Chapter 17 Nighttime Visitation

 “Esther. Are you okay?”

She swiped beads of sweat from her forehead with one hand and fanned herself with the other. “Can a seventy-nine-year-old woman get a hot flash? Because I think I’m getting one.”

“Do you have high blood pressure?”

“Right now, I do.”

“Do you take pills?”

“Never. You got any whiskey you can splash in this tea?”

“I thought Baptists didn’t drink alcohol.” I was already up and reaching into the cabinet for the bottle.

“We’re allowed for medicinal purposes. If my blood pressure gets too high I could have a stroke—maybe even die. Jesus wouldn’t want that to happen to me.”

“No, I’m sure he wouldn’t.” I sat and poured a good dollop of the amber elixir into both our mugs. I raised mine. “L’chaim.”

Esther took a slow sip. Then another. Within minutes she seemed more herself again.

“Okay, the report’s done,” I said. “Let’s sit in the living room and get comfortable.” I refilled our cups with tea, added more whiskey, and set them on the coffee table. Then I retrieved the peas and broccoli from the freezer settled the vegetables on my knees. “Do you think the ladies enjoyed our walk tonight?”

“You know, I think they did. Everyone’s been so sad since Pearl died—not to mention how scared we all are. I know we were supposed to be out there looking for the killer, but this was the first time we managed to get our minds offa Pearl since she died.” She took a big slug of the spiked tea, then looked to me. “Hey, I’m sorry about that Jewish comment Tiare made.”

“It’s okay. I’ve heard worse.”

“I get you. I tried to help, but I mighta only made things worse.”

“It was just good to see them let loose and have a good laugh, even if some of it was at my expense. I think it was exactly what they needed.”

“Except for Mae,” Esther said.

“Yeah. What got into her? She didn’t seem to get where the sausage talk was going at all.”

“I know. She done get on her high horse about processed meat. Maybe she thought we were laughin’ at her.” Esther’s speech was coming slower, her words beginning to slur. She let her head fall back against the couch.

“You did all laugh at her.”

“I guess we did.” Her eyes closed and her head went into a slow nodding motion. “Mae is an odd one. Sometimes she jokes around with the rest of us, then something will set her off and she heads home to sulk.”

“She does seem overly sensitive, especially when the conversation turns to men.” I set my cup down and turned to face her. “Esther?”

She opened one eye and looked at me. “What?”

“You don’t think Mae’s batting for the other team, do you?”

Esther frowned. She pushed herself upright, her eyes widening. “Oh—do you mean …?”

I nodded.

“I don’t know. She loves her frilly mu‘umu‘us and those slippers with the big plastic flowers on them. If anyone’s butch, it’s Francesca.”

“Maybe Mae’s over-compensating.”

“Over-comp …,” Esther mumbled as her eyes close again. A long minute passed before she said, “You see how competitive the women are over Arnie. But now that you mention it, Mae’s the only one—besides me, of course—who’s never claimed to be having sex with him.”

“Arnie? Seriously? He’s got to be at least eighty.”

“Seriously. Word is, he’s ‘still a man.’ At Pearl’s last line dance class before she died, she was bragging on how Arnie made her socks roll up and down.”

I choked on my tea and and sputtered. “I’ve never heard that expression before.”

“That was our Pearl. Always full of wit.”

Esther fell quiet. I put the vegetables back in the freezer and washed the teacups. As I was putting them away I heard a loud snore. Esther was stretched out on the couch, a throw pillow under her head. I found a light blanket and spread it over her.

I changed into my nightgown and got into bed. The old woman on the ceiling gazed down at me. By now I was quite used to her company.

“I can’t believe the way those women behaved tonight,” I told her. “Don’t tell me this what happens when a woman’s been too long without a husband.”

Her smile was sympathetic.

“Dear God please take me before I live long enough to make such a fool of myself over a man,” I muttered.

Esther’s lusty snores rasped through the thin wall. I glanced at the bedside clock. The neon green numbers clicked from nine-fifty-nine to ten p.m. “Arnie seems nice enough,” I said to my reflection. “But he sure isn’t much to look at. And he’s got the personality of drying paint. Do you think there might be more to him than meets the eye?”

At some point during the night, an ache in by bladder pulled me to consciousness and I realized I’d been asleep. I listened for Esther’s snores but heard only rustling palm fronds, the occasional chirp of a gecko, the distant hum of passing cars. Had Esther gone home?

I forced my eyes open and let out a sigh. If I wanted to go back to sleep, there was nothing for it but to make my middle-of-the-night potty run. I was about to comment to the woman in the mirror about how much I hate getting old, when I froze.

Someone was in the room with me.

“Esther?”

No answer.

I raised myself on my elbows, my eyes darting around the room. There, not three feet from me, I made out a tall figure. He stood stock-still, his eyes locked on me—and in his arms he gripped a large baby doll.

I opened my mouth to scream, but not a sound came out.