Mrs. Saint and the Defectives

“She wanted to make sure they were eating three good squares. People on hard times, sometimes they let that go first, you know. But if someone just makes up a plate for them, they’ll eat it. So we serve a nice hot breakfast, a good lunch, and then dinner. To make sure they’re taking care of at least that part of things.”

“Right,” Markie whispered. She waited for Ronda to add the part where her cooking wasn’t all that good, where she was distracted so easily that she let pots boil over, so Mrs. Saint had to bring Patty in to help with the mess. The part where Ronda needed a place, too, where she was this close to losing her job and Mrs. Saint came to the rescue just in time. The part where she wasn’t merely cooking for Mrs. Saint’s Defectives but was one of them.

But Ronda was finished talking. The door from the house to the screened porch opened then, and Patty called through the screen, “Lola! We’ve got to bolt! I’m already running late!”

Seeing Markie and Ronda at the fence, she called, “So, there she is. Our reclusive neighbor.”

“Patty!” Ronda chastised. To Markie she said, “Sorry. No filter on that one.”

“It’s fine,” Markie said, waving to Patty, who was walking toward the fence. She wore skintight jeans and a low-cut blouse, and like her daughter, she was barefoot. Markie extended her hand. “I’m Markie. Neighborhood recluse.”

Patty shook with one hand while the other reached into her back pocket, extracting a pack of cigarettes. She pulled one out between her teeth, pushed the pack back into her pocket, fished a lighter out of another pocket, and then dropped Markie’s hand so she could cup the flame in both hands. Markie watched her, entranced—not by Patty’s simple act of lighting a cigarette, but by the authoritativeness of her movements. Everything about this woman seemed out of place, from her seventies-style feathered hair to her inappropriately sexy outfit, to the regularity with which she seemed to shirk her work duties and her child, yet she moved and spoke and carried herself as though she belonged exactly where she was and was conducting herself precisely as she should be.

“Just ribbing you,” Patty said, inhaling, then angling her face up to let a long trail of smoke out without blowing it into the other women’s faces. “Mrs. Saint told us you weren’t much for company just yet.” Jabbing a thumb over her shoulder where Lola sat, she said, “I hope she’s not the one who finally brung you out from under cover.”

Lola looked up at the accusation, then bobbed her head back down to her chocolate bar.

“No,” Markie said, “it was me. I came out. I wanted to thank Ronda for the muffins and the little house.”

“Totem,” Patty corrected, and Ronda blushed.

“Oh yes. Totem. Of course.” Markie turned to Ronda. “Sorry.”

Ronda waved the apology away. “It’s fine. Really. I know Mrs. Saint probably already told you she has no use for—”

“I loved it,” Markie said. “The little . . .” She struggled to recall if Mrs. Saint had used a special term for the dolls. “Figures? Of me and Jesse? They’re adorable. I can’t tell you what it meant to me that you took the time to make it. I don’t think I’ve ever received such a thoughtful gift before.”

Ronda beamed, and Patty gave Markie a grateful smile and said, “Wasn’t it incredible? Ronda spent hours.” She turned to the other woman. “How many, do you think?”

“Oh, I didn’t keep track,” Ronda said. “I was just happy to do it. I hope it brings . . .” She tilted her head toward Mrs. Saint’s house, as though reluctant to say the next thing, in case her boss overheard. “Luck,” she whispered.

“I’m sure it will,” Patty said. “Don’t you think it will, Markie?”

“It already has. I’ve met the two of you today. And Lola.”

Patty scratched out a laugh. “She meant it to bring good luck.” Putting a hand on Ronda’s shoulder, she said, “Frédéric wanted me to remind you that you were going to get dinner started early tonight. He has to go out for a while.”

“Oh yes, that’s right,” Ronda said.

“So, where’s Frédéric off to after dinner?” Markie asked.

One of the many unusual things she had noticed about the daily schedule on the other side of the fence was the fact that most weekday afternoons at a little before two, Frédéric left, returning about an hour later. They were all aware that he left, calling goodbye and greeting him when he returned, but as with Patty’s evening activities, the details of Frédéric’s daily sojourn went unmentioned. Markie had spent more time than she wanted to admit watching, trying to sort out where it was that he went every day. And equally weird, why it was that the only time Patty’s mother, Carol, seemed to come over was during that precise hour when Frédéric was gone. The two things didn’t seem to have any connection, yet they only ever occurred in tandem.

Patty took the time to stub out her cigarette, light a new one, and blow a long curl of smoke above her before looking directly at Markie and saying, “Who knows?”

Markie felt her cheeks flush as though she had been caught doing something lewd.

She opened her mouth to apologize for treading where she wasn’t welcome, but Patty turned to Ronda and spoke before Markie could. “He says you can leave the dishes. He’ll do them when he gets back. That way, he can drive you and Bruce home right after dinner, on his way.”

“Oh, that’s very nice,” Ronda said, still looking at Lola. “I’ll stay and finish, though. He shouldn’t have to.”

“As long as you don’t take too long, I think,” Patty said. “Frédéric wants Mrs. Saint to lie down after you eat, and she won’t if people are still here.”

“Is she ill?” Markie asked.

“No!” Ronda said.

It was the first time Markie had heard the cook speak loudly, and she might have concluded it was a reflexive, head-in-the-ground response by an employee unwilling to admit her boss was sick, but Patty said, “She’s just tired, and he suggested she should take a nap, and she said she had too much to do before dinner, so he said fine, take one right after dinner, and she promised him she would.”

Patty stared expectantly at Ronda, who was still languishing against the fence, watching Lola. Finally, Patty put a hand on the cook’s arm and in a gentle voice said, “So? Can you get dinner started early, you think?”

“Oh yes, yes, of course!” Ronda said, laughing. “I lost my train of thought for a few minutes there, didn’t I? Yes!” She pushed herself off the fence and walked to the side door. “I just need to think about what I should make,” she said, possibly to herself, as she reached the door.

“I think you’ve got a recipe on the counter,” Patty called after her. “Something with pork chops?”

“Oh yes, that’s right. The pork with the . . . what was I going to do with it?”

“Mushroom soup,” Patty said. “Can’s on the counter. Sounds real good. If there’s any left, save some for my lunch tomorrow?”

Ronda turned and beamed. “I’ll be sure to.”

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