Free Mulch by Ann Ripley Page B

renovating the guest bathroom before Bill and I died of old age.”
    Nora chuckled. “We could tell from the things you put out to the curb.”
    “I’ll show it to you if you like.” Her voice was not enthusiastic. At the moment, nothing interested Louise less than her hard-won remodeling job.
    “And you’ve populated your woods with the most wonder-fill-looking plants.”
    Louise took a side wise glance at Nora’s serene countenance. How unruffled the woman appeared, in contrast to Louise’s churning inner discontent. “I didn’t know if you’d noticed all the activity. I’ve just been trying to achieve—oh, that Japanese thing with near distance.” She opened her hands on her lap. “I think, however, I’ve done enough this fall.” That was surely an understatement.
    Nora’s cigarette was now at rest in her graceful hand, like a small, magic wand. Her bearing, as she sat on the termite-ravaged log, was as royal as a queen’s. She turned her serene gaze again toward Louise. “I know you’ve been terribly busy, Louise, and done wonderful things. But are you happy here?”
    Louise, who thought she had composed herself against domestic disorder, erratic contractors, closet putrefaction, the onset of empty-nest syndrome, and the psychic anguish of moving, looked for a moment at the poet sitting beside her on the log.
    Then she burst into tears.

7
Invisible Janie

    J ANIE SNEAKED QUIETLY OUT THE REC ROOM door, closing it soundlessly behind her. Leaning against the house near the door was her bamboo walking stick, one her father had found for her and neatened up by cutting off its small branches with pruning scissors. She grasped it firmly and took off, loping through the woods that were her yard and down the street toward the nearest park. She left behind parents talking money. Specifically, Martha’s college costs. By the time Janiewent to school, think how much time they’d have to spend “talking finances,” as they called it. By then, Martha would be a senior and the family probably would be penniless. They wouldn’t sit there and tell comfortable little jokes to each other while they did their figuring. They would probably look grim and resentful, the way poor people always looked when they discussed their problems on TV shows. Janie was afraid of being poor. Maybe she had better get an after-school job; her mom didn’t seem in a hurry to go to work. Having peeked at Martha’s quarterly tuition bill, Janie didn’t want to be the one to bring the family down.
    She entered the park, walking quickly, enjoying the smell of rotting leaves and the gathering damp of night. She kept her stick at the ready. Then a tree root tripped her and she had to grasp a nearby scrub tree to keep from falling. “Clumsy,” she condemned herself, and slowed down. She was walking in what she liked to call her “canyon.” It was a narrow valley with a little creek running through. Next to the stream was a well-worn trail that had felt the tread of the feet of schoolchildren bound for Sylvan Valley Elementary. On either side of the park were lines of houses built on top of ridges.
    Janie loved to walk here. She couldn’t believe people lived in glass houses and didn’t even pull the curtains at night. Well, some people did, but a lot didn’t. She didn’t know everyone yet; sometimes she and Melanie walked around on weekends or after school, and Melanie of course knew everything about everyone. But when Janie walked at night like this by herself, she often crept up through backyards and peeked in windows. Once when she did this, she met a chained dog in the backyard, a big dog who magically remained silent. A large, silent,golden dog. Rebuking her with its silence. Saying (silently), “Don’t you know Sylvan Valley people do not reveal their normal curiosity about their neighbors? So what are
you
doing here, you misfit?”
    She must not appear to be a threat to anyone, not even a dog. At this thought, she