Polly could tell that Bess was the type of person who rarely, if ever, needed something. But she didn’t share her observation. She just said, “Well, that’s nice. Good neighbors are so valuable.”
“They certainly are,” Bess said. “Of course, I didn’t feel like I was much of a good neighbor in this case.” She pointed at the flowers. “I guess that’s why I brought these. An atonement of sorts.”
“A beautiful one at that.” Polly cocked her head at Bess. “But you know you don’t have to atone for anything, right?”
Bess’s eyes widened. She blinked. “Well, sure. Of course. I know. I was kind of making a joke. Being dramatic.”
“I just want you to know that Violet and I are fine.” She amended herself. “We’ll be fine.” Polly didn’t want this woman feeling responsible for them. She was just a neighbor, after all.
“I know you will. I know Violet’s in capable hands.” As if summoned, the sound of the front door opening and closing signaled Violet’s arrival from school.
“Violet?” Polly called.
“I’m home,” Violet said, followed by the sound of her feet clomping up the steps. So much for a proper greeting. So much for Violet’s arrival signaling to Bess it would be a good time to leave.
When the sound of the footsteps faded, Bess kept talking, this time in a lowered voice. “Are you hearing anything about when Norah might get out? I mean, do you know how long you’ll have to stay here?”
This was a good question, one without an answer. Polly shook her head. “Norah is refusing to cooperate with their investigation. They want her to turn over her client list, possibly testify against some of the, um, gentlemen. If she keeps refusing, they’re saying she’ll have to do time.”
Bess leaned forward, her eyes wide. “And you’ll stay here if that happens?”
Polly shrugged. “Not sure. I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Right now I’m just taking it one day at a time.” She sounded like she was in Alcoholics Anonymous. But alcohol was not her addiction; men who turned out to be worthless were.
Bess nodded her agreement, but then a concerned look filled her face. “And you’re not worried or afraid being here?”
Polly cocked her head. “Afraid?” For a moment she thought that Bess was referring to Calvin. But how could she possibly know about him? Calvin was Polly’s secret, one she would carry alone.
Bess gave her a stalwart smile. “Oh, don’t listen to me. I’m a worrywart.”
“No,” Polly pressed. “What made you ask that? I’d like to know.” If there was some danger—something she needed to protect Violet from—she wanted to know. As if Calvin wasn’t enough.
“Oh, I was just thinking about that body they found.” She hitched her thumb behind them, referring to where, Polly couldn’t have guessed. “In a lake down the road. Everyone’s talking about it, speculating. I mean the two things being so close together and all, and the timing. People like to talk, you know. Make connections where probably there aren’t any.”
Polly made herself say, “Uh-huh,” in her most blasé tone, when inside her wheels were turning. A body? In a lake? Near here? She’d read that a man had gone missing around here—and now she wondered if that was him that they’d found. “Have they said who it is yet?” she asked.
When Bess answered no, her voice quavered and she looked stricken.
“Are you worried?” Polly asked her.
“N-no,” Bess said.
Polly raised her eyebrows to indicate that she knew Bess was thinking something she wasn’t saying.
“I mean there’s this homeless man I’ve been . . . helping, and I haven’t seen him around in a while. So, I’ve been concerned. You know, that it could be him.” Bess gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s all.” She said it as if that really was all. But Polly knew a bullshitter when she met one. The fact that Bess wasn’t telling her something made her all the more interesting, all the more relatable.
“Yes,” Polly said. “I can see how that would be concerning.”
“Well,” Bess said, “I guess I better be going. Gotta see about dinner.”
Polly nodded and smiled. “Yes, I better do the same.” This time the smile was genuine; the thought of making a meal for her granddaughter, a comfort. She enjoyed seeing about Violet’s dinner each evening, making meals she once had made for Norah, deciding how much the child was like her mother based on her reactions. She considered it a little experiment, one more way to learn more about her granddaughter. Tonight she was making Slap Your Mama pork chops, a recipe she’d gleaned long ago from a coworker. Norah had always loved those. Norah could say whatever she wanted about Polly’s mothering skills, but she’d always eaten well.
Bess turned to go, then turned back. “Would you like for me to let you know if I hear anything? You know, about the body?”
“Well, sure,” Polly said. It would be nice to gain any information Bess could share. Polly had the feeling she was the hub of the gossip wheel, always the first to know. Polly had known many like her through the years. Usually she steered clear of them, but something about Bess’s demeanor told her that there was more to Bess than met the eye. It wasn’t what she said; it was what she worked to withhold. Polly guessed that most of the people who knew Bess took her at face value. And that that was a mistake. She guessed that if you bothered to dig deeper, you’d find not just one secret, but a whole cache of them. It made Polly like Bess Strickland.
She grabbed a piece of paper from Norah’s desk, scribbled down her number, and handed it over to Bess, who waved the paper. “I’ll be sure to call,” Bess promised, and tucked the paper in the pocket of her jeans.
“Thank you,” Polly said. “Call anytime.” And as she said it, she realized she meant it. It would be nice to get a call from someone else besides her personal banker and her angry, thieving husband. “And thanks for the flowers,” she called after Bess as she headed for the door.
Bess turned back for the second time. “Don’t mention it,” she said. And then she was gone.
Violet
At lunch that day, she hadn’t eaten alone—a nice change. A new girl had come up and asked, “Is this seat taken?” When Violet said no, she’d sat down. The girl chatted about herself. It was her third day at school. She’d moved from Cleveland, Ohio, and was super nervous about making friends. She hadn’t asked why Violet didn’t appear to have any, for which Violet was grateful. Violet filled her in on things about the school, told her some tales and legends, all the while keeping an eye on Micah across the cafeteria. Though he still sat near the people he once called friends, he didn’t interact with them, and they didn’t interact with him. He kept his head down, focused on his tray full of food and his phone, though Violet doubted it was because anyone was texting him.
She chatted with the new girl through lunch, and, for a moment, it had felt like perfectly normal people having a perfectly normal lunch. Then the girl leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table, which was not proper etiquette, but a high school cafeteria was not the place to point that out. She hadn’t whispered, because it was too loud in there for that, but she’d ducked her head before she spoke, as if someone might read her lips from across the room.