“The Malachais used to live over on River Street. I think Sidonie and Todd were little school friends. And they went to church together. They were Protestants, too, you know.”
The candy is a sharp-edged, sickly sweet disk between my teeth. “So Sidonie’s here now? Staying with Todd?”
“I didn’t say that,” she answers, clearly having a fantastic time. “You know Margie’s son-in-law is a janitor at New Hope, and he says Todd dropped Sidonie off for all her appointments. And Todd was living over by the bowling alley then, so that was all the way across town.”
“What’s New Hope?” Chad asks for me.
“The Thorndyke Center for New Hope is the whole name. There was a vote in the town hall, when they wanted to put it up, and it nearly didn’t pass because no one wanted . . . We were all just worried what kind of people it might attract into town. Do you know I’ve lived here since I was born? Not in this house the whole time; I grew up in the part of town they called Tar Hill. Now they put up New Hope over there, so who knows what’s become of it?” She leans forward again, presses her thin orange-pink lips together. “It’s a place for the mentally unfirm.”
I can’t get the words “troubled waters” out of my head. “It’s a mental hospital?”
“I don’t know what you call it. More like . . .” Her old forehead crinkles in thought. “What are those places, where the drunks meet up to talk about being drunks?”
“Um . . . Alcoholics Anonymous?”
“Yes. But for the unfirm. That’s how they explained it to us at town hall, anyway.”
I don’t really know what any of this means, but Tilly plows right on through.
“Margie—she’s the one of them that works at Stop and Shop ever since she mostly retired—she says Todd used to pick up her prescriptions for her, sometimes. For Sidonie, I mean.” She lets out a hoarse clap of laughter. “That’s really something, isn’t it? Do you know, those two went to their high school prom together?”
So Todd is the tall boy standing behind Mom in his big-shouldered suit. I guess he really was thrilled to be with her. “Do they still live by that bowling alley?”
“Oh, no.” Tilly leans back, working at another candy wrapper. I just want to smack it out of her grip, and maybe Chad senses this, because he squeezes my hand in his. With a little squawk of victory, she fishes out the licorice and pops it in her mouth. “He moved away about two years ago. Hilda Malachai—that’s his great-aunt—says he works at a college in Connecticut now. What’s the big one?”
“UConn?” Chad offers.
“Yes, that’s it, I want to say. Not a teacher, though.” She sniffs. “Something in the office.”
“Did my mom’s cousin . . . Did she go with him when he left town?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t guess so. Might be Hilda could tell you, though I don’t think she’ll be much help. She’s not altogether firm herself. Touch of the dementia, poor thing. Mostly we see each other over at the church. She’s there an awful lot. Her home aide brings her over. I go every Sunday, myself. Who sins enough to go every day?”
“Do you know how we can get in touch with her?” I ask. A lead is a lead.
“I don’t think I should give her number out. You never know what people can do with that information, everything you hear on the news about identity theft.”
Chad and I exchange side eyes; do I seem likely to steal the identity of a senile, serial church-goer? “Oh, that’s too bad. I’d really love to talk to your friend.”
“I suppose I can call her up.” Tilly’s smile sharpens, thrilled to play a part in the little drama unfolding before her.
When Hilda answers, Tilly catches her up (at top volume and with much repetition) about me and my mission to find my “aunt.” Then she hands me the receiver of her clunky corded phone, keeping a finger curled in the wire. I speak to Hilda on a short leash.
“Hi, Mrs. Malachai. I really appreciate your taking the time to—”
“Hello?”
“Um, hi?”
Across from me, Chad winces. We’re off to a rocky start.
“Tilly said you have questions for me,” Hilda’s sandpaper voice rasps across the receiver, “about one of Todd’s old girlfriends?”
“Sidonie Faye. Yes, your friend says she used to live with Todd? Above the bowling alley?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That’s asking a lot of me.”
Her head cocked toward the receiver to hear, Tilly nods, looking a little victorious to be proven right.
“He’s very handsome, like his grandfather Jacob,” Hilda continues. “My brother had so many sweethearts when he was young. So did Todd. He always had another little girlfriend to bring around the holidays.”