Рита Браун - Crazy Like A Fox

“Want a wild guess?”

“From you? Always.” Sister trusted Marion, as did most people who had the good fortune to know her or work with her.

“Tootie is beautiful, heavenly, a beautiful rider. She’s so intelligent. If Weevil is Weevil and he has seen her, I predict he will…maybe not make a pass, but he will try to make a connection. Do ghosts make passes?”

“Well, there’s The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. ” Sister cited a wonderful movie from the forties.

“A ghost in love,” Marion mused.

“The longer this goes on, the more I think this is a flesh-and-blood man. Why be Weevil, I don’t know. He knows hunting. He asks questions about the past. He blows the cowhorn. Is it a signature or is it a warning?”

“You’ll find out.”

“You might be right about Weevil contacting Tootie again. She has no interest in men or women, as much as I can gather.”

“Sister, a drop-dead gorgeous man protects and defends you. I know drop-dead gorgeous is a play on words, but there you have it. Any woman, even if she were gay, would be drawn to this knight in shining armor. Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course, but then I always displayed a weakness for good-looking men, as have you, my sweet.”

“But when?”

“When what?”

“When did you discover men?”

“I can’t think that far back.”

“Yes, you can. Don’t be coy.”

“Really, my first little whiff of lust? I guess I was sixteen. I didn’t really get it until I was twenty.”

“I rest my case.”

CHAPTER 24

Margaret walked with her cousin Arthur on the Charlottesville Mall. He’d driven down to pick up a tiny Bokhara rug from a store on the Fourth Street side street. Margaret met him for an unusual lunch. She rarely had time for lunch, but given that both their fathers proved difficult they carved out time.

“Martha Jefferson,” Arthur cited the old hospital at a new site east of town, “how can you find your way around it?”

“Compass,” she replied, slipping her arm through his.

“I guess when Mom and Dad’s time comes, that’s where they’ll go.”

“Not soon, I hope.”

Arthur, a decent fellow with no ambition, murmured, “I thought selling Old Paradise would solve problems. Money problems, sure. But the constant back and forth between my dad and yours. If one said ‘A,’ the other would say ‘B,’ and then you and I would spend hours, months, working it out. I can understand fighting over our grandmother’s jewelry, what’s left of it, but fighting over the manure spreader? There were six manure spreaders at the farm.”

“Yeah, but only one worked.” She stifled a laugh.

A smile crept onto his face. “How hard would it be to install new chains in an old one?”

“Not hard, just costs money. Those chains, for lack of a better word, are flat metal. Metal always costs, and both of our fathers are so damned cheap.”

“They have millions now and Dad still keeps the Gulf station open, repairs a few cars. I tell him, close it down, spend time with Mom in your new house. I’ll keep the station running if he doesn’t want to shut it down. You don’t have to work. Travel. Nope. Change terrifies him.”

“What about your mother?”

“She’d love to go to Hawaii.”

“Arthur, they’re comfortable in their hostility, their misery, their pinched little lives. I blame some of this on our grandfather. When the boys were young there was still money. Old Paradise meant something. Binky and Alfred were at the top of the social pile. Went to their heads, I think.”

Arthur nodded, quiet for a few steps. “I love my mother. Without her I don’t know if I could stand Dad. But much as I love her, was losing her worth decades of anger and silence? Your father went ballistic.”

“He did. Now he’s retreated into a kind of coldness. He loves me, he has a few social friends, but Dad’s in the deep freeze.”

“Margaret, ever wonder if there’s more to it?” Arthur turned his head to look at her directly.

“Funny you should ask. I was thinking that myself. Have off and on for years. It’s just so—extreme.” She paused. “Has your mother ever talked about when she dated Alfred?”

“Only that she and Alfred liked a lot of the same things. I asked her why she ditched Alfred. She shrugged and said that Dad paid more attention to her.”

“H-m-m. Ever wonder if neither of us got married because of their example? Actually, Dad and Mom got along pretty good, but she died so young. At least I think they got along,” Margaret second-guessed herself.

“Mom says your mother just wanted the social prestige. Then she always adds in the next breath that that doesn’t mean she wanted her to die of lung cancer.” Arthur put his hand over Margaret’s. “I don’t get this latest flare-up.”

“Can’t stand seeing Old Paradise come back to life without them. That’s all I can figure.” Margaret, like Arthur, was sick of their behavior. “You’d think they’d enjoy it. You’d think my dad would like his new easy-to-take-care-of house in Crozet. That dependency had electric wire wrapped in silk. Nothing had been done since the 1930s. I swear. He complains about the fireplace in his new house. He misses his stone fireplace. He asked me would I ask Crawford if he could remove the old one? I flatly refused. Crawford is touchy.”

“You can be so diplomatic, cuz.” He praised her.

“I get along with him but I don’t have much to do with him. We had a joint meet, which you know about. Actually was a fabulous hunt. Crawford rode right up there with Sister and all went well.”

“That’s a miracle.”

“The strangest thing happened, though. Both Shaker and Skiff blew ‘Going Home.’ ” Sounded beautiful, and then it was followed by an echo that lingered. Deep. Mournful.”

“Sometimes the mountains will do that.”

“Yeah.” She squeezed his arm. “So what do we do?”

“About Grandmother’s earrings?” He shook his head. “Hell, when Mom dies, I don’t want them. I’m not a drag queen.”

“Oh, Arthur, there’s still time.”

He burst out laughing. “Can I wear a dress with a beard?”

Arthur, a touch vain, sported a trimmed well-kept beard. He almost looked like a rich Spanish grandee from the sixteenth century.

“I don’t see why not. You’ll have to borrow falsies. I do not recommend breast surgery and while I’m on that subject, be glad you don’t have to carry them around.”

“I don’t mind holding them.” He laughed.

“Worthless. If you like holding them, why don’t you get married? Haven’t found the right size? D? C? I am shocked.”

A wry smile crossed his lips. “Much as I worship the female body, I am not always happy with the female mind.”

Margaret was not one to scream sexist. “You can’t stand that we’re smarter than you?” Then she paused. “You know, Arthur, I actually know what you mean. There are some women, like some men, who exemplify the worst of their gender. For instance, what I have found working with other doctors and the nurses is if I have a disagreement with a man, we fight it out. Might get hot but when it’s settled, that’s it. Might settle a disagreement with a woman—but she will never forget it. Never. Sooner or later it will reappear. I just can’t stand that. So I’m a pig.”

“No, you’re honest. Obviously not all women are like that, just like not all men are arrogant and not very insightful, but there are enough to make you wonder how the human race ever survived. Back to marriage. If I found a woman I could talk to, honestly talk to her and vice versa, I’d give it a shot. I see Mom wrap Dad around her little finger. I don’t ever want a woman to try that with me.”