Read Online A Thread So Thin by Marie Bostwick - Free Book Online Page B

really…What kind of mother greets the announcement of her child’s upcoming visit with suspicion? The kind who is smart enough to realize that the visit has an agenda, that’s who. Well, there was some comfort in that. Mentally, Mom was obviously as sharp as ever.
    “Because I haven’t seen you in a long time, that’s why. And I miss you. Can’t a daughter want to come visit her mother for a few days without getting the third degree? I just thought it would be nice to see you now that I have some time. It’s been over a year.”
    “Oh. Well, in that case. It’d be nice to see you, Evie,” she said, calling me by my childhood nickname. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t coming out here to check up on me. I was afraid that Mary Flynn had called you and started blabbing.”
    Mary Flynn has been Mother’s next-door neighbor for thirty years. She moved in right after I graduated. She used to have a golden retriever, Rufus, that she let run loose. One day, Rufus ruined Mother’s prize roses, dug up the whole bed. Mother was livid.
    The dog died four years later and Mary had never gotten another, but that didn’t make any difference to Mom. My mother, Virginia Wade, is known far and wide for her kind and charitable nature. She’s one of the sweetest, most forgiving women you’d ever hope to meet, but in Mom’s book there are certain infractions that simply cannot be pardoned. Letting your dog dig up her prize-winning roses just a week before she was due to defend her title at the county fair was one of them.
    “Why would Mary be blabbing? What happened?”
    “Nothing. Nothing at all. Mary doesn’t need a reason to blab. She just does it. The woman’s a terrible gossip. So if she called and told you about me falling, you can just tell her…”
    “Falling? Mom, you fell? When? Where? Are you all right?”
    “Well, of course, I’m all right!” she snapped. “I’m talking to you on the telephone, aren’t I?”
    “Okay. All right. Good,” I said, purposely adopting a calm tone. “But tell me what happened. How did you fall?”
    “It was nothing. I was going out to get the paper and slipped on a patch of ice, that’s all. Mary saw me and came running, yelling for Tom Pearson to leave off shoveling his sidewalk and help me up. Lot of fuss over nothing,” she groused. “It’s not like I’ve never fallen before. It’s January, the walks are icy. This is Wisconsin, for heaven’s sake! In January, in Wisconsin, people fall! There’s no need to go calling a person’s daughter about it! Mary Flynn should just mind her own darned business. And you can tell her I said so!”
    “Mom, calm down. Mary didn’t call me. Really.”
    “Sorry, Evie. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just annoyed with myself for falling, especially in front of Mary and Tom. It’s hard getting old, Evie. Having people think you can’t manage things on your own. People fall all the time, but if you fall and you’re eighty, everybody thinks it’s because you’re losing your marbles. I am not losing my marbles. I was just too lazy to go to the basement and bring up the rock salt. Stupid. I know the ice always collects in that one spot. I should have tossed out the salt before going to get the paper.”
    “But you’re feeling fine now?” I asked.
    “Yes. I am. And if you’d like to come out for a visit, I’ll feel even better. It would be nice to see you, sweetheart. Saturday, did you say? Shall I pick you up at the airport?”
    “Yes, Saturday. About six o’clock. Don’t worry about picking me up. I’ll get a cab to the house. I’m looking forward to it.”
    “Me too, Evie. I’ve missed you.”

7
Evelyn Dixon
    I come from what my dad called “good, hardworking Midwestern stock,” and it’s true. I’ve always worked.
    My first job was in my mother’s garden, ten weeds for a penny, then babysitting for the neighbors, fifty cents an hour, and, once I was old enough to get a work permit, waitressing at