back porch smearing shoe polish on the dirty sneakers when Kendra cut across the yard behind Effie’s vacant house.
“Ivy . . .” Kendra’s smooth forehead wrinkled in concern after she watched me for a moment. “Did you know that’s . . . um . . . brown polish you’re putting on those white shoes?”
“That’s because I don’t have any black polish.”
“Oh.” Kendra hesitated but apparently decided not to question that line of logic. “I see.”
I held up a sneaker. “But this is a really dark brown.”
“Yes, it is. Really dark. Ummm . . . I think I have some white polish at the apartment. I could run over and get it.”
I squatted back on my heels and scooped up another dab of polish. Sweet Kendra, thinking I may be slipping into senility, but rather than laughing or saying something hurtful, she offers a helpful way out.
“Oh, thanks, that’s so nice of you. I appreciate it, but . . .”
But what? But I don’t want white because I’m camouflaging the shoes for a midnight stakeout? Kendra would have a fit if she knew that. So I improvised with one of her own detour tricks. “They’re really comfortable old shoes. I didn’t want to throw them out.”
Kendra knelt down beside me. “Look, I know how expensive shoes and polish and everything else is these days. How about if we go shopping together this weekend, and I’ll get you a nice pair of shoes that are already black?”
More sweet Kendra. I was almost tempted to tell her what I was really doing. Instead I patted her hand with a finger, lightly, so I wouldn’t get brown polish on her. “I’ll see how these work out. So, how are things going over at Bottom-Buck Barney’s?”
“Same as always.” Kendra paused. “But if you ever decide you want a different car, don’t patronize Barney’s.”
“The Thunderbird suits me just fine.” This was a nice, safe topic. I smeared more brown polish on a toe and rubbed it in. “It has only sixty-two thousand miles on it, you know, even though it is a 1975 model. I don’t drive much.”
“Your husband bought it, I’ll bet.”
I heard a bit of curiosity in Kendra’s voice. Maybe even a minuscule twinge of censure. Your husband bought a Thunder-bird . . . but didn’t leave you enough to buy a pair of black shoes?
“We happened to come into a bit of money,” I explained. It was an unexpected share of a great-uncle’s estate, the other shares going to those cousins in Idaho, although I didn’t feel the need to supply Kendra with those details. “By rights I suppose we should’ve done something sensible with it. But whenever it came time to buy a car, Harley always looked at Thunderbirds and Cadillacs first. Then we’d settle on something smaller and more sedate and sensible. But this time, when we got the money, I said, ‘Let’s not be sensible. Let’s just do it.’ So we did.”
“That’s wonderful. Sometimes tendencies to be sensible need to be squashed.”
“It’s a great car. A wonderful ride, everyone says. Although,” honesty forced me to admit, “it does get terrible gas mileage. I imagine you get wonderful mileage with your little car.”
“It also doesn’t hurt that my friend lets me use his charge card for gasoline.” Kendra gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Next time the Thunderbird needs gas, let me know, and we’ll sneak it through on the card too.”
Again I saw that tiny facet of Kendra’s personality that troubled me. It slipped through whenever mention of the “friend” came up. Something sly and scheming and . . . not quite nice.
“Well, I’d better be running along,” Kendra said briskly. “I just wanted to drop over and say hi.”
“I’m going to fix a nice shrimp salad for supper. Could you stay?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Not tonight. I have some . . . papers I have to go over. But I’m definitely planning church with you this coming Sunday, if the invitation is still open.”
“Always.”
“And I’ll give you the money for
“Ivy . . .” Kendra’s smooth forehead wrinkled in concern after she watched me for a moment. “Did you know that’s . . . um . . . brown polish you’re putting on those white shoes?”
“That’s because I don’t have any black polish.”
“Oh.” Kendra hesitated but apparently decided not to question that line of logic. “I see.”
I held up a sneaker. “But this is a really dark brown.”
“Yes, it is. Really dark. Ummm . . . I think I have some white polish at the apartment. I could run over and get it.”
I squatted back on my heels and scooped up another dab of polish. Sweet Kendra, thinking I may be slipping into senility, but rather than laughing or saying something hurtful, she offers a helpful way out.
“Oh, thanks, that’s so nice of you. I appreciate it, but . . .”
But what? But I don’t want white because I’m camouflaging the shoes for a midnight stakeout? Kendra would have a fit if she knew that. So I improvised with one of her own detour tricks. “They’re really comfortable old shoes. I didn’t want to throw them out.”
Kendra knelt down beside me. “Look, I know how expensive shoes and polish and everything else is these days. How about if we go shopping together this weekend, and I’ll get you a nice pair of shoes that are already black?”
More sweet Kendra. I was almost tempted to tell her what I was really doing. Instead I patted her hand with a finger, lightly, so I wouldn’t get brown polish on her. “I’ll see how these work out. So, how are things going over at Bottom-Buck Barney’s?”
“Same as always.” Kendra paused. “But if you ever decide you want a different car, don’t patronize Barney’s.”
“The Thunderbird suits me just fine.” This was a nice, safe topic. I smeared more brown polish on a toe and rubbed it in. “It has only sixty-two thousand miles on it, you know, even though it is a 1975 model. I don’t drive much.”
“Your husband bought it, I’ll bet.”
I heard a bit of curiosity in Kendra’s voice. Maybe even a minuscule twinge of censure. Your husband bought a Thunder-bird . . . but didn’t leave you enough to buy a pair of black shoes?
“We happened to come into a bit of money,” I explained. It was an unexpected share of a great-uncle’s estate, the other shares going to those cousins in Idaho, although I didn’t feel the need to supply Kendra with those details. “By rights I suppose we should’ve done something sensible with it. But whenever it came time to buy a car, Harley always looked at Thunderbirds and Cadillacs first. Then we’d settle on something smaller and more sedate and sensible. But this time, when we got the money, I said, ‘Let’s not be sensible. Let’s just do it.’ So we did.”
“That’s wonderful. Sometimes tendencies to be sensible need to be squashed.”
“It’s a great car. A wonderful ride, everyone says. Although,” honesty forced me to admit, “it does get terrible gas mileage. I imagine you get wonderful mileage with your little car.”
“It also doesn’t hurt that my friend lets me use his charge card for gasoline.” Kendra gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Next time the Thunderbird needs gas, let me know, and we’ll sneak it through on the card too.”
Again I saw that tiny facet of Kendra’s personality that troubled me. It slipped through whenever mention of the “friend” came up. Something sly and scheming and . . . not quite nice.
“Well, I’d better be running along,” Kendra said briskly. “I just wanted to drop over and say hi.”
“I’m going to fix a nice shrimp salad for supper. Could you stay?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Not tonight. I have some . . . papers I have to go over. But I’m definitely planning church with you this coming Sunday, if the invitation is still open.”
“Always.”
“And I’ll give you the money for
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