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Authors: Gillian Roberts
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was one long game of roulette. She hoped that what had gone down had to come up.
Something like that.
I had seldom paid attention to her genealogical flights of fancy, her supposed past. I was too enraptured by the ones having to do with my future, like her ridiculous assurances that I could have been a famous dancer if I’d started lessons sooner. Even then, I knew her words were pure nonsense. Along with every other little girl in my neighborhood, I had taken ballet lessons GILLIAN ROBERTS
54
early on, and I was the one at recitals turning the wrong way or falling down. “No, no,” Phoebe would say, “there’s still time.
Modern dance, that’s it. You’d be elegant.” And then she’d find another glamorous and unlikely future for me—astronaut, secretary of state, courtesan.
“I hope I’m not sounding harsh, or mean-spirited,” Ramona said.
“Not at all, not at all.” I murmured further understanding and approval of the high moral ground on which she stood. “I was wondering if she—” I began, but Mrs. Fulgham was not finished.
“Some people don’t bother to consider the mental anguish somebody else might be going through, and why she might make things up, or exaggerate. I understand, because I’ve gone through it myself.”
“Of course,” I said. “But I was wondering—”
“Not that I myself made things up afterwards. I need to make that clear. So easy to misunderstand each other, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” I said again. “In fact, just so I’m clear—those other women, Sally and Neva—are they in the neighborhood, too?”
She nodded vigorously. “I thought I said—sure, they live on this block. Well, if you count all four sides of it. Sally’s over there, across the street.” She pointed toward the living-room window, aiming her finger to the left. “First house from the corner,” she said, “and Neva’s house is behind Phoebe’s. Their backyards touch, so to speak. Both been here for a long time, too.”
“Was Phoebe friendly with either of them before the tea, do you think?”
Ramona’s head pulled back a minute amount, but enough to convey the idea that I’d insulted her. “She wasn’t unfriendly, if that’s what you’re saying. And I’m sure—I mean a back-fence neighbor, you talk to sometimes. It’s summer and hot, and everybody’s barbecuing, but I don’t know if there was more than that. And Sally?”
55
ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS
She shook her head. “Not more so than Phoebe was with me, and I was right next door. She wasn’t a neighborly type, if you don’t mind my saying so. Standoffish, you know? Didn’t let anybody get too close, even if somebody tried. But it takes all types, and a man’s home is his castle, and a woman’s, too. And she made that tea for us.”
I wrote down both the neighbors’ names and nodded.
“Thanks. This is helpful. About those other neighbors—”
“If you’re wondering because she left something to them in her will, well, I’d be surprised, is all.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
I’d almost forgotten my supposed mission. “Why is that?” I prompted, though I was sure she’d be surprised—and angry—
because she hadn’t been left anything.
She lit another cigarette again without asking, and inhaled deeply. “I mean,” she said in a cloud of exhaled smoke, “her possessions were quite special. Heirlooms, some of them, but even the ones that weren’t had meaning for her. Her treasures, she called them, making it a joke, but underneath, I think they were.
The things she collected—beautiful things, and so many. I can understand why she was proud. They were all souvenirs of her life, her adventures. Everything had meaning for her.
“I was so touched when she gave me the eagle. Do you see how beautifully it’s made, with every tiny talon clear as can be?
And the flag with its ripples? And when you’d compliment something, she’d tell you all about where she found it and what
Something like that.
I had seldom paid attention to her genealogical flights of fancy, her supposed past. I was too enraptured by the ones having to do with my future, like her ridiculous assurances that I could have been a famous dancer if I’d started lessons sooner. Even then, I knew her words were pure nonsense. Along with every other little girl in my neighborhood, I had taken ballet lessons GILLIAN ROBERTS
54
early on, and I was the one at recitals turning the wrong way or falling down. “No, no,” Phoebe would say, “there’s still time.
Modern dance, that’s it. You’d be elegant.” And then she’d find another glamorous and unlikely future for me—astronaut, secretary of state, courtesan.
“I hope I’m not sounding harsh, or mean-spirited,” Ramona said.
“Not at all, not at all.” I murmured further understanding and approval of the high moral ground on which she stood. “I was wondering if she—” I began, but Mrs. Fulgham was not finished.
“Some people don’t bother to consider the mental anguish somebody else might be going through, and why she might make things up, or exaggerate. I understand, because I’ve gone through it myself.”
“Of course,” I said. “But I was wondering—”
“Not that I myself made things up afterwards. I need to make that clear. So easy to misunderstand each other, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” I said again. “In fact, just so I’m clear—those other women, Sally and Neva—are they in the neighborhood, too?”
She nodded vigorously. “I thought I said—sure, they live on this block. Well, if you count all four sides of it. Sally’s over there, across the street.” She pointed toward the living-room window, aiming her finger to the left. “First house from the corner,” she said, “and Neva’s house is behind Phoebe’s. Their backyards touch, so to speak. Both been here for a long time, too.”
“Was Phoebe friendly with either of them before the tea, do you think?”
Ramona’s head pulled back a minute amount, but enough to convey the idea that I’d insulted her. “She wasn’t unfriendly, if that’s what you’re saying. And I’m sure—I mean a back-fence neighbor, you talk to sometimes. It’s summer and hot, and everybody’s barbecuing, but I don’t know if there was more than that. And Sally?”
55
ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS
She shook her head. “Not more so than Phoebe was with me, and I was right next door. She wasn’t a neighborly type, if you don’t mind my saying so. Standoffish, you know? Didn’t let anybody get too close, even if somebody tried. But it takes all types, and a man’s home is his castle, and a woman’s, too. And she made that tea for us.”
I wrote down both the neighbors’ names and nodded.
“Thanks. This is helpful. About those other neighbors—”
“If you’re wondering because she left something to them in her will, well, I’d be surprised, is all.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
I’d almost forgotten my supposed mission. “Why is that?” I prompted, though I was sure she’d be surprised—and angry—
because she hadn’t been left anything.
She lit another cigarette again without asking, and inhaled deeply. “I mean,” she said in a cloud of exhaled smoke, “her possessions were quite special. Heirlooms, some of them, but even the ones that weren’t had meaning for her. Her treasures, she called them, making it a joke, but underneath, I think they were.
The things she collected—beautiful things, and so many. I can understand why she was proud. They were all souvenirs of her life, her adventures. Everything had meaning for her.
“I was so touched when she gave me the eagle. Do you see how beautifully it’s made, with every tiny talon clear as can be?
And the flag with its ripples? And when you’d compliment something, she’d tell you all about where she found it and what
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