“That’s a shame, though,” I said.
“Yeah, it is.” She picked up one of my sloppy rolls and redid it, pulling the napkin tight. “But that’s when they started getting kind of nasty toward her. Like I said, this is a small town. It doesn’t take much to get a reputation.”
“Those women I heard today in the post office,” I said, softly, “one of them had this—”
“The baby,” she finished for me, and I nodded. “That’s Bea Williamson. The Williamsons are old Colby: country club, town government, big mansion overlooking the sound. She’s got some kind of issue with Mira. I don’t know what it is.”
I wanted to tell her that sometimes there doesn’t even have to be a reason. I knew from experience that no matter how much you turn things in your head, trying to make sense of them, some people just defy all logic.
“They were saying all these terrible things,” I said, finishing another silverware. “You know, about the way she is.”
“The way she is,” Morgan repeated flatly.
“Yeah, well,” I went on, not looking at her. I suddenly felt terrible for even bringing it up, as if I was Bea Williamson, just that shallow. “The way she dresses and all.”
She absorbed this. “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Mira’s always been a free spirit, as long as I’ve known her. She’s just Mira.”
There was a crunching of gravel outside as the Rabbit pulled up, radio blasting. Isabel got out, wearing a pair of white sunglasses, and slammed the door.
“Oh, look at this,” Morgan said loudly.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Isabel said, walking right past me, sunglasses still on, heading straight to the coffee machine.
“Where were you last night?”
Isabel pulled down the newly stocked container of filters and balanced it on her leg to pull one out. Then she slipped a bit, knocking a few onto the floor, which she stepped over as she went to start the coffee.
This, of course, sent Morgan into a snit.
“Give me that!” she snapped, grabbing the container and putting it on the counter, reaching in to repair the damage. “I just did these, Isabel.”
I rolled silverware, keeping my head down.
“Sorry,” Isabel said. The machine started gurgling, spitting out coffee, and she stretched and yawned while she watched.
“You know I was worried sick about you,” Morgan said, reaching down to pick up the spilled filters. Just for spite she knocked Isabel’s knee with the dustpan, which she already had at the ready for cleanup.
“Ow.” Isabel stepped aside. “God, Morgan. You’re not my mom. You don’t need to be up nights waiting for me.”
“I didn’t even know where you were,” Morgan grumbled, busily sweeping. “You didn’t leave a note. You could have been—”
“Dead on the highway,” Isabel finished for her, rolling her eyes at me. I looked back, surprised at even being acknowledged.
“Yes!” Morgan stood, dumped the grounds in the trash, then put the brush and dustpan neatly back into its place. “Easily. In my car, no less.”
Isabel slammed her hand on the counter. “Don’t start about the car, okay?”
“Well,” Morgan said, raising her voice, “you shouldn’t just take it like that with no notice, I mean, what if I had to be someplace? Considering you didn’t tell me anything, I’d have no way of finding you …”
“Jesus, Morgan, if you weren’t such an old woman maybe I would tell you more!” Isabel yelled. “Living with you is like having my grandmother breathing down my neck. So excuse me if I don’t share all my intimate details, okay?”
Morgan flinched, as if she’d been hit. Then she turned around and busied herself with the sugars and Sweet’n Lows, segregating them with quick, jerky movements.
Isabel yanked out the coffeepot, stuck a cup under the stream, and let it fill up about halfway. Then she replaced the pot, took a sip of the coffee, and closed her eyes.
It was very quiet.
“I’m sorry,” Isabel said loudly. It sounded more genuine than when she had said it to me. “I really am.”
Morgan didn’t say anything, but moved on to turning all the spoons right side up.
Isabel shot me a look which I knew meant get lost, so I stood and took the silverware and napkins into the kitchen. But I could still see them through the food window. I hopped up on the prep table, trying to be quiet, and watched.
“Morgan,” Isabel said, softer this time. “I said I was sorry.”
“You’re always sorry,” Morgan said without turning around.
“I know,” Isabel replied, in that same low voice.
Another silence, except for Morgan arranging straws.
“I didn’t even know I was going out,” Isabel said. “Jeff just called and said we should go sailing so I went and then the afternoon just turned into night and the next thing I knew …”
Morgan turned around, her eyes wide. “Jeff? That guy we met at the Big Shop?”
“Yes,” Isabel said. Now she smiled. “He called. Can you believe it?”
“Oh, my God!” Morgan said, grabbing her by the hand. “What did you do? Did you freak?”
“I had, like, totally forgotten who he was,” Isabel told her, laughing. I was so used to her scowling that it took me by surprise. She looked like a different person. “He had to remind me. Can you believe that? But he’s so nice, Morgan, and we spent this awesome day….”
“Okay, go back, go back,” Morgan said, walking around the counter and sitting down, settling in. “Start with him calling.”
“Okay,” Isabel said, pouring herself some more coffee. “So the phone rings. And I’m, like, in my bathrobe, watching the soaps…”