The Housewife(32)

“You’re making this up!”

“You don’t think there’s anything strange about all this? Deborah disappearing for a week, no sign of depression before that, and then, bang, she’s dead?”

Meredith clicks her tongue. “Again, Jodie, what is your point?”

“ Did you see…” I lean forward. “Her arms?”

Carol frowns. “Her arms?”

“Why are you asking about Deborah all the time?” Meredith says with a sigh. “What’s wrong with you?”

“She’s jealous,” one of the women drolls.

“Clearly,” another one says, rolling her eyes.

“It’s not that,” I say.

“So what is it, Jodie?” Eileen asks.

I look at their confused faces. “She was one of your best friends,” I say. “She lived next door, then she stopped coming out for a week, and you’re not the least bit curious? Then she shoots herself with a rifle the day after possibly getting plastic surgery and you’re not asking how long her arms are?”





19





“I think it may be time for you to leave,” Meredith says, her chin high.

“Meredith…” Eileen says in a low voice, more like a warning than a rebuke.

I stand and pick up my purse. “Thank you so much for a lovely lunch,” I say primly.

No one offers to accompany me to the front door. I walk down the hallway, vaguely wondering if there’s something I can steal or damage, when Dolores says my name behind me.

“Mrs… Jodie?”

I turn around. “Dolores!”

I don’t know why—and it’s never happened before—but I find myself taking her hands in mine. “That was so much fun,” I say. “The part with you,” I mean. “Not the other part. ”

She nods, smiling a little. She lets go of my hands and reaches into the pocket of her blouse. She hands me a small object, the size of a small box of matches but more rounded than that, and wrapped in soft tissue paper.

“Normally, I wouldn’t. Just so you know. I’d never help myself to anything, but after today there was a little bit left here and there so…anyway. I wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank you for what?”

“For being so nice to me, Jodie.” She gives me a small smile.

Oddly, I feel a flutter in my chest. I try to recognize the feeling, and it takes me a while. I settle on pleasure.

“Well, thank you for being nice to me,” I say. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you…unless…” I glance around and clock Meredith’s car keys in a bowl on a narrow table. I pick them up. “You want a Mercedes-Benz?”

She laughs, and I do too. Then she shakes her head, still half laughing, and walks away, back to the bowels of the house.

I gaze at the tiny parcel in my hand. I can hear Meredith and her friends talking, their voices low and urgent. I can’t tell what they’re saying, but I can imagine it. What’s wrong with her? Did you hear what she said about Deborah’s arms? Pearls of laughter punctuate their low voices. I drop the keys back in the bowl and notice something shiny. It’s a gold brooch with pearls in the shape of a dove. Or maybe it’s a pigeon. I can’t tell the difference, but let’s say it’s a dove. I read somewhere doves are a symbol of peace, and I don’t think Meredith should own something like that. It’s too nice, and there’s nothing peaceful about Meredith.

I put it in my pocket and go home.





It’s not even two in the afternoon, so Roy won’t be home yet. Marie is vacuuming upstairs, and I retreat to the kitchen to make myself some tea. Then I carefully open the small package Dolores gave me and put it down on a small plate.

I stare at the contents in awe. It’s the most exquisite miniature cupcake, even smaller than a matchbox, with a dusting of pink and light-green tiny little sprinkles. I bring it to my nose and smell it.

Rosewater…pistachio…white chocolate.

I place it on my tongue, and a velvety sweetness floods my taste buds. The cupcake melts practically immediately, like a bite-sized piece of heaven. I sit there with my eyes closed, luxuriating in one of the nicest moments I’ve ever experienced.

And then I hear Marie drag the vacuum cleaner down the stairs.

I swallow a sigh, pull out another cup and saucer, and set it down at the kitchen table.

“Oh, Marie!” I say, making sure to pronounce her name correctly. “Here you are. Please, have some tea with me.”

“No, thank you,” she says dully.

“Would you prefer coffee? I prefer coffee too.”

“No, thank you,” she says again.

“Please. We never have time to chat, you and me, which is incredible, really, considering we’re here all day together.”

She looks at me with suspicion. “Did you want to discuss something?”

“Not necessarily. I just wanted to have a friendly chat. Woman to woman. Do you want to sit down?”

“I don’t have time, Mrs. Davies. I have work to do. What is it? ”

Marie is a bit like me in that way. When we have our minds set on something, we are immutable. So I know there’s no point in trying to convince her to just have a friendly chat if she doesn’t want one.