The Mirror by Marlys Millhiser Page B

imprisoned by his pale hair, so like her own had been before . . . "Tell her . . . thank you."
    Shay swallowed against the lump moving up Brandy's esophagus. The sound of cicadas dimmed in her ears.
    He inspected her blankly, his head tilted back, as if he were experiencing her rather than looking at her.
    Brandy's face grew hot and Shay said, "I . . . don't suppose I can go over there . . . and thank her myself."
    "I don't suppose you can." A suggestion of laughter touched amber eyes. "I'll give her your message."
    Shay was still watching her grandfather or his twin walk away when Corbin stuck a glass under her nose. He did not look happy.
    "What was that about?"
    "He gave me a piece of chicken." She sat down, almost spilling the root beer. People were looking at them.
    "What did Hutch Maddon want with you?"
    "Nothing." And that was true. His interest had not been admiration or particularly friendly. It was more a curious dissection. "Hutch is a funny name."
    "It's shortened from Hutchison, his mother's maiden name."
    "Thora K. said his mother was a prostitute."
    "There are gentler words for that profession, Brandy. Mrs. Maddon fell upon hard times."
    The chicken tasted so good, Shay forgot the root beer. Then, with a crunchy piece still between her teeth, she stopped chewing and stared at the enormous meadow with people dotting one end of it, but saw instead a memory . . . Memorial Day in Columbia Cemetery in Boulder . . . Shay watching her mother place a vase of cut flowers against a pink headstone ... it wasn't the first time Shay'd been there, but probably the last . . . she could remember little of the inscription and no dates . . . but the name chiseled in pink granite had been Hutchison Maddon . . . her memory saw it clearly . . . Rachael'd always spoken of him as Dad . . . and the grave next to his . . . Sophie Euler McCabe . . . whom Rachael'd always referred to as Grandma . . . Shay'd been junior-high age that Memorial Day . . .
    "Brandy?"
    Shay Garrett came back to the salty taste of chicken and the man beside her. Where was Corbin buried? Hard to think of him as dead. He was so big and masculine and now looked so sincere.
    "Brandy, you've not been listening to me."
    "I'm sorry, my mind was a million miles away."
    He looked worried, as he always did when reminded she was crazy.
    "Oh, come on, Corbin, give me a chance. Haven't you ever had a knotty problem that wouldn't leave you alone until your mind turned out everything else and just struggled with it?"
    "I've never thought of it in such words but. . . yes, yes I have. Though what problem a woman could have that's of such weight . . . She's taken care of, fed, housed. Problems of weight fall on the men."
    "You, Corbin Strock, are a first-rate MCP. Do you know that? Well-meaning, but--"
    "MCP?"
    "Male chauvinist pi . . . uh, never mind. What were you talking about ,, while I struggled with my unimportant problem?"
    "I was pointing out that you must be careful, Brandy. Nederland's a small place and you musn't go about discussing . . . fallen women and-"
    "Is May Bell a pros . . . fallen woman? And her friends over there?"
    His answer was an expression of acute embarrassment.
    "Corbin, if I'm to live here, I have to know something about this small place of yours. And if I can't discuss it with you, then who? Someone else's husband?"
    "How do you know of May Bell?"
    "This is her chicken."
    "You accepted that from a--"
    "I like chicken. And you haven't answered my question."
    "Women discuss these things amongst themselves I suppose. My mother--"
    "Would Thora K. discuss fallen women with me?"
    Corbin laughed and drew curious looks from the meadow. "Sometimes you seem such a child and at other times I wonder if it isn't too bad the Young Men's Debating Society doesn't include women. From now on, I'll buy your chicken for you. And yes, May Bell is--"
    "Like Marie on Water Street?"
    "Yes, and you're to have nothing to do with May Bell or her friends."
    I'll bet you do,