to see my tiara. When I told them about the Pontiac, Russell offered me a jobâKno application, no nothing. The wife â¦â Mom yawned again. âI wish I could remember her name. Sheâs nice too.â
Uh-oh.
âThey have the cutest chicks at the store. You should come to see them when youâre done cleaning.â
âI have to feed the mortician, remember?â
âMake sure Mrs. Clancy pays for the ingredients.â
Seven
I scraped at the meatloafâs blackened glaze. The telephone rang. Not one of those friendly Princess-phone rings, but an irascible alarm. I ran to the chapel window to see if Mrs. Clancy was still within shouting distance. The postman waved from the mailbox. I dropped the drape and returned to the kitchen just in time to be startled by the ringing telephone again.
The mortician had returned to the basement to prepare Miss Bigelow by doing things my imagination constructed without consent. The last thing I needed was another death call. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. Through my teeth, I said, âI hate my mother.â The telephone rang again. Yet another reason to envy Lizzy Bennet. True, she endures interminable teas in the company of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but she is never startled at the sound of a telephone announcing a dearly departed.
Briiing!
âArenât you going to answer that?â A young girl with a pointed chin and a pouf of lemonade hair stood with her nose to the screendoor. A wire basket full of eggs sat by her bare feet. The girl was young, maybe ten, no older than twelve.
I wiped the tears from my face. âItâs impolite to answer a phone too soon,â I said. âYou should always let it ring at least three times.â
The telephone trilled again.
The girl opened the door and carried her egg basket to the counter beside the refrigerator. A smudge of dirt from the screen darkened the tip of her nose. âSays who?â
I wavered between shooing her outside and demonstrating my superior knowledge of the world. âAll the magazines,â I said, and the phone rang for what seemed like the zillionth time. Though the snot in my nose distorted my words, I said with more confidence that I owned, âThere, I can answer the phone now.â
Under the girlâs watchful gaze, I forgot the Clancy and Sons official greeting. âHello?â
On the other end of the phone line, a woman coughed to clear her throat. Still, she spoke haltingly with a voice rubbed raw from crying. âIsâis Georgia there?â
âWho is it?â asked the pixie-faced girl.
I held the handset to my chest. âShe wants to talk to Georgia.â
âShe means Mrs. Clancy.â
âI know that,â I said, but Iâd forgotten. Who called adults by their first names?
The girl said, âTell her Georgia will call her as soon as you gather the needed information.â
I obeyed the girl.
âMy Arthur, heâs gone,â said the woman on the phone. âI need someone to come pick him up. He passed in his sleep, the dear man. Iâve never slept alone, not in the whole sixty-two years weâve been married.â
The girl, who only came to my shoulder, pressed the list of questions I was supposed to ask into my hands. She stood on tiptoe and leaned in, putting her ear next to mine at the receiver. Her hair smelled of rosemary. I laid the list on the counter and scribbled the answers. âWhere do you live, maâam? Iâll send someone right out.â
She gave me her address and said, âThank you for your kindness.â
The dial tone hummed in my ear.
The girl said, âYou better call Georgia.â
âNo, I think Iâll call H first.â
The girl opened the refrigerator. She picked our eggs out of the egg tray and tossed them in the trash.
âHey!â I said, tethered to the telephone.
âThe first dozen are free,â she said, loading eggs the color of