been a long day, and I’m not supposed to be having long days. My head is reeling with the noise of everything in this room that isn’t being said. I have no more strength to push away people’s thoughts. I can hear all their unspoken questions: Why the hell did she come back? How crazy is she, do you think? Before Rafferty has a chance to protest, I escape back inside.
I cross the room, putting distance between us, going to a table in the bay window. Rafferty comes in a minute later. He scans the crowd until he sees me, then walks over and leans down.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “That was another poor attempt at small talk.”
I don’t have it in me to smile.
“Eva kept telling me over and over how bad I was at this kind of thing.”
I feel some compassion for him. He is trying. I look at him and realize that his secret thoughts, whatever they might be, are probably the only ones in this room that I’m not reading tonight.
“She kept telling me she’d give me a discount on one of her manners classes,” he says. u
82 Brunonia
Barry
There is a long pause. He shifts awkwardly. “I guess I should have taken her up on it.”
I’m still trying to think of something to say back to him, something polite but not personal. Finally I get it. I speak to him in Aunt Eva’s own words. “I like soup. Do you like soup?”
It is a test. To see how much he knows. If he has talked to Eva as much as I suspect he has, he will know the expression. It was one of her favorites. Especially if they were talking about the skill of making small talk or his lack thereof. Learning to talk about soup was the first lesson Eva taught. He looks at me curiously. I’m watching his eyes, waiting for signs of recognition. He shows nothing. “Excuse me?” he says slowly, deliberately. I’m staring at him now, trying to read his thoughts. His mind is either intentionally blank or unreadable. His eyes are steady. He might be telling the truth, or he might be just a hell of a good cop. I can’t decide which.
Irene comes back into the room then, fluffing her skirts down as she goes. “What’d I miss?”
“Tell her about the statue,” Jay-Jay says to Beezer. “Hey, Reenie, you gotta hear this one.”
“I was telling Anya about the time Cal tried to get the statue of Roger Conant removed,” Beezer explains.
Irene smiles, remembering.
“Because it looks like a witch?” Anya asks.
“Because it looks like it’s masturbating,” says Irene.
“What?” Anya says, peering out the window at the statue of Salem’s founding father, which is right across the square. “Oh, please, it does not.”
“Swear to God.” Jay-Jay crosses his heart.
Irene goes to the window and tries to point it out to Anya, who’s squinting into the gathering darkness, trying to make herself see it. The Lace Reader 83
“Where?” Anya says.
“Right there. The way he’s holding his staff.”
“More like his rod,” Jay-Jay says, and even Irene thinks he’s gone too far.
“I’ve gotta get back to work,” Rafferty says then. I start to get up to walk him to the door. “You want me to take him with me?” He gestures to Jay-Jay.
“He’s okay,” I say.
Rafferty shrugs.
“Thank you for coming,” I say.
“We’ll see each other again.”
“Yes,” I say.
I walk him to the door, watch as he walks down the steps to the black unmarked car. He sits there for a minute, then starts the engine and does an illegal U-turn on the square, barely missing a parked car.
Ann Chase is cleaning up, gathering dishes off the tables, taking them to the kitchen. I follow her.
“See? There? It really does look like he’s jerking off.”
“Does not,” Anya says, but she’s laughing now, a hearty Norwegian sort of laugh.
“Does too,” Lyndley’s voice says in my mind, flashing a random memory. It was the summer before Lyndley died that she discovered the statue of Roger Conant. I don’t mean she literally discovered it—
we’d been
I cross the room, putting distance between us, going to a table in the bay window. Rafferty comes in a minute later. He scans the crowd until he sees me, then walks over and leans down.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “That was another poor attempt at small talk.”
I don’t have it in me to smile.
“Eva kept telling me over and over how bad I was at this kind of thing.”
I feel some compassion for him. He is trying. I look at him and realize that his secret thoughts, whatever they might be, are probably the only ones in this room that I’m not reading tonight.
“She kept telling me she’d give me a discount on one of her manners classes,” he says. u
82 Brunonia
Barry
There is a long pause. He shifts awkwardly. “I guess I should have taken her up on it.”
I’m still trying to think of something to say back to him, something polite but not personal. Finally I get it. I speak to him in Aunt Eva’s own words. “I like soup. Do you like soup?”
It is a test. To see how much he knows. If he has talked to Eva as much as I suspect he has, he will know the expression. It was one of her favorites. Especially if they were talking about the skill of making small talk or his lack thereof. Learning to talk about soup was the first lesson Eva taught. He looks at me curiously. I’m watching his eyes, waiting for signs of recognition. He shows nothing. “Excuse me?” he says slowly, deliberately. I’m staring at him now, trying to read his thoughts. His mind is either intentionally blank or unreadable. His eyes are steady. He might be telling the truth, or he might be just a hell of a good cop. I can’t decide which.
Irene comes back into the room then, fluffing her skirts down as she goes. “What’d I miss?”
“Tell her about the statue,” Jay-Jay says to Beezer. “Hey, Reenie, you gotta hear this one.”
“I was telling Anya about the time Cal tried to get the statue of Roger Conant removed,” Beezer explains.
Irene smiles, remembering.
“Because it looks like a witch?” Anya asks.
“Because it looks like it’s masturbating,” says Irene.
“What?” Anya says, peering out the window at the statue of Salem’s founding father, which is right across the square. “Oh, please, it does not.”
“Swear to God.” Jay-Jay crosses his heart.
Irene goes to the window and tries to point it out to Anya, who’s squinting into the gathering darkness, trying to make herself see it. The Lace Reader 83
“Where?” Anya says.
“Right there. The way he’s holding his staff.”
“More like his rod,” Jay-Jay says, and even Irene thinks he’s gone too far.
“I’ve gotta get back to work,” Rafferty says then. I start to get up to walk him to the door. “You want me to take him with me?” He gestures to Jay-Jay.
“He’s okay,” I say.
Rafferty shrugs.
“Thank you for coming,” I say.
“We’ll see each other again.”
“Yes,” I say.
I walk him to the door, watch as he walks down the steps to the black unmarked car. He sits there for a minute, then starts the engine and does an illegal U-turn on the square, barely missing a parked car.
Ann Chase is cleaning up, gathering dishes off the tables, taking them to the kitchen. I follow her.
“See? There? It really does look like he’s jerking off.”
“Does not,” Anya says, but she’s laughing now, a hearty Norwegian sort of laugh.
“Does too,” Lyndley’s voice says in my mind, flashing a random memory. It was the summer before Lyndley died that she discovered the statue of Roger Conant. I don’t mean she literally discovered it—
we’d been
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