No Neighborhood for Old Women (A Kelly O'Connell Mystery) by Judy Alter Page B

be comfortable either, but I pray it won’t come to that.”
    I went to check progress on what would become Mom’s house. I reminded myself I’d have to have a serious financial discussion with Mom. I had no idea of her financial situation, and then I felt guilty. A child should know how to take care of an aging parent, and that circular thought made me even angrier because Mom wasn’t that old! That trip to Chicago looked more like a reality.
    ****
    Anthony was building new cabinets in the kitchen he’d gutted. Together we’d redesigned the small space, creating what would be an efficient yet sparkling kitchen. We’d decided on natural wood cabinets, not quite as dark as they would have been in Victorian times. I vetoed glass-fronted cabinets, remembering my experience with them in the kitchen my ex-husband designed without consulting me. I figured Mom wouldn’t want to have to be that neat either. Chrome appliances, if not authentic to the period, would look good in there. I’d find some kind of blue-and-white ruffled feminine curtains. Oh, and faux Victorian fixtures. Maybe Mom would get back to cooking.
    “Miss Kelly, once I get this kitchen done, rest of the house be a snap. I say six weeks.”
    “My mom wants to move into it tomorrow.”
    He shook his head. “Tomorrow? Impossible. Say six weeks.”
    “Don’t worry. I’m going to be sure she sells her house and makes this move orderly, not something impulsive she’ll regret.”
    He relaxed and grinned. “You like having your mom close by?”
    “I’m not sure,” I admitted. I explored the rest of the house, making plans in my head, checking to see that the mold hadn’t spread. And then I wandered outside to see the garden again—I’d need a good yard guy, and I knew just the one. His name is appropriately Jake Green. I’d call him today.
    “Anthony,” I said, once back in the kitchen, “I’m going to tell Mom late September. That will give us about six weeks.”
    Back in the office, I called Jake Green, who promised to go by and give me a bid on installing a sprinkler system, cleaning out the yard to see what was weed and what was salvageable, and doing some minimal landscaping.
    Then I sat and stewed about Mike. I was bursting to sound off about my mom but now I was shy about calling. I doodled on scratch paper—again—and then the idea came to me. I’d have one of those dinners we had the day we moved and include everybody—Anthony and his sons, Theresa and Joe, Claire, Mike—and Keisha. It was time she became more a part of the family. School started again in a week—so early!—and I’d call it a back-to-school celebration.
    I’d get Mike to grill hamburgers, and I’d make a three-bean salad. I made grand plans and didn’t even think that I took Mike’s acceptance for granted. I pushed out of my mind the thought that he might not agree.
    Mike was off on Sunday nights, and that was a logical time to do it. I started with Keisha. “I’m going to ask Mike to grill hamburgers Sunday night and get Joe and Theresa and Anthony and the boys and…would you join us?”
    “You think Mike will come around by then?” she asked, raising one eyebrow and staring at me.
    How did she know? Yes, I’d been in a blue funk, but I swear I never told her why. I guess I looked as surprised as I was, because she said,
    “You think I can’t guess why you been moping around here? It ain’t your mama, and I know that.”
    “Okay, you’re right. And I thought maybe by getting everyone together, it would be sort of a reconciliation party. You know….” My voice drifted off until I finished with, “a back-to-school party.”
    “So you’re going to apologize by asking him to cook? That’s a new one! Sure, I’d love to come see this.”
    I wondered how one could disinvite a dinner guest.
    I called Theresa and Anthony on their cell phones, and they both sounded like they’d be delighted to come. “I don’t see enough of Theresa,” Anthony