financially, no matter how hard I’d scrimp and save or how many times I’d add up the numbers.
“H E WAS HOLDING OUT on you, wasn’t he? Holding out! Son of a gun!” says Sam Hicks. “Hee, hee, hee.”
“Why you poor thing,” says Lois Rubin.
T HIS IS HOW I found out.
My friend Becky Brannon, that I have mentioned before, hadjust moved into a new town home in the Village Green development, and so one afternoon I decided to ride over there and visit. It was a Sunday afternoon in June. Billy had gone to the lake fishing with Red and Tiny. So here we went, Debbi and me, with a varie-gated geranium from Food Lion as a house gift. They’ve tried to make Village Green look like a real village, with flower beds and picket fences and porches on most of the houses. All the streets have flower names — Becky lives on Primrose Circle. I could tell it was just her cup of tea, she’s always had ruffled curtains and ducks everyplace. She was already planning to stencil her kitchen.
We found her unpacking boxes. She jumped up to hug me. “Don’t you just love it?” she said, and I have to say, I did. Owning a home has always been my own personal dream, but I was real happy for Becky who has always worked so hard and deserves it. All her furniture, which had been too old-timey for her other apartment, fit right in. I was in the process of admiring everything, having fixed Deborah Lynn a Pepsi, when I chanced to look out the kitchen window and received the shock of my life.
For there was Billy Sims, bare chested, wearing cutoff blue jeans, leaning down to turn on a water faucet at the house next door. Then he proceeded to unroll an obviously new, long green hose from one of those spool things, and pull it around the corner of the house out of my view. I walked into the living room where Becky sat on the couch unpacking another box, surrounded by knickknacks and crumpled newspapers.
“Becky,” I said, “would you do me the favor of stepping up to your window and looking over there next door and telling me what you see?”
Becky looked at me like I was crazy, and then she got up and did it. She stared back at me speechless.
For there stood Billy Sims, big as life, watering her next-door neighbor’s grass, while a red-headed girl in a halter top weeded a flower bed around a birdbath. She had long white legs like pipe cleaners.
I knew who she was.
“That is Miss Lonergan, the physical therapist,” I said.
Just at that moment Debbi came into the room and said, “Mama, can we — “ and then, “What’s the matter?”
“Not a thing, sweetie,” Becky said. “Why don’t you go in my bedroom and watch TV until your mama gets ready to go?” She took Debbi by the hand. Becky came back with a box of Pepperidge Farm cookies, which she opened without a word. We ate them while waiting for Billy to quit watering Miss Lonergan’s yard and go in her house so I could leave, which I finally did. Becky’s a big girl too. But the thing about it that just killed me, and kills me to this day, is that Billy never once watered our own yard at home — Billy never showed a sign of yard work!
Now, do you remember what I told you Miss Manners said?
I took Debbi by Wendy’s on the way home and then watched The Little Mermaid tape with her and then put her to bed and went to bed myself. Of course I couldn’t sleep! My mind was in a whirl, thinking of what to do. Finally I decided to lay all the cards out on the table, confront him the minute he got home. But then I heard him dragging that leg up the stairs. And then I heard him in the bathroom splashing water on his pretty face. And then here he came, easing himself into the bed (our bedroom suite is not paid for either). He flung one arm across my stomach, the way he always does, and in about one minute flat, he started that little snuffly breathing.
Then I knew I would not say a word. I wanted to keep himwith me as long as I could, you see. I never in the world thought
“H E WAS HOLDING OUT on you, wasn’t he? Holding out! Son of a gun!” says Sam Hicks. “Hee, hee, hee.”
“Why you poor thing,” says Lois Rubin.
T HIS IS HOW I found out.
My friend Becky Brannon, that I have mentioned before, hadjust moved into a new town home in the Village Green development, and so one afternoon I decided to ride over there and visit. It was a Sunday afternoon in June. Billy had gone to the lake fishing with Red and Tiny. So here we went, Debbi and me, with a varie-gated geranium from Food Lion as a house gift. They’ve tried to make Village Green look like a real village, with flower beds and picket fences and porches on most of the houses. All the streets have flower names — Becky lives on Primrose Circle. I could tell it was just her cup of tea, she’s always had ruffled curtains and ducks everyplace. She was already planning to stencil her kitchen.
We found her unpacking boxes. She jumped up to hug me. “Don’t you just love it?” she said, and I have to say, I did. Owning a home has always been my own personal dream, but I was real happy for Becky who has always worked so hard and deserves it. All her furniture, which had been too old-timey for her other apartment, fit right in. I was in the process of admiring everything, having fixed Deborah Lynn a Pepsi, when I chanced to look out the kitchen window and received the shock of my life.
For there was Billy Sims, bare chested, wearing cutoff blue jeans, leaning down to turn on a water faucet at the house next door. Then he proceeded to unroll an obviously new, long green hose from one of those spool things, and pull it around the corner of the house out of my view. I walked into the living room where Becky sat on the couch unpacking another box, surrounded by knickknacks and crumpled newspapers.
“Becky,” I said, “would you do me the favor of stepping up to your window and looking over there next door and telling me what you see?”
Becky looked at me like I was crazy, and then she got up and did it. She stared back at me speechless.
For there stood Billy Sims, big as life, watering her next-door neighbor’s grass, while a red-headed girl in a halter top weeded a flower bed around a birdbath. She had long white legs like pipe cleaners.
I knew who she was.
“That is Miss Lonergan, the physical therapist,” I said.
Just at that moment Debbi came into the room and said, “Mama, can we — “ and then, “What’s the matter?”
“Not a thing, sweetie,” Becky said. “Why don’t you go in my bedroom and watch TV until your mama gets ready to go?” She took Debbi by the hand. Becky came back with a box of Pepperidge Farm cookies, which she opened without a word. We ate them while waiting for Billy to quit watering Miss Lonergan’s yard and go in her house so I could leave, which I finally did. Becky’s a big girl too. But the thing about it that just killed me, and kills me to this day, is that Billy never once watered our own yard at home — Billy never showed a sign of yard work!
Now, do you remember what I told you Miss Manners said?
I took Debbi by Wendy’s on the way home and then watched The Little Mermaid tape with her and then put her to bed and went to bed myself. Of course I couldn’t sleep! My mind was in a whirl, thinking of what to do. Finally I decided to lay all the cards out on the table, confront him the minute he got home. But then I heard him dragging that leg up the stairs. And then I heard him in the bathroom splashing water on his pretty face. And then here he came, easing himself into the bed (our bedroom suite is not paid for either). He flung one arm across my stomach, the way he always does, and in about one minute flat, he started that little snuffly breathing.
Then I knew I would not say a word. I wanted to keep himwith me as long as I could, you see. I never in the world thought
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