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“What about your teachers?” she asked. “Didn’t they encourage you to call her Mom, like all the other children?”
“I don’t remember kindergarten,” I said, “but Mrs. Rogers, my first-grade teacher, told me not to say Bunny in front of the other kids. I could never remember, though. Bunny always came out, and, after a while, I guess everybody just got used to it.”
“Weren’t there children who teased you about it?”
“Why should they care?” interrupted Bunny.
“Children care a great deal about things that are different,” said Mrs. O’Brien.
“They all called her Bunny, too,” I said.
“It’s contagious!” said Bunny, with a laugh.
“Yes, well, contagious might be just the right word for it,” Mrs. O’Brien said.
At last Mrs. Vernon brought in several plates of sandwiches and a pot of tea. The pot was covered with a quilted warmer in the shape of a cow. “Isn’t that darling,” said Mrs. O’Brien. There was a set of flowered teacups I hadn’t seen before. After pouring for each of us, Mrs. Vernon hovered awkwardly, unsure of her role.
“Why don’t you sit down?” invited Mrs. O’Brien. “You’ve come to know Martha in this last week. I’m sure she and her mother would appreciate your contribution.”
“Well, I …”
“Sit, sit,” the social worker insisted.
Mrs. Vernon quickly perched on the front edge of the sofa across from us. No one said anything for several long seconds. Mrs. O’Brien studied and ate two sandwiches. Bunny was curled up in a corner of our sofa. She hadn’t touched her tea.
“Any news on the KTD?” I asked, to break the awkwardness.
“Just that they’re talking,” said Mrs. Vernon. She turned to Bunny. “How’s your work coming?” she asked.
“Hard,” said Bunny.
“I’ve never eaten out at the country club,” Mrs. Vernon went on. “Mr. Vernon has, though. I don’t remember why. We’re not members.” She waited. Bunny made her nervous. “The cook’s an Indian man, isn’t he?” To Bunny’s silence, she added, “I’ve seen him around the square.”
“An Indian?” said Mrs. O’Brien. “Does he use a lot of curry?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Walter never said.”
“It’s just regular old food,” I volunteered. “No special spices or anything.”
“That’s a shame,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “We should use more curry in this country. It aids digestion.”
“Really?” said Mrs. Vernon.
I turned to Bunny. “What’s happened to Shorty?”
She shrugged.
“Did they fire him?”
“Not yet.”
“He’s the greenskeeper,” I explained. “He got in a dispute out there the other night.”
“He’s a deaf-mute,” said Mrs. Vernon. “Or only deaf. I can’t remember which.”
“Has he recovered from the fight?” I asked Bunny.
“He’s resentful,” she said. “He’s always been resentful. He’s a resentful person.”
