Free Barbara Greer by Stephen Birmingham

house,’ she said.
    He raced out of the room.
    â€˜He’s such a sweet little guy,’ Nancy said. ‘I couldn’t resist letting them play with the lipstick. I’m sorry.’
    â€˜Wait till you have children of your own,’ Barbara said. Then she bit her lip, remembering that Nancy could not have children of her own. ‘I mean—’ she began.
    Nancy laughed. ‘Well,’ she said. She picked up her coffee cup, took a sip, and set it down again. She stood up. ‘Well, I’ve got to be going,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a career to get back to—a wonderful, exciting career.’ She walked toward the door. She stopped. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘sometimes I don’t think I want to be a nurse at all. Sometimes I think—I wonder what in the world I’m doing!’ She went down the hall toward the guest room.
    When she came out she was dressed as she had been the night before, her purse in her hand. ‘I made the bed,’ she said.
    Barbara stood up. ‘Thank you, Nancy.’
    â€˜Thank you . Oh Barb, it was a wonderful evening. Thank you for letting me stay. I hope I wasn’t too—you know, idiotic. You’re so wonderful for my morale.’
    They walked toward the front door. ‘Good-bye, Flora!’ Nancy called toward the kitchen door. ‘And thank you.’
    â€˜Good-bye, Miss Rafferty.’
    â€˜She’s a jewel,’ she whispered to Barbara. ‘You’re lucky to have her.’
    At the front stairs they said good-bye.
    â€˜Come up again soon,’ Barbara said. ‘You can boost my morale.’
    â€˜I will,’ Nancy said. ‘And if you should happen to—to see or talk to Woody … well, there would be nothing to lose, would there?’
    Barbara smiled. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said.
    Nancy went down the steps to the driveway where her car was parked. Barbara waved goodbye to her again and watched as Nancy started the car, backed out of the driveway, turned into Bayberry Lane and drove away.
    Barbara went back into the house. Flora said, ‘Imagine that woman letting the boys paint themselves with her lipstick! What’s she thinking of?’
    â€˜She has no children of her own,’ Barbara said.
    â€˜I’m going to take Michael with me to the market, in the stroller,’ Flora said. ‘We need a few things—butter, eggs, something for the boys’ lunch …’
    â€˜Do you want me to take you in the car?’ Barbara asked.
    â€˜Oh, it’s a lovely day. Michael and me, we’ll enjoy the walk,’ Flora said. ‘Walking’s good exercise. The best you can do. My father walked two miles every day and he lived to be eighty-eight.’
    â€˜My grandfather lived to be eighty-eight, too,’ Barbara said.
    â€˜Quite a walker, was he?’
    â€˜I don’t think so,’ Barbara said. ‘At least not that I can remember.’
    After Flora left, she was all alone. In the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it into the living room. She sat down on the sofa. Sun streamed through the window, lighting dust motes that swirled in the air. From the kitchen the dishwasher groaned and entered the final phase of its automatic cycle. Then the house was silent. Barbara kicked off her shoes and brought her feet up beneath her on the sofa. She sat nestled comfortably against the pillows, sipping her coffee. When she had finished, she put the cup down and reached for a cigarette from the glass box on the coffee table. The silver lighter, after several tries, appeared to be out of fluid and she fished for matches in the pocket of her skirt. She found a pack and lighted her cigarette. On the coffee table there was a copy of House & Garden ; she picked it up.
    She smoked and read, and for a long time there was no sound at all in the room except the slow turning of her pages; no movement except for