"How'd you do?" Market asked the ladies, who all wore golf clothes.
"Not bad. We played in the Cancer Society tournament, captain's choice, and we each won a sleeve of balls. We came in seventh out of a field of twenty teams," BoomBoom bragged.
Chris leaned out the back window. "I've never played at Waynesboro Country Club. It's fun. I don't think I'll ever win boxwoods from Susan, though."
"Keep trying. Anyone roped into working on our reunion deserves boxwoods," Harry replied. "Do you all need mail?"
"No, everyone's husbands did their duty."
"Except for me," Chris laughed.
"Stay single, girl, believe me. Marriage is work," Marcy grumbled.
"Need your mail?" Harry inquired of Chris.
"No, I'll get it tomorrow. We're on our way to the big sale atFashion Square ," Chris answered. "Next time you see any of us-complete makeover." She crinkled her freckled nose.
The ladies waved and drove off.
"Cute, that Chris." Market winked.
"Yes. She reminds me of someone but I can't place it."
"Meg Ryan in a pageboy."
"You have made a study, haven't you?" Harry poked him.
"Hey, she's living in one of those new houses. She isn't going to look at a guy who owns a convenience store. I'm realistic. She's a stockbroker. Stockbrokers don't date grocers."
"The right man is the right man. Doesn't matter what he does."
"Bull. Especially from you."
"You trying to say I'm not romantic?"
"You're as realistic as I am and you always were. The Minors are solid people." He referred to Harry's paternal ancestors. She'd kept her married name, Haristeen.
"I wish someone in our family had had a head for business. Solid is good but a little money would have been wonderful."
"Mim Sanburne's got enough brains and money for the whole town, I guess." He folded his arms across his chest. "This morning a lady came in as Mim was picking up a big rack of lamb, beautiful piece of meat. She's having another one of her 'dos.' Anyway, these two ladies come in, tourists. They'd crawled overMonticello and Ash Lawn and they'd driven up toOrange to seeMontpelier . They were on their way toStaunton to see Woodrow Wilson's birthplace and they needed gas. Anyway, they wound up right here in the middle of Crozet. The tall one says, 'This is kind of a dumpy town, isn't it?' The short one, maps under her arm, replies, 'Yes.' Then she looks at me and says, 'Is there anything of interest here?' Before I could open my mouth, Mim says, 'Me.' Gives them the freeze stare"-he rubbed his hands when he said that-"then opens the door, gets into her Bentley Turbo R, which these two ladies had no appreciation for, and drove off. 'Well, who does she think she is?' says the short one. 'The Queen of Crozet,' says I." He chuckled. "Guess they complained all the way to Fisherville. By that time they were probably consulting their maps again."
Harry laughed. "Crozet isn't exactly picturesque, but I think the painting the kids did on the railroad underpass is pretty nice." She leaned next to Market, shoulder to shoulder. "I guess we aren't much to look at but the land is beautiful. That's what counts. Buildings fall down and so do we. Can't be but so bad." She changed the subject abruptly, a habit of hers. "How do you get a name like Bitsy?"
"Probably the same way you get a name like Harry. You do something when you're little and it sticks. You picked up more injured animals than anyone I know. You were and remain dappled with an interesting assortment of animal sheddings."
"Which reminds me-give me a plastic bag so I can take that chicken home and boil it for them."
He fetched a beige plastic bag from the store. They both approached the two cats and Tucker, squatting before them, making them crazy.
"All right, girls, hand it over."
"Death to anyone who dares touch this chicken!" Pewter growled.
"Don't be melodramatic." The dog salivated.
Pewter lashed out, catching one of the corgi's long ears. Tucker yelped.
"Pewter, hateful thing." Harry knelt down. "Market, want your cat back?"
"Hell, no. She ate me out of my profit." He knelt down beside Harry. "Pewter, you're a bad cat."
"Put one over on you."
"Don't brag, Pewter, let's see if we can make a bargain." Mrs. Murphy swept her ears forward. "Harry, if you don't throw the chicken away, we'll come out."
"I'm going to cook the chicken."
"She understood!" Tucker was ecstatic.
The cats, equally amazed, released the chicken from their fangs and claws. Harry scooped it into the plastic bag.
"Come on."
They slunk out from under the bush just in case Market was going to take a swat at them.
Harry put the chicken on the seat, which meant three animals gladly scrambled into the truck. "Market, ask that Chris out. She'll say yes or she'll say no. And you've heard both before."
"I don't know."
"Hey, before I leave I forgot to ask you. Did you get a letter saying 'You'll never grow old'?"
"Yeah. In Crozet colors."
"I checked the envelopes. Each of our classmates living here got the same envelope, but that doesn't guarantee the same content. Thought I'd ask."
"No name." He stepped back from the driver's window. "I thought it was a joke because it's our twentieth reunion. Thirty-seven or thirty-eight, most of us, you know. I figured someone was panicking about turning forty."
"I didn't think of that. Susan thought it was a compliment. We look good. I guess." Harry smiled her beguiling smile.
"I'll take it." Market smacked the door of the truck like a horse's hindquarter and Harry drove off.
5
"Call to question." BoomBoom, sitting behind a long table, raised her voice.
"What are you talking about?" Harry, failing at hiding her irritation, snapped.
"Robert's Rules of Order. Otherwise we'll descend into chaos."
"BoomBoom, you're full of shit," Harry blurted out. "It's just us. Susan, Market, and Dennis."
Dennis Rablan, voted Best All-Round, volunteered to be in charge of the physical plant. That meant cleaning the gymnasium atCrozetHigh School , setting up the sound system for taped music, and working with the decorating committee. He'd gotten only one volunteer, Mike Zalaznik, to help him. Dennis was lazy as sin, so Mike would wind up doing most of the work.
Dennis had learned to ignore the whisperings behind his back about how he had squandered away the large nest egg his father had left him. He owned a photography studio in downtown Crozet. Weddings, anniversaries, high-school graduation, red-haired Dennis was always on hand toting two or three cameras. He was the one classmate who saw the other local classmates during the turning points of their lives.
The small group sat in a history classroom at Crozet High, the windows wide open to catch the cool breeze since that wondrous Canadian high still hung around.
"Harry, don't lose your temper," Susan admonished her best friend. "BoomBoom"-she turned to the chair sitting opposite them-"you don't need to be so formal about this meeting. I don't like it any more than Harry does. Let's discuss ideas without the hoopla."
"What do you think, Dennis?" BoomBoom smiled at Dennis, her big eyes imploring him.
"Well, I never learned Robert's Rules of Order, I doubt I could contribute much, but then I might not be able to contribute much anyway." He brushed a bright forelock back.
"Aren't you going to ask me?" Market folded his arms across his chest.
"You'll vote with Harry. You always do."
"Because she has good sense." Market laughed. "Look, you want to reshoot our senior superlative pictures and have them blown up life-size to place around the auditorium. I'm not opposed to the idea but how are you going to get the superlatives from out of town to duplicate the photograph?"