that Heddi almost says a knee-jerk, “No!” But she really needs to see the scene of carnage that’s been developing over at Holly’s house over the last couple of days. Holly’s described it in minute detail over the phone, but Heddi’s still having trouble grasping it. She thinks about her weekend plans to finally plant the narcissus bulbs in the camellia garden and kisses them goodbye.
“Sure, Roscoe,” she hears herself saying. “I’ll pack an overnight bag. Give me about two hours and I’ll be there.”
“What’s that, Ondine? Oh...Holly’s mom? No, Roscoe couldn’t call her . She’s dead. After Hal, she married an exec from Mutual of Omaha. A few years later, there was an odd accident... There were always questions, but no one ever could prove anything...but that’s another story. Anyway, no Sharon to call on, so...”
It’s a pretty short drive from Malibu out to the hills of Ventura County. Hal bought Holly and Roscoe twenty acres of citrus trees for a wedding present. It’s a nice spread and in their defense, they keep it pristine – even if it is through constant dousing with the wonders of modern chemistry.
When Heddi arrives, Roscoe meets her in the driveway. His face is normally red, but now it’s almost a burgundy hue. He doesn’t seem to realize that his hands are balled into fists, or that he’s punctuating each word as if he were jabbing at a speed bag.
“Where are you going to start looking for Holly?” Heddi asks, keeping her distance. She has the sudden realization that Roscoe probably thinks she knows where Holly is and is hiding her from him. Actually, it surprises and worries Heddi a little that she doesn’t. Holly always checked out every move with her before. She looks at Roscoe and wonders if she’s in physical danger.
“I thought you might be able to tell me that,” Roscoe snarls, squinting at her against the midday sun.
“Roscoe,” Heddi says with all the sincerity she can muster, “I don’t know. I really don’t. Holly said on the phone yesterday that she was upset. That’s the last I’ve heard of it.” She looks him full in the eyes, earnestly. To her surprise, he believes her.
“I’m going to see the pastor, first,” he says, mostly to himself. “Maybe he’ll have some clue. Now, you remember what I told you about Rosebud?” He doesn’t even stop to hear her response. “Don’t forget to set the alarm system. I left the code tacked above the key pad by the back door.”
Roscoe is twitching, already turning away, agitated and ready to bolt for his vehicle.
It seems like a perfect time to say something profound or soothing. Good luck won’t do it because Heddi’s not sure how she feels about him going after Holly. Most likely, Holly needs space, not rescue.
Heddi’s tried very hard to like Roscoe over the years, love being clearly beyond her abilities in his regard. And to consider, under Dr. Copeland’s tutelage, all the reasons why she should forgive him his outrageous misogyny, bigotry and stinginess. She does believe that we are, to a large extent, products of our upbringing, which in Roscoe’s case may have been closer to downbringing. But she also believes that at some point in our lives, we have to take responsibility and
Roscoe thinks Heddi is a bad influence on Holly. She is, she suspects, unwittingly the cornerstone upon which this latest crisis in his life is founded.
“I need you to come and stay at the house tonight,” he says without hesitation. This is the rehearsed part; he’s on terra firma, at last. “I can’t go looking for Holly and stay home and wait for Rosebud to come back, too. You’re the only other person Rosebud might come to. I need you to come here and watch for her. I’ve got some chicken defrosting in the fridge. If she comes around, lure her to you with a piece of chicken, then slip the leash around her neck. Think you could handle that?”
This last question oozes with such condescension that Heddi almost says a knee-jerk, “No!” But she really needs to see the scene of carnage that’s been developing over at Holly’s house over the last couple of days. Holly’s described it in minute detail over the phone, but Heddi’s still having trouble grasping it. She thinks about her weekend plans to finally plant the narcissus bulbs in the camellia garden and kisses them goodbye.
“Sure, Roscoe,” she hears herself saying. “I’ll pack an overnight bag. Give me about two hours and I’ll be there.”
“What’s that, Ondine? Oh...Holly’s mom? No, Roscoe couldn’t call her . She’s dead. After Hal, she married an exec from Mutual of Omaha. A few years later, there was an odd accident... There were always questions, but no one ever could prove anything...but that’s another story. Anyway, no Sharon to call on, so...”
It’s a pretty short drive from Malibu out to the hills of Ventura County. Hal bought Holly and Roscoe twenty acres of citrus trees for a wedding present. It’s a nice spread and in their defense, they keep it pristine – even if it is through constant dousing with the wonders of modern chemistry.
When Heddi arrives, Roscoe meets her in the driveway. His face is normally red, but now it’s almost a burgundy hue. He doesn’t seem to realize that his hands are balled into fists, or that he’s punctuating each word as if he were jabbing at a speed bag.
“Where are you going to start looking for Holly?” Heddi asks, keeping her distance. She has the sudden realization that Roscoe probably thinks she knows where Holly is and is hiding her from him. Actually, it surprises and worries Heddi a little that she doesn’t. Holly always checked out every move with her before. She looks at Roscoe and wonders if she’s in physical danger.
“I thought you might be able to tell me that,” Roscoe snarls, squinting at her against the midday sun.
“Roscoe,” Heddi says with all the sincerity she can muster, “I don’t know. I really don’t. Holly said on the phone yesterday that she was upset. That’s the last I’ve heard of it.” She looks him full in the eyes, earnestly. To her surprise, he believes her.
“I’m going to see the pastor, first,” he says, mostly to himself. “Maybe he’ll have some clue. Now, you remember what I told you about Rosebud?” He doesn’t even stop to hear her response. “Don’t forget to set the alarm system. I left the code tacked above the key pad by the back door.”
Roscoe is twitching, already turning away, agitated and ready to bolt for his vehicle.
It seems like a perfect time to say something profound or soothing. Good luck won’t do it because Heddi’s not sure how she feels about him going after Holly. Most likely, Holly needs space, not rescue.
Heddi’s tried very hard to like Roscoe over the years, love being clearly beyond her abilities in his regard. And to consider, under Dr. Copeland’s tutelage, all the reasons why she should forgive him his outrageous misogyny, bigotry and stinginess. She does believe that we are, to a large extent, products of our upbringing, which in Roscoe’s case may have been closer to downbringing. But she also believes that at some point in our lives, we have to take responsibility and
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