Nora and Liz (15 page)

Liz, speechless, could only stare.

“Beer?” he offered, lifting the cooler, holding it out to her. “Water? Lemonade? I came equipped. Whew, it’s hot, isn’t it?”

Rejoinders chased themselves rapidly through Liz’s mind. But she knew she couldn’t say any of them out loud.

“I’m for beer myself,” Roy said, taking a brown bottle from the cooler and twisting off its cap. Holding it out to her, he said, “You, too?”

“No. No thanks,” she sputtered.

“Water? Lemonade?” he asked again. “You’ve got to be thirsty. You even look thirsty. And,” he added, stretching his hand toward her face, “you’ve got a very charming smudge right"—he rubbed his thumb along her cheek—"there.”

Instinctively, Liz twisted her head away. “Roy, I don’t want to be rude,” she said carefully, “but I came here to be alone. I really don’t want company. I don’t know how to make that any clearer.” She cringed inwardly at the stiffness of her words. But why shouldn’t I say them, she thought. He really is being impossible.

He gave her a long look, then downed more beer and resumed staring. For a moment her stomach lurched in fear, but that’s ridiculous, she told herself; surely he’s perfectly safe!

“I guess you really do mean it,” he said finally. “Okay. Sorry. Again. My last girlfriend always said I come on too strong.” He put the half-empty bottle back in the cooler and snapped the lid down. “I’ll be going, leave you to your—your project.”

“Thank you. It’s not you, really.”

“What a relief,” he said sarcastically. Then he shook his head. “No, sorry once  more. That wasn’t fair. I do come on too strong, I know, especially when faced with an attractive woman. You
are
an attractive woman, you know, even with a smudge on your face and a dirty shirt. But I think I misjudged you. Truce?”

Reluctantly, Liz shook the hand he offered her.

“Nice job clearing the path,” he called over his shoulder as he left.

Later that afternoon when Liz had finished the path, had a swim, arranged for a carpenter to fix the upstairs window, and was looking out toward the lake from inside and planning what to clear and what to leave standing, the phone rang.

“Oh, good, Liz, you’re in,” came a cheerful female voice when Liz finally answered. “Georgia Foley here. First, how are you?”

“Fine.” Liz groaned inwardly, angry at herself for not yet having asked Georgia to take the cabin off the market. “How are you?”

“Good, thanks. Listen, Liz, I’m calling as an emissary, you might say, a messenger of peace. Have you got a moment?”

Liz pulled a chair over to the phone and sat. “Just about,” she said cautiously.

“I’ll be as quick as I can. Now, I know you’ve met Roy Stark.” Georgia paused significantly.

“Yes.”

“He’s such a nice man, don’t you think?”

“I don’t really know him, Georgia.”

“No, no, of course you don’t. Not yet, anyway.” Georgia laughed. “Well, I do know him, and poor lamb, he can be so inept socially. You know how men, especially good-looking ones, think all they have to do is turn on the charm and all women flutter…”

Liz leaned her head against the wall.

“…and Roy’s no different. But it just so happens Roy’s a client of mine as well as a friend. In fact, he’s the client I mentioned a couple of months ago who’s interested in buying your place. He’s got some really wonderful ideas for it, Liz, and…”

“Georgia, it’s not for sale.”

“What? But…”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier. I was planning to, but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. My fault. My brother and I have decided not to sell.”

There was a pause during which Liz found herself actually smiling. So that was Roy’s interest in her! Maybe now he’d leave her alone.

“Is that a firm decision?”

“Yes, for now.” Immediately she regretted the “for now,” which Georgia repeated quickly: “For now? How long is now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s permanent. Please tell Roy, would you? I wouldn’t want to give him false hopes.”

“I’ll tell him if you insist, Liz, but I should tell you that he’s prepared to make a very handsome offer. So do let me know if you change your mind or if you want to discuss it further. I’d really hate to have you miss out. Of course he can’t wait forever.”

“No,” said Liz. “I wouldn’t want him to. I don’t think I’ll be changing my mind for a long time, Georgia, if at all. So Roy should probably go ahead and buy something else. There are other cabins on the lake.”

“Actually,” said Georgia, “there aren’t any available, especially not any with land. The only thing on the market is a bit of acreage across…”

“Georgia,” Liz interrupted, “I don’t want to be rude, but I really have to go. Thanks for calling.”

“Oh, no trouble, no trouble at all.” But Georgia’s voice still sounded strained and disappointed. “I’m glad you told me. And I do hope you’re enjoying your charming little camp. I can understand your wanting to hold onto it. But if that changes…”

“I’ll let you know,” Liz said. “Goodbye, Georgia. Thanks again. And my apologies to both you and Roy for not letting you know sooner.”

Dingy, Nora thought at noon on Friday, brushing her hair and eyeing the faded flower-sprigged paper covering the walls of the maid’s room, now her room, off the kitchen. They hadn’t used the old house’s second floor since Ralph had begun to complain about dizziness, long before Corinne’s stroke.

But it doesn’t matter, she thought; Liz Hardy will never see this room.

Will she?

Of course not, Nora admonished herself sharply, rummaging in her narrow closet for a clean dress.

Or a blouse and skirt; yes, she thought, pulling out a calico skirt, green with tiny blue and white flowers. “Like the wallpaper,” she muttered, amused, as she pulled it on and topped it with a white scoop-necked blouse she hadn’t worn in years.

But it, she was glad to see, unlike the wallpaper, wasn’t dingy.

The time was twelve-fifteen.

Thomas, perched on the sill under the open window that looked out over the back yard, barn, outhouse, and the neglected fields beyond, jumped down and wound around her legs, mewing plaintively.

“You’ve got plenty of food, you old faker.” Nora picked him up and cuddled him, her cheek against his purring side.

There is no reason to be nervous, she said silently to herself, putting the cat down. Reaching to the bureau for her old gray pocketbook, she checked inside for money, the house keys she seldom had to use but always carried, and the shopping list that she’d already looked over many times. No reason to be nervous. None. What could happen? What could happen today, with Patty here the way she’s been every Friday for ages, that hasn’t happened before? Why should today be different?

But she felt it was; the fluttering in her stomach told her it was, the dampness on her palms, the catch in her throat.

“See you, Tom,” she said to the cat, decisively closing her pocketbook and darting into the kitchen, stopping to look around the corner into her mother’s room. Corinne, freshly bathed, breakfasted, and
nightgowned
, was snoring lightly. Nora tweaked the sheet to one side; it had slipped. Quickly, she crossed the kitchen to her father’s room.

“I’m just going,” she announced. “As soon as Patty comes.”
And Liz,
she added silently, swallowing guilt for not saying it out loud.

But why should I feel guilty?

“
Ermmm
.” Ralph, in his chair by the window, grunted and held out his hand. “Let’s see that list.”

“You already looked at it.”

“Don’t remember. List.”

Nora snapped open her pocketbook and handed it to him. A car drove up outside; a car door slammed.

“Father, it’s time. Here’s Patty.”

He looked up from the list and peered out the window. “That’s not Patty,” he said. “That’s your precious Miss Hardy. We don’t need those paper towels.” He held the list out to her. “What’s wrong with cloth ones?”

“Cloth ones need washing. And I don’t like to use them for wiping up spills and accidents.”

“What’s wrong with rags, then? No paper towels. That’s an extravagance.”

There was a firm knock at the door.

Nora took the list, resisting the impulse to snatch it roughly. “I may be back a little later than usual,” she said. “Come in,” she shouted, though she doubted that Liz would be able to hear her.

“Oh, you may, may you? And if I fall or have a bad dizzy spell, what then?”

“Patty will be here.”

“I don’t want you off gallivanting.”

“I promised Liz I’d have a look at her mother’s old garden.”

“And a generous promise that was,” Liz said, appearing in Ralph’s doorway. “Hi, Nora. Good afternoon, Mr.
Tillot
. I brought in my newspaper just in case you’d like to have a look at it. I’ve finished with it.”

“
Harumph
! Infernal lies in papers. I would not like to have a look at it.”

“Father!” Nora admonished him sharply. “You could at least say thank you.”

“Why? I didn’t ask for the paper.”

“Sorry,” Nora said to Liz in an undertone.

Liz shrugged, and whispered, “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to offend you, Mr.
Tillot
,” she said to him. “You’re right that there’s a lot of ridiculous stuff in the papers these days. But I didn’t know but what you might be interested in the sports or the business section or something like that.”

“Sports are a waste of time,” he said gruffly. “Have been ever since big money took them over. And business is full of crooks. Politics, too.”

Liz grinned. “I guess that about covers it, then, unless you like recipes and movie reviews.”

Nora suppressed a laugh; Ralph eyed Liz suspiciously, grunted, and turned back to the window.

With immense relief, Nora heard Patty drive up, and tugged Liz out of the room.

“I probably shouldn’t say this,” Liz said a few minutes later as she drove Nora out toward the main road, “but, again, I don’t know how you stand it.”

“Sometimes I don’t. Mostly I don’t think about it. And they sleep so much, Mama does, anyway. In the summer I can stay outside a lot, and that helps; Father does make more demands when I’m in the house. In the summer I try not to think about the winter.” Nora glanced at Liz. “That must sound pretty Pollyanna-
ish
.”

“No. But I still can’t help thinking you must be some kind of saint.”

“You wouldn’t think that if you could read my mind sometimes.” Nora looked out the window, watching the trees. Liz drove smoothly, confidently, unlike Mrs. Brice, who tended to weave and look from side to side as much as straight ahead. “My mother’s a sweetheart. And Father wasn’t always so gruff. And I do like it here. Besides, I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have them,” she added. “My parents, I mean. I know I won’t always. But it’s hard to imagine life without them.”

“Yes,” said Liz. “I suppose it is.” She turned onto the main road. “Think of all the free time, though. Unless you got a job or something.”

“I have a job now,” Nora said—proudly, defensively, Liz thought. “Not much of one, but I’ve been thinking of expanding it. Proofreading,” she added before Liz could ask. “For a small publisher. They send me galleys and I correct them. The author corrects them, too, of course, and so does someone at the typesetter’s, but the publisher doesn’t have a very big staff so they use freelancers. I’ve been thinking of asking for more work from them, or asking another publisher.”

“What kinds of books?” Liz asked.

“Oh, everything. Novels, poetry. Poetry’s hard, because of course some things that look like errors, aren’t, so you have to read against the manuscript. Nonfiction, too. I did a Civil War history last winter, a big thick book, but it was fascinating.”

Nora’s cheeks had flushed and her eyes sparkled; she’s come alive, Liz thought, suddenly no longer sorry for her; she’s not a dowdy careworn drudge at all now.

“Sounds great,” Liz said. “Any science? I’m biased,” she explained hastily, “being a bio teacher and all.”