Whisper Me This(44)

“Elle. It will be fine. What makes you think they’re church ladies?”

“They said. They have casseroles. They asked for coffee.”

“Oh God.” I change into a clean pair of jeans and a nice shirt. It’s wrinkled from the suitcase, but there’s nothing to be done about that. In the living room, the two armchairs are occupied by Elle’s church ladies. One of them is thin, perfectly coiffed, and dressed in a tailored jacket and a pair of gray pants. The other wears a ball cap over shoulder-length hair, a T-shirt, and grass-stained jeans.

Safe-deposit-box Bethany perches on the edge of the couch. The instant she sees me, she’s up onto her feet, clacking across the floor on high heels to envelop me in a hug. “You won’t tell anybody, will you?” she whispers in my ear. “That I broke the rules about the box?”

“Our little secret,” I whisper back, thanking the goddess of silence. I don’t need anybody speculating about Mom’s advance directive or anything else that might have been stashed in that box.

The woman in the ball cap is waiting for her turn at the hugging. I can’t place her at first, and it takes me a minute to peel back the layers of memory and see her as younger, slimmer, and dressed for church. Alison Baldwin. She used to play the piano for church services. Taught a Sunday school class.

Alison’s hug is bony but heartfelt. She smells of sweat and fresh-cut grass and gasoline.

“You poor dear. So tragic. Were you able to say good-bye? You got here in time?”

“Yes, I was with her when she died.”

Talk about evasions. I was with her, all right. Saying good-bye wasn’t exactly what I was doing.

“I apologize for my appearance,” Alison says. “I was out working on the lawn when Nancy came by for me. I’d completely lost track of time.”

Nancy must be the name of the other woman. I still can’t summon up a memory of her. She’s got a timeless face and style and was probably wearing a skirt and jacket when she was twelve.

“Your mother was an admirable woman,” Nancy says, getting up much more slowly from her chair and not attempting the hug. “A fine Christian and such a strong and giving person. We won’t know what to do without her. She will be irreplaceable.”

“Truth,” Alison says. “Head of the clothing drive. Church board member. She’d recently begun playing piano for the choir. Which reminds me—what are we going to do? There’s the July Fourth concert coming up, and we’ll have to find someone to fill in.” Her gaze swings round to me and lights up. “What about you? You had piano lessons.”

I had piano lessons, all right, but even my mother recognized the futility of that endeavor and they were short-lived.

I snort. I don’t mean to, but it just happens. It’s an unladylike pig snort, and all eyes in the room land on me at once. There’s a little dampness on my upper lip on the side of my left nostril, and I hope to the God I don’t quite believe in that I haven’t ejected a spray of snot. I cross the room for a tissue, which gives me the opportunity to hide my face.

“Not a musical bone in my body. I’m sorry. What about Bethany? You were always much better at piano than me.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly! It’s been years and—”

“I didn’t know you played the piano!” Alison exclaims. “What a precious gift from the Lord! Why did you never say anything?”

“Like I said, I don’t even have a piano and—”

“You could practice at the church,” Nancy cuts in. “That piano doesn’t get played enough.”

“How’s your dad doing?” Bethany asks me, a little desperately.

Her ploy works. “Yes, tell us all about your poor father,” Alison says. “How is he holding up? This must be so difficult for him.”

“Life is truly a vale of tears.” Nancy shakes her perfectly coifed head, but her eyes are sharp with curiosity, not soft with grief, and I am on my guard.

“How about I go make us some coffee and put the casseroles in the fridge?” Bethany asks, brightly, and vanishes before anybody has a chance to object or bring up the piano again.

“Where is your father?” Nancy cuts her eyes around the room, as if expecting to see him hiding behind the recliner or the drapes.

“In the hospital. He’s been very . . . confused . . . since Mom died. The doctor wants to put him in a facility.”

“Oh, surely not!” both women exclaim at once.

“Jinx,” Elle whispers, but either they don’t hear her or have no idea what she’s talking about.

“I heard—forgive me if this is difficult, but I heard that the police were involved?” Alison’s eyes have an avid gleam of curiosity that wipes out my polite conversation circuit.

“Mrs. Carlton called them. From next door. I’m sure she’s told you all about it.”

The quick flush rising to Alison’s cheeks tells me I’m right. Conjecture and gossip will have run through the church like wildfire in a drought and spilled over into the rest of the town. I wonder whether they all believe the tales about Dad or if there is a stream of sympathetic church ladies flowing into his room up at the hospital.

“Well, now, that’s just unfortunate,” Alison says. “Such a nice man, he’s always seemed. I’ve not seen any symptoms of confusion. Have you, Nancy?”