love to come, tea or not. We could all go out for Cokes at McDonald’s.”
She hung up and told Phyllis. “I’ve got to run over to a neighbor’s house to take care of a crisis with the church craft bazaar. You don’t need to come along if you’d rather rest, but I’d be glad to have you. We can talk more about this later,“ she added, knowing there was little else she could say.
“Jane, we don’t need to talk about me anymore. I just felt I owed it to you to explain. You have problems enough, I’m sure, without mine. I’d love to help if I can,“ she said. The way her face lit up, it was obvious that she was sincere. As she mopped her eyes a final time, she said, “Chet’s so sweet and generous, and I don’t ever mean to sound ungrateful, but if there’s anything I’ve missed all these years, it’s that sort of thing—church bazaars, other women who like crafts and things. Of course, a lot of real artists used to come to the island, but they weren’t interested in things like Christmas ornaments and knitting and Easter egg decorations.”
Jane had sudden vision of Phyllis fluttering around a modern-day Picasso, trying to interest him in styrofoam wreaths.
“I read about this wonderful thing you do with Easter eggs that makes them look batiked. I’m dying to try it,“ Phyllis went on.
“I think Fiona does that. You can ask her about it.“
“This Fiona isn’t Fiona Howard, is she?”
“Why, yes. Do you know her?“
“No, but we know some people who know her, and they mentioned once that she lived in the same suburb as you do. You can’t have many neighbors named Fiona. Such a pretty name.“
“Then you must know who she is—“
“Richie Divine’s widow. Yes. That was so terrible the way the newspapers and magazines were so mean to her when she got married again. I’d like to meet her, and I really want to help with your bazaar.“ As she spoke, she was putting the leftover food in the refrigerator.
Jane suddenly felt a great wave of guilt for not liking her better. Silly as Phyllis might be, she was also very sweet and down-to-earth. There was something innately good about a woman who probably hadn’t so much as lifted a dirty dish in fifteen years, but who pitched right in, clearing the table without a second’s hesitation. There were good reasons Chet Wagner had stuck with her for so long. If only Phyllis could see the one excellent reason he got fed up.
Jane was quiet all the way to Fiona’s house, mentally chastising herself. Wasn’t part of the reason she got irritated with Phyllis a matter of simple jealousy? She’d mentally accused John Wagner of being jealous over money, but maybe she was, too. After all, Phyllis was an extraordinarily wealthy woman. Jane, who wasn’t exactly poor, still had to carefully monitor every penny.
Steve’s life insurance and his share of the family-owned drugstores had left her with enough money to comfortably afford the necessities and a precious few of the less expensive luxuries. But while Phyllis was ordering up a Jag for Bobby to drive around without even needing to ask what it cost, Jane was driving a four-year-old station wagon and would have to drive it to death—either its or hers.
Was it Phyllis’s money that was getting under Jane’s skin? Jane thought not. Lots of people had more money than Jane did. Almost everyone she knew, in fact, either had more or lived as though they did. And she’d never been particularly aware of resentment before. Fiona Howard, for instance, was certainly in a financial class with Phyllis. She must have been her husband’s heir, and Richie Divine records were still played on the radio all the time. Just last summer Jane had bought a tape of his old stuff. They hadn’t had children, so all the royalties must be going to Fiona. And yet, Jane had never felt jealous of Fiona, only mildly curious about how she lived.
For that matter, the Nowacks were absolutely loaded, but she never felt jealous
She hung up and told Phyllis. “I’ve got to run over to a neighbor’s house to take care of a crisis with the church craft bazaar. You don’t need to come along if you’d rather rest, but I’d be glad to have you. We can talk more about this later,“ she added, knowing there was little else she could say.
“Jane, we don’t need to talk about me anymore. I just felt I owed it to you to explain. You have problems enough, I’m sure, without mine. I’d love to help if I can,“ she said. The way her face lit up, it was obvious that she was sincere. As she mopped her eyes a final time, she said, “Chet’s so sweet and generous, and I don’t ever mean to sound ungrateful, but if there’s anything I’ve missed all these years, it’s that sort of thing—church bazaars, other women who like crafts and things. Of course, a lot of real artists used to come to the island, but they weren’t interested in things like Christmas ornaments and knitting and Easter egg decorations.”
Jane had sudden vision of Phyllis fluttering around a modern-day Picasso, trying to interest him in styrofoam wreaths.
“I read about this wonderful thing you do with Easter eggs that makes them look batiked. I’m dying to try it,“ Phyllis went on.
“I think Fiona does that. You can ask her about it.“
“This Fiona isn’t Fiona Howard, is she?”
“Why, yes. Do you know her?“
“No, but we know some people who know her, and they mentioned once that she lived in the same suburb as you do. You can’t have many neighbors named Fiona. Such a pretty name.“
“Then you must know who she is—“
“Richie Divine’s widow. Yes. That was so terrible the way the newspapers and magazines were so mean to her when she got married again. I’d like to meet her, and I really want to help with your bazaar.“ As she spoke, she was putting the leftover food in the refrigerator.
Jane suddenly felt a great wave of guilt for not liking her better. Silly as Phyllis might be, she was also very sweet and down-to-earth. There was something innately good about a woman who probably hadn’t so much as lifted a dirty dish in fifteen years, but who pitched right in, clearing the table without a second’s hesitation. There were good reasons Chet Wagner had stuck with her for so long. If only Phyllis could see the one excellent reason he got fed up.
Jane was quiet all the way to Fiona’s house, mentally chastising herself. Wasn’t part of the reason she got irritated with Phyllis a matter of simple jealousy? She’d mentally accused John Wagner of being jealous over money, but maybe she was, too. After all, Phyllis was an extraordinarily wealthy woman. Jane, who wasn’t exactly poor, still had to carefully monitor every penny.
Steve’s life insurance and his share of the family-owned drugstores had left her with enough money to comfortably afford the necessities and a precious few of the less expensive luxuries. But while Phyllis was ordering up a Jag for Bobby to drive around without even needing to ask what it cost, Jane was driving a four-year-old station wagon and would have to drive it to death—either its or hers.
Was it Phyllis’s money that was getting under Jane’s skin? Jane thought not. Lots of people had more money than Jane did. Almost everyone she knew, in fact, either had more or lived as though they did. And she’d never been particularly aware of resentment before. Fiona Howard, for instance, was certainly in a financial class with Phyllis. She must have been her husband’s heir, and Richie Divine records were still played on the radio all the time. Just last summer Jane had bought a tape of his old stuff. They hadn’t had children, so all the royalties must be going to Fiona. And yet, Jane had never felt jealous of Fiona, only mildly curious about how she lived.
For that matter, the Nowacks were absolutely loaded, but she never felt jealous
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