Chapter 30
Right before Lloyd and Latisha came in for lunch, LuAnne called and told Lillian that she was having lunch downtown and would get the groceries afterward. Maybe she really didn’t like hot dogs, or maybe she wanted to stay away from my rambling monologues as long as she could.
I felt slightly ashamed of myself, but not so much that I wouldn’t try changing the subject again if need be.
Having gone in to help Lillian with lunch, but more often getting in her way, I had asked, “Mrs. Conover not back yet?”
“No’m, so good thing I had hot dogs in the freezer, else we be eatin’ grits for lunch. I give her one of the household checks for the groceries. Was that all right?”
“Oh, of course. I wouldn’t expect her to pay for all we need after being away so long.” Although, I thought but didn’t say, a thoughtful guest might’ve at least offered.
The children had come running into the kitchen then, letting the door bang shut behind them.
“Man!” Lloyd said, pushing his hair out of his face. “It’s getting rough out there. That wind is blowing like sixty.”
Latisha laughed. “Yeah, it nearly blowed me away.”
Going to the window, I looked out at the row of Bradford pear trees bent over by the wind, noticed some debris in the air, and saw a spattering of rain from the dark clouds overhead.
“My goodness, what’s going on? It was beautiful outside the last time I looked.”
“Better turn on the Weather Channel, Miss Julia,” Lloyd said as he sat at the table. “We’re in for the edge of Marty. It made landfall between Charleston and Savannah as a category three storm, so we’ll be getting high winds and heavy rain.”
“Oh, no. I thought we’d gotten away from that thing. For goodness’ sakes, we’re two hundred miles from the coast. We aren’t supposed to have hurricanes.”
“It’s following us, Miss Julia,” Lloyd said, grinning as if gale force winds didn’t bother him at all. “They say that the storm surge has flooded Charleston’s streets. Water’s coming up from the manholes, and the islands are taking a real beating.”
“Well, I’m glad we got out when we did,” I said, taking my seat at the table and giving a skeptical eye to the hot dog on my plate, “but you and Latisha should stay in this afternoon. That wind will be blowing things around and you could get hit with something.”
“Yes’m, I know,” he said. “But I was all set to play some tennis. No telling when the courts will be dry again, so that’s the end of that.”
Latisha, sounding much like her great-granny, said in a knowing way, “You don’t wanta be hittin’ no balls in this weather, Lloyd. They might come flyin’ right back atcha.”
He laughed. “They just might. But I hate to miss any more time on the courts. School starts next week, you know.”
“Don’t remind me!” Latisha put her hot dog down on her plate. “Puttin’ that in my mind jus’ about make me sick.”
I was up in our bedroom unpacking suitcases and thinking vaguely of lying down when I heard LuAnne come in downstairs. Glancing at the clock, I wondered at the four hours it had taken her to get both lunch and groceries. But it had been four hours during which I hadn’t been forced to think of Leonard Conover.
Hearing LuAnne’s footsteps on the stairs, I picked up a stack of clean clothes and put them in a drawer.
“Julia?” LuAnne hesitantly said as she stood in the doorway. “How’re you feeling? Did you get a nap?”
“Oh, I’m fine, LuAnne. Come in. I’m just trying to get unpacked.”
“Well,” she said, perching on my chintz-covered chair, “I just wanted to tell you that I think I’ve figured out who the woman is who’s offering Leonard solace. And who knows what else, because you know that’s not all she’s offering.”
That got my attention, so I sat on the edge of the bed and waited to hear. “Who?”
“Helen. Helen Stroud.”
“Oh, LuAnne, no! Why in the world would you think that?”
“Because it makes sense. Helen’s not married, for one thing. In fact, she’s a divorcee, so she’s probably looking for a man. And Helen can keep a secret. You know how closemouthed she is. And another thing is that one time Leonard helped her with her coat while I stood by struggling with mine. I think she’s the obvious one.”
“LuAnne,” I said tiredly, as I prepared to refute her argument. “Listen, Helen’s not married, that’s true. But that doesn’t matter because Leonard is and it hasn’t stopped him from looking around.”
“Doing more than looking,” she interrupted darkly.
“And you’re right,” I went on, “Helen can keep a secret, but so can any number of other people, including me. And helping her with her coat one time in all the years we’ve known each other is a poor reason to suspect her. No, LuAnne, you should be looking elsewhere. I could never believe it’s Helen. In fact, I’d say she’d be the last one to get involved with someone else’s husband.”
Not only could I not believe it of Helen, but she was beyond the belief of anyone. For one thing, Leonard was so far beneath Helen’s level of interest that it was laughable to even consider. Helen would be attracted only to a successful, confident, and intellectual man, and Leonard was none of the above.
“Well,” LuAnne said, “I wouldn’t put it past her. But, Julia, if it’s not her, who could it be? I’ve wracked my brain and I can’t come up with anybody.”
“Have you asked him? I mean, have you come straight out and asked who she is?”
“He won’t tell me, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t stay here forever, and I can’t go home. And sometimes I miss him, and other times I want to flay him alive, and I’m so mixed up I don’t know what to do.”
Here we go again, I thought, as the house creaked in a sudden gust of wind. Glancing out the window, I could see papers and twigs blowing across Polk Street as my poor boxwoods were getting soaked by a downpour. All I could think of was being trapped inside listening to LuAnne bemoaning her fate.
Change the subject, I thought, and proceeded to do so.
“Have you ever noticed,” I began, “how television commercials lead our culture? Or maybe they follow the trends, I don’t know. But we’re back in the Me Generation, or maybe we never left it. There’s this one in which several actors and actresses say, ‘See me. See me.’ And another in which a young woman, on the verge of tears, says, ‘When I have an outbreak, I’m not me anymore.’ And, LuAnne, there was one in which a young man is buying a hamburger, and he proudly says, ‘I like this place because it lets me be me.’ Now I ask you, who else would he be? And does a choice of hamburger toppings indicate whether he’s himself or not? It beats all I’ve ever heard.”
“Julia,” LuAnne said, rising from the chair, “I’ve come to a decision. You need to rest, and I need to take hold of my problem. I’m going home and I’m going to dog every step Leonard makes. I’m going to devote every minute, day and night, to following him, listening in on the phone, whatever it takes until I find out everything I need to know. Then I’ll know what to do.”
“Why, LuAnne, I think that’s an excellent idea. As it is now, you’ve given him a free hand to do whatever he wants, to go and come, and to have a guest if he wants to. Yes, I think you need to be in your home to protect your interests. But, I want you to know that you’re welcome here for as long as you want to stay.”
“Thank you, Julia, you’ve been a good friend.” She stopped, bit her lip, then went on. “I don’t mean to be critical, but do you think you might be watching a little too much television?”
“Why, no. I hardly watch it at all—just the news with Sam and some HGTV on occasion. Why do you say that?”
“Well . . . ,” LuAnne said, a concerned frown on her forehead. “No reason, I guess. It just seems that you know an awful lot about what’s on it—none of which is very edifying.”
“You’re certainly right about that, but,” I said with a wave of my hand, “listen, I think you’re doing the right thing by going back to Leonard. Maybe the two of you can talk things out. Just turn off the TV and hide the remote. Then sit there staring at him until he has to talk to you.”
“Maybe, but I want you to know that even though I’m giving Leonard another chance, I won’t be sleeping in the same bed with him.”
“I wouldn’t, either,” I murmured, shuddering at the thought.