The Memento (13 page)

“What are you staring at there, Girly Miss?” There was nothing sweet and innocent about how them words sounded coming off his tongue.

I jumped and my face flushed. “Loretta wants you to pick up pectin for her jam. She forgot to put it on the list. She wants you to go soon. She was worried you’d just go and disappear.”

“She does, does she? I see. Isn’t that just like a woman. Well, I guess I can head down now the afternoon has drawn on. Don’t that woman ever rest?”

“Loretta’s got rest on her end-of-day list.”

Hector laughed at that. “Loretta’s a good woman, don’t get me wrong. You should try living with my father. At least I don’t have to work for him any more now I got this job. But I got some big plans with my friend, Buddy. I won’t be needing nothing from my asshole father soon.” He was scrubbing his hands and arms with some kind of spicy citrus cream for removing grease. Then he rinsed in the big set tub and washed again with soap and water. Beside the sink were some ropes and chains hanging on wall pegs and beside them rusty metal leghold traps hanging from hooks.

Hector combed his hair. It was so thick and wavy, I can see it now, after all this time. “Well, guess who grew up this year,” Hector drawled, looking at me in the mirror. I saw his eyes in that reflection looking at my body. He didn’t even try and hide it now we were alone. I blushed again, his eyes on mine, his low laugh when he saw my fingers touching my scar. Hector was too young then for the cigarettes to have stained his teeth or his fingers, and there were no lines yet around his eyes or mouth, but there was a dark look he’d get. “Want to come to town with me, Fancy?”

“I’m bringing in the laundry now. Art and I got work to do. Hector, you should get going or Loretta will get agitated.”

Hector pinned me with a big long stare. I suppose it would have been good if I’d been frightened and run away like he was the big bad wolf but I had no fear of Hector. That summer it was more like a fascination come over me.

“So, you aren’t scared now, a big girl like you, all that nonsense with your mother? I know what she was going on about, what your grandfather did. Don’t be ashamed. He helped people. I guess it’s time you knew. I thought you did.”

I waited for him to say more, but when he didn’t I knew Hector knew only part of the secret—he didn’t know the other secret hiding inside it.

“Marilyn’s not all bad. My father liked her. I remember her bringing you over to the strawberry field when you were small and how you’d run up and down the rows. You was the cutest thing, you was. She was always running after you. I used to pick you bouquets of buttercups and daisies. I guess you don’t remember.” He winked at me and grabbed a clean shirt out of a bag hanging on a nail. “She was good with the horses, Marilyn was. Shame she can’t look after them now. My mother married a farmer, thinking she was going to live a soft life. She lived to learn the truth about that one.” Hector took a few steps until he was standing close to me, his T-shirt in one hand, using the other to touch the hair by my temple, pushing it out of my eyes. “You got other things to worry about now you’re twelve.”

I heard Art calling my name. He stood at the open door of the carriage house like a shadow at the edge of a painting. Hector was pulling his T-shirt on over his head. I walked over before Art could step into the garage and we walked out onto the cobblestone courtyard.

Hector came out after us and scuffed the stones with his work-boots. “This’ll be needing some work soon enough. This old-fashioned masonry costs a lot of money. But they just throw the money away, those Parkers.”

“Did you add pectin to the list?”

Hector spit on the ground. “What are you, Art Boy, the butler now? Yes, I’ll get the goddamned pectin. I got better things to be doing than grocery shopping. And you should be out here working with me, doing real work. I know your father ain’t around to help you out and he was an asshole anyway, from what I hear.” Hector laughed. “But still, Art, you should be working out here. Tell Loretta you don’t want to be no pussy. Look how that worked
out for Charlie Parker, living his life as a pussy, or should I say pansy? Loretta’s either got you doing her errands or helping out them gardeners. What do you want to be, Art? A flower or a man? Estelle’s asked me to make up a list of all the things that need done around here, the big jobs, you know, the wiring, the foundation. That colossal house ain’t got no real insulation. The last time they modernized the place was after the first big war. Don’t know how you haven’t frozen to death in the winter, Fancy. I mean, Loretta’s got enough padding on her to survive an ice age. You’re filling in but you’re still pretty skinny.”

Art rolled his eyes. “Fancy, Loretta wants you to bring in the clothes. She wants us back at the house.”

“Yes, Mr. Butler, yes, she’ll get to it, won’t you Fancy. Holy fuck, boy. You have to stand up to women, don’t you see? All these women walking around here with the opinions of a ten-foot man. Loretta might be small and wide but she’s got the determination of an ocean liner, she does. Oh well, if they shut this place down she can have a bit of relaxation. Maybe that’s why they have a staff of kids running the place. Nothing Estelle would like better than to see this place bulldozed. Can’t blame her, right, Art Boy?”

Art blushed and looked down.

“What’s he talking about, Art?”

Art shrugged his shoulders and didn’t say anything.

“Well, I’ll tell you if the butler ain’t going to. Art was out helping me a few weeks ago, after supper. It was the day Estelle came out with Dr. Baker. Remember that, Art? We heard them back around by the old wing, the Annex.”

“We didn’t mean to hear them, Hector. We were watching the starlings lift out of the trees. That’s why we were back there. We weren’t listening in on purpose.”

“Well, I didn’t know it was wildlife hour. Starlings should be shot. Pests. There’s pigeons roosting in the back of the house. Those I definitely will shoot. Why are we talking about goddamn
birds? Anyway, we heard Dr. Baker and Estelle having it out.” Hector was enjoying how the high and mighty had been careless enough to be overheard. “I thought maybe there was a coyote or some such beast coming around. They ain’t done nothing back there, talk about needing maintenance. That back wing, they either got to fix it up or tear it down. And that’s just what Estelle wants to do.”

“That’s no secret. She’s been going on about that for years, Hector.”

“We went out back there and they didn’t hear us, did they, Art?” Hector looked at him but Art was looking at the sky. “Oh, they had a monster fight going on. They should have been in Evermore arguing if they didn’t want nobody to hear. Probably drunk as lords to go at it like that. Estelle kept going on about how Marigold’s not in her right mind and Dr. Baker should sign papers so Estelle can be her guardian and lock her away.”

I was chewing my lip. I didn’t want to know anything more, and Art was looking away. “Well, that ain’t nothing new. I gotta go take the clothes off the line.”

Just as Hector was going to continue, Art started talking, like he thought if he told me Hector would shut up. “Dr. Baker said that Marigold could do as she pleases, that she was doing fine for someone in her eighties and she could make her own choices. He thought it would be good for her to come out, and Pomeline could come and stay with her, and Estelle had to accept that this wasn’t her place. That’s what he said. And that Charlie was weak and certain kinds of men are like that. He called it
an affliction
. I never heard it called that before but you learn something new every day. Anyhow, Dr. Baker said it made Estelle go all crazy. Estelle said it was going to be hers soon. Dr. Baker told her that the estate would go to Jenny, not her, when Marigold passed. Estelle looked like she was having one of her migraine attacks. Next she got all disturbing saying how she wished Marigold would just die because the money
is hers and she certainly deserves it after all the suffering she’s gone through, all the horseshit she’s had to put up with through the years, how nothing was what Charlie had promised. ‘I have been betrayed,’ she kept growling.”

Hector was nodding. “It might do Estelle good to let loose, if you know what I mean. That’s half her problem. She’s too uptight, that one. The doctor was saying, ‘Time passes, Estelle, time marches along. Things change. People make their choices. You have to accept this.’ Talking like that in his goddamned doctor voice, talking right down to her like he does to everyone. I don’t know why they’re all so crazy about him, like he could walk on fucking water.”

“They didn’t mean for us to hear, Hector. And Dr. Baker’s nice to us. He likes Marigold.”

“Mr. Man of Medical Science and all, with his stethoscope around his neck and his prescription pad, like he’s ready for the next heart attack or emergency, although I don’t think he’d even remember what to do any more because he don’t even seem to really work, just fusses with the Parker women. He’s stuck up, that’s the problem. At least Estelle’s practical.”

“Well, no one’s asking you, are they, Hector?”

“What a mouth on you, Fancy. Don’t backtalk me. I’m your elder.”

I couldn’t imagine Dr. Baker saying anything like that. Hector was jealous. He was jealous of anyone with more than him.

“Who knows what’s going on there, but something is. Probably what got to Charlie Parker. The truth can kill, my father says. It’s a lethal weapon so there’s no point in even telling it,” Hector said.

That was enough for Art. “It doesn’t matter what we heard. Mr. Charlie’s dead and he’s been dead for six years now. Just leave it alone. All these old people having problems from the things they did when they were young. This doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

“I just thought you might want to know,” Hector said. “Art, he don’t want to grow up. But we did hear all of that. Sort of puts things into perspective, don’t it? You might not like it, Art, but it’s the truth. Not everything’s stars and birds singing and violins playing.”

I’d also had enough, and whatever I had felt in the garage for Hector was gone. “We got to get back to the house. Margaret Armstrong’s going to be here soon.”

Hector let out a whistle. “That’s who they hired to look after Marigold? I wonder how them saddlebags of hers are doing. Shame to see those on a woman. She’s only eighteen. Her mother’s like that so must be where it comes from, runs-in-the-family sort of thing. Margaret don’t got much of a sense of humour, not like you two. She’s got some mouth on her, too. Now I’m going to town to get these damn groceries.” Hector winked at us and started walking to his pickup truck.

Art and I ran to the house. We stopped at the door, both of us, composing ourselves before going in. We didn’t want Loretta to ask what was on our minds. She could always tell.

“Why didn’t you tell me what you overheard, Art?”

“It didn’t seem right. It was a private conversation.”

“But you did overhear. You can’t change that.”

“I don’t like this growing up and finding out everyone’s an asshole, Fancy.”

It was the truth. Art looked miserable. I had never heard him swear before. His high voice made me laugh. He looked hurt, like I was laughing at him the way Hector did all the time.

Art opened the door but looked back at me as he stepped inside. “It’s none of our business.” He disappeared into the house, and as I started in after him I heard a swishing in the bushes. I turned around. There was another rustle, and a chill went through me. Just then Loretta called from the kitchen and I ran inside, slamming the door behind me so whatever was out there, or if it was just my imagination, would be left behind.

A
T PETAL
’
S
End we could hear a car long before we saw it come through the woods onto the expansive oval drive. The velvety air seemed to amplify sounds and words. If you lived at Petal’s End you discovered the only private conversations were ones you had in your mind.

Art and I sat waiting on the verandah for the sound of the car that would bring Margaret. We had sassy lemonade poured over crescent-moon-shaped chunks of ice in frosty tall glasses. There wasn’t no plastic at Petal’s End. We finally felt carefree, and the conversation with Hector had evaporated, swallowed up by the puffy white clouds. It was easy to pretend right up to the last minute that Margaret wasn’t really coming. Art was in a rocking chair, humming. I had brought out my needlework but it was stifling hot so I set it on the table. It was an embroidery pictorial of Marigold asleep in her bed surrounded by flowers, the size they call a miniature. Her face was disconcerting as I’d stitched the way she looked after her
stroke. I didn’t know why it had come out that way and I was done with it for the day. We enjoyed our afternoon solitude until we heard a far-off car engine. Finally it pulled out of the woods and looped around to the front door.

Margaret’s father didn’t get out or shut the car off. He barely stopped as Margaret got out. Apparently, driving her to the first day of her new job was a mighty big inconvenience. We heard him say to call ahead of time when she needed a ride home so he could schedule it in. His voice was instructive, a tone used for giving orders to a dim-witted employee. He drove off just as soon as she had shut the door, her hand still on the handle when the car started rolling forward.

“Asshole,” Margaret hissed, waving and smiling as the vehicle circled toward the wood.

She turned around with her hands on her hips. Margaret’s dull brown hair was now bleached blond with frost tips, her long bangs greasy and hanging in her eyes. Her skirt and blouse were baggy except at her hips and chest, where they pulled wire-tight to accommodate her. “Holy fuck,” she said, walking up to the big mock orange bushes. “I thought this place was a joke. But it’s real. Can you believe it?” She looked at us like maybe we hadn’t observed our surroundings. I rolled my eyes at Art and watched Margaret as she ogled the place. She didn’t seem to have any bug poison and she hadn’t called me a whore bastard or Art a brown boy so it seemed we were off to a good start. The heavy makeup on her cheeks was melting. And she was wheezing. The pungent air was going to be hard on her.