The Will(91)

“Of course,” I told him. “She’s one of Gran’s closest friends.”

“Yes, well, you also probably know her son is in Portland, her daughter in Bar Harbor and her grandkids are scattered everywhere. She has folks who come in a few times a week to help her with groceries and cleaning and Ruth or one of my parishioners picks her up for church on Sunday mornings but she doesn’t get many visitors. And she walks with that frame so can’t get around easily. I know Lydia visited her once a week if she could, or Pearl came to Lavender House. I’m worried with your grandmother gone she’s getting quite lonely and—”

I interrupted him, feeling terrible I hadn’t thought of this myself. Since I’d been in Magdalene, Pearl had phoned and she’d been one of the few who’d given me a hug at Gran’s funeral. I hadn’t thought of her again since but it was rare when I came to visit Gran that I didn’t see Pearl, even in passing.

I should have thought of her.

Therefore, I interrupted him to say, “I’ll pop by. Look in on her. See if she needs anything and if she’s up for regular visitors.”

I said this but I thought that Ethan seemed rather fond of senior citizens (and pretty much anybody). He might enjoy visiting Pearl and getting to know her and I knew she’d enjoy the same. In fact, being Gran’s dearest friend, he might already know her.

“That would be wonderful, Josephine. Thank you,” Reverend Fletcher said.

“It would be my pleasure. I’ve had many things on my mind, I should have popped by before,” I told him.

“You’re doing it now,” he reminded me.

I was indeed.

“I’ll see you at services tomorrow?” he went on to ask.

This would be doubtful.

Still, I said, “I’ll do my best.”

“Perhaps you can bring Spear and his children,” he suggested.

It seemed he was not only intent on looking after the soul of Pearl Milshorn but perhaps saving one (or several).

“I’ll discuss it with Jake,” I replied, and since I didn’t wish to lie to a pastor, I decided at least to mention it to Jake. If Jake said no, he’d say no but I wouldn’t have committed a sin by lying straight to a man of God.

“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll get Ruth to call you about that dinner. Take care, Josephine.”

“And you, Reverend.”

We rang off and when I put the phone back in the cradle, my mind on finding Pearl’s number and giving her a ring, it jumped straight to Dee-Amond.

And it jumped to Amond for Amond would have the answer to my earlier dilemma.

Therefore, I found Pearl’s number and felt even guiltier at hearing her delight when I greeted her and arranged for a meeting on Tuesday afternoon.

After that, I put the phone in the cradle, moved to my mobile and called Amond.

“Beautiful,” was his greeting.

“Hello, Amond. You’re well?”

“Lagged, girl. Just got to Paris yesterday and that ride kicked my ass,” he answered.

“Sorry,” I murmured, feeling his pain. I’d been jet-lagged so many times it was impossible to count and it was never enjoyable.

“Why’re you callin’?” he asked when I said no more.

“I wanted some advice,” I told him.

There was a moment of silence then, strangely cautiously, he asked, “Advice on what?”

“Well, you see, I’m going to a boxing match tonight,” I shared. This was met with utter silence so I carried on, “And I don’t know what to wear. I’ve heard you mention that you’ve been to the fights and I thought you might be able to advise me on what attire would be appropriate.”

More silence before, “You’re going to a fight?”

“Not one, several. They’ve a league here and the bouts go all day. But I’m hoping to time it so I only have to attend two.”

“You’re going to a fight,” he repeated, not in a question this time.

“Well, yes,” I replied.

This brought more silence before, “And why you goin’ to a fight, beautiful? That’s not exactly your style.”

“I’ve been asked by the fighters,” I shared.

“Fighters…plural?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Both opponents?”

Oh dear.

Neither Jake nor Mickey told me who their opponents would be and they both fought in the heavyweight class.

I hoped they weren’t fighting each other.

Obviously, I’d want Jake to win if this were true. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t want Mickey to lose either. Mostly, I didn’t want to watch them hitting each other.

Yes, I hoped they weren’t fighting together.

“No,” I gave him my hope rather than the true answer, as I didn’t know the true answer. “Just two different fighters.”

To that he murmured, sounding amused, “That’s my Josephine girl, been there a coupla weeks, she’s setting Maine on fire with her ice.”

I felt my brows draw together. “Pardon?”

He didn’t repeat himself or explain, he said curiously, “This is gonna be good.”

“What’s going to be good?” I asked.

“Nothin’, beautiful. Just suddenly got an urge to haul my ass to Maine to see shit play out. “