Do Unto Others

“Nothing. Miz Harcher said something like ‘Finally,’ kissed Josh goodnight, and told me to get on home. So I did.” Hally tied off the lawn bag with a green piece of wire. “But I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.” He still didn’t look at me. If he’d been making a mock at sin, as Beta suggested, he wasn’t going to look me in the eye and fess up. “You don’t mind me asking, do you, Hally, where you were last night?” He did meet my eyes. “No, I don’t mind. I was out with a girl.

Chelsea Hart. Didn’t get home until after midnight.” He smiled, and added, “Even with a later curfew for spring break, I missed it. Mom was mad.” “I see. Well, listen, I got to go. Tell your mother I’ll stop by soon.” Relief moved across his face like a shadow. “Okay, Jordy. You take care.” I walked away from my cousin, and away from my friend’s house, feeling as if even the people I knew and trusted weren’t being up front with me. Eula Mae hadn’t mentioned her little late night excursion to see Beta last week. Hally behaved as if he’d done worse than miss curfew. Knowing he was on that list shook him up.

And I wondered why Hally, rather than his library-board mother, had made Beta’s mysterious catalog.

6

“Excuse me, but a dinner with Ruth Wills?” Sister demanded. The bathroom door didn’t do a lot to mute her. “You can’t go out on some date. Who’s gonna stay here with Mama?” “Mark can stay. He’s old enough to take care of her.” I made a face at the door. The shaving cream made me look rabid. I already felt it. “I think an adult should be here. God have mercy, you just found a body this morning and the police think you might’ve killed her. Decent folks’d stay home.” “Then I guess I’m indecent.” I ignored her reply and finished shaving. “I’ll call Dorcas Witherspoon and see if she can come over.” I splashed water on my face and turned to the shower. “Maybe I can just call Candace,” Sister offered. I couldn’t immediately tell if she was teasing but I had my suspicions. “I’m sure she’d be delighted to baby-sit Mama while you’ve got a hot date. Bet she wouldn’t mind at all.” “Give it a rest.” I turned the taps and drowned out her babble.

I stepped into the shower and let the water sluice over me. I had found when I returned to Mirabeau that the bathroom was a simple haven from Mama, Sister, and Mark. No wonder many middle-aged men spend so much time there. Worry nagged at me more than Sister did. In a small town, gossip runs rife. Beta’s charges against Ruth had certainly been effectively muffled. And it seemed doubly interesting that Beta, who was never stingy with accusations, never mentioned her feud with Ruth at the library board meetings. The hospital, Ruth, or someone else had managed to keep Beta from hellfire-’n’-brimstoning against Ruth as Mirabeau’s resident poisoner. That bothered me no end. Sister had returned downstairs when I snuck from the steamy bathroom down the hall to my old bedroom. There’s nothing quite like growing up in a house, leaving it for years, then coming back and living in your own room again. I’d expected to hate the arrangement, but with the stress of Mama’s disease it comforted me. It’s like putting on a very old and comfortable pair of jeans and finding they’ve stretched a little to match your longer legs. The bed I’d slept in as a teenager-the one I’d lost my virginity in one thunderous spring afternoon when Mama, Daddy, and Sister had gone to visit friends in Bastrop-was still there. My legs still stuck out a tad over the edge during sleep. I’d taken down the dusty academic awards and the track trophies from Mirabeau High and replaced them with art that’d hung in my condo in Boston. The Mark Rothko prints and the Ansel Adams photographs looked out of place with the antique furniture, but I didn’t care. I needed some link to my middle life, the one I’d sandwiched between childhood and unexpected adulthood in Mirabeau. I slipped a CD into my portable stereo I’d put on my old study desk and got dressed while Miles Davis made his trumpet sing a sketch of Spain. I picked khakis, brown loafers, and a nicely tailored chambray shirt. Rosita’s wasn’t fancy by Boston standards, but I wanted to look presentable for Ruth. I thought about a tie, decided I’d look like a doofus wearing a tie if I wasn’t going to church, and tossed it back on the bed. I didn’t get away scot-free.

The phone rang and I scooped it up. “Get your business wrapped up with Ruth Wills?” Candace asked archly. “No, Candace.” I didn’t feel like fibbing. Maybe Sister really had called her? “Just about to, though.”