Last Known Address. Elizabeth Wrenn

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СКАЧАТЬ laughed, bent and picked M.J. up, settled her on her lap, stroking her palm over the dog’s bony back. She remembered her point. ‘Well, I guess it’s that I feel like a teenager again, in more ways than just going on this trip. This thing with Purdy, I didn’t believe it at first, just plum didn’t believe it. But I can tell you it’s…fun.’ She whispered the last word. ‘It makes me feel, I don’t know, I guess, alive in a whole new way.’ She laughed. ‘Or whole old way! But I assure you, girls, this is just harmless, a passing fancy. As in, just passing through.’ She ran her hand in front of her, then off toward the horizon.

      ‘Did you kiss him?’ asked Shelly.

      ‘Of course not! We only just met!’ C.C. said, indignant. But then she smiled, pleased that Shelly thought it could have happened. ‘Purdy is a complete gentleman. And a little shy, I think. Besides, you saw pretty much everything, did you not?’ She gestured toward the window. Shelly winked, nodded. But Meg’s cheeks pinked, and she stood, began making the bed.

      ‘Meg!’ said Shelly. ‘What are you doing?’

      Meg stopped, the sheet still clutched in both hands.

      ‘They have maids for that,’ said Shelly. C.C. wondered if that was true. She bet Purdy did it himself. ‘Besides,’ continued Shelly, ‘they’ll just strip the sheets off, y’know.’ She pulled her toiletries bag from her suitcase and walked to the sink area and began to gather the unused soap and small bottles of shampoo and lotion, tucking them into her bag.

      Meg stared blankly at the headboard, still holding the sheet.

      C.C. put M.J. on the floor, stepped next to Meg and put her arm around her thin, hunched shoulders. Poor Meg. She seemed so lost without her routines, her structured life. Her structured home. Her structured classroom. Her structured marriage. And there wasn’t one little bitty wisp of her old life left. Except for them.

      Meg slowly pulled the sheet back, stripping the bed. C.C. watched as she made a neat pile of the linens on the mattress. She folded both the blanket and bedspread into equal-sized squares, placed them on the chair. She then headed to the second bed.

      C.C. dragged her suitcase off, getting out of her way. As Meg pulled the pillows out of their cases, and Shelly tucked her bulging toiletries bag into her suitcase, C.C. wondered how the mood had changed so suddenly. Something about mentioning being a teenager, she thought. She decided a few more details from her walk were in order.

      ‘So, anyway, Purdy is…nice,’ continued C.C., ‘and, well…’ She put her hands on her large hips, cocked her head to one side, contemplating that which was Purdy: ‘Well, I think he’s just shy. And his wife died, very recently. Of a heart attack.’ She looked knowingly at the other two. ‘He seems very sweet…’ She picked up her jacket from the chair and laid it neatly over her suitcase on the floor. ‘He’s older than me.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘He kept putting his hands in his pockets, then taking them out again and the pockets kept flopping out.’ She felt herself go briefly to a dreamy, distant place, then she abruptly brought herself back. ‘But, I mean, really. I’m not at all interested. What’s the point? Mick should have the car ready in a matter of minutes now. And then,’ she snapped her fingers and flung her arm outward, a more dramatic version of the gesture she’d done before. ‘We’re off! Gone! Byebye, apple pie! Besides, he’s not my type. He’s very different from Lenny. Umm, physically. And in what he does for a living. He’s not my type.’

      Shelly, looking incredulous, said loudly, ‘What the hell does that mean? It’s not like there’s only one type of guy for you. For crying out loud! Do you like just one…outfit?’ C.C. grinned as Shelly stared at her, in her velour pantsuit. ‘Or…or one flavor of ice cream?’

      Meg laughed lightly, shaking her head at Shelly. C.C. was delighted by Meg’s smile, on two counts: lately, any smile from Meg was to be celebrated; and, it demonstrated yet again that Meg and C.C. were the kind of friends who committed each other’s loyal preferences to memory. Shelly didn’t commit her own preferences to memory. She said her tastes changed with her hormone fluctuations so sometimes she liked pumpkin ice cream best. Other times mocha cappuccino with fudge chunks. Still others, she was a sucker for rainbow sherbet. Meg and C.C. knew this about her.

      Meg looked at Shelly. ‘Yes. She does only like one flavor. She always, always orders pralines and cream. Don’t you know that by now?’

      Shelly looked stunned. She glanced between the two. ‘So, what if they don’t have pralines and cream?’

      ‘Then she orders–’ Meg looked at C.C.–‘butter pecan’, they said in unison. C.C., her unrestrained southern accent in full swing again, added, ‘And then, mah deah, if they don’t have butt-ah-pee-can, ah ordah vanilla, with caramel sauce and a heapin’ dose a—’

      A knock at the door interrupted her. C.C. jumped, her heart pounding. M.J. gave a short bark and ran to the door, ears up, tail high, her body vibrating. C.C. looked at the others. They each smiled reassuringly, Shelly making a ‘go on’ flick with her hand. C.C. scooped M.J. up, held her close. She wondered if the little dog could feel her heart thumping in her chest. She kissed the top of M.J.’s head, took a deep breath. She put her hand on the doorknob, suddenly feeling as if breathing was something she had to think about in order to do. She thought to check her hair, but the only mirror was behind her, and Meg and Shelly would give her no end of grief. Slowly, she opened the door. Outside, Mick stood, hat off, held against his chest again. C.C. felt her shoulders cave just a little, but she couldn’t help but think: this boy was raised right.

      ‘Ma’am.’ He nodded in greeting, repeating ma’am and nodding again as Meg joined C.C. at the door. ‘You’re all set to go, ladies. Just come on over when you’re ready, and we’ll get you right out on the road again.’

      ‘Thank you, Mick,’ said Meg. After another ‘ma’am’ and nod to each of them, Mick pulled his cap on, then turned and ambled back toward his shop.

      ‘Finally!’ said Shelly. She started singing ‘On the Road Again’, loudly and off-key. M.J., still in C.C.’s arms, raised her little snout in the air and started barking.

      ‘Stop! Stop!’ said C.C., laughing, gently holding M.J.’s snout, then letting go and admonishing both the dog and Shelly: ‘Saints preserve! You two make some choir.’ M.J. licked furiously at C.C.’s neck, making C.C. shriek with laughter. Suddenly she stopped laughing. Feeling panicked, she thrust M.J. into Meg’s arms. ‘Here, hold her, please. I gotta pee!’ She ran to the bathroom, lunged inside, slamming the door, barely making it in time.

      Sitting in the small, dark room, she shook her head. She probably needed to see a doctor about this. She’d been putting it off for months. It was bad enough going for her ‘annual indignity’, as she referred to her yearly gynecological exam. She was holding out to do it all at once, and she always scheduled her annual appointment for just after her birthday, in September. Come to think of it, had she had a check-up last year? Or the year before?

      There was a gentle knock on the door. ‘You okay in there?’ Meg words were somewhat muffled by the thick door.

      ‘Yeah! Just the usual problem,’ she shouted back. ‘That’s what comes from having a big baby. And middle age. No going back from either!’

      A few minutes later C.C. emerged, washed her hands at the sink. Over the running water she could hear the TV, the SavR King jingle pulsing through the room. C.C. put her hand on the counter, steadying herself, thinking of Kathryn. She felt near tears again. The sounds of a newscast СКАЧАТЬ