The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

“I’m sorry,” he said, and knew he was telling the truth. He was sorry that Fannie was unhappy. He was sorry that Rona Jean was dead, and the baby was dead, and they weren’t going to have the baby for their own. “I wish . . . I’m just sorry, Fannie.”


“Thank you,” Fannie said, her voice muffled. She turned on her chair, sheltering herself in his arms. “Do you think maybe you should tell Sheriff Norris? About the money, I mean. He may be looking through her things. If he finds it, he’ll wonder who gave it to her. It might help if he knew.”

“Do you want the money back?” Charlie asked. Assuming that Rona Jean hadn’t already spent it.

“I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “Whatever . . . whatever seems right to you and the sheriff.” She wiped her eyes on his sleeve. “I’m sorry about doing this behind your back, Charlie. When you and I discussed not having children, I got the idea that you really didn’t want a family, which at the time, I appreciated. But then this came up, and I suddenly realized that I wanted a child. It seemed like the right thing to do—a good solution for her and for us, too. I know I should have talked to you before I made any arrangements, but I was afraid if I waited, she would change her mind. I thought I had to act fast.”

“I understand,” Charlie said gruffly. He put his fingers under her chin, lifted her face, and kissed her mouth. “It’s okay, really it is, Fannie. Let’s talk about this again, later. Now that I know how you really feel, maybe we can consider some other options. I mean—”

He stopped, not sure of what he meant, just sure that he wanted her to be happy. And if a baby was what it took, they could surely find a baby. The right baby.

“Oh, Charlie,” she sighed. “Oh, Charlie, I do love you.” She looked up at him, her eyes shining, and he knew that she understood what he wasn’t yet able to say.


*

When Charlie left their apartment, the flags that hung from the courthouse windows were limp and listless, and the afternoon heat felt solid, like a damp sponge pressing down. Charlie had missed the noon weather forecast, but he wondered if the storm that had been brewing for several days had finally come alive and was gathering the strength to blow onshore. Looking to the southwest, he saw thunderheads building up, dark against the pale afternoon sky. The farmers’ fields and gardens could certainly use some rain, so a storm wouldn’t be a bad thing, as long as there wasn’t any wind.

He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t one thirty yet, and the sheriff’s office was less than a block away from the apartment, so he thought he’d walk over there first, before he drove out to the old Loblolly School to meet Mata Hari. He was troubled about Rona Jean’s willingness to trade her baby for Fannie’s money, and the sooner he told Buddy Norris about it, the better he would feel. But there was more to it than that, of course. He hadn’t seen the sheriff since early that morning, and there might be new developments that would affect the story he was already writing in his head.