September Mourn Read online

  With a nervous sigh, Judith turned a quirky expression on Renie. “You see? That last part sounded like Mother—perfectly normal, ornery and mean.”

  Renie gazed up at the high ceiling, then got out of the kitchen chair and followed Judith to the front porch. “Normal for her, yes. Well, she’s old. So’s my mother. She remembers too much. You can’t win, coz. We don’t change as we get older—we just become more of what we always were—only worse.”

  “I suppose,” Judith murmured, sifting through the bills, circulars, and pre-Christmas catalogues that had arrived in the mail. “But it’s still depressing. Middle age is well named—we’re right in the middle of everything—kids, mothers, and husbands, who need us most of all and yet don’t always ask for…” Judith paused, waving an ecru-colored envelope at Renie. “Ah! Here’s the letter from Jeanne Clayton Barber. She’s right—it took five days to get here from—what?—less than a hundred miles away? Of course there was the Labor Day weekend in between.”

  The cousins retreated into the living room, where they sat down on matching sofas by the empty fireplace. The French doors at the far end of the room stood open, with the soft sound of the breeze ruffling the lilac and fruit trees outside. Near the baby grand piano stood a card table with the current jigsaw-puzzle-in-progress. In the corner by the bookshelves, Judith’s prized grandfather clock ticked away the hours. The living room was a comfortable place, intended not only for the permanent residents of Hillside Manor, but the guests as well.

  Resignedly, Judith opened the envelope. “‘Dear Judith,”’ she read out loud. “‘Last year you and I had the most wonderful chat during a break at the state…’” Judith frowned at the elaborate handwriting which flowed beneath a Chavez Cove Bed-and-Breakfast logo depicting a crescent moon over a small bay. “This is just a rehash of her phone message. ‘High school together,’ blah-blah…‘married Duane Barber three years after graduation,’ blah-blah…‘took over Chavez Cove cabins twelve years ago,’ blah-blah…” The frown deepened. “Oh, what a shame! I’ll read this part. ‘Duane died unexpectedly of an aneurism this summer. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time, the very height of the tourist season. I practically lost my mind trying to cope with the guests and the funeral arrangements and all the loose ends that have to be tied up after losing a loved one. But of course you understand, Judith. As I recall, you lost your first husband some years ago. Though, if I’m remembering correctly, you didn’t have the B&B to worry about at the time.”

  Judith looked up from the letter’s second page. “I sure didn’t. Jeanne had it easy. I’d like to know what she’d have done in my shoes, working at the library during the day and tending bar at the Meat & Mingle in the evenings. Plus, debts up to my eyeballs, we were about to be evicted, and Dan’s booze bill was the size of a third world country’s gross national product.”

  “Gross is right,” said Renie who had slipped off her sandals and settled her feet on the coffee table. “At over four hundred pounds, Dan was definitely gross. But I quibble with ‘loved one.’ Dan wasn’t a loved one—he was the size of several people. Our Tom used to call him ‘Uncle Group.’”

  “Behind his back,” Judith put in.

  “Of which there was a vast expanse,” Renie noted. “But we digress.”

  It was easy to do, even after eight years and a second, much happier marriage. Dan McMonigle had been an intelligent, well-mannered, generous man on the surface. But under the massive shield of flesh there lurked a hostile heart. Dan could only like people who were his inferiors. When Judith met Dan, she had felt inadequate. The man she loved, the man who had promised to marry her, the man with whom she had envisioned a charmed life, had dumped her for another woman. When Dan waddled into the breach, Judith had felt inferior to all manner of lowly things, including earthworms and poison ivy and agents from the IRS.

  Judith resumed reading. “‘Duane passed away July 29. Now, a month later, I’m finally getting to the end of the insurance forms, the banking matters, the sending of little remembrances to his relatives. As you know, September is usually a quiet month in our business, at least after Labor Day. My daughter, Marcia, has been urging me to get away (she insists I go to one of those ritzy spas in Southern California—but it sounds so self-indulgent, doesn’t it?). On the other hand, I definitely need a break in my routine. So many memories, so much emotion, such an overwhelming sense of sadness! I see Duane everywhere, which makes it doubly hard to let go.

  “‘Now I come to the difficult part of this letter. I’m not one to ask favors. But everyone in the state B&B association says you’re absolutely tops! Plus, we do go way back, don’t we, Judith? Do you remember Mrs. Beecroft in eighth grade, and how she’d soak her dentures in a glass of water on her desk, and one day Jerome MacAfee put ink in the water, and Mrs. Beecroft didn’t notice, and when she put her teeth in, her mouth turned blue! Such a riot! Jerome, I hear, is now a circuit-court judge.

  “‘So what I’d like to propose is a trade. (There! I’ve said it! That wasn’t so hard after all!) If you could come up to Chavez Island and take over the B&B while I go to the spa or wherever, I’ll spell you at Hillside Manor after the first of the year. If that doesn’t suit you, then I’d be willing to pay for you to come up to my place. (Yes, I know that B&B-sitters can be hired through the association, but I want a real pro—believe me, my offer would be generous.) I know this is asking a lot, but my nerves are shattered, and I feel so claustrophobic. I never felt that way while Duane was alive, but it’s different now. Chavez Island is very small, and only a handful of residents live here. Not that they haven’t been ever so kind. Most of them at any rate—don’t believe everything you hear in a tiny place like this! I can’t imagine a safer situation anywhere, and the month of September doesn’t bother me the way it disturbs some of the other folks. Life’s passages can be awfully hard on people.

  “‘Of course you must feel free to say No. I’ll understand. But if you come next week, I can promise lovely weather—we get a true Indian summer in the islands. Do call or write. My phone number is…’”

  Judith tipped her head to one side. “I didn’t need this. Not today.”

  “Then say no,” Renie replied in a reasonable voice. “She gave you an out.”

  Chin on fists, Judith considered. “She wouldn’t have asked me if she weren’t desperate. She wouldn’t have written and called if she weren’t frantic. She wouldn’t have bared her soul if she didn’t need a friend.”

  There were times when Judith’s generous spirit was too much for Renie. “Sap, sap, sap! You’ll do it, won’t you? I’m going home. You don’t have any cookies.”

  “I’ll talk to Joe and call her tonight, one way or the other.” Judith slowly got to her feet while Renie put on her sandals. “The first thing I’ve got to do is call the insurance company.”

  Renie headed for the French doors. “If you decide to B&B-sit, don’t take it out in trade. Ask for money up front. As a freelance designer, I always try to get a retainer fee. Otherwise, clients weasel.”

  “Right.” Judith sounded uncertain. “I don’t suppose you’d…?” The unspoken question floated past Renie into the backyard.

  But Renie didn’t need to hear the unspoken words. “No! Not in a zillion years! After the kids leave this weekend and Bill goes back on campus to get ready for the fall quarter, I’m going to become a will-o’-the-wisp. I may go shopping, I may go to lunch with a friend, I might even stay home and wallow around with a bowl of popcorn and a half-rack of Pepsi and all my favorite CDs. But no way am I going with you to Chavez Island, coz. September is a lull for me, too, while everybody in the corporate world returns from vacation and the bigwigs aren’t ready to farm out the fall projects. Believe me, after a whole summer with everybody home, I need some time to myself. See you.”

  The blue Chev reversed out of the drive. Judith wandered over to the toolshed and found her mother lurking in the doorway. “Would you have a fit if I left town for a week?” She already knew t
he answer.

  “First off, I’d croak,” Gertrude said in a deceptively mild tone. “Then you’d have to get me buried and have Father Hoyle pray over my mortal remains. Next, you’d put on your caterer’s hat and invite the mourners in for a big buffet. Salads, sandwiches, cakes, pies, rolls, maybe some olives and pickles. Candy, too. Say, how about those almond clusters you didn’t get? I might enjoy them from my fluffy white cloud.” With a flip of her baggy cardigan, Gertrude stomped inside the toolshed.

  “Naturally,” Judith said to Joe as he opened a can of beer, “Mother is against me going. That should settle it, shouldn’t it? I mean, she’s so old and I worry that her memory is slipping. I’d be afraid to leave her alone.”

  Joe settled back in his captain’s chair and took a big sip of beer. “You’ve left her before. I’m here, and so are the Rankerses. Carl and Arlene always take good care of your mother. As for her memory, I haven’t noticed it being any worse than it ever was.”

  “That’s because you almost never talk to her,” Judith said, not without a trace of asperity. The bitterness between Gertrude and Joe was long-standing, a wound that had never healed after his alcohol-induced elopement with his first wife.

  “She doesn’t want to talk to me,” Joe replied in a calm voice. “In fact, she’d rather talk to Herself. I mean to Vivian. Hey,” Joe went on, his round, slightly florid face brightening, “Vivian could help out, too. She seems to like the old bat.”

  “Don’t call my mother an old bat,” Judith snapped, though she realized that her anger actually stemmed from the reference to Joe’s first wife, who had moved into the neighborhood six months earlier.

  Joe picked up the evening newspaper and flipped to the sports page. “Okay, it was just a thought.”

  Repenting her sharp words, Judith sat down across the table from Joe. “It’s not just Mother that worries me—it’s you. Would you manage without me?”

  Joe’s green eyes regarded Judith over the top of the sports section. “Sure. I can cook, remember?”

  Judith did. Joe was an excellent cook, who often prepared the evening meals, at least on weekends. “I’d be gone a week,” Judith persisted, wishing Joe would say he couldn’t live without her. “Arlene and Carl would have to take over the B&B.”

  “They’ve done it before. What’s the problem, especially now that Carl’s retired?” This time, Joe didn’t look up from the newspaper.

  The Rankerses were admirable stand-ins. Arlene and Judith shared Hillside Manor’s catering arm. Not only were Carl and Arlene good friends and wonderful neighbors, but they had a knack for dealing with people, particularly Judith’s mother.

  “I hate to bother them,” Judith murmured. The least Joe could do was put up a token argument for keeping her at his side. “I’m going to have to borrow their car until I get mine back. The insurance company said it might take until Friday to assess the damages. They didn’t get it towed away until just before five.”

  “If you aren’t here, you won’t need a car,” Joe pointed out, turning the page.

  “So how will I get to Chavez Island?” The triumphant note in Judith’s voice indicated that she’d scored a point in her favor.

  “I could drive you up to the ferry in the MG. If the island is as small as you say it is, why would you need a car? Anyway, wouldn’t your old high-school chum leave her car?”

  Judith sighed. “I suppose.” Fidgeting in the chair, she frowned at the newspaper, which hid her husband’s face. “Won’t you miss me?”

  “Of course.” Joe appeared to be finishing an article. At last, he put the sports section aside. Gold flecks danced in his green eyes. Magic eyes, Judith called them, full of mischief even in middle age. Thirty years earlier, she had fallen hopelessly in love with the red hair, the trim physique, the engaging grin, the magic eyes. Though the red hair had thinned and was turning gray, and a hint of a paunch flawed the physique, the grin and the eyes were still intact. So was the mischief. And that was what worried Judith most.

  “A lot?” Judith’s voice was uncharacteristically meek.

  “A whole lot.” Joe’s gaze was steady as he reached across the table to caress her cheek. “But the truth is, I’ve got a training session coming up. I’ll be working overtime, and when I get home, I’ll be cranky as hell. I always am during training sessions. So if you’re going to be gone, next week is a good time for it.”

  Judith fell silent. Joe was right, of course. There had been other training sessions, and they always triggered an irascible mood. Still, there was the car repair to consider and her mother and the B&B and…Herself, two doors down in the house vacated the previous winter by the Goodriches. In a startling move, Vivian Flynn had pulled up stakes in Florida and returned to the Pacific Northwest. She had come for Christmas and stayed forever. Or so it appeared. Vivian—or Herself, as she was known—hadn’t yet caused any serious problems. She was too enamored of the bottle, and thus inclined to keep to her snug little house. On her rare forays outdoors, she called on Gertrude rather than Judith—or Joe. All the same, Judith wasn’t keen on the idea of leaving her husband alone with the woman to whom he had been married for over twenty years. Though considerably older than Joe and eroded by alcohol, Herself retained a certain allure.

  “I guess I’ll do it,” Judith said glumly. She rose from the table and went to the cupboards, where she got out the makings of her guests’ hors d’oeuvres tray. “I’m going to ask for the money, though. We never go anywhere in January.”

  “We could,” Joe said as he sifted through the front section of the newspaper. “How about catching some sun in Mazatlán or Hawaii or Alabama?”

  Judith opened a tin of smoked oysters. “Could you take time off?”

  “Maybe.” Joe polished off his beer.

  “Can we afford it?”

  “No. But that shouldn’t stop us. Sometimes you forget that we’re a two-income family.”

  That was easy to do. After eighteen years of providing two meager incomes all by herself, Judith couldn’t quite adapt to the concept of separate paychecks. On the other hand, Joe didn’t always take into account how much of Judith’s earnings were plowed right back into the B&B. During the first year of operation, she had figured that her biggest benefit from the enterprise was having a free roof over her head. Judith smiled weakly. “We’ll see about a winter break.” She reached for a box of crackers. The kitchen was growing warm from the oven and the late afternoon sun. Spending a week alone with Joe definitely had its appeal. Jeanne Clayton Barber might make a generous offer, enough to pay for a January trip. Running Chavez Cove B&B could be a pleasant change of pace. Summers were draining. Autumn would be setting in, with the advent of the holidays and then winter and…

  Judith made up her mind. If Jeanne needed a friend, her name would be Judith Flynn. Chavez Island sounded lovely in the fall. It was isolated, it was picturesque, it was safe. Hadn’t Jeanne Clayton Barber said so?

  TWO

  RENIE WAS INCOHERENT. When she phoned Judith around eight, words tumbled out in a squawking jumble. Judith told her cousin to calm down.

  “It was that stupid vegetarian chili,” Renie declared, still speaking rapidly, if now rationally. “I spilled some on the stove, so I wiped it up with a paper towel, and then the phone rang. My mother, of course, making sure I got home from her apartment safely.” There was a pause during which Judith could almost hear Renie’s teeth gnash. She could definitely hear Bill and the Jones offspring bellowing in the background.

  “Mom went on and on, as usual, and I forgot about the paper towel. Just as she was asking if I’d been approached by any white slavers on my way home, I smelled smoke. Then I saw smoke, but not much else. I finally got my mother to hang up so I could call 911.” Renie ran out of breath.

  “How’d you manage that?” Judith inquired, marveling at Renie’s success in getting Aunt Deb to part from the telephone.

  “Good question,” Renie replied. “I’ve used the-kitchen’s-on-fire routine so often
that I had to think of something else. I told her there was a man with a knife at my door.”

  “It sounds like it worked,” Judith remarked. “Are you okay? What about damage?”

  Renie let out a groan. “Nobody but me was downstairs, so we’re all okay, except I had a coughing fit from the smoke. But the kitchen’s a mess—and Bill just got through refinishing the cabinets on his summer break! Which, the firemen told us, was a good thing, because if they’d been layered in grease, the whole house might have gone up.”

  Judith couldn’t resist a small laugh. “What a coincidence—we both get to call our insurance companies the same day!”

  “Funny, funny, coz,” Renie said in a voice indicating that her sense of humor had also gone up in smoke. “Our people from LUMPCO won’t be able to come out until Thursday. We’ve got to spend the night in a motel.”

  Judith thought of the three spare bedrooms on the second floor. “That’s ridiculous. Come over here. You and Bill can stay in the front guest room, the big one. I can put Tom and Tony in the room at the end of the hall, and Anne can take the little room off the stairs.”

  Though Renie demurred, Judith finally talked her cousin into bringing the Jones family under the sheltering eaves of Hillside Manor. An hour and a half later, Bill, Renie, and the three grown children pulled into the drive. Bill, who was an early riser, immediately proclaimed that he was going to bed. Tom and Tony declared that, having missed dinner, they intended to raid the refrigerator. Anne dumped off her suitcase in the smallest of the guest rooms and announced that she had a late date with Arturo.

  “Who’s Arturo?” Judith asked, as Anne disappeared into the small bathroom off the entrance hall.

  “An Italian foreign student,” Renie answered in an uncharacteristically dazed voice. “This is a bad idea.”