“Oh really? I never heard of Gloria.”
Vickie’s eyes lit up like Christmas trees, but before she could tell her anything about Gloria, Mrs. Manning called from the other room, “You ain’t talking out of school, now are you, Vic?”
Vickie’s eyes widened under her shellacked bangs. “No, ma’am!” she called, then smiled ruefully at Robin. “I’ll catch up with you later during horseshoes,” she whispered conspiratorially and didn’t even seem to notice that Robin was speechless at the mere mention of horseshoes, yet another sporting event for which she had no talent or desire.
Robin followed Vickie into the adjoining room, noticed that Jake had abandoned her—through the sheer drapes, she could see him outside with Zaney and Cole under the hood of Zaney’s battered truck. She was, she realized in a moment of panic, alone with Mrs. Manning, Wanda, Vickie, and the two kids. Wanda was working on a piece of embroidery or knitting or some craft thing. Vickie picked up a magazine and began to leaf through it. And Mrs. Manning smoked.
She motioned to a high-back wooden chair with an old, stained embroidered seat as she eyed Robin. “Have a seat,” she said. “Is it all right I call you Robin?”
“Sure!” Robin said and sat, folding her hands in her lap.
“So . . . how did you meet Jacob?” Wanda asked.
“Ah . . . he’s renovating my house.”
“I’ve been trying to get him to come fix a door in my house for six months,” Vickie said absently as she leafed through the magazine.
Mrs. Manning continued to stare at Robin. “Where do you live?”
“North Boulevard. It’s near the Village.”
She nodded. “Nice house, I’d say.”
“It will be when Jake is done. He’s excellent at what he does.”
If she wasn’t mistaken, a hint of a sardonic smile flashed across Mrs. Manning’s face, but disappeared quickly. “Ain’t the first time I’ve heard that.”
“What kind of work do you do?” Wanda asked.
“I, uh . . . I work for a shipping company. We ship freight around the world.”
“Oh . . . do you work in the office?”
“The corporate offices.”
“Doing what?”
Well, I was my father’s lackey for a while, but then he demoted me to bubble wrap. . . . “I am an acquisitions specialist,” she said, wincing inwardly at how stupid that sounded.
“A what specialist?” Vickie asked unabashedly.
“I, uh . . . well, like right now, I am looking at acquiring a couple of packing material companies. We buy packing materials to pack our freight. If we buy a packing supply company, then we’d make our own and not have to rely on someone else’s supply.”
“I don’t know what you mean when you say packing materials,” Mrs. Manning said.
“You know . . . stuff that goes in boxes.”
“You mean like them Styrofoam peanuts?” Vickie asked incredulous.
Robin could feel herself coloring. Of all the things she had envisioned for herself, peanuts definitely had never been in the picture. Neither was Telephone Road, for that matter. “Yes. Like Styrofoam peanuts.”
Vickie looked at her mother. Wanda looked at her embroidery.
“I’d best see to the potatoes,” Mrs. Manning said, heaving herself out of the recliner.
“Can I help you?” Robin asked, coming to her feet.
Mrs. Manning’s eyes flicked the entire length of her before she slowly nodded. “I imagine there is something you can do.”
Well, that was debatable, but Robin followed Mrs. Manning to the kitchen anyway. Jake’s mom pointed to a cabinet next to her ancient fridge. “You’ll find some plates in there. There will be twelve of us for dinner if Derek ever gets back from fishing. I don’t know why he’s got to go fishing on Easter Sunday, but he ain’t my husband.” She proceeded on to the stove and lifted the lid on the potatoes.
Thank you, God—setting the table, something she could definitely do. “Okay!” Robin said, pleased with her task. “Where’s the dining room?”
Mrs. Manning looked up. “This ain’t quite the Village, you know.” She nodded at the kitchen table. “You’re looking at it.”
“Oh.” Wooonderful. Robin proceeded stiffly to the cabinet Mrs. Manning had indicated, withdrew twelve old pottery plates decorated with brown and orange leaves, and walked back to the table, wondering if she should remove the used coffee cups there.
“You know,” Mrs. Manning said as Robin pushed the cups aside for the moment, “my son has a lot on his plate right now, what with his work, and school, and trying to help me manage Cole.”
“Yes, he’s a very busy man,” Robin agreed as she began to lay the plates.
“You must be busy, too, with your packing stuff.”
Her job certainly sounded glamorous when put like that, didn’t it? “Sometimes. I travel a lot.”