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“Who?”
“His name’s Little Richard. He’s really weird. He’s a Negro but he looks just like a girl.”
“Hmmm.”
“Yeah. And what else?” Mary Sue looked off into space. “Oh, Andy and Sue broke up because he’s not a Catholic, even though she never goes to church. And you heard about Tammy Mirkov, didn’t you?”
“No, what? I ran into her once at the pool.”
“At the pool?”
“I was there once.”
“Did you see that cute lifeguard? He’s from Fogarty or someplace. He’s real cute.”
“No. What about Tammy?” I sensed Mary Sue had something here that I’d like. I still carried an image of Tammy flouncing out of the locker room, her arrogant little ponytail poking at me.
Mary Sue got off the sill and sat beside me on the sofa. She lowered her eyelids, trying to look furtive. “She and Arthur were out parking last week at the Ledges. He did something with his finger, and she bled all over his car.”
“Really?” I thought of the moment last Sunday when the siren screamed into the evening, as an ambulance headed uselessly to Michael Cooper’s crash. Cars and blood.
“Really,” said Mary Sue. “That’s it for Tammy.” She sat back and dipped her chin, opening her eyes wide as a sign of knowing. “Pop!” she said.
Mrs. Vernon bustled in with a plate of raisin-oatmeal cookies. The cookies had been coated with a sugar glaze so thick it looked as if someone had poured heavy cream all over the plate.
“I’ll just have one,” said Mary Sue.
“How’s your mother?” asked Mrs. Vernon. “I used to see her all the time at Ward’s. Every Friday morning. Our shopping schedules were the same.”
“She goes out to the new Ward’s now,” said Mary Sue. “It’s open later so she can go there any time. Sometimes she shops at night.”
“That must be why I don’t see her.” Mrs. Vernon’s hands churned in the apron at her waist. It seemed as if a little animal were burrowing in her stomach.
“I guess.” Mary Sue took a second cookie.
“Well, give her my best.” Mrs. Vernon backed toward the door.
“Thanks for the cookies,” I said.
When Mrs. Vernon was out the door and down the hall, Mary Sue whispered, “She looks so old. I mean, she looks like an old woman.”
“She’s probably less than fifty. Way less. Forty-five maybe.”
“All that gray hair, and those wrinkles. Her skin’s like an old towel. I bet it was Sissy that did it to her.”
“She always seemed old to me. I remember, even in first grade, when the parents came around, it was like everyone else had a mother, and Sissy had a grandmother.”
Mary Sue put her hand on my forearm. She’d painted her nails shiny red. “What’s it been like? I mean, I can’t imagine. What’s it really been like?”
“You mean here?”
“Here.” She waved her hand, making streaks of red in the air. “The whole thing.”
“Not so bad,” I said. “Everyone’s been pretty nice.”
She grabbed my arm again. “But what happened? I mean, I can’t figure it out. You were always so … nice.”
I shook her hand off. “Nothing happened. That’s the point. Everyone thinks something happened, but nothing happened.”
