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"I'm quite sure you'll take excellent care of your aunt, Mrs. Becker. She's one of our town's favorites, you know-if you need help, you have only to ask."
"Thank you," said Jea
Pearl shook hands with her firmly. "I'll be dropping by every day, you know," she said, with her big old teeth showing in a fierce grin. "If you need a few minutes to go downtown, that kind of thing."
The old lady. Clara. She had a heart condition, for which she was supposed to take two of these little pills (morning and evening) and three of those (with each meal.) There were pills for the chest pain that came on unexpectedly, and pills for the bloating. She could just get out of bed, with help, to use the toilet and sit for a few minutes while Jea
And in return, Great-aunt Clara talked. She had had no full-time companion for years, not since her last sister died, and she had a life's stored memories to share. Jea
"He looked just like that," Clara would say, waving feebly at the cheap print of a sentimental painting on the wall, the picture of a huge fluffy white cat with a blue bow around its neck, sitting beside a pot of improbable flowers on a stone wall. It was a hideous picture, and Jea
She did not care enough to ask. She was sick and tired of Snowball stories, from the time he caught the mouse in the kitchen ("And carried it outside without making any mess on the floor at all…") to the time he hid in the car and startled Clara's father by leaping on his shoulder as they were driving to church, and the car swerved, and everyone thought her father had been… indulging, you know… until the cat leapt out. The town had laughed for days. Jea
She wanted a drink. She needed a drink. But she would not drink yet, not while Pearl came by once a day or more, and the lawyer stopped her on the street to see how things were coming. First they must see what good care she took of Clara; first they must believe she was what she appeared.
Day after dull day passed by. Summer in a small town, to one used to a large city, is largely a matter of endurance. Jea
Grimly, with a smile pasted to her face, she cooked the old-fashioned food Clara liked, washed the old plates and silver (real silver: she didn't mind that), and dusted the i
In August, Jea
Jea
Of course, Jea
Outside, on the white clapboard skirting of the old house, she found the marks she sought. Hot sun baked the bachelor's buttons, the cracked soil around them (she had not watered for more than a week), and the streaked places on the skirting that gave off that memorable smell. On the pretext of watering the flowers (they did need watering, and she picked some to arrange inside) she hosed down the offending streaks. And a few days later, dragging the hose around to water another of the flowerbeds (when she had this house, she would forget the flowerbeds), she saw a white blurred shape up near the house, and splashed water at it. A furious streak sped away, yowling. Gotcha, thought Jea