Mrs. Saint stepped toward the door, her back to Markie. “Because it is a very painful thing,” she said in a small voice. “She is dead.”
Markie felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She had been entirely too harsh, especially considering the woman had a heart condition. She was still frustrated by all the secrets, but this was different. Her neighbor couldn’t be the first person to pretend away loved ones because it was easier than facing their absence.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. Mrs. Saint had reached the doorway, and Markie reached out to her. “I can imagine why you would pretend she didn’t exist.”
Mrs. Saint nodded and kept going.
“You don’t have to leave,” Markie said. “I overreacted. I was annoyed. I still am, about a number of things. But not about that. I’m sorry. I was completely out of line, and I feel terrible about it.”
“I should go.”
“When did she die?” Markie asked. Mrs. Saint was on the patio now, moving toward the fence, and Markie followed behind her.
“A long, long time ago.”
She didn’t look back when she said it, and Markie could tell by her tone that that was all she planned to say about her sister. And for once, she didn’t think there was anything wrong with that.
When Mrs. Saint reached her side door, she turned. “I have known Frédéric for many years. More than you have been alive, even. We met when we were children. He is . . .” She stared past Markie into the distance. “He is family, for me. This is why he insisted on staying overnight in the hospital. This is why they would allow it.”
Markie’s mouth fell open. She could think of a thousand questions, but no words.
“I should have told you this before,” Mrs. Saint said. “I am sorry I did not. And I should not have asked you about Lola. You are not . . . wanting people in your life. Wanting to be involved in their lives. I have known this. And I should not have pushed about it.”
Markie cringed. It made her sound so selfish, so coldhearted. “Well, not now,” she said. “I might’ve had a different answer a year ago, but for right now—”
Mrs. Saint held up a hand to stop her. “I am not asking you to explain this. It is your information.”
Markie waited, scanning the other woman’s face for some indication she was trying to lure Markie into spilling her story by pretending she didn’t want to hear it. But Mrs. Saint only looked sad. Maybe she regretted pushing Markie so hard for so long, or maybe she was lamenting her lost childhood with Frédéric, or maybe she was thinking about Simone.
“You said you do not want to always be asked about things anymore,” Mrs. Saint said. “And so, I will not.”
She nodded, as though that finalized the matter, then turned and disappeared into her house.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Markie was hobbling outside to put Angel on the tie-out when Ronda called from the screened porch, asking her to wait. When the cook finally reached the fence, Markie saw worry lines on her normally smooth face.
“What is it?” Markie asked.
“Carol’s over. I needed to get out of there for a minute.” Ronda shuddered as though she had narrowly escaped certain death.
“Oh,” Markie said.
No wonder she hadn’t seen Frédéric tinkering near the garage. He must be conveniently at one of his meetings/classes/appointments/who-knew-whats.
“Does she come over often? I’ve heard Lola calling to her a few times, but I’ve never seen her.”
“Oh no,” Ronda said. “Just every blue moon or so, when she needs money.” She bent her head to watch as the toe of her shoe dug into the garden.
“Mrs. Saint gives her money?”
“Oh, goodness no,” Ronda chuckled, shaking her head. “No, she don’t, and she never will, and she made that durn clear to Carol first time she asked. Oooh,” she laughed again, “that was an awkward day for everyone, let me tell you. No, she gets it from Patty. Usually, she hits her up before Patty goes out at night.
“Plays the Lola card. You know, ‘You sure you don’t want to lend me money? Well then, I’m not so sure I want to mind the kid. Maybe you’d best stay in tonight.’” Ronda shook her head. “Real nice for Lola to hear that from her own grandma, I’m sure. Anyway, she must’ve forgot last night, or maybe she had some big financial emergency come up today, after Patty already left to come over.”
“And that’s why Frédéric’s never around when Carol comes over!” Markie guessed out loud. “Because he said something to her about borrowing money from her own daughter or about holding it over Lola’s head. And Carol got mad.”
Ronda looked up, surprised, and Markie blushed at her overexcitement about figuring out the mystery. And for making it so obvious that she had been trying to solve it.
“Well, now, I couldn’t say about that,” Ronda said, “but it sure sounds like something Frédéric might do. He looks at Patty and Lola like they’re his own, in case you never noticed. Looks at all of us that way, really, but especially them.
“And I wouldn’t be surprised if he stuck up for Patty in some kind of way like that, about the money or some of the other stuff Carol does. I never seen him do it. But Carol never asks about him, that’s for sure. Acts like she don’t even know he exists. And I guess it might be because he opened his mouth up and she didn’t like it. You make Carol mad, and that’s it. She’s not one to forgive.”
Markie felt foolish at the realization that the “big mystery” about Frédéric and Carol wasn’t significant at all. They were simply two people avoiding each other because they’d had words once. Where was the great secrecy in that?
“Not that he asks about her, either, if you want the truth,” Ronda said. “And Mrs. Saint is always reminding us not to mention her name or anything about her when he’s around. Lola had a picture of Carol once, and Mrs. Saint about had a fit, making her shove it in her backpack before he saw it, telling her never to bring it over again. So maybe he’s acting like Carol don’t exist, too.
“Only with Frédéric, you know there’s more to it than just being mad about some argument they maybe had. It’s about those girls”—Ronda smiled—“his girls, he calls them. He’s always worried about them, and I imagine he worries more because of all the things Carol puts them through, and that’s why he don’t want nothing to do with her. Not that he’s told me any of this. It’s just how I’ve pieced it together.” She nodded, satisfied with her own theory. Her gesture reminded Markie of Mrs. Saint.