Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [3]
I lingered a moment and watched as the station wagon pulled away from the curb. The strange woman’s profile was framed in the passenger window, and for a moment I almost felt sorry for the old lady who was being hauled back to the home against her will. It seemed a sad way to finish up a life.
“Roz,” Mom called from the kitchen, “I’m waiting on you to get Valerie. Breakfast is ready.”
“Can you believe our luck?” Wally said as he ambled down the hallway, his fists thrust deep in the pockets of his shorts. “We move into the one house in town where some crazy old lady wants to come and die.”
“Never mind, Wally,” Mom said. “She’s gone now, and I’m sure the nursing home will take extra precautions so she doesn’t get out again.”
Extra precautions or no, I had a feeling we hadn’t seen the last of Tillie Monroe.
chapter
2
The next morning the sun shone brightly, and Mom was in a rare good mood, humming as she stirred the oatmeal. I put Valerie in her high chair and was tying a bib around her neck while Wally, still in his pajamas, stumbled to the refrigerator and took a long swig of milk straight from the bottle.
“I’ve asked you not to do that, Wally,” Mom said. “Now, go put some clothes on and run outside and get the paper.”
Without a word my brother went back upstairs and came down wearing shorts and a T-shirt. “Do you think she’s out there?” he called from the hall.
“Let’s hope not,” Mom said.
But a moment later Wally’s voice reached us from the front door. “Mom, you’re not going to believe it.”
He didn’t have to tell us; we knew from the tone of his voice. Mom moved down the hall, looked out at the porch, and sighed. Putting a hand on her hip, she opened the door and said to Tillie Monroe, “Well, as long as you’re here, you might as well come in and have a cup of coffee.”
Tillie stood up and nodded. “Now you’re talking.”
She didn’t need to be shown the way to the kitchen; she strode right to it, her great legs scissoring down the uncarpeted hall, Mom and Wally following behind. I saw her coming like a tank rolling into a surrendered city, and I put one hand on Valerie’s shoulder protectively. With her big black shoes pounding against the kitchen’s linoleum floor, she marched to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat her ample self down with a grunt.
She had the morning paper in one hand, which she dropped on the table, front page up. “Westmoreland is asking for a hundred thousand more troops,” she exclaimed. “Can you believe it? He says we’re winning the war in Vietnam, as though any sane person is going to believe that.”
I stared at her wide-eyed, uncertain who she was talking to but fairly certain it wasn’t me. In fact, she didn’t seem to notice I was there. Instead, she locked on to Wally with a grave stare. “How old are you, boy?” she asked.
Wally hesitated, and his eyes narrowed. Finally he muttered, “Seventeen.”
“There’s still time, then. You got any relatives in Canada?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Shame,” Tillie said, clicking her tongue. “They’ll call you up and ship you out – ”
“I’ll enlist before they ever call me up,” Wally interrupted. “I can’t wait to go.”
“Merciful heavens!” Tillie Monroe cried, slapping the newspaper with an open hand. “Are you out of your young mind? We had no business getting involved in this pathetic excuse for a war in the first place.”
Across the kitchen, Mom looked stricken. She had poured two cups of coffee from the percolator and was carrying them on saucers to the table. She placed one cup in front of our guest.
“Let’s not talk about the war right now,” she said as she sat. “Do you take sugar and cream, Mrs. Monroe?”
Tillie Monroe nodded and accepted the sugar bowl and creamer that Mom slid toward her. “Thank you kindly, Mrs. . . .” She looked at Mom and cocked her head. “I don’t guess we’ve properly introduced ourselves. You know my name, but you haven’t told me yours.”
Mom took a sip of coffee and settled the cup back in the saucer. I could tell from the look on her face she was sorry she’d invited the woman in.