“Where’s Henry off to?”
“The market, but I expect him back before long. I believe he’s picking up a few items for you.”
“He offered and I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. Joseph’s having a bad day and I didn’t think I should leave him alone. In Perdido, we had a neighbor who’d step in on occasion, and what a godsend that was. Sadly, we don’t know many people in this area and I can’t think who I’d ask.”
I can recognize a hint when I hear one, but I knew better than to pipe up. She’d introduced the subject hoping I’d step into the breach. This is not a good idea. Agree to such an arrangement once and you’re on call from that time forth. I envisioned an endless succession of good deeds stretching out to the horizon if I didn’t sidestep the trap. “Why don’t you call the Visiting Nurse Association?”
She dropped her gaze. “Well, honey, he doesn’t require skilled nursing care. I’m talking about someone spending a few minutes with him when I have to be somewhere else. He’s no trouble.”
She closed her mouth and waited for my next idea, which was sure to bring us back around to my being tapped for the honor.
“I don’t know what to suggest. That’s a tough one,” I said. I lobbed the ball back to her side of the court. “Was there anything else?”
Grudgingly, she held up a baking tin. “I wanted to return Henry’s pan. He brought us fresh cinnamon rolls this morning.”
“I can give it to him if you like.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
“It’s not a problem. I’ll be happy to take care of it.”
I approached the fence and took the pan. It was one of those flimsy disposable tins, still sticky from the glaze he used to top his cinnamon buns. The sides of the pan were bent, and I suspected he’d toss it in the trash, but that was his to decide. My Aunt Gin, overbearing though she was, taught me that in returning a dish, it was polite to have it properly washed and packed with a homemade delicacy as a thank-you. This was a cultural nicety unknown to Edna.
I gave a little wave and headed for the studio, eager to avoid further conversation. She sank from sight, her head bobbing into view again as she crossed the grass to her back steps. She looked pouty from the back.
While I waited for Henry, I put the tin in the sink, filled it with hot, soapy water, and left it to soak. I tidied the studio, making a point of scrubbing the downstairs bathroom. I took Ruth’s damp bath towel, tossed it in the dryer with a small sheet of fabric softener, and ran a quick cycle so it would emerge dry and smelling sweet. If she changed her mind and decided to stay another night, at least she’d feel welcome. I put away the bowls, spoons, and coffee cups we’d used that morning and then washed out the baking tin, which was thoroughly deformed by my efforts to get it clean.
When I heard Henry’s car pull in, I went out to the garage and helped him carry in his grocery bags. By then, the plumber was standing by with a list in hand and an expectant look on his face.
“You want me to take Edna’s groceries over so the two of you can talk?”
“I’d appreciate it,” he said as he passed me a loaded plastic bag. “I packed her items separately along with her receipt.”
“Be right back.”
I scurried around to the front of the studio and passed through the squeaky gate. I took a short left and traversed the Shallenbargers’ walk to the front door. Their lawn wasn’t large, but the grass seemed to be in good shape. I couldn’t remember seeing their sprinklers on, so they must have been watering when the sun went down as we’d all been advised. I rang the bell, and while I waited, I made an idle check of the grocery receipt—$25.66—before I returned it to the bag.
When half a minute went by without a response, I knocked.
Shortly afterward, Edna opened the door and peered out at me. “Yes?”
I held up the bag. “The items you asked for. Receipt’s in the bag.”
“Thank you,” she said as she took it. “Tell Henry how much I appreciate his kindness. He’s considerate of others.”
“How’s Joseph feeling?”
For a fraction of a second, her look was blank, and then she caught herself. “Better. I fixed him a bowl of soup and now he’s having a rest.”
“Good to hear.” I expected mention of reimbursement, but it didn’t seem to occur to her. When she moved to close the front door, I caught it by the edge.
“You want to pay him in cash or write a check?”
She dropped her gaze. I wondered what I’d have seen if she’d continued to make eye contact. She smiled with her lips together, creating a dimple in each cheek. The effect was curious. Malice surfaced and then disappeared.
“You didn’t tell me how much it was,” she murmured, as though the fault were mine.
“Receipt’s in there if you want to take a look.”