used to add “young lady” to questions like those.
“Joe doesn’t have any fans for his house yet.”
Choruses of “poor boy” followed me back to the kitchen. They probably would have run out and gotten him a snowmaker if they’d had the means.
Joe was sitting on the back steps. I almost tripped over him.
He stood up and put a hand to my elbow to steady me.
I held the fan out between us. It wasn’t a very big one, and it was at least 15 years old, but it was something.
Moonlight made his face glow. “Thanks. I’ll return it to you as soon as I can get my own.”
He put his hands out to take it from me, but they clasped around my own. I tried to move mine, he tried to move his, the fan teetered in the middle.
“Just let me carry it.” I clutched it to my body.
“I can—”
I was already moving down the path toward the street.
Joe caught up with me while I was unlocking the garage. He stood right next to me, blocking the moonlight.
I fumbled with the key. “Do you mind?”
“No door opener?”
“Yes. It’s called Jackie.”
“Here. Let me.”
He took the key from my hand, unlocked the door, and pushed it up.
I pointed to the ladder.
He pried it away from the wall without bumping the car. “Can you do without it until next week?”
“No hurry.” I held out the fan. “Do you have enough hands for this?”
He hooked his arm through the ladder, hefted it to his shoulder, and then took the fan from me. “No problem. Thanks.”
I stood there, watching him for a moment as he clanked down the street.
Seven
T he ladies were standing in the kitchen arguing when I got back. It sounded bad, but it’s only because they had to shout to make sure the others would hear them. They were arguing about me.
“She wasn’t rude. She was shy.” I could always count on Adele to stick up for me.
“Shy people don’t say anything. She said things.” And I could always count on Thelma to think the worst about me.
“So she said things. She’s the one who lives here.”
“She works with him all day. She knows him better than we do. Maybe she just doesn’t like him.” And Grandmother was rational, if nothing else.
“She likes him. I know how it is. She’s sexually frustrated.”
“I’m what!” I don’t know why I was surprised at that statement. Betty always turned everything into something about sex.
They scattered like a flock of pigeons. A flock of very slow-moving pigeons.
Adele laid a hand on my arm. “We’re concerned about you.”
“Why?”
She exchanged glances with the other women.
“Why?”
“We just think it’s time you found a man.”
“Really.”
“You are over thirty.”
“And you’re getting snappish.”
“And chewing ice cubes.”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
Betty squeezed my arm and whispered in a loud voice, “Chewing ice cubes means you’re sexually frustrated, dear. It’s okay. We’ve all been there.” See? Everything into something about sex.
It was surreal. Getting advice on my love life from octogenarians! “I’ve always chewed ice cubes.”
“I know.” Betty’s eyes blinked wide. “And you’ve never been with a man, have you?”
They were all staring at me.
“Have you?” Grandmother was the only one who looked as if she didn’t want to hear the answer to the question.
“No.”
“See, that’s the problem. You should stop yelling at him, dear. He might start thinking you don’t like him.”
“But I don’t!” Was this so difficult a concept to grasp?
“Of course you do.”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Playing hard to get is fine for the young, but you don’t have the luxury of youth, do you?”
Thank you, Betty. “Are you trying to marry me off?”
“Would it be so bad?”
“I’m perfectly happy on my own.”
“No, you’re not.” Just because she wanted someone, she assumed everyone else did too.
“So you want me to throw myself on someone I’ve barely even met?”
They all
“Joe doesn’t have any fans for his house yet.”
Choruses of “poor boy” followed me back to the kitchen. They probably would have run out and gotten him a snowmaker if they’d had the means.
Joe was sitting on the back steps. I almost tripped over him.
He stood up and put a hand to my elbow to steady me.
I held the fan out between us. It wasn’t a very big one, and it was at least 15 years old, but it was something.
Moonlight made his face glow. “Thanks. I’ll return it to you as soon as I can get my own.”
He put his hands out to take it from me, but they clasped around my own. I tried to move mine, he tried to move his, the fan teetered in the middle.
“Just let me carry it.” I clutched it to my body.
“I can—”
I was already moving down the path toward the street.
Joe caught up with me while I was unlocking the garage. He stood right next to me, blocking the moonlight.
I fumbled with the key. “Do you mind?”
“No door opener?”
“Yes. It’s called Jackie.”
“Here. Let me.”
He took the key from my hand, unlocked the door, and pushed it up.
I pointed to the ladder.
He pried it away from the wall without bumping the car. “Can you do without it until next week?”
“No hurry.” I held out the fan. “Do you have enough hands for this?”
He hooked his arm through the ladder, hefted it to his shoulder, and then took the fan from me. “No problem. Thanks.”
I stood there, watching him for a moment as he clanked down the street.
Seven
T he ladies were standing in the kitchen arguing when I got back. It sounded bad, but it’s only because they had to shout to make sure the others would hear them. They were arguing about me.
“She wasn’t rude. She was shy.” I could always count on Adele to stick up for me.
“Shy people don’t say anything. She said things.” And I could always count on Thelma to think the worst about me.
“So she said things. She’s the one who lives here.”
“She works with him all day. She knows him better than we do. Maybe she just doesn’t like him.” And Grandmother was rational, if nothing else.
“She likes him. I know how it is. She’s sexually frustrated.”
“I’m what!” I don’t know why I was surprised at that statement. Betty always turned everything into something about sex.
They scattered like a flock of pigeons. A flock of very slow-moving pigeons.
Adele laid a hand on my arm. “We’re concerned about you.”
“Why?”
She exchanged glances with the other women.
“Why?”
“We just think it’s time you found a man.”
“Really.”
“You are over thirty.”
“And you’re getting snappish.”
“And chewing ice cubes.”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
Betty squeezed my arm and whispered in a loud voice, “Chewing ice cubes means you’re sexually frustrated, dear. It’s okay. We’ve all been there.” See? Everything into something about sex.
It was surreal. Getting advice on my love life from octogenarians! “I’ve always chewed ice cubes.”
“I know.” Betty’s eyes blinked wide. “And you’ve never been with a man, have you?”
They were all staring at me.
“Have you?” Grandmother was the only one who looked as if she didn’t want to hear the answer to the question.
“No.”
“See, that’s the problem. You should stop yelling at him, dear. He might start thinking you don’t like him.”
“But I don’t!” Was this so difficult a concept to grasp?
“Of course you do.”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Playing hard to get is fine for the young, but you don’t have the luxury of youth, do you?”
Thank you, Betty. “Are you trying to marry me off?”
“Would it be so bad?”
“I’m perfectly happy on my own.”
“No, you’re not.” Just because she wanted someone, she assumed everyone else did too.
“So you want me to throw myself on someone I’ve barely even met?”
They all
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