Free Small Blessings by Martha Woodroof

said ‘asshole’ to anyone else. But ‘hack’ is more effective with Russell. People do so hate to hear the truth.” She spoke as though her mouth were full of hot oatmeal.
    â€œStill, it wasn’t very kind,” Rose said.
    Iris’s eyes filled with tears. “He isn’t kind to me, why should I be kind back? Only Tom is kind. He’s the only one.”
    â€œTom?”
    â€œTom Putnam. Widower Tom. The grieving husband of the dead Marjory. Who the hell do you think I mean?” Iris swayed on her bench.
    â€œI’m sorry. I have yet to think of him as a Tom. I’m taking his class, so he’s Professor Putnam to me.”
    Iris nodded solemnly, regarding her green knees. “He’s as old-fashioned as they come. But he’s not a hack, and he’s not mean. Tom Putnam is a very good teacher and a very kind man! Very kind!” She lifted damp eyes to Rose. “Did I already tell you that?”
    â€œYes, you did.”
    â€œSorry ’bout that.” Iris grinned sheepishly. “Had a little too much to drink. Don’t do it all that often anymore, but I’ve sure as hell done it tonight. Makes me mix up what I say with what I think.” She screwed her face up as though she were trying to entertain a baby. “Does that make any sense?”
    â€œPerfect sense,” Rose said.
    The music finished and didn’t begin again. There was a burst of laughter, quickly suppressed. Rose wished she could get rid of the roses. Their scent was overpowering in the enclosed space.
    Abruptly, with a single sweeping motion, Iris pushed the stack of books onto the floor and patted the cleared space beside her. “Sit here, Rosie. I wanna tell you a secret.”
    Rose hesitated. She didn’t like secrets. She didn’t have many herself, and she didn’t like knowing other people’s. But perhaps at this moment she didn’t have a choice. “All right,” she said, sitting down and placing the jar of flowers on her knees.
    Iris swayed into her. “Rosie, Rosie, Rosie,” she chanted. “Rosie, Rosie, Rosie with her posies!”
    Rose nodded. “That’s me!”
    Iris wagged a finger. Her red hair might go on forever, but her nails were bitten to the quick. “‘That’s I,’” she chided. “If you’re in the house of a distinguished member of the English Department of this undistinguished college, you must be grammatical and say ‘That’s I.’” Iris leaned against Rose, not for comradeship but for balance.
    â€œCertainly. I stand corrected.”
    Iris didn’t get the joke. She wagged her head along with her finger. “You shouldn’t be so cheerful about it when I correct you like that. You should tell me to go to hell. That’s what I would do, if someone said that to me.”
    Rose shifted the jar of flowers to one side so she could put an arm around the sagging Iris. It wouldn’t do to have her land in a heap on the floor. “Well, I’m not you.”
    Iris moved closer and settled in against her. “That’s for sure. Tom’s nice and you’re nice. How come you’re so nice to everyone, Rosie?”
    â€œI don’t know. It keeps life simple, I guess.”
    â€œOh. Hmmm. Never thought of that.” Iris’s head dropped on Rose’s shoulder. Her lime-green-clad body slumped.
    She’s passed out, Rose thought. What do I do now?
    The only other piece of furniture in the foyer was a grandfather clock that looked very, very old. Its sedate face stared down at them. Rose stared back and listened to the clock’s insistent ticking. There was almost no sound coming from the rear of the house now. Was everyone talking in whispers? Russell had obviously decided not to come back. And who could blame him?
    She and Iris were forgotten and abandoned, snuggled up together in this dark box. Still, everything was fine,