Jill Churchill: A Farewell to Yarns

This wasn't the way to do it.

“You mean Phyl didn't tell you all about Mommy's Little Bastard?" he asked.

“Bobby, I've told you that you mustn't say things like that," Phyllis said.

“Why not? It's the truth."

“Phyllis, I was telling Shelley about the beautiful Christmas ornaments you made when we lived in that apartment—" Jane broke in franti‑ cally. "Remember the one with the starched lace you gave me? I still have it."

“You don't! Oh, Jane, how sweet of you."

“You'll have to show me how you did it. We're putting together a church bazaar right now, and we need all the help we can get.

Maybe we can run over to the craft store after you've unpacked—"

“Oh, I'd love that!" Phyllis said. "A Christmas bazaar! You can't know how much I miss such things. We live such an isolated life on the island." She paused, perhaps sensing that she was wandering right back into the same territory Jane was trying to save her from. "Yes, I think I remember how to do those ornaments. Tatting, wasn't it?"

“Maybe you can show my daughter. Katie, how to tat. I'm hopeless, but she's pretty good at that sort of thing," Jane said.

“Is that knitting you have in your bag there?" Phyllis asked.

“Crocheting, actually. Is that knitting you have along with you?"

“Just some little hats and mittens I'm making for charity. It gives me something to do with my hands. And I'm working on a sweater for Bobby, too. A sort of crimson; his color, I think.”

Bobby had sunk into some silent reverie of his own. He was glaring out the window at the snow as if he could stop it by sheer disapproval. Shelley was no longer driving as if she were looking for a cliff to plunge them all over. The rest of the ride home was taken up with pleasant talk about crafts. Jane dragged out her afghan and showed it to Phyllis, who admired it enormously and reciprocated by hauling forth an elaborately designed sweater.

Eventually Jane started breathing normally, but in the back of her mind, she was turning over the problem of what to about her guests. Phyllis apparently believed that the invitation to visit was open-ended. Jane supposed a monthlong visit wasn't odd at all in the lifestyle Phyllis was accustomed to. After all, if you had a whole hotel to put your guests up in, they could stay for years without being a nuisance. Jane was certain Phyllis had no idea she was being an imposition.

A month with Phyllis—with any stranger underfoot in the house—would be bad enough. But a month with Bobby Bryant? Impossible. Within a week somebody, most likely Jane herself, would kill that boy.

Four.

Shelley pulled into Jane's driveway. She un- locked and opened the back doors of the minivan, then stood aside and watched while Jane and Phyllis sorted suitcases from church bazaar cartons and unloaded the luggage."I don't suppose it's crossed your mind to help?”

Shelley said to Bobby, who smirked and said nothing.

Overhearing this, Jane handed him a suitcase with such force that it nearly knocked his breath out. "We'Ve got it all sorted out. You can carry them in now, Bobby."

“What an adorable house, Jane!" Phyllis said.

“Thanks, Phyllis," Jane said, miffed. "Adorable" had cute, cosy connotations to her. As if it were merely a summer cottage. Well, from Phyllis's viewpoint, it probably was. She reminded herself that Phyllis had meant it well.

“Here, let me help you with those, Bobby!”

Phyllis was saying. Jane was tempted to break her arm.

Shelley was closing the sliding side door, and Jane went to get her bag of crocheting off thefloor of the front seat. "Shelley, I can't tell you how sorry I am—" she said quietly.

“Jane, my dear, you're going to be much sorrier before you get rid of them. I don't know who I dislike most—Bobby for being such a jerk or your friend, Phyllis, for not knowing it."

“Do you think she doesn't know? Or is she just not willing to admit it?"

“The subtleties don't interest me. Whatever it is, it comes to the same thing in my book," Shelley said.

“I'm really sorry—”

Shelley softened. "I shouldn't be a bitch to you. It's just that I haven't been so mad in years. He really is a bastard, regardless of birth. The status can be earned, as well. But it's not your fault. You had no idea what was coming."

“What am I going to do with them?"

“We'll get rid of them somehow. Trust me. Just don't let that boy near me again."

“Thanks for driving. Please don't abandon me now."

“Jane, you saw me through having my wisdom teeth extracted while my mother-in-law was visiting. That's a moral debt I intend to clear up this week.”

The joined Phyllis and Bobby, who had gathered all their luggage—a substantial pile of fantastically expensive leatherwork—at the kitchen door next to the driveway. Phyllis and Bobby were in the midst of an argument. Or at least Bobby was treating it as such. "I can't be stuck here with no wheels, Phyl."

“Of course you can't, darling. I'll call a car rental right away."

“I don't want some old fogy kind of car. I want something sporty to take back to the old neighborhood."

“Oh, Bobby, do you really think you should—?”

“You gonna tie some rope on me or something?”

“Of course not, darling. You know I wouldn't interfere in what you want to do. I just don't think it's wise to—”

She stopped as Jane forced her way between them to unlock the kitchen door. She decided that if Phyllis wanted to haul suitcases around when there was an able-bodied young man on hand, she could do so, but Jane Jeffry had too much sense. She strolled into the kitchen and held the door open. Shelley managed to be right on her heels, unencumbered with so much as an ounce of Phyllis or Bobby's luggage.

“Come out, Willard, it's not burglars," Jane called, as Phyllis and Bobby wrestled suitcases. A moment later the big dog emerged timidly from behind the door to the living room. He was wagging his tail in a craven manner as if to suggest that he was merely waiting to be absolutely certain of the evidence before attacking.

“I think if burglars actually came in here, he'd probably read them their rights," Jane said with disgust as Willard shambled up and sniffed Phyllis's feet. "There's also an army of cats around someplace. Max and Meow will turn up when you least expect them."

“What a dear doggie! I haven't petted an animal for years," Phyllis said, bending to stroke him. "Chet has terrible allergies, poor man. He knows how much I love animals, so he's always buying the most adorable stuffed animals forme. There's this shop in Paris that sends a man every year with samples. Isn't that amazing? The man has to miss days of work to fly down to the island. I think it's so sweet of him."

“Phyl, the car—" Bobby said.

Just for a second Phyllis looked at him as if she'd never seen him before but then got her doting look back. "Jane, do you have a phone book around?"

“Yes, I'll get it while you're unpacking.”

“Phyl, now," Bobby said.

“Surely you can wait a few minutes and let your mother get settled," Jane said in the tone she used with the kids in the car pool who were misbehaving. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Shelley, who couldn't even bring herself to spank her poodle to make him behave, had balled up her fists as if to pummel someone momentarily.

“No, Jane. It's fine. I'll just give them a quick call," Phyllis said.

Jane handed her the yellow pages and sat down at the kitchen table. She wanted to put her head in her hands and weep. Phyllis had never been one of the world's great brains, but could she possibly be this stupid? The poor man from the toy store missed days of work flying from Paris? Why, Chet Wagner must have put in a couple thousand just getting him there. And to buy a grown woman expensive stuffed animals?