Edith’s Diary by Patricia Highsmith Page A

lawn near Wilmington.
    ‘You trust Brett in the kitchen?’ Marion asked. ‘Ed’s hopeless.’
    ‘Oh, Brett’s a gem. But don’t think he’s
washing
,
he’s just stacking. – Brett?’ Edith called. ‘How’s the coffee?’
    ‘Coming!’ And just then Brett appeared in the doorway with a tray.
    Edith poured.
    ‘Cliffie gone to bed already?’ Brett asked.
    ‘Haven’t seen him,’ said George, who was nearest Brett. ‘Coffee smells so good, I think I might indulge myself tonight.’
    Edith went to get another cup and saucer, and when she came back, Marion was asking:
    ‘Are you enjoying your life here, George?’
    ‘Oh, yes, indeed! Healthful climate. I ought to get out more. But it’s difficult for me to walk.’
    The telephone rang.
    ‘Bet that’s the Johnsons,’ Edith said. Brett went to answer it. ‘You’ll like the Johnsons, Marion. I don’t think you met them the first time you were here, did you?’
    ‘
What
?’
Brett said in a horrified tone. ‘When? Are you s —’ The sibilant sound turned into a slow whistle.
    Edith got up and walked toward the hall. ‘Brett, what’s up?’
    ‘Oh, he’s all right. Good. – Sure we’ll be up. We could also —’ Brett looked at the telephone, then put it down slowly, and walked toward the living room. ‘Cliffie just jumped in the river.’
    ‘The
river
?’
said Marion.
    ‘That was the hospital in Doylestown,’ Brett said. His face was paler in the last seconds.
    ‘Is he hurt?’ Edith asked.
    ‘They said no,’ Brett answered hoarsely, and sank into his chair. ‘Holy Christ! Right
here
!
Three blocks from home! Jumped in the river this time of year!’
    ‘Or did he fall?’ asked Ed, frowning.
    ‘No, they said he jumped, because someone saw him jump.’
    ‘How’d he get out?’ George asked.
    ‘They had to go get a guy with a rope. And then another man jumped in,’ Brett said. ‘Had to, because there’s a current, you know.’
    George leaned forward. ‘Who was it saved him?’
    ‘We’ll have to find out tomorrow.’ Brett wiped his forehead, and poured more coffee for himself. ‘Yes. We ought to be grateful – for good neighbors tonight. Somebody jumped in and pulled him out.’ He glanced at Edith.
    Just then the fire gave a loud
pop!
     
    ‘Hark! the herald angels sing…’
    This came from beyond the front door, and the singing swelled as a group of kids climbed the front steps.
    ‘We ought to give them something, Brett,’ Edith said.
    Ed was getting up, reaching in his trousers pocket. So was Brett. The two men went to the door.
    Edith had a glimpse of five or six small children, a couple of them bearing candlesticks, standing on the doorstep.
    ‘Thank you! Merry Christmas!’ one said, and there was no pause in the music.
     
    ‘… Glory to the newborn king!’
    ‘So Cliffie’s not hurt at all?’ George asked as Brett came back.
    ‘They’re treating him for shock – or exposure or something,’ Brett said. ‘They’re bringing him any minute. What the hell happened, Edie? Something happened after dinner that I didn’t notice?’
    ‘It was no doubt the turkey,’ Edith said, feeling embarrassed and yet not embarrassed, as everyone listened, because she’d had just enough to drink that the whole thing seemed unreal, untrue. ‘Someone gouged the turkey breast. Turkey’s in the larder. I may as well tell you now, because we’ll have to face it for tomorrow’s dinner.’ Edith felt like giggling.
    ‘Oh, the turkey!’ Marion said. ‘Who cares about the
turkey
?
We don’t have to have —’
    ‘The turkey’s
there
,’
Edith interrupted, ‘it just looks like the cat’s been at the top of it, and the larder door’s always shut
firmly
,
unless Cliffie opened it deliberately.’
    ‘And of course you told him he did,’ said Brett precisely, without mercy toward Cliffie, and without resentment against Edith.
    ‘I did because I —’ Edith had started out boldly, but suddenly she collapsed inwardly.