Free Miss Julia Delivers the Goods by Ann B. Ross Page A

of other people.”
    “Well, I’m not either, and, as you know, I rarely do it. It’s only when I’m absolutely sure of what’s best that I dare to step in. But this is surely just such an occasion.”
     
     
     
     
    I left Sam to his telephoning and went home, noting as I left that James had done a fairly decent job of clearing the steps and front walkway.
    As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, Lillian’s eyes swept the room as if she expected someone to be listening in. Then she tiptoed over to me and whispered, “How Mr. Sam takin’ it?”
    “Just as he always does,” I said, ridding myself of my raincoat. “He takes anything that happens right in stride. And, Lillian, there’s no need for you to try to find Mr. Pickens. Sam’s doing it for us, since he has contacts we don’t have. I expect we’ll hear from him most anytime now.”
    “Well,” she whispered, “I didn’t know he gonna do it, so I call his house and his office but didn’t get no further than you did. Then I call that operator down in Charlotte an’ ask do he have a telephone an’ he do. The number right over there by the phone, but nobody home there, either.”
    “Why, Lillian,” I said, looking at her in amazement, “that is outstanding. I never would’ve thought of that. Well, I probably would have eventually, but you did it. Is this it?”
    I picked up a scrap of paper with a number in a different area code just as the back screen door slammed.
    “Lloyd home,” Lillian said, as I crammed the slip of paper in my pocket.
    “Not a word to him, Lillian, about any of this. Just that his mother’s coming home tomorrow. That’s all he needs to know.”
    Lloyd walked into the kitchen, propping his tennis racket against the wall as he headed for the counter and the snack that Lillian had put out for him. “Who needs to know what?” he asked. “Is mama all right?”
    “She’s fine, getting better all the time. We were just talking about that new doctor who’s proved that he knows all he needs to know.” Quickly changing the subject, I went on. “We’ll be bringing your mother home in the morning.”
    His face lit up. “Tomorrow? Oh, wow, I’m glad about that.” He put down a half-eaten banana and pushed back his wet hair. “We had to play indoors again today ’cause the courts were too wet to use.” He reached for his racket, then struck with a sudden thought, said, “Is it all right if I walk downtown and buy some flowers for her room? The rain’s about stopped and I’ve got some money.”
    “That’s a wonderful idea. She’ll have to stay in bed for a few days, so flowers in her room will be perfect. Here,” I said, searching in my pocketbook for a couple of twenties, “take this with you and get something bright and pretty from Sam and me. If they’re too awkward to carry, just have them delivered this afternoon. I know it’s late in the day, but don’t let them put you off. I’ve done enough business with that florist for them to go the extra mile for me.”
     
     
     
     
    The next morning dawned hot and cloudless with everything looking fresh and green from the rain, a far cry from the usual dog days of August. Before going in to breakfast, I went up to Hazel Marie’s room to open the draperies and to turn down her bed. Looking over our preparations for her return, I couldn’t help but think that she’d have to realize how important she was to us.
    When I got to the dining room, I found Lloyd so excited about his mother’s imminent discharge from the hospital that he could hardly sit still long enough to eat a decent breakfast. He kept saying how glad he was that it was a Saturday, so he didn’t have to go to his tennis clinic.
    “I wouldn’t learn a thing,” he said, grinning across the breakfast table at me. “My mind would be on Mama coming home, and everybody’d be acing me right and left.”
    I agreed, realizing that I had the same excited expectation of Hazel Marie’s return as he