get in the backseat.
Ex-cuuze me. Jane can climb in and out of any place I can. Frank definitely had a crush on Jane. She couldn’t see the expression on his face when he looked at her, but I did.
When we pulled around Pearl’s house to Jane’s garage apartment in the rear, I looked for the gray Lincoln Town Car. No sign of it. No Ms. Lucas on the premises. No other vehicles. Pearl and her boyfriend weren’t there either.
Frank and Bill walked Jane up the steps to her apartment.
“Come in and taste my benne wafers,” Jane said. We followed her in and each had a cookie.
“You could win with these,” I said and licked the crumbs from my fingers.
“Sure could,” Bill assured Jane.
As we were leaving, just before Jane closed the door behind us, I heard Frank tell her, “When you get ready, I’ll rent a big truck and move you.”
On the way to my place, Bill asked a question I found awkward. “Jane said she has to sleep so she can work all night. She’s a telemarketer, right? What does she sell at night?”
I’d never told Daddy and The Boys exactly what Jane did on the telephone, and I couldn’t think of a thing that made sense.
“Uh, she sells products to people who work at night.”
“If they work at night, how do they answer their home phone, and how does she know who works at night?” Bill said.
I hate to lie, positively hate it, but I mumbled, “The supplier gives her numbers of people to call and she calls them at work.”
It was a flimsy answer, but I didn’t want The Boys to think less of Jane, and I didn’t want them excited about her job either. “The Boys” is a collective name I use for my brothers, with a capital T and capital B. I call them that because I doubt they’ll ever grow up and act like adults, although John has improved considerably since his marriage.
“I think,” Bill said, “that you’re trying to say she doesn’t make cold calls.”
I pretend-coughed to cover up my laugh. “No,” I said, “Jane doesn’t make cold calls.”
My duplex has a common porch across the front with a door into each apartment. I live on the right side. There are two driveways, one on each side of the building. Bill and Frank both came in with me. Big Boy was excited to have three people to pet him, but he was in a hurry to get outside. He brought his leash from the doorknob to me, but Bill clipped it on and took him out.
Frank made himself at home in the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and brought back two Coronas and a canned Coke. He popped the top off the Coke and handed it to me, set one beer on the coffee table, and opened the other. He took a long pull from it.
“I didn’t see any lemons or limes in the fridge,” he said.
“That’s because I don’t have any.” I drank some Coke from the can. “What if I wanted beer instead of cola?” I asked.
“You don’t need to drink beer,” Frank said, sounding exactly like our father.
There had been five Coronas in the fridge. It was easier to drink the soda and wait to have a beer after they left than to argue with him. I’m over thirty, been married and divorced, but Daddy and The Boys don’t think I’m old enough to drink. If Jane had been with us, he would have brought her a beer, but not me. Good grief! I’m three months older than Jane. Thank heaven I don’t have to live with my daddy and brothers.
Bill brought Big Boy back in, and we sat on the couch, each of us taking turns rubbing his belly and scratching behind his ears. Big Boy’s ears and belly, not Bill’s. I’d known that Great Danes grow big when I got Big Boy as a pup, but my vet says that my dog is one of the largest Great Danes she’s ever seen.
When Bill and Frank finished their Coronas, Frank headed toward the kitchen. I heard the fridge open and called, “Don’t drink any more of my beers unless you plan to go to the store and replace them before you go home.”
“What do you buy them for if not for us?” Bill asked.
“For me
Ex-cuuze me. Jane can climb in and out of any place I can. Frank definitely had a crush on Jane. She couldn’t see the expression on his face when he looked at her, but I did.
When we pulled around Pearl’s house to Jane’s garage apartment in the rear, I looked for the gray Lincoln Town Car. No sign of it. No Ms. Lucas on the premises. No other vehicles. Pearl and her boyfriend weren’t there either.
Frank and Bill walked Jane up the steps to her apartment.
“Come in and taste my benne wafers,” Jane said. We followed her in and each had a cookie.
“You could win with these,” I said and licked the crumbs from my fingers.
“Sure could,” Bill assured Jane.
As we were leaving, just before Jane closed the door behind us, I heard Frank tell her, “When you get ready, I’ll rent a big truck and move you.”
On the way to my place, Bill asked a question I found awkward. “Jane said she has to sleep so she can work all night. She’s a telemarketer, right? What does she sell at night?”
I’d never told Daddy and The Boys exactly what Jane did on the telephone, and I couldn’t think of a thing that made sense.
“Uh, she sells products to people who work at night.”
“If they work at night, how do they answer their home phone, and how does she know who works at night?” Bill said.
I hate to lie, positively hate it, but I mumbled, “The supplier gives her numbers of people to call and she calls them at work.”
It was a flimsy answer, but I didn’t want The Boys to think less of Jane, and I didn’t want them excited about her job either. “The Boys” is a collective name I use for my brothers, with a capital T and capital B. I call them that because I doubt they’ll ever grow up and act like adults, although John has improved considerably since his marriage.
“I think,” Bill said, “that you’re trying to say she doesn’t make cold calls.”
I pretend-coughed to cover up my laugh. “No,” I said, “Jane doesn’t make cold calls.”
My duplex has a common porch across the front with a door into each apartment. I live on the right side. There are two driveways, one on each side of the building. Bill and Frank both came in with me. Big Boy was excited to have three people to pet him, but he was in a hurry to get outside. He brought his leash from the doorknob to me, but Bill clipped it on and took him out.
Frank made himself at home in the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and brought back two Coronas and a canned Coke. He popped the top off the Coke and handed it to me, set one beer on the coffee table, and opened the other. He took a long pull from it.
“I didn’t see any lemons or limes in the fridge,” he said.
“That’s because I don’t have any.” I drank some Coke from the can. “What if I wanted beer instead of cola?” I asked.
“You don’t need to drink beer,” Frank said, sounding exactly like our father.
There had been five Coronas in the fridge. It was easier to drink the soda and wait to have a beer after they left than to argue with him. I’m over thirty, been married and divorced, but Daddy and The Boys don’t think I’m old enough to drink. If Jane had been with us, he would have brought her a beer, but not me. Good grief! I’m three months older than Jane. Thank heaven I don’t have to live with my daddy and brothers.
Bill brought Big Boy back in, and we sat on the couch, each of us taking turns rubbing his belly and scratching behind his ears. Big Boy’s ears and belly, not Bill’s. I’d known that Great Danes grow big when I got Big Boy as a pup, but my vet says that my dog is one of the largest Great Danes she’s ever seen.
When Bill and Frank finished their Coronas, Frank headed toward the kitchen. I heard the fridge open and called, “Don’t drink any more of my beers unless you plan to go to the store and replace them before you go home.”
“What do you buy them for if not for us?” Bill asked.
“For me
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