The Late Child (10 page)

It definitely wasn't Giovanni this time, though, because Pat got out of the limo and came sauntering up the sidewalk, as if being dropped off by limo at her sister's apartment in Las Vegas was the most normal thing in the world.

“Boy, they make lousy margaritas in this town,” Pat said. “You'd think with all the Mexicans here they'd make better margaritas. I hope you have lots of coffee—I've got a headache that won't quit.”

“Probably if you tried sleeping normal hours you wouldn't get them bad headaches,” Neddie suggested.

“I'll sleep when I'm old, like you,” Pat said. She appeared to be in a very cheerful mood, headache or no headache.

“What'd you do with Wendell?” Harmony asked. She still felt a little annoyed that Pat had just marched off with him.

“Wendell dulled out on me,” Pat said. “That's why I started guzzling margaritas. Listening to the ice clink is more interesting than trying to make conversation with that big lug.”

“I
told
you he wasn't good at conversation,” Harmony reminded her.

“You should have just said he was mute and left it at that,” Pat said. “I don't know where you find these men, Harmony—or
why
you find them, either. There's livelier old boys than Wendell in pretty much any beer joint in Oklahoma.”

“They may be livelier but I bet they aren't sweeter,” Harmony said—she hadn't seen Wendell but once in several years, though she felt obliged to defend him against her sister's insults.

“So who popped for the limo?” Neddie inquired, once they were back inside. Pat poured coffee into a cup until the cup ran over, and then started drinking the coffee out of the saucer.

“Some high roller from Venezuela, I never gave him the time of day,” Pat said. “He ain't discouraged, though—I expect I'll hear from him later.”

Both Harmony and Neddie received this news skeptically.

“If you never gave him the time of day, why'd he send you home in a limo?” Neddie asked.

“Because he thinks I'll give him the time of day and put a little sugar on it, at some point,” Pat said. “Why does any guy loan a lonely-looking lady his limo?”

“Pat, I'm worried about Wendell, he isn't sophisticated,” Harmony said.

“That's the understatement of the year,” Pat said.

“Wendell's been sweet to me ever since I've known him,” Harmony said. “He used to do a real good job on my windshield, when he worked at the Exxon station. I hope you weren't rude to him, or anything.

“If I hadn't been drunk at the airport I never would have agreed to the date,” she added.

“Why not, if
he's
so sweet?” Pat asked.

Harmony didn't answer. The last thing she needed to be discussing with her sister was her reasons for not dating Wendell—actually, the main reason for not dating him was that she hadn't even known he was still in town, that plus loyalty to Myrtle. Once Myrtle laid claim to a man she never really entirely relinquished the claim. Myrtle had been known to reclaim boyfriends
from thirty or forty years back. No doubt she would immediately try to reclaim Wendell if she thought Harmony had the least interest in him.

“I meant to read the letter last night,” Harmony said. “But we couldn't find it—it must still be in your purse.”

Pat opened her purse and handed Harmony the letter without comment.

“I think Harmony ought to move back to Oklahoma, what do you think?” Neddie asked Pat.

“I think she'd be bored shitless in Oklahoma, but maybe I'm wrong,” Pat said, looking at Harmony in a kindly way. “It'd be good for Eddie, though—he don't need to be growing up in an environment like this.”

“Pat, it's a good environment, the air's real clear,” Harmony protested. “Eddie hardly ever gets a cold.”

“I wasn't thinking about the air, Harmony,” Pat said. “This town is about gambling and sex and drugs and staying up all night wasting money.”

“The very thing your kids are into, back in Oklahoma,” Neddie said, in her dry voice.

“I know, but at least we don't have a whole city of it, with twenty-four-hour roulette,” Pat said. “Harmony, haven't you lived here long enough? Wouldn't you like to come home with Neddie and me and live a normal life for a while?”

“Maybe,” Harmony said. “I want to read the letter before I decide.”

She took the letter and started outside with it. Both sisters looked startled.

“What's wrong with just sitting on the couch and reading it?” Neddie asked.

“No, I'd rather sit in Gary's car, he's going to want it back pretty soon,” Harmony said.

“You're going to sit in a car and read that letter?” Pat asked.

“Pat, it's where I feel safe—maybe it's because Gary has been such a good friend,” Harmony said.

Or it might have been because she had borrowed so many cars
in her years in Las Vegas that sitting in a borrowed car made her feel at home or something. Actually, the letter from the girl named Laurie did not take a long time to read; Laurie's handwriting was quite large.

Dear Mrs. Plamer,

I regret to inform you that your daughter Pepper died last week. Some friends and I took up a collection and had Pepper cremated, as was her wish. I will be glad to send or bring you her ashes at your request.

Pepper and I had lived together for three years—it is a great loss for me, as I know it is for you.

The cause of death was AIDS. We were able to bring Pepper home about six days before the end—she died in the bed we shared so happily.

I am sorry I have to bring you this horrible news. Also, I'm sorry we haven't met. Pepper was always ambivalent about inviting you to come to our home, but I'm the same way about my mother and I love her very much. I guess girls just sometimes have trouble being friends with their mothers.

If you would ever like to come and stay with me and talk a little about Pepper's life you would be more than welcome.

I'm from California, if you don't feel up to a trip to New York perhaps someday we could meet in the west.

Pepper was the love of my life—I will miss her forever. She was a beautiful dancer and would have been a great star, had she lived.

Yours,          
Laurie Chalk

Harmony sat in Gary's car for more than two hours, looking at the letter. Now and then she reread part of it, but mostly she just sat in the car, thinking about Pepper, thinking about Eddie, thinking about the future. Once the sun really got going it became a little too warm in the car, but Harmony rolled all the
windows down and made the best of it. After an hour her sisters began to worry about her; they came out to the car to see whether she was behaving rationally or not. Harmony told them she was fine. Neither of them believed it but there wasn't a great deal they could do about it, so they finally drifted back to the apartment.

For about five minutes Harmony considered the notion of stealing Gary's car and just driving away. Gary was a very understanding man; probably he would think it over and forgive her for stealing his car. Meanwhile Pat and Neddie could take Eddie home with them and raise him in a healthy rural place; he would grow up and be happy and maybe avoid the fate of his big sister: the fate of dying young. She knew she could count on her sisters to do a good job with Eddie. Even if Pat was troubled with sex addiction Neddie said she did a good job with children.

While daydreaming about stealing Gary's car and taking off, Harmony didn't develop much of a sense of what her own future might be. She thought she might just leave it to luck, her future. She would drive around America in Gary's car until the car suffered a final breakdown. Wherever that occurred, west, east, north, or south, Harmony would then live for the rest of her life. Fate would have decided the location for her. Perhaps it would be Biloxi, Mississippi, or somewhere, she had no idea how far Gary's car would make it, but at least it would make it to a place where no one knew her, a place where she would not have to conceal how guilty she felt about failing her children. Maybe some of the people she got to know would suspect that she had had a tragedy, but they would have no way of finding out what it was.

About noon, when Harmony was thinking she had better either steal the car or go inside and cool off, Neddie came out to check on her again.

“Are you ever coming in? It's hot in that car,” Neddie said.

Harmony didn't answer. It
was
hot in the car, but she still felt reluctant to get out of it. As long as she was in the car she felt that she had options.

“You wasn't thinking of running away, was you?” Neddie
asked. “That little boy would never get over it, if his Momma did something like that.”

Harmony knew then that she had waited too long to steal the car.

“You can't run away and leave that little boy,” Neddie repeated. “That would be the worst possible thing you could do.”

Harmony didn't answer. How did Neddie know what the worst possible thing she could do might be? Even though Neddie was older, she couldn't know everything.

“Worse than if I became a drug addict?” she asked, in a voice that was almost a whisper.

“Yes, worse,” Neddie said, without hesitation. “I was a dope addict myself, but I didn't go off and desert my kids.”

“You were a dope addict?” Harmony said. “Neddie, I didn't know that.”

“After Davie was born I got on them pain pills,” Neddie said. “I stayed on them three years. Dick could never figure out where the egg money was going. That's where it was going, to pay for my dope.”

“Oh, Neddie, was it a hard birth?” Harmony asked.

“It was hard enough, but that wasn't why I stayed on the pills,” Neddie said. “I was sick of my life, so I doped out.”

“Here,” Harmony said, handing Neddie the letter.

Neddie got in the front seat of the hot car and unfolded the yellow sheets of paper. Neddie still moved her lips when she read; Harmony thought that was interesting. When Neddie finished the letter she folded it and handed it back to Harmony. When she did Harmony took the keys out of the ignition and gave them to Neddie.

“What do I want with these keys?” Neddie asked.

“Just give them to Gary when he comes to get his car,” Harmony said. She didn't want to tell her sister that she didn't trust herself not to desert Eddie.

“Well, that's a decent letter,” Neddie said. “It sounds like Pepper had a true friend in her hour of need. That's more than some people get.”

“More than a true friend, Neddie,” Harmony corrected. “Pepper was the love of Laurie's life. She died in the bed they were happy in—that's what the letter said.”

“I can read,” Neddie said. “If she was a girlfriend, so much the better, I guess.”

“It says they shared it happily, that's good,” Harmony said. “Pepper was the love of Laurie's life—that's a big thing to say.

“Is Dick the love of yours?” she asked, seeing that the phrase hadn't quite registered on her sister.

“No,” Neddie said. “I like Dick and I respect him. But I was never in love with him.”

“Not ever?” Harmony asked, shocked.

Harmony tried to figure out what that could possibly mean, in terms of her sister's life. She had lived with a man for more than thirty years, but had never been in love with him? Of course, she herself had frequently brought men home without being in love with them—Jimmy Bangor was a recent example—but she didn't keep them around for thirty years.

“Neddie, that's sad—isn't it?” Harmony said.

“Not everybody gets everything, Sis,” Neddie said. “I was in love with Rusty, though. I guess I still am. He just won't do nothing about it.”

“Who's Rusty?” Harmony asked.

“Dick's baby brother,” Neddie said. “Rusty's a whole lot cuter than Dick. He's even got a sense of humor. Dick Haley wouldn't know a joke if one clobbered him.”

“Where does Rusty live?” Harmony asked, trying to remember if she had ever known Rusty. So far her memory drew a blank.

“Down the road about two miles,” Neddie said. “Rusty's a big help to me anyway. I go see him two or three times a day.”

“So maybe he's kind of the love of your life,” Harmony said.

“If he ain't then I didn't get to have no love of my life,” Neddie said.

“Neddie, you're not old,” Harmony said. “You could still have a love of your life.”

“In Tarwater, Oklahoma?” Neddie said. “At my age?”

“Somebody could show up and surprise you,” Harmony said. For some reason it had become important to her to at least keep the hope that her sister Neddie would get to have a love of her life, even if it was only her husband's brother, Rusty Haley.

“Who was the love of yours?” Neddie asked—they both saw Pat coming down the sidewalk with a pitcher in her hand, and three glasses.

“Didier, he died when I was eighteen,” Harmony said, without hesitation.

“Seems like it's been kind of a long drought, in the love-of-your-life department, for both of us,” Neddie said. “Let's ask Pat. She gets a new love of her life every week or so.”

“Why are you two sitting in this hot car?” Pat asked, getting in the back seat. “I brought some martinis—if you're going to be hot you might as well be drunk.”

“Okay, Pat, come clean,” Neddie said, accepting a martini. “Who was the love of your life?”

“Mind your own business, Neddie,” Pat said. “Is that what you two have been doing out here all this time? Talking about sex?”

“Nobody said a word about sex, Pat,” Harmony pointed out. “You're the first person even to mention the word.”

“Harmony, are you calling me a slut, or what?” Pat asked. “Get to the point. Just because I'm drunk don't mean I'll stand for much name-calling.”