“Mom’s pensive this morning.” Mrs. Murphy brushed up against Tucker. “Divorce stuff, I guess. Humans sure make it hard on themselves.”
Tucker flicked her ears forward and then back. “Yeah, they seem to worry a lot.”
“I’ll say. They worry about things that are years away and may never happen.”
“I think it’s because they can’t smell. Miss a lot of information.”
Mrs. Murphy nodded in agreement and then added, “Walking on two legs. Screws up their backs and then it affects their minds. I’m sure that’s the source of it.”
“I never thought of that.” Tucker saw the mail driver. “Hey, I’ll race you to Rob.”
Tucker cheated and tore out before Mrs. Murphy could reply. Furious, Mrs. Murphy shot off her powerful hindquarters and stayed low over the ground.
“Girls, girls, you come back here.”
The girls believed in selective hearing and Tucker made it to the mail truck before Mrs. Murphy, but the little tiger jumped into the vehicle.
“I won!”
“You did not,” Tucker argued.
“Hello, Mrs. Murphy. Hello, Tucker.” Rob was pleased at the greeting he’d received.
Harry, panting, caught up with the cat and the dog. “Hi, Rob. What you got for me this morning?”
“The usual. Two bags.” He rattled around in the truck. “Here’s a package from Turnbull and Asser that Josiah DeWitt has to sign and pay for.” Rob pointed out the sum on the front.
Harry whistled. “One hundred and one dollars duty. Must be a mess of shirts in there. Josiah has to have the best.”
“I was reading somewhere, don’t remember where, that the mark-up in the antiques business can be four hundred percent. Guess he can afford those shirts.”
“Try to get him to pay for anything else.” Harry smiled.
BoomBoom Craycroft, Kelly’s pampered wife, drove east, heading toward Charlottesville. BoomBoom owned a new BMW convertible with the license plate BOOMBMW. She waved and Harry and Rob waved back.
Rob gazed after her. BoomBoom was a pretty woman, dark and sultry. He came back to earth. “Today I’ll carry the bags in, miss. You can save women’s liberation for tomorrow.”
Harry smiled. “Okay, Rob, butch it up. I love a man with muscles.”
He laughed and hauled both bags over his shoulders as Harry unlocked the door.
After Rob left, Harry sorted the mail in a half hour. Tuesdays were light. She settled herself in the back room and made a cup of good coffee. Tucker and Mrs. Murphy played with the folded duffel bag and by the time Harry emerged from the back room, Mrs. George Hogendobber was standing at the front door and the duffel was moving suspiciously. Harry didn’t have the time to pull Mrs. Murphy out. She unlocked the front door and as Mrs. Hogendobber came in, Mrs. Murphy shot out of the bag like a steel ball in a pinball machine.
“Catch me if you can!” she called to Tucker.
The corgi ran around in circles as Mrs. Murphy jumped on a shelf, then to the counter, ran the length of the counter at top speed, hit the wall with all four feet and shoved off the wall with a half turn, ran the length of the counter, and did the same maneuver in the opposite direction. She then flew off the counter, ran between Mrs. Hogendobber’s legs, Tucker in hot pursuit, jumped back on the counter, and then sat still as a statue as she laughed at Tucker.
Mrs. Hogendobber gasped, “That cat’s mental!”
Harry, astonished at the display of feline acrobatics, swallowed and replied, “Just one of her fits—you know how they are.”
“I don’t like cats myself.” Mrs. H. drew herself up to her full height, which was considerable. She had the girth to match. “Too independent.”
Yes, many people say that, Harry thought to herself, and all of them are fascists. This was a cherished assumption she would neither divulge nor purge.
“I forgot to tell you to watch Diane Bish Sunday night on cable. Such an accomplished organist. Why they even show her feet, and last Sunday she wore silver slippers.”
“I don’t have cable.”
“Oh, well, move into town. You shouldn’t be out there at Yellow Mountain alone, anyway.” Mrs. Hogendobber whispered, “I hear Mim dumped off the wedding invitations yesterday.”
“Two boxes full.”
“Did she invite Stafford?” This sounded innocent.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Hogendobber couldn’t hide her disappointment.
Josiah came in. “Hello, ladies.” He focused on Mrs. Hogendobber. “I want that bed.” He frowned a mock frown.
Mrs. Hogendobber was not endowed with much humor. “I’m not prepared to sell.”
Fair came in, followed by Susan. Greetings were exchanged. Harry was tense. Mrs. Hogendobber seized the opportunity to slip away from the determined Josiah. Across the street Hayden McIntire, the town physician, parked his car.
Josiah observed him and sighed, “Ah, my child-ridden neighbor.” Hayden had fathered many children.
Fair quietly opened his box and pulled out the mail. He wanted to slip away, and Harry, not using the best judgment, called him back.
“Wait a minute.”
“I’ve got a call. Cut tendon.” His hand was on the doorknob.
“Dammit, Fair. Where’s my check?” Harry blurted out from frustration.
They had signed a settlement agreement whereby Fair was to pay $1,000 a month to Harry until the divorce, when their joint assets would be equally divided. While not a wealthy couple, the two had worked hard during their marriage and the division of spoils would most certainly benefit Harry, who earned far less than Fair. Fortunately, Fair considered the house rightfully Harry’s and so that was not contested.
She felt he was jerking her around with the money. Typical Fair. If she didn’t do it, it didn’t get done. All he could concentrate on was his equine practice.
For Fair’s part, he thought Harry was being her usual nagging self. She’d get the goddamned check when he got around to it.
Fair blushed. “Oh, that, well, I’ll get it off today.”
“Why not write it now?”
“I’ve got a call, Harry!”
“You’re ten days late, Fair. Do I have to call Ned Tucker? I mean, all that does is cost me lawyer’s fees and escalate hostilities.”
“Hey,” he yelled, “calling me out in front of Susan and Josiah is hostile enough!” He slammed the door.
Josiah, transfixed by the domestic drama, could barely wipe the smile off his face. Having avoided the pitfalls of marriage, he thoroughly enjoyed the show couples put on. Josiah never could understand why men and women wanted to marry. Sex he could understand, but marriage? To him it was the ball and chain.
Susan, not transfixed, was deeply sorry about the outburst, because she knew that Josiah would tell Mim and by sunset it would be all over town. The divorce was difficult enough without public displays. She also guessed that Fair, good passive-aggressive personality that he was, was playing “starve the wife.” Husbands and their lawyers loved that game . . . and quite often it worked. The soon-to-be-ex wife would become dragged down by the subtle battering and give up. Emotionally the drain was too much for the women, and they would kiss off what they had earned in the marriage. This was made all the more difficult because men took housework and women’s labor for granted. No dollar value was attached to it. When the wife withdrew that labor, men usually didn’t perceive its value; instead they felt something had been done to them. The woman was a bitch.
After the sting wore off, Susan knew Fair would immediately set about to find another woman to love, and the by-product of this love would mean that the new wife would do the food shopping, juggle the social calendar, and keep the books. All for love.