Jill Churchill: Silence of the Hams

“Can you?”

Jane laughed. "I'm not a complete incompetent even if I can't make policemen cry."

“I thought your mother-in-law had offered to get him a car," Shelley said.

“She didn't exactly offer. She dangled the possibility in front of me, but she was planning to get a new car herself and give him her old gray battleship of a Lincoln. He'd rather die than be seen driving an old-lady car like that, and I can't say that I blame him. So I. convinced her I'd get him a car and she's getting him a computer instead."

“You can afford it, can't you? After all, you get Steve's third of the pharmacy profits and they seem to be doing well. Didn't they just open another one?"

“Yes, but I'm still putting half of it into the kids' college trusts, so my budget is pretty tight. The scary thing is, it's only three years until I face the same thing with Katie, and in the meantime my poor old station wagon will have to be replaced. It's practically an antique now.”

Shelley shuddered. "Imagine our girls driving!”

Jane bit her tongue to keep from replying. If Denise turned out to be the same kind of driver her mother was, the neighborhood had a great deal to fear. Shelley's natural competitiveness reached its highest and worst point when she got behind the wheel of a car. The act of turning a key in the ignition triggered something wild and savage in her otherwise ladylike soul.

Shelley, guessing Jane's thoughts, grinned. "So what kind of car?"

“Uncle Jim's letting me know. He's been taking Mike with him, pretending he's looking for a car himself, and finding out what kinds Mike likes."

“But you're going to go buy it?”

Jane put her head in her hands. "I'm afraid so. I'm dreading it.”

Shelley's eyes sparkled. "Oh, it could be fun."

“Fun? Are you crazy?”

Shelley grinned. "A feather in my cap. I've never made a car salesman cry. Yet.”

2

The salesman didn't cry. But he didn't have much fun, either.

Jane's honorary Uncle Jim, a tough old Chicago cop who had been friends with her parents since before Jane was born, had reported that Mike's dream vehicle was a smallish black pickup truck. Though this hadn't crossed Jane's mind as a possibility, she quickly came to like the idea. It would allow her son to haul his belongings back and forth to college without involving her or her station wagon in long highway drives.

“Best of all, Shelley, there's no backseat," Jane told Shelley.

“What difference does that make?"

“Girls, Shelley. Girls and backseats can be a dangerous combination."

“Oh, right. Hormones and lust and dark nights on country roads. I'd almost forgotten all that.”

On Shelley's orders, they stopped at the library and quickly copied a bunch of pages from various auto magazines and Consumer Reports and piled back into Jane's car. Shelley skimmed the copied pages, crumpled and dog-eared them a bit, then laid them aside. "Aren't you going to read all that? Why did we copy it otherwise?"

“I read the one I needed to, the one about prices. The others are just to wave around and make it look like I've really studied the market and know what I'm doing," Shelley said confidently.

At first, the salesman was patronizing, calling them "ma'am," with a faint sneer. But after a few minutes with Shelley and her sheaf of papers, he became a little more respectful, switching to a state of vague alarm, and finally something that looked like panic. After twenty minutes, Shelley named a ridiculously low figure that she said was all they were prepared to pay. He laughed nervously. "I can't do that, ma'am."

“Well then, I'm sorry we've taken your time. Goodbye. Jane, put away your checkbook." She took Jane's elbow firmly and they headed back to where they'd parked the disgraceful station wagon down the street.

“But Shelley, it's exactly what he wants! Do we have to start all over again?" Jane whispered.

Shelley smiled. "No, we've won. You'll see.”

They were only halfway to their car before the salesman caught up with them. He named a figure a hundred dollars over what Shelley. had offered. She countered with fifty dollars less, and he caved in. Jane was dumbfounded.

Shelley drove Jane's car home, while Jane drove the new one to the county offices to get the tags and pay the taxes, then home, where she left it in Shelley's driveway. She'd called the insurance company and gotten the hideous news on what the additional premium would be and was casually loading the dishwasher a few minutes later when Mike and his best friend, Scott, got home from their last half day of school. Jane peeked while the boys circled the truck, admiring it.

“Hi, Mom," Mike said when they finally came in the house. "Whose truck is that?"

“Truck? I don't know." She went to the window again and looked. "Oh, that must be Shelley's nephew. She mentioned that he was coming by today.”

The boys raved about it for a while and Jane went on cleaning the kitchen, trying not to grin. She tried to engage them in a discussion of how it felt to have finished high school, but the topic didn't interest them. Instead, they fixed Cokes for themselves and went back out to drool over the black pickup truck again. Jane followed.

"You really like this thing?" she asked innocently. She kicked a tire.

“Like it? Mom, it's the coolest thing on the road today," Mike said. "Just look at it!"

“I guess you'd like to have one," Jane said. "Like one? Who wouldn't?”

Jane fished the keys out of her pocket. "Then why don't you take this one?”

Mike stared at the keys. Then looked at her. Then at the keys.

“You mean—?”

Jane nodded. "It's yours.”

Mike and Scott fell on each other, slapping, punching, and yelping. Mike grabbed Jane in a bear hug. "Jeez, Mom! Jeez! I can't believe it!”

Shelley had come out to join them when she heard the boys shouting. Scott was making a hideous yodeling noise while doing a victory dance around the truck and stopped to hug her. "Too cool! Too cool!" he crooned. "Mrs. J, you really came through," he said, mauling her in turn.

“We've gotta show the guys," Mike said, jingling the car keys.

“Don't forget the deli opening is in an hour," Jane warned.

Mike slapped his forehead. "Jeez!" he repeated. "Okay. Just a little drive then.”

He and Scott got in the truck and sat for a few minutes, petting and caressing various parts of the interior and talking incomprehensible gibberish about the mechanics. Mike turned the key and they both made orgasmic noises as the engine revved to life. Mike hopped back out, gave his mother another hug and smack of a kiss, and asked if she wanted to ride along.

“No way, thanks. Don't forget your job." The boys roared off and Jane watched until they were out of sight.

“Want a cup of coffee?" Shelley asked. Jane sighed. "No, thanks. I believe I'll just go inside and have a good cry.”

The old house Sarah Baker and her sister had inherited was spruced up and looking lovely. The clapboards had been repaired and painted a pristine white with shiny black shutters for accent. The old cement walk had been replaced with a wide brick one in an old-fashioned herringbone pattern and had a border of sweet-scented thyme along the edges. A martin house had pink morning glories twining their way up the post. The original wraparound porch at the front and sides had been enclosed with floor-to-ceiling crank-out windows, which were opened today.

Small white cafe tables for two and chairs with plump floral-patterned cushions were set up on the porch. At the center front of the house itself, one walked into what had once been a front hall, with a parlor and dining room to each side. The area had been opened up, and sparkling glass display cases enclosed an unbelievable array of deli foods. Jane assumed the back rooms of the first floor were kitchens and storage areas. There was no staircase visible, but Jane had heard that the second floor had been kept as living quarters. Conrad and Sarah Baker would be "living above the shop," as many small shopkeepers used to.