Read Online Sharyn Mccrumb_Elizabeth MacPherson_07 by MacPherson's Lament - Free Book Online Page A

90-CI-something-or-other in circuit court, which basically says that my dad will continue to make the house payments and pay the car insuranceand so on at the old homeplace until we get the whole mess sorted out.”
    â€œAre you busy enough then, or do you want to run the newspaper ad advertising MacPherson and Hill for another two weeks? It’s time to renew.”
    Bill thought about it. “Better run it,” he advised. “We could use a few simple wills and speeding tickets to generate some revenue around here. Besides, Powell gets nervous if she has time to eat dinner.”
    Edith looked at her watch. “Well, I don’t. If I don’t feed my cat by six o’clock, he starts rooting in the houseplants. Pure spite, that’s what it is. So if you don’t need me for anything else …”
    â€œNo,” said Bill. “I guess I could call it a night, too, since nobody seems to be clamoring for my services. Maybe I could stop in and see how Dad is doing in his new place.”
    â€œIsn’t that a whattayacallit? An ex parte communication?”
    â€œNot if we just talk about dinner … the Redskins … neutral topics. But—er—you don’t have to mention this to my mother next time she comes in.” Bill was the picture of abject misery. “Edith, have you ever been divorced?”
    â€œIt was a good while back, and it wasn’t all that complicated. We didn’t have anything worth squabbling over. We had an old trailer, a lot of debts, no kids, and not much love leftto lose, so it went pretty quick. I won’t be much help to you in figuring out your parents’ situation.”
    â€œThey’re behaving so strangely. It’s so hard to know how to fix it.”
    Edith Creech said gently, “Well, Bill, they didn’t hire you to fix it.”
    Â Â Â Margaret MacPherson was not thinking about her husband, Doug. She definitely was not. After five-thirty, the time when he would have been coming home from work, she had expended a considerable amount of energy ensuring that she would be much too occupied to remember his existence. She had watered the plants, vacuumed the spotless carpet, and reread the mail, even the bills and catalogues. In the background the television blared away for background noise, but she did not look at it. It was only a question of habits, she told herself; and one must be patient and give oneself time to change habits.
    It would all take some getting used to. The rooms looked strange—with odds and ends of furniture missing from their accustomed places and none of Doug’s usual clutter on the end tables. It was nice not to have to fix a complete meal every night, the meat and two vegetables that Doug insisted on. Now she could have a salad or a bowl of soup if she pleased, or just skip dinner altogether. Maybe she could lose afew pounds now that she was on her own. She looked at herself in the mirror above the fireplace. She might lighten her hair as well; it looked so mousy these days. Before, there hadn’t seemed to be much reason to bother. It wasn’t as if Doug ever noticed. She could have set it on fire and he wouldn’t have remarked on it. Now, though, she thought she might try styling it. This was a time for trying things.
    It was her turn now. The children were grown and launched into respectable careers. Her mind hovered over the word
respectable
in Elizabeth’s case—all those cadavers—but at least she was married, and that’s what counted. A stricken face stared back at her from the mirror as she listened to those sentiments.
At least she was married, and that’s what counted.
Had she really thought such a thing? Her generation had been raised to believe that, and it was hard to outgrow that early indoctrination, even when you knew what a lie it was. That wasn’t what counted at all. It mattered very much who you were, and what you did