“Well! Josiah just told me you’ve got Little Marilyn’s wedding invitations.”
“I haven’t looked.”
“But you will and no time like the present.” Susan opened the door by the counter and came around behind it.
“You can’t touch that.” Harry removed her gloves as Tucker joyfully jumped on Susan, who hugged and kissed her. Mrs. Murphy watched from her shelf. Tucker was laying it on pretty thick.
“Wonderful doggie. Beautiful doggie. Gimme a kiss.” Susan saw Harry’s hands. “Well, you can’t touch the envelopes either, so for the next fifteen minutes I’ll do your job.”
“Do it in the back room, Susan. If anyone sees you we’re both in trouble. Stafford will be in the one-double-oh zip codes and I think he’s in one-double-oh two three, west of Central Park.”
Susan called over her shoulder on her way to the back room:“If you can’t live on the East Side of Manhattan, stay home.”
“The West Side’s really nice now.”
“It’s not here. Can you believe it?” Susan hollered from the back room.
“Sure, I believe it. What’d you expect?”
Susan came out and put the box under the counter.“Her own son. She’s got to forgive him sometime.”
“Forgiveness isn’t a part of Big Marilyn Sanburne’s vocabulary, especially when it impinges on her exalted social standing.”
“This isn’t the 1940’s. Blacks and whites do marry now and the miscegenation laws are off the books.”
“How many mixed marriages do you know in Crozet?”
“None, but there are a few in Albemarle County. I mean, this is so silly. Stafford’s been married for six years now and Brenda is a stunning woman. A good one, too, I think.”
“Are you going to have lunch with me? You’re the only one left who will.”
“It just seems that way because you’re oversensitive right now. Come on, you’d better get out of here before someone else zooms through the door. You know how crazy Mondays are.”
“Okay, I’m ready. My relief pitcher just pulled in.” Harry smiled. It was nice having old Dr. Larry Johnson to cover the post office from 12:00 to 1:00 so she could take a lunch hour. It was also handy when she had errands to run during business hours. All she had to do was give him a call.
Dr. Johnson held the door for Harry, Susan, and the animals.
“Thank you, Dr. Johnson. How are you today?” Harry appreciated his gentlemanly gesture.
“I’m doing just fine, thank you.”
“Good afternoon, Doctor,” Susan said as Mrs. Murphy and Tucker greeted him with a chorus of purrs and yips.
“Hi, Susan. Good afternoon, Mrs. Murphy. And to you, too, Tee Tucker.” Dr. Johnson reached down to pet Harry’s buddies. “Where are you ladies headed?”
“We’re just trotting up to Crozet Pizza for subs. Thanks for holding down the fort.”
“My pleasure, as always. Have a good lunch,” the retired doctor called after them.
Harry, Susan, Mrs. Murphy, and Tucker strolled down the shimmering sidewalk. The heat felt like a thick, moist wall. They waved at Market and Courtney Shiflett, working in the grocery store. Pewter, Market’s chubby gray cat, indulged in a flagrant display of her private parts right there in the front window. On seeing Mrs. Murphy and Tucker, she said hello. They called back to her and walked on.
“I can’t believe she’s let herself go to pot like that,” Mrs. Murphy whispered to Tucker.“All those meat tidbits Market feeds her. Girl has no restraint.”
“Doesn’t get much exercise either. Not like you.”
Mrs. Murphy accepted the compliment. She had kept her figure just in case the right tom came along. Everyone, including Tucker, thought she was still in love with her first husband, Paddy, but Mrs. Murphy was certain she was over him.Over in capital letters. Paddy wore a tuxedo, oozed charm, and resented any accusation of usefulness. Worse, he ran off with a silver Maine coon cat and then had the nerve to come back thinking Mrs. Murphy would be glad to see him after the escapade. Not only was she not glad, she nearly scratched his eye out. Paddy sported a scar over his left eye from the fight.
Harry and Susan ordered huge subs at Crozet Pizza. They stayed inside to eat them, luxuriating in the air conditioning. Mrs. Murphy sat in a chair and Tucker rested under Harry’s chair.
Harry bit into her sandwich and half the filling shot out the other end.“Damn.”
“That’s the purpose of a submarine sandwich. To make us look foolish.” Susan giggled.
Maude Bly Modena came in at that moment. She started to walk over to takeout, then saw Harry and Susan. She ambled over for a polite exchange.“Use a knife and fork. What’d you do to your hands?”
“I was cleaning stamps.”
“I, for one, don’t care if my first class is blurred. Better than having you look like Lady Macbeth.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Harry replied.
“I’d stay and chew the fat, ladies, but I’ve got to get back to the shop.”
Maude Bly Modena had moved to Crozet from New York five years ago. She opened a packing store—cartons, plastic peanuts, papers, the works—and the store was a smash. An old railroad lorry sat in the front yard and she would put floral displays and the daily store discounts on the lorry. She knew how to attract customers and she herself was attractive, in her late thirties. At Christmastime there were lines to get into her store. She was a sharp businesswomen and friendly, to boot, which was a necessity in these parts. In time the residents forgave her that unfortunate accent.
Maude waved goodbye as she passed the picture window. Harry and Susan waved in return.
“I keep thinking Maude will find Mr. Right. She’s so attractive.”
“Mr. Wrong’s more like it.”
“Sour grapes.”
“Am I like that, Susan? I hope not. I mean, I could rattle off the names of bitter divorced women and we’d be here all afternoon. I don’t want to join that club.”
Susan patted Harry’s hand. “You’re too sensitive, as I’ve said before. You’ll cycle through all kinds of emotions. For lack of a better term, sour grapes is one of them. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
Harry squirmed in her seat.“I feel as if there’s no coating on my nerve endings.” She settled in her chair. “You’re right about Maude. She’s got a lot going for her. There ought to be someone out there for her. Someone who would appreciate her—and her business success too.”
Susan’s eyes danced. “Maybe she’s got a lover.”
“No way. You can’t burp in your kitchen but what everyone knows it. No way.” Harry shook her head.
“I wonder.” Susan poured herself more Tab. “Remember Terrance Newton? We all thought we knew Terrance.”
Harry thought about that.“Well, we were teenagers. I mean, if we had been adults, maybe we’d have picked up on something. The vibes.”
“An insurance executive we all know goes home, shoots his wife and himself. My recollection is the adults were shocked. No one picked up on anything. If you can keep up your facade, people accept that. Very few people look beneath the surface.”
Harry sighed.“Maybe everyone’s too busy.”
“Or too self-centered.” Susan drummed the table with her fingers. “What I’m getting at is that maybe we don’t know one another as well as we think we do. It’s a small-town illusion—thinking we know each other.”
Harry quietly played with her sub.“You know me. I think I know you.”
“That’s different. We’re best friends.” Susan polished off her sandwich and grabbed her brownie. “Imagine being Stafford Sanburne and not being invited to your sister’s wedding.”
“That was a leap.”
“Like I said, we’re best friends. I don’t have to think in sequence around you.” Susan laughed.
“Stafford sent Fair a postcard. ‘Hang in there, buddy.’ Come to think of it, that’s what Kelly said to me. Hey, you missed it. Kelly Craycroft and Bob Berryman had a fight, fists and all.”
“You wait until now to tell me!”