Spit Delaney's Island by Jack Hodgins

only a glance as she passed; she
hated it and used it only for long-distance calls that couldn’t be avoided.
    She didn’t realize she was barefoot until she was in the car but had no
intention of going back for shoes. While the movement was in her she was
going to use it before it died out. She backed the car around and drove up
the driveway to the gate. Just being behind the wheel of this old car could
make her feel better. It was a battered old sedan as plain and bulky as herself, and responded as if it could read her thoughts. How many times, she
wondered, had it helped them out of trouble?
    At the fork in the road she hesitated. Since Charlene Porter was the
one who had discovered the boy in the first place maybe she should go
there first. Charlene liked her. They were steady people. Their religion orwhatever it was had got them through a lot of rough spots. But they would
want to pray or something, probably, and that was one thing Mrs. Starbuck was not prepared to do.
    Besides, hadn’t the girl herself, that Charlene, told her once that prayer
doesn’t change the truth? She said it just puts your thinking more in line
with it or something like that. Mrs. Starbuck didn’t want to be put in line
with what seemed to her right now to be the truth.
    Going to the Larkins’ place passed through her thoughts. She saw herself knocking on their door and going into the shack and asking for someone to help (How? How? How help?) But she saw their faces, three blank
stupid faces showing her only their contempt. Shelley would show pity
too, of course, but like the boys she would feel disgust at the sight of a
woman as solid as Mrs. Starbuck going to pieces. They expected her to be
a rock, it must seem to them that anyone with more intelligence than their
own should be able to solve any problems the world was capable of serving up.
    Probably they wouldn’t even feel that much. She could see them watching her like a cluster of vacant indifferent cows, three stupid Holsteins
with no more feeling for her or anyone else than Mr. Porter’s bull. There
was no point in looking for any kind of aid in that direction.
    And that left only the Wrights.
    â€œEdna Starbuck, you’re barefoot,” Mrs. Wright said. “Have you been
drinking? And this is your third visit today.”
    Mrs. Starbuck went up the steps and into Mrs. Wright’s house. It was
cool inside, and very light. She had to squint to see and couldn’t seem to
find a place to sit down.
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, woman, what’s the matter with you?” Mrs. Wright
said. “Can I get you something?” She pushed papers into a neat pile on the
table. “I was just writing up my column. You look as if you’ve stepped right
out of a coffin.”
    â€œYour husband. Is Mr. Wright home yet?”
    â€œGood heavens no. They stay after the game for a few drinks in the clubhouse. Edna, if you could only see yourself.”
    Mrs. Starbuck sat down on something. “Then I’ll wait,” she said. “He’s
got to come some time.”
    Mrs. Wright looked as if she were going to explode. Her rooster-leg
arms were folded tightly across her little chest. Her lips were pressed together. “I’ve never been one for judging others,” she said. “But when I do
I always judge only by what I see. I believe that’s only fair. And today I
think I’ve seen a lot more than I should’ve.”
    â€œIt’s nothing to do with you,” Mrs. Starbuck said, waving one hand as
if that were enough to make Mrs. Wright disappear. “This is business.”
    â€œBusiness?”
    â€œYes. Business. Lawyer business.”
    Mrs. Wright whirled around twice, as if she were looking for something to hit Mrs. Starbuck with. “You don’t know any lawyer business.
You’ve never even talked to a lawyer before. What kind of business?”
    Mrs. Starbuck was tired. She felt as if a