The Obituary Society (6 page)

The huge shoe squished as she took a step.  “Oh—here.”  She stopped to pull the shoes off and held them out, tipping them so water streamed from the insides.  “And thank you.”  Her eyes rested on Juniper’s, and a glint of appreciation flashed back at Lila.  She had the inexplicable feeling that this was a child whose good graces you would do well to find yourself in.

On the back steps, Lila twisted her skirt to ring out as much water as possible.  It  dripped onto the hot cement, where it immediately sank in and started to disappear.  She waited to hold the door open for Max, who had retrieved a large box from his truck, and Juniper, who carried a clear container full of cords and odd objects.  It looked very large in her skinny arms.

Max dropped the box on the table and surveyed the room, his eyes finally resting on an ancient computer in the corner. 

“That’s what she’s been using?” he asked, walking over to examine it.

“
Well, I don’t know that she uses it all that much.  But she did mention she’d like everything updated.  Apparently it was pointed out by Betsy Barker that the Society should have a blog, and possibly a Facebook page.  She may have called it a mugshot page.”  She smiled, imagining what the mugshots of the Society ladies would look like.  “Anyway, it runs really slow.” 

Lila recognized his smirk, but she didn't read it as arrogant this time.  

“If you have everything you need, I’m going to go change,” she said, suddenly self-conscious about the see-through state of her cotton dress.  “I’ll find something for Juniper to put on, and how about if I heat some water for cocoa?” 

Juniper nodded enthusiastically.  Lila was relieved she hadn’t asked her for a list of the ingredients. 

“And hey—I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to Ada.”

Max looked up from the mess of dusty cords he was untangling and coughed.  He raised an eyebrow.   “I’m just as afraid of her as you are.” 

She took it as a peace offering. 

After filling the tea kettle and turning the stove on, she trudged up the stairs and started down the hall, but stopped short as something caught her eye and tugged at her consciousness.  She stared at the picture of Ada with the pearl necklace.   She squeezed her eyes shut and swayed as the memory of the pond flooded through her.  The image that had flashed through her mind as she struggled beneath the water was of Ada.  The smooth-faced Ada that smiled from these photos.  Why had she felt such anger as she envisioned that face?

As she pulled off the soaking-wet dress she looked down at her scratched calves and arms.  Blood still seeped from some of them and streaked down her wet skin.  She searched through the small bathroom closet and found a tin of Band-Aids.  Behind it was a bottle of men's cologne.  It was clearly decades old, and the label had been torn off.  Curious, she sprayed it into the air.  Her stomach lurched and she gagged at the familiar scent of Old Spice.

Chapter 9

Store-Bought

The sun hadn't yet cleared the horizon.  Lila sat at the vanity blinking the blur from her eyes so she could apply her mascara.  Ada woke so early that Lila felt guilty if she slept past six.  She did not consider herself a morning person, but she'd adjust. 

Every day Ada gave her a list of tasks and errands to do, and she was glad to ease her burden in any little way.  It reminded her of the time she had spent with Grandpa Isaac.  Learning about Ada gave her that same sense of belonging.

She'd spent her days changing light bulbs, dusting hard-to-reach areas, and pulling stubborn weeds.  Ada even had her rubbing the scratches on her piano with walnuts, and surprisingly enough, while it was not a bad way to spend an afternoon, it did not qualify as fulfilling.  Her grandpa had left her a responsibility, and she knew she wouldn't have any peace until she took care of the house. 

Lila had ordered a couple of books and perused several online articles.  She'd taken several days to clean the old house from top to bottom, but she hadn't begun any serious work yet.

The thought of renovating an entire house was overwhelming.  She'd read enough to know that money would be a concern, but it was more than that.  She was afraid she would become attached to it, and she wasn't ready to commit to settling in Auburn, Nebraska, at the ripe age of twenty-four.  People her age were continuing their education, beginning life-long careers.  They were not hanging out with old ladies, clipping obituaries from the newspaper, and drinking herbal tea.

But then again, Grandpa Issac used to talk about that house like it was an old friend he'd left behind.  He didn't want her to just fix it up and sell it.  And nothing could have prepared Lila for the moment she stood on her grandpa's porch with the key in her hand.  It was as if he had offered her her heritage, and the chance to call a place home.  She didn't know what her future held, but she knew it was time to start repairs on the house. 

Suddenly the silence was broken by the crashing and clanging of metal pans downstairs, followed by a stream of exasperated remarks from Ada.  Lila dropped her makeup and hurried down to the kitchen.  Flour, sugar, and all the usual ingredients were scattered across the kitchen as she had seen them many times during her stay, and a hint of vanilla hung in the air.  But a partially-cooked cake sat on the counter, and the oven racks and various pots and pans lay on the floor.  All Lila could see of Ada was her polyester backside sticking out of the open oven door. 

“Of all days, why did it have to go out on the fourth of July?”  The question echoed around inside the oven.

“
What happened?”  Lila asked. 

Ada grunted as she pulled herself out of the oven and stretched herself up to her full five-foot-two height.  Her hair stuck out in every direction, and she was adorned with flour and smudges of black.  She reminded Lila of the fairy tales where some simpleton tampers with the treasure of a fearsome dragon.

“My oven,” she said.  “I put my prize-winning cake in the oven and when I checked on it, it was still gooey.  This oven has worked like a charm for twenty-five years.  Now it’s suddenly gone ka-put!”

“
Well, I doubt you’ll find the answer in there.”  Lila was afraid to smile.  “I’m sure there’s something we can do.  Maybe we could use one of the other ladies’ ovens?”
“The cake’s already ruined.  I can’t save it now.  Most of The Society will have their ovens full already.  Besides, I won’t do it.  They’ve been telling me to replace this thing for years because all the knobs broke and the handle keeps falling off.  But it was a good oven.  I've had it so long I knew exactly how to time things.  Anyway, look at me.”  She spread her soft arms wide, then flopped them to her sides.  “I won’t have time to fix myself up and make another dessert fit for the Society’s bake sale, even if I had a working oven.”  She started pulling at frizzy patches of her hair. 

“
When’s the party?”  Lila asked.

“
Well, the flag-raising is at seven.  The breakfast starts at seven-thirty.  The boy scouts are in charge of that.  They have help, of course, and it’s real good.  They have pancakes and eggs and bacon.  I guess we could skip it this year.  But I always supervise, and make sure the tables are covered and the condiments ready.”  She looked around the kitchen, her eyes dull and hopeless.

Lila took Ada’s hands and looked at her steadily.  “I may not know much about good home-cooking.  But one thing I have learned as a latchkey kid and taking
care of  Grandpa was how not to cook.”

Ada cocked her head and stared at her with wide eyes.

“You still have plenty of strawberries, right?”  Lila asked.

Ada nodded slowly, unconvinced.  “What do you plan to do?”

“Trust me, Ada.  Get yourself ready and go to the breakfast.  I’ll meet you there.”

“
I can’t do it,” Ada said, wringing her apron hard.  “I have a reputation here.  Don’t let those ladies fool you.  Some of them have been waiting for me to mess up like this. 

“
And besides, people are depending on me.  Verna
Kelley
told me that every year her brother Elmer waits and waits for our booth to go up, just so he can get some of
my
baked goods.  She doesn’t mind, you see; her desserts are always
store-bought
.  And Elmer, he has a bit of my cake and a glass of milk before he goes out to work each day.  He saves it so it feeds him for a week.”  Her round chin tilted upward, and her blue eyes were misty under her glasses.

Lila wrapped her arm around Ada and led her out of the kitchen. 

“It will be good.  Don’t worry about a thing.  I have a reputation back where I come from too, you know,” she said, winking.

“
Really?”  Ada asked.

“
Really.”

Ada smiled tightly.  “All right, then.  I'll be busy helping the library get their book sale going after the breakfast.  Our booth goes up at eleven.  Try to have it there by then.”

“I'll be there.”

Ada nodded and headed to her room as Lila turned back toward the kitchen.  She shuffled in, wrapped her hands around the edge of the table, and dropped her head, letting her hair fall over her face like a curtain
. 
It was true she had a reputation back home, but it was more for speaking before she thought than anything regarding cooking.  She couldn’t believe what she'd just told Ada.  Her stomach twisted up in knots. 

But it was true what she had said about not cooking.  She was great at not cooking.  She wasn't a disaster in the kitchen, but she had definitely learned the benefit of short cuts.  Surely she could pull out some of her old tricks to make this work.  She took a deep breath.  She could do this.  First she had to go to the store to see what she could find to work with.  It couldn’t be hard to make something good with ripe, home-grown strawberries.

Her heart dropped as she realized this meant she would have to drive the old pick-up again.  She'd been to the grocery store a couple of times, but had made the excuse that Gladys might need help, so she had walked over to her house and they had driven Gladys's car. 

She was never sorry, because Gladys had the most interesting way of describing everyone they saw along the way.  Partly it was because people here didn't just know a person.  They knew the whole family tree from the roots up, and each individual was one branch of a complicated system.  She knew why a person was the way they were.  But it wasn't just that.  She seemed to see things that other people didn't notice, like what a person's gifts were, or how they felt inside.  Maybe it was those gigantic glasses.  She imagined Gladys seeing into people with her magnified eyes and laughed to herself.

Lila hesitated, then grabbed the keys and slipped on a pair of flip-flops.  She opened the door and came face to face with Max, who jumped back slightly, his brows raised in surprise.

“
Oh.  Hi.  Can I . . . help you?”  Lila knew that this house was no place for a man on this particular morning.

He took his glasses off and wiped them on his shirt.  “I just came by to finish up some work on Ada’s computer.” 

Max looked different today.  It took Lila a moment to realize he was clean-shaven, and had taken the time to comb his hair.  He had a difficult time making eye contact.  Lila thought he must be one of those awkward young men who get along much better with the retired-types than with those his own age.  Not that there were many retired-types around in Auburn.  It seemed that the old farmers around here worked, in heat or extreme cold, until the day they died. 

A story Lila had heard from Ada flashed through her mind, of a farmer who had died of natural causes while plowing his field.  His wife had driven by and seen his tractor making graceful, repetitive circles.  Around and around.  The image was beautiful in a way. 

She checked herself.  If she didn’t watch it she would be a member of the society within weeks.  Perhaps she was one of those awkward types too, come to think of it.  Maybe that would explain why she and Max could never seem to have a normal conversation. 

Lila blocked the door.  “Where is Juniper today?”

“Sleepover,” he answered.  “With an actual friend.  Apparently this one doesn’t mind being told what to do.”

“
You must be proud.”  She smiled, then paused, tilting her head toward the door.  “Hey, today’s not a good day—in there.  Oven troubles.”

“
Okay.”  He nodded as if he fully understood.

“
But could you—I've been thinking it over, and I don't think lending me your shoes counts as a date.”

“
Sorry?”

“
Yeah, are you available, say, now?”

“
S-sure.  What did you have in mind?”

“
I have to make an emergency trip to the grocery store.”

“
Oh.”  His mouth turned down slightly.  “And that counts as a date?”   

“
It's just, I don’t want to drive that beast through town again.”

“
I fully support that decision,” Max said.  Lila handed him the keys, and he looked down at them.  “We could take my truck.”

“
If you don't mind . . . it might help if I watched you.  This may come as a surprise, but it's been a very long time since I drove a stick, and I have a feeling there's no escaping this old beast.  Our fates are intertwined.”

He shrugged.  “Okay.  I just hope Owen's is open.”

They climbed into the truck and slammed the heavy doors.  Dust hung in the air and settled on the old vinyl seats.  For a long minute they sat in silence, listening to the loud rumble of the engine and the crackle of the driveway.  Then Max leaned forward, his fingers fumbling with the radio dial until it settled on Lynard Skynard.  She wouldn't have known except that he asked her if it was okay.

“
Ada's lost without her oven.”  Lila raised her voice to compensate for the loud engine.  “I told her I'd make something for the bake sale without actually baking.”    

The bake sale is serious business around here.”  Max's tone suggested this was territory he knew well.  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?  I mean, these women can smell “store-bought” goods from a mile away
.  My grandma's that way too.”

“
That seems to be an offensive term around here.  It won’t exactly be store-bought,” she said, tipping up her chin and turning toward the window.  She stared at the flags that hung from every lamp post along main street.  “I'm going to buy some of the ingredients, but Ada’s strawberries are home grown.  Does that count for something?”  Her confidence was waning, and she was beginning to sound desperate.  “I have to pull this off.”

They parked at Owen's Grocery
and Lila nearly fell out of the truck.  She flew into the store, Max striding along behind her, his hands in his pockets. 

Okay, a friend of mine used to make this strawberry dessert.  You just chop the strawberries up and add Cool-Whip, then put it in a crust and freeze it.”  Her hands made the chopping and mixing actions as she spoke.  She was talking to herself more than anything, but she caught a look of doubt on Max’s face she didn’t care for. 

“If I hurry, it could freeze by the time the booth's up, right?”

She found the coolers at the back, opened a glass case, and grabbed a tub of Cool-Whip.  Max grabbed her arm with a curious sense of urgency, as if she were about to pull the red wire instead of the green.  She froze, her eyes locked onto his hand wrapped around her arm, and the tub of Cool-Whip clattered to the floor.

He dropped his hand, eyes darting as he apologized under his breath, then picked up the container and put it back. 

“
What was that about?” she asked.

He gestured for her to follow and led the way to the dairy section, where he chose a carton of heavy whipping cream.  “Trust me.”

“But I don’t know what to do with this.”
He raised a brow, then said with some reluctance, “I got it.”

Lila hesitated, then nodded and rushed to look for the pre-made graham cracker crusts.  She walked down the baking aisle, her anxiety building as she scanned and re-scanned the shelves.
“Where are they?” she asked, unable to control the panic in her voice.  “The pie crusts.  The pre-made kind, made out of graham crackers or cookies.”