It was the “a while” part that she couldn’t bear.
Melanie lowered the top of the kitchen trash can after tossing in the pieces of broken glass and put the broom away. She’d have to tell Carson about the glass, she supposed.
Or maybe not.
She walked out of the kitchen into the rest of the main part of the house. It was deathly quiet and clean. Too quiet and too clean. Eva still managed to keep the place spotless even though she’d been spending only half her scheduled time at the house. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere or a dish in the sink or a spot of soap scum in the tub or so much as one item out of place. Even the sofa pillows were perfectly situated.
On impulse she walked over to the couch, picked up two of the decorative pillows, and tossed them with vengeance onto the just-vacuumed rug. Then she poured herself a gin and tonic even though the sun hadn’t begun to set—she’d promised herself from the beginning no numbing cocktails until after twilight—and walked out onto the patio. A cooler ocean breeze was sweeping up the hillside but she didn’t want to grab a sweater. She wanted to feel somethingnewtoday, even if it was a slight chill on her skin.
Melanie sat down in a patio chair, took a sip of her drink, and gazed over at the Blankenships’ house. A light was on in Elwood’s office upstairs; she could hear the faintest tapping of typewriter keys striking their target. It was a welcome sound. He was probably up there writing, which meant she’d let her imagination run wild. She had too much time on her hands and not enough mentalstimulation and had jumped to conclusions. June hadn’t chained Elwood to his bed. For heaven’s sake, of course she hadn’t. And hadn’t Eva told her she’d been laundering his clothes? Emptying his ashtray? Washing up his dishes? Eva had been over at the Blankenships’ every day, observing no evidence at all that Elwood was in danger, only that he was there, living as reclusively as one could.
She took another swallow, surprised that she was suddenly jealous of all the time Eva was getting to spend in that house. June wasn’t neighbor of the year or anything, but she seemed like a fairly nice person, completely devoted to Elwood’s care and his rosebushes. Melanie found herself wishing she’d taken the time to get to know her better. They might’ve become friends by now. And God, how she needed one. Since Carson had left, the only company she had was Eva—who obediently moved about the house like the soundless apparition they’d all counted on her being—and Irving for one hourly visit, once a week. If she’d become friends with June, she might’ve been able to become friends—true friends—with Elwood.
Elwood.
Melanie missed him. How long had it been since she’d spoken to him or seen his face at the window? Ten days? Eleven? No matter what June said, that was not good for a person. She’d meant what she told June last week, that she’d call a county person if she thought for a second June was neglecting Elwood. But if she had become better acquainted with June, she could’ve voiced her concerns in a better way, not as a threat, but more like advice from a friend who cared about Elwood’s welfare.
The kind way.
Perhaps it wasn’t too late.
Perhaps she could make up for the lost time by becoming June’s friend now. That woman surely needed one, too. She never hadother women over. Or men, either. And when she was out shopping for Elwood or running errands, she was never gone long. She probably felt isolated, too, here in this haven of a place.
The ice was melting in her drink. Melanie downed the rest and stood up. She had a fresh tin of her mother’s butterscotch cookies that Irving had brought over the day before. They were buttery and sweet and slightly addicting. She could take them over to the Blankenships as a peace offering for having rattled June the week before. She could say the cookies were for Elwood, and perhaps that would create an opening for the two of them to have a discussion about him.
Maybe she could invite them both over for Christmas dinner. She’d have to have the meal delivered from a restaurant, of course, as she wasn’t much of a cook. Or perhaps Eva could make something the day before that she could warm up. And if Elwood could not manage the short walk across the lawn, she could bring the food over to their house, and the three of them would have a quiet holiday meal together; and they could play Christmas carols on the hi-fi and drink mulled wine and she could have a few little gifts delivered for them to open.
Yes, she liked that plan. For lots of reasons.
Melanie went back inside the house, grabbed the tin of her mother’s cookies, and headed for the front door. It was almost four thirty.
As she opened it and started to step out, she saw that June was backing out of the Blankenship garage, obviously leaving the house.
Melanie frowned. She would have to go back over later. Maybe tomorrow.
She had just begun to pivot to go back inside when she saw that June wasn’t alone in the car. For a split second, Melanie thought it was Elwood at long last leaving the house.
But then she saw that it wasn’t a man in the passenger seat.
It was Eva.
Her frown intensified. Eva should’ve finished at three. What had June been having her do all this time? And why? The last couple of days Melanie had been able to see from watching June sweep her porch and pinch off deadheads from her geraniums that her back had greatly improved. If anything, she thought June would need less of Eva’s help, not more.
And why was she driving her somewhere?
Unless June had offered to drive her down to the bus stop as dusk would soon be falling.
Which was nice of her.
But still.
Why had Eva stayed so long?
Melanie watched June head down the hill and decided she would stand at the edge of her driveway until June returned from the bus stop, and then she’d give her the cookies and the invitation to Christmas dinner.
She waited longer than she thought it would take for June to drop Eva off and was about to walk over to the Blankenships’ to see if Elwood might possibly open the front door if she pounded on it when headlights appeared, coming up the hill.
But the car, when it was fully in view, wasn’t June’s. It wasn’t Irving’s or Walt’s or Max Somebody’s. It wasn’t any car she recognized.
