Nora Read Free Page A

Roberta for you,” she said in a frosty voice.
    â€œTake the message,” I said.
    â€œI better split.” Chuck shuffled his feet and his untied shoelaces got tangled. He stayed put.
    â€œShe wants to know about Saturday night,” Patsy said. “Here.” She shoved the receiver at me and almost put out my left eye.
    â€œHey, you old bag,” I greeted Roberta. “What’s up? Oh, sure. I guess. You got it. Yeah, we’ll be there. Dress warm. Bring lots of cash, kid. I feel lucky. See you.”
    I hung up.
    â€œRoberta says the strip-poker party’s on for Saturday,” I relayed the message.
    Chuck Whipple’s Adam’s apple bounced up and down.
    â€œWhere are you from, anyway?” I asked him.
    â€œIowa,” he mumbled, heading for the door, fighting his shoelaces. “Near Des Moines.”
    We watched him go.
    â€œSheesh!” Patsy said and stalked out of the room, stiff legged as an angry dog. It was very satisfying.
    When Patsy gets really crazy, she reminds me of a snapping turtle, hissing and snapping and threatening to bite. I love her dearly, but sometimes she’s tough to take. She gets out of control and needs to be put in her place.
    I only wish I knew exactly where her place is.

Four
    Our mother’s portrait hangs over the living room mantel. A red shawl is draped over her shoulders, and she’s looking down pensively at her hands. Her face is sad, as if she knows what lies ahead. I think of her as a happy person, someone who laughed a lot. But it’s strange. In all the pictures we have of her, and in the portrait, she looks sad.
    Dee Dulin painted the portrait. Dee and our mother had been friends since they were girls. On the day our mother died, Dee was the first person to come over. She came, she said, to offer her condolences. I absolutely hate that word, condolences.
    â€œI forgot the nuts,” Dee said, handing us a tin of brownies she’d baked. Her eyes were so swollen with tears she could hardly see. “I forgot to put in the nuts,” Dee told us twice. The three of us sat huddled together in a big chair.
    â€œA light has gone out of our lives,” Dee said, hugging us, rocking back and forth. “Your mother was a joy, a darling girl, and she will always be.”
    Dee blew her nose noisily into a tissue and said, “I wonder if you girls have any idea how much she loved you.”
    At that, I remember, Patsy lost it. She rocketed around the room barefooted, beating her fists against anything that got in her way. Dee and I sat there, watching, not doing anything to stop her. That was the best way to handle Patsy, my mother always said, just let her go.
    When Patsy fell, exhausted, into Dee’s lap, Dee held her as if she were a baby, patting her on the back gently.
    I wouldn’t have minded if Dee had held me like that. Nobody, not even Daddy, had held me and comforted me for quite a while.
    â€œThere, there,” Dee said. “Things will get better. Not perfect, but better. You girls and your father were her life. She was a lucky woman, you know, having you all. God was good to her.”
    That set Patsy off again. “Big deal!” she shouted. “Big damn deal! She’s dead. I don’t call that lucky. If God is so great, so good and kind and loving and all, what’s he doing letting her die? Just answer me that. Forget God. God can just go take a hike, as far as I’m concerned!”
    Sometimes I envy Patsy. She gets out all the bad stuff by screaming and shouting and carrying on. Then she gets the hugs and attention. I keep it all in. I wish I could let go the way Patsy does, but I can’t. Sometimes I get mad and think Patsy needs a good swat on the behind.
    â€œShe made me laugh,” Dee said after Patsy had calmed down. “We made each other laugh. We always wound up laughing. That was part of her gift.” Dee’s lips quivered as she told us these