Chapter 4
Ever since Sam had mentioned asking Etta Mae Wiggins to go with us, I’d been going back and forth about it. It would be the perfect way to repay her in some small way for all she’d done for me. Besides, I enjoyed her company. On the other hand, though, I didn’t know how she’d feel being the only single woman among a group of couples. And I feared that it would be too easy to saddle her with babysitting, or, at least, that she would feel that looking after children was the reason she’d been asked.
But, finally, I decided to run the risks and ask her. I would just have to keep an eye out and see to it that she didn’t become the live-in nanny. Not, I assure you, that Hazel Marie and Binkie would deliberately take advantage of her, but then again, as willing to be helpful as Etta Mae was, it would be easy to do. I’d have to see that it didn’t happen.
So I called her. “Etta Mae? It’s Julia Murdoch. How are you?”
“Oh, Miss Julia!” she said, sounding just as happy as she usually did to hear from me. “I’m fine, but how are you? Is everything okay?”
The question saddened me in that it indicated that the only reason I would call would be if I needed something from her.
“Everything’s fine, Etta Mae. I just wanted to tell you that Sam and I, and a few others, are going to the beach for a couple of weeks, and we’d love for you to go with us. Would you be able to take time off from work? We’re leaving this Sunday, and I know it’s short notice, but that’s the way Sam does things. Would you like to go?”
“Would I like to go!” she exclaimed. “Oh, my goodness, yes. I’d love to go! Wait a minute, let me pull off to the side of the road. I’m in the car on my way to the next patient. Hold on a minute.”
Etta Mae was a licensed practical nurse or a nurse’s aide or a trained-on-the-job employee—I wasn’t sure which—of the Handy Home Helpers and made in-home visits to shut-ins and the elderly.
“There,” she said into the phone. “I’m parked now. Do you really mean it? You want me to go with you?”
“I certainly do mean it. Etta Mae, Sam is renting a huge house with enough room for an army. Hazel Marie and her family are going and so are Binkie and Coleman and their little girl. Oh, and Lloyd and Latisha, but Lillian has to have a bunion removed, so she won’t be going. Do you think you could put up with a crew like that?”
“Could I ever! And I could help, too. I mean, with the cooking and the children and whatever else you need.”
“No, Etta Mae, I’m not asking you for that. I’m asking you to go as our guest.”
“Your guest,” she said, almost in wonder. Then she heaved a deep sigh. “That’s about the nicest thing I’ve ever heard. But, Miss Julia, I can’t. I really appreciate it, but I just can’t go.”
“You can’t get the time off?”
“Oh,” she said, somewhat ruefully, “I’d take the time if that’s all it was. No, you remember me telling you about Miss Irene Cassidy? Well, she died a few days ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, recalling the fragile diabetic patient who had so concerned Etta Mae with her promise to leave something to her in her will. “But why should that stop you?”
“Well, her funeral is at the end of next week—Friday, I think—and I feel I oughta go. Well, actually, I go to the funerals of all my patients. The ones that die, that is. They’re putting off the funeral until next week to give a relative time to get here. He’s overseas or something.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Etta Mae. I’m sure the family will appreciate your being there. But, listen, we’ll be staying for two weeks. So why don’t you plan to leave from the funeral and drive on down? That’ll give you more than a week to lie on the beach and eat all the seafood you want.”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and I gave her time to think about it. “Would it be all right if I did that? I mean to come in the middle of your vacation?”
“Of course. By that time we’ll probably be sick of each other, so your charming self would be most welcome.”
She laughed. “Uh-huh, I bet.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t ask this,” I said, assuming that Etta Mae’s obligation to go to the funeral was because she was a beneficiary of her patient’s will. “But have you heard what Mrs. Cassidy left you in her will? I hope it was something lovely and something you have no qualms about accepting.”
“No’m, nobody’s said anything, but Miss Irene’s sister went to the lawyer’s office right after she picked out a casket. I know, because I drove her there. And picked her up afterward, and all she talked about was getting that relative home so they could get things divided up. I think, Miss Julia, it’s exactly the way you said, that Miss Irene meant to do it but forgot it. Or just had second thoughts.
“But it doesn’t matter,” she went on as if the world had suddenly settled on her shoulders. “Whatever she did or didn’t do shouldn’t affect what I do, and I’ll go to her funeral out of respect.”
That, I thought to myself, was the voice of someone who’d been disappointed too many times.
“Well,” I said briskly, “we’ll count on you joining us sometime next Friday evening. Let’s check in with each other the day before, so we’ll know what time to expect you. And I’ll ask Sam to text you the address. You have our phone numbers. Now, Etta Mae, no matter what happens, I want to see you at that house on the beach. I will be mightily disappointed if you don’t get there.”
She laughed a little. “I’ll try my best, and thank you, Miss Julia. I’m so excited I can hardly stand it.” Then she added, “Man alive! A trip to the beach!”
After hanging up, I decided that I was going to see to it that Etta Mae had a vacation she’d never forget. Then, before I forgot about it, I went to tell Sam that we had another beachgoer, albeit one who’d be there only half the time, and that I hoped he’d meant it when he said to invite anyone I wanted.
He had, because he was delighted that Etta Mae would be joining us. “Oh, good,” he said, “I like Etta Mae.”
“Sweetheart,” I said, smiling at him, “you like everybody.”
“Hazel Marie?” I whispered when she answered the phone. I was in our bedroom upstairs, not too far down the hall from the office where Sam was working on his book. “Can you talk?”
“Yes, I think so,” she whispered back. “Why, what is it?” Then, as if suddenly realizing how odd my question had been, she said, “But, Miss Julia, nobody but me can hear you over here.”
“Oh, I know,” I said, speaking up. “I just don’t want anybody on your end to hear what you say.”
“Well, nobody’s around right now. Granny Wiggins and the little girls are out in the yard. She’s trying to tire them out enough for a nap. What is it, Miss Julia? Is anything wrong?”
“No, not wrong, exactly. It’s just something I’d prefer not to share with half the town.” I took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Hazel Marie, I don’t have a thing to wear at the beach and, furthermore, I don’t even know what to buy. I need your help.”
“Oh!” she said, perking right up. “You want to go shopping?”
“Not particularly, but I have to. Will you go with me? I don’t even know what I’ll need, but I have a feeling it’s going to be nothing that I’ll want.”
She laughed. “Well, you’ll need sundresses or at least short-sleeved dresses, a couple of bathing suits, and some pants and shorts—”
“Stop right there. No shorts. And no sundresses or bathing suits, either. I don’t plan to go in the ocean or to expose myself unnecessarily. Think of something else, Hazel Marie.” What no one seemed to understand was that as age had crept up, certain areas of my body had crept down. I had no desire to make those areas open for public viewing.
But when it came to problem areas and helpful beauty aids of any kind, Hazel Marie had solutions for every situation. “I know just what you need,” she said. “And the look is quite fashionable now. It’ll be perfect for you.”
“I’m almost afaid to ask.”
“We’ll find you some capris. You know, they’re pants, but usually fairly loose and they’re longer than shorts but shorter than long pants. They’ll be perfect for everyday wear and for wading in the ocean. If you’re so inclined.”
“I’m not. But what do you wear with them? I tell you, Hazel Marie, I cannot wear those sleeveless, low-cut, tight-fitting T-shirts that I see all over town.”
“Well, you’re in luck there, too,” Hazel Marie said. “Everything is loose and flowing now, some even with sleeves. You can wear those on the beach and out to dinner, or anywhere. Another possibility would be some mid-calf leggings. . . .”
“No leggings, Hazel Marie.”
“Well, not leggings, exactly, but capris with narrow legs. Wear them with a tunic top, and all you’d need for a really good look would be a couple of pairs of sandals.”
“No flip-flops.”
“Okay,” she said, laughing. “You can get plain sandals for the beach, but you’ll be amazed at how fancy sandals can be today. You’ll love them. But you’ll need a pedicure, Miss Julia, something up-to-date and colorful that you might not wear on your fingernails. You should go shopping first, then you’ll know what color to get.”
“They Lord,” I said with a roll of my eyes which she couldn’t see. Then, sighing in defeat, I asked, “Would you mind going with me, Hazel Marie? I don’t even know where to start.”
“Sure, let’s go first thing in the morning. I know just the shop you need, so it won’t take long to have you decked out for the beach. But go ahead and make a pedi appointment for tomorrow afternoon, and you’ll be all set.”
Set. Yes, I thought, but for what? I was not looking forward either to shopping for the beach or to the beach itself. But, for Sam and for our nominal grandchildren, I would brace myself and do as I always did under less than optimum conditions—grit my teeth and get through it.
“Oh, Julia!” LuAnne Conover wailed my name as soon as I answered the phone. It was late afternoon, not long before Lillian would call us to dinner, and I’d already planned an early bedtime to prepare myself for the morrow’s shopping trip.
“LuAnne? What’s wrong?” Not that I particularly wanted to know because LuAnne was forever finding molehills that exercised her out of all proportion.
“Oh, Julia, you won’t believe this. I don’t believe it, but I have to because it’s been thrown in my face. Oh, Julia, I have to talk to you. You’re the only one who’ll understand. Can I come over? I can’t talk about it on the phone.”
“Yes, of course. But, LuAnne, it’s almost dinnertime. Don’t you want to wait for a better time?”
“I can’t wait! I’m at my wit’s end. I have to talk to you, to somebody, anybody, or I’ll go crazy.”
“Well, don’t do that. Come on over and we’ll talk.”
She blew her nose, sniffed, then said, “I don’t want Lillian or Sam or Lloyd or anybody else you have going in and out of your house hearing it.”
I took a deep breath, blew it out, and said, “LuAnne, Sam lives here. Lillian works here, and Lloyd is always welcome. I can’t very well turn them out.”
“Oh, I know,” she said, offhandedly. “But I don’t want any of them to hear a word, although . . .” She broke down and sobbed. “. . . everybody already knows, and it’s killing me, Julia. It’s just killing me.”
And she sounded as if it really was. “Oh, LuAnne, honey, you want me to come to you? I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“No, don’t do that. I have to get out of here. I’m on my way, but, Julia, find a place where we can talk without anybody hearing us.”
LuAnne and her long-retired, game-show-watching husband, Leonard, had joined the downsizing fad a few years back and lived now in a cramped condo up on the side of the mountain. It had a view, but to my mind that was all that recommended it, especially since Leonard was underfoot all day, every day. Why, once when a criminal was on the loose and the sheriff issued a shelter-in-place lockdown order, Leonard was already in compliance.
The more I thought of LuAnne’s distress on the phone, the more disturbed I became. Knowing that it would take a few minutes for her to get into town and to my house, I hurriedly walked upstairs to let Sam know what to expect when she came.
“We’ll talk in the library, Sam, and I know she’ll want the door closed. So just go ahead and eat dinner if she stays that long, and—I hate to ask this—but you and Lillian better stay out of sight. LuAnne is really upset.”
Sam smiled. “I’ll sneak from room to room in my stocking feet. She won’t know I’m around. But, Julia, what do you think is wrong?”
“I don’t have a clue. But you know how LuAnne is—she can get upset over things that aren’t worth a hill of beans to anybody else. But from the way she sounded . . . well, I don’t know. I keep thinking of the boy who cried wolf, and I don’t want to ignore the possibility that LuAnne’s wolf might be real this time.”