Where'd You Go, Bernadette(23)

“What?” I said. “What?”

Audrey Griffin wasn’t wearing a jacket. Her pants were covered in mud from the knee down, and she was barefoot. There was mud in her hair, too. Mom opened her door without turning off the car. By the time I got out, Audrey Griffin was screaming.

“Your hillside just slid into my home!”

I was like, what? Our yard was so big, and the end of our lawn was so far down, I couldn’t see what she was talking about.

“During a party,” Audrey continued, “for prospective Galer Street parents.”

“I had no idea—” Mom’s voice was all shaky.

“That I believe,” Audrey said, “because you are totally uninvolved in the school. Both kindergarten classes were there!”

“Was anyone hurt?” Mom said.

“Thank the Lord, no.” Audrey had a crazy smile. Mom and I share a fascination with what we call happy-angry people. This display of Audrey Griffin’s had just become the best version of that ever.

“OK. That’s good.” Mom sighed a huge sigh. “That’s good.” I could tell she was trying to convince herself.

“Good?!” Audrey shrieked. “My backyard is six feet high in mud. It broke windows, destroyed plants, trees, hardwood floors, ripped my washer and dryer out of the wall!” Audrey was talking really fast and taking lots of breaths. It was like with each item she ticked off, the needle on her happy-angry meter was moving more and more to the right. “My barbecue is gone. My window treatments are ruined. My greenhouse crushed. Seedlings killed. Specimen apple trees that have taken twenty-five years to establish, pulled up by the roots. Japanese maples flattened. Heirloom roses gone. The fire pit that I tiled myself is gone!”

Mom was sucking in the corners of her mouth to keep a smile from forming. I had to quickly look down so I wouldn’t crack up. But any perverse humor we might have found in the situation suddenly ended.

“And that sign!” Audrey said with a growl.

Mom’s face dropped. She could barely utter the words “The sign.”

“What sign?” I asked.

“What kind of person puts up a sign—” Audrey said.

“I’ll have it taken down today,” Mom said.

“What sign?” I repeated.

“The mud took care of that for you,” Audrey told Mom. I’d never noticed how light green Audrey Griffin’s eyes were until they bugged out at my mother.

“I’ll pay for everything,” Mom said.

Here’s something about Mom: she’s bad with annoyances, but great in a crisis. If a waiter doesn’t refill her water after she’s asked three times, or she forgets her dark glasses when the sun comes out, look out! But when it comes to something truly bad happening, Mom plugs into this supreme calm. I think she got it from all those years half living at Children’s because of me. I’m just saying, when things are bad, there’s nobody better to have in your corner than Mom. But this calm of hers seemed only to set Audrey Griffin off worse.

“Is that all everything is about for you?! Money?!” The madder Audrey got, the sparklier her eyes became. “Up here in your gigantic house looking down on all of us, writing checks, but never deigning to come off your throne and honor us with your presence?”

“You’re obviously emotional,” Mom said. “You need to remember the work I had done on the hillside was at your insistence, Audrey. I used your guy and had him do it on the day you specified.”

“So none of it is your responsibility?” Audrey clucked. “That’s mighty convenient for you. How about the sign, then? Did I make you put that up, too? Really, I’m curious.”

“What sign?!” I started to get scared with all the talk of the sign.

“Buzz,” Mom turned to me. “I did something really stupid. I’ll tell you about it.”

“This poor child,” Audrey said bitterly. “With everything she’s had to go through.”

“Whaa—?” I said.

“I’m truly sorry about the sign,” Mom stated emphatically to Audrey. “I did it on impulse the day I found you on my lawn with your gardener.”

“You’re blaming me?” Audrey said. “Isn’t this just fascinating!” It was like her happy needle had busted through the danger zone and was now entering uncharted territory where no happy-angry person has gone before. I, for one, was frightened.

“I’m blaming myself,” Mom said. “I’m just making the point that there is a larger context to what happened today.”

“You think a gentleman coming to your house to give you an estimate for yard work, which is legally required by city code, is equivalent to putting up a billboard, traumatizing both kindergarten classes, jeopardizing Galer Street enrollment, and destroying my home?”

“The sign was a reaction to that,” Mom said. “Yes.”

“Wooowww,” Audrey Griffin said, spreading the word up and down like a roller coaster. Her voice was so full of hate and craziness that it pierced my skin. My heart began racing in a scary way it never had before.

“This is really interesting.” Audrey widened her eyes. “So you think putting up a hateful billboard over my home is an appropriate reaction to getting an estimate for yard work.” She pointed her finger in eight different directions during that last sentence. “I think I understand.”