Well Behaved Wives(44)

Water hung in the air, misting her face like the lightest spray on a hose. As the rousing wind stirred things up, the drizzle left a film of cool condensation on her skin and clothes that grew from the soaking droplets. Ruth rounded the hedge to the sidewalk and found her friends waiting there, smiling under an assortment of umbrellas.

It was a pleasant surprise. Ruth had felt like the Lone Ranger in that meeting. The only dissenting voice. The solo mission. Yet here were her friends, wanting her as part of the group, even if it was simply to walk home together.

“Thanks for waiting,” Ruth said. “Let’s go.” She pointed to the corner, and they all hurried in that direction. Then, as if by some mind-reading trick, or as if Lillian’s voice were in their heads, the girls slowed to a respectable walk.

Irene and Harriet in front, smoking; Ruth and Carrie behind.

They strode in step. Left, right, left, right. Laughter and banter.

Ruth eavesdropped on the details of Heidi’s friends and Harriet’s engagement party. She listened to Carrie’s pot roast secrets. Ruth mentioned plans for apple-picking, additional fall shopping, and a couples’ night she would like to host once she had a home of her own. They gabbed over and around one another, but somehow Ruth heard it all. She let go of her disappointment about hearing what women should do and enjoyed what she and her friends were doing in the moment. She wanted to keep these women in her life. Things would change when she was working, but for the time being, this was fun, and it would please Shirley.

What would happen to their group when the etiquette lessons ended? Would this bond be enough to maintain friendships when she worked as a lawyer? When Harriet got married? With Irene juggling four children and Carrie planning for one? After she passed the bar, surely Ruth would make lawyer friends, but they would likely be men. It was refreshing to have girlfriends—women friends.

Irene glanced at her watch. “You girls can dawdle; I’ve got to pick up the pace so my mother isn’t alone with all four kids. The older ones will be getting out of school soon.”

“I promised my mother I’d come right home, too,” Harriet said, though Ruth couldn’t imagine why. Harriet had no children and was only engaged. She must be planning a big wedding. Ruth had seen enough of her New York friends submerged under the list of things that needed to be taken care of, to be thankful that her own ceremony had been small. Harriet and Irene waved and scampered away.

“I have to get home, too,” Carrie said. “Eli likes supper on the table at six.” Ruth had heard this before. Eli left at eight in the morning. Eli ate dinner at six. Carrie had told her several times. Perhaps it was an occupational hazard for vice-principals. Having to stick to a tight schedule with so many students to take into account. The drizzle stopped and Carrie turned to Ruth.

“Let’s catch up to the other girls,” Carrie said. “Harriet walks right by my house.”

It occurred to Ruth that Carrie might be avoiding a private conversation with her. Was it something Ruth had said? Had she come on too strong about women’s intelligence in the lesson? After all, Carrie was smart. She’d been a nurse.

Ruth was hungry for more female conversation at the moment. Shirley was her only other source, and that was usually awkward, to say the least. In a year, things would change. Today she wanted to meander home, even in the rain, admiring the shiny, wet colored leaves and the pots of mums on the steps and patios. The pumpkins waiting to become jack-o’-lanterns. She wanted to revel in the cool air. She wanted to do that with Carrie. Tomorrow she had to get back to her studies.

She yearned for anything but polite conversation about being polite.

She wanted to talk to her friend.

As Carrie sped up, Ruth waved. “Slow down, it’s slippery out here.”

Carrie was already a step ahead, so Ruth reached out to slow her, get her attention, but as Ruth skimmed Carrie’s gloved hand, she yanked it away.

“Don’t grab at me.” Carrie hissed, caressing her left wrist like it was painful.

“I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?” Ruth asked.

“No, no. I’m sorry. I just don’t like being touched.”

“Let me take a look. Promise I won’t touch you. You might need medical attention.”

Carrie pulled her sleeve down even further. “You’re crazy!”

“Listen, I’m your friend. I think you need help.”

“You think I slit my wrists?”

Ruth stared at her. What had prompted that random remark? Why would she say that for no logical reason? Had she slit them?

“You’re safe with me.” Ruth reached a hand toward Carrie and, as Carrie batted her hand away, Ruth’s fingers grazed her wrist again.

“Ow. Cut it out.” Carrie winced.

Ruth held up her hands like a crossing guard holding up a stop sign, though a crossing guard probably didn’t have a prickling chill creeping up her neck. She shrugged her shoulders to squelch it, to no avail. The buzzing jumped to her arms as if to empower them.

Trust your instincts.

Ruth had to make a move. If she was wrong, she could apologize.

She grabbed Carrie’s hand, rolled down the glove, and gently pushed Carrie’s cuff up past her wrist to look. The skin was mottled purple and green with yellow edges.

Ruth worried that she was coming on too strong. A lawyer should ease up, consider all the evidence. That type of mark could come from multiple sources. Had Carrie worn a cheap metal bracelet that had dyed her skin?