to the small of her back. She sought relief by stretching out in the macramé hammock in the eight-sided gazebo, but there was no position that was comfortable because of her prickly heat. She heard a diesel horn on the L and N line three quarters of a mile away, and today for no good reason the sound of a train gave her a run of the shudders.
She still found it difficult to believe that the fix-it man, the master of machines, had stalled his car in front of an oncoming freight train. Most of their friends and relatives agreed that it must have been a heart attack or stroke, freezing Daddy Lee to the steering wheel for those ten crucial seconds. But there was no comfort for Marjory in this assumption. Her parents were gone, a wrenching lesson in the black ironies, the implacable treachery of life. Maybe, after all, Enid was the smart one for craving safety and security. Maybe she ought to marry Ted, who would move in with them and slowly fix up the place until it was the way it used to be, and Enid would have babies and Marjory would take care of them for her while she worked for that steady paycheck at Curtis Sewell and Wainwright, and they wouldn't have anything to be afraid of, ever.
But there was a potential irony in this scheme, like a worm in an apparently healthy apple, that disturbed Marjory: she and Ted got along okay now, but once he was married to Enid he could well have a change of heart, suddenly not like Marjory and find fault and want to get rid of her. Would Enid stick up for her? Marjory wondered. She really got on her sister's nerves sometimes, and she knew it.
The thought of a disloyal Enid, along with the prickly heat, was more than Marjory could stand. She barreled into the house and upstairs to the bathroom, pulled down her shorts and panties and liberally applied medicated baby powder to the affected areas. The shower head was dripping, there were stockings draped over the shower rod, blue toothpaste in the cracked porcelain sink, a half-empty disposable douche bottle on the floor—they were both indifferent housekeepers, hadn't the time for it, really, but company was coming on Sunday, and Marjory knew who was going to be stuck with most of the chores when it wasn't her idea at all. . . she went down the hall, knocked rudely on Enid's door, and was sulking at the kitchen table when Enid came downstairs looking refreshed.
"This looks delicious, hon."
"Does it?"
"Is that all you're having? A glass of milk?"
"Yeh."
"Oh. I thought you might be on a—"
"If you think I need to lose a few pounds, just come out and say it, Enid!"
"Well, that's not what I—awfully touchy, Marj."
"Is it my fault I got daddy's build, and you—you got all the best genes in the family?"
"I wouldn't say that. You're so beautifully coordinated, and I can't play croquet without hitting myself in the ankle with the mallet."
"Who cares about that? Do you think Ted cares because you can't play croquet? That is not what turns him on."
Enid helped herself to green tomato pie, and sprinkled grated Parmesan cheese on top.
"Everybody agrees that you have the most beautiful eyes in the family, going all the way back to Great-grandmother Emmie Jones Clawson, and your complexion—look at me, I just get all sort of muddy-looking around my eyes this time of the month. But I put up with it, Marjory. We all have to put up with things we don't like about ourselves."
"Why are you trying to make me feel better when I don't want to feel better?"
Enid reached for the snapbean casserole, and smiled. "Because I love you."
Marjory sat with lowered head, picking at a wart. "If I walked out of the house tonight and never came back . . . would you miss me?"
"Miss you? Marjory, I would die. Literally die."
"Oh," Marjory said, and wiped her nose on a napkin.
"Now tell me, what's got you this way?"
"I don't know. I forgot to mention, Aunt Willie Lloyd called."
"Poor old soul. How is she?"
"Well, she sent twenty dollars to that radio
She still found it difficult to believe that the fix-it man, the master of machines, had stalled his car in front of an oncoming freight train. Most of their friends and relatives agreed that it must have been a heart attack or stroke, freezing Daddy Lee to the steering wheel for those ten crucial seconds. But there was no comfort for Marjory in this assumption. Her parents were gone, a wrenching lesson in the black ironies, the implacable treachery of life. Maybe, after all, Enid was the smart one for craving safety and security. Maybe she ought to marry Ted, who would move in with them and slowly fix up the place until it was the way it used to be, and Enid would have babies and Marjory would take care of them for her while she worked for that steady paycheck at Curtis Sewell and Wainwright, and they wouldn't have anything to be afraid of, ever.
But there was a potential irony in this scheme, like a worm in an apparently healthy apple, that disturbed Marjory: she and Ted got along okay now, but once he was married to Enid he could well have a change of heart, suddenly not like Marjory and find fault and want to get rid of her. Would Enid stick up for her? Marjory wondered. She really got on her sister's nerves sometimes, and she knew it.
The thought of a disloyal Enid, along with the prickly heat, was more than Marjory could stand. She barreled into the house and upstairs to the bathroom, pulled down her shorts and panties and liberally applied medicated baby powder to the affected areas. The shower head was dripping, there were stockings draped over the shower rod, blue toothpaste in the cracked porcelain sink, a half-empty disposable douche bottle on the floor—they were both indifferent housekeepers, hadn't the time for it, really, but company was coming on Sunday, and Marjory knew who was going to be stuck with most of the chores when it wasn't her idea at all. . . she went down the hall, knocked rudely on Enid's door, and was sulking at the kitchen table when Enid came downstairs looking refreshed.
"This looks delicious, hon."
"Does it?"
"Is that all you're having? A glass of milk?"
"Yeh."
"Oh. I thought you might be on a—"
"If you think I need to lose a few pounds, just come out and say it, Enid!"
"Well, that's not what I—awfully touchy, Marj."
"Is it my fault I got daddy's build, and you—you got all the best genes in the family?"
"I wouldn't say that. You're so beautifully coordinated, and I can't play croquet without hitting myself in the ankle with the mallet."
"Who cares about that? Do you think Ted cares because you can't play croquet? That is not what turns him on."
Enid helped herself to green tomato pie, and sprinkled grated Parmesan cheese on top.
"Everybody agrees that you have the most beautiful eyes in the family, going all the way back to Great-grandmother Emmie Jones Clawson, and your complexion—look at me, I just get all sort of muddy-looking around my eyes this time of the month. But I put up with it, Marjory. We all have to put up with things we don't like about ourselves."
"Why are you trying to make me feel better when I don't want to feel better?"
Enid reached for the snapbean casserole, and smiled. "Because I love you."
Marjory sat with lowered head, picking at a wart. "If I walked out of the house tonight and never came back . . . would you miss me?"
"Miss you? Marjory, I would die. Literally die."
"Oh," Marjory said, and wiped her nose on a napkin.
"Now tell me, what's got you this way?"
"I don't know. I forgot to mention, Aunt Willie Lloyd called."
"Poor old soul. How is she?"
"Well, she sent twenty dollars to that radio
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