Frances clawed back some of her composure and smiled at Marcy. “Oh, Marcy. We are in our seventies. We’re not heisting anything. We just say silly things because we can. But we’d really love a chance to speak to Edie.”
Marcy’s gaze lingered on Frances. But then she shrugged. “Okay. I’ll take your number and text you.”
“Really?” Frances asked. “You wouldn’t toy with senior citizens, would you?”
Marcy rolled her eyes. “Give me your phone,” she said, and held her hand out. Frances hesitated. “I’m going to give you my number,” Marcy said.
Still, Frances hesitated. “Do it,” Joan whispered.
Frances handed the young woman her phone. Marcy took it, typed in her number, then tapped out a text, and sent it. “I sent that to my phone so I’ll have your number.” She handed the phone back to Frances. She was smiling, but there was something in that smile that was familiar to Frances. It was around the eyes, she decided. They were Edie’s eyes, and Frances always knew when Edie was lying because of her eyes. This young woman did not believe them. What would Marcy do?
“I’ll be in touch,” Marcy said, and stood up from the table. “It was a pleasure to meet you all,” she said, smiled prettily, and made her way to the door.
When they knew she was gone, when they saw her jog across the street to a little red convertible, the three of them looked at each other. Joan glowered at Frances. “This is your fault.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“When did Gen Z get so smart?” Irene asked. “I heard they were lazy dumbasses.”
“Right?” Frances whispered. “I thought so, too.”
“You were just running your mouth over there,” Joan said. “That little snipe heard everything!”
“So, what do you think she’ll do? Go to Pappa? Or Nana?” Frances asked.
“Do we wait to find out?” Irene asked.
“Yes,” Joan said. “We know how to make ourselves scarce. Unless Franny is going to talk about it, tell anyone who will listen where we are and what we’re doing.”
“I’m sorry,” Frances said, feeling contrite. “It won’t happen again.”
“If we haven’t heard from her by five, we’re out of here,” Joan said. They nodded in agreement.
“I don’t know,” Irene said. “I think the kid is going to set it up.”
They all turned to the window again, hoping that’s what she would do.
Fourteen
Edie had just come in from the garden and had removed her gardening hat. She had paused at the Louis VII console in her grand foyer and the mirror there to give herself the once-over and to rearrange her hair. She was wearing baggy linen pants, an old T-shirt, and Crocs. It wasn’t the most fashionable thing in the world, but when it came to deadheading flowers, it was the best thing.
She leaned forward to have a good look at her face. She’d had a lot of work done over the years, but unfortunately, there was no hiding age, no matter how much money one threw at it. A line here, a sag there—there was always something to give it away. She glanced at the roots of her hair around her face. She could see the gray mixing with the blonde. It was time to call her hairdresser, Vanya, and schedule color. She was having to do that with alarming frequency. It was the universe’s great joke that when nothing else was growing, gray hair was on steroids.
“Nana?”
Edie had been so absorbed in herself that Marcy’s entrance into the foyer startled her. “Marcy!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”
Edie had sent Marcy home to Nashville this morning, but the girl had called her a scant two hours later asking if they could talk. Well, actually, what she’d asked was if Simon was home. He was not. He had left out of here this morning with a skip in his step, and Edie assumed he and Linda had gotten over their tiff, and he was now lying in her bed admiring her new fake horse teeth.
Once Marcy was satisfied Simon was not around to butt in, she asked if she could come back to Songbird Hill and talk to Edie. “It’s important,” Marcy said.
“You were just here for two weeks, darling,” Edie had reminded her. She loved her granddaughter dearly, but she was ready for a break from the moping. “Didn’t we talk then?”
“Not … not about everything,” Marcy had said.
Mysterious! Only for a moment, because Edie had figured the girl was going to ask for money. Sometimes, asking Nana instead of Dad was a lot easier. Speaking of her son, Edie said, “You know your father wants you to come home.”
“I know.”
