Sue Grafton - S is for Silence

For a while, Padgett dropped a steady stream of coins into the jukebox, and he and Violet danced. The dress she wore was an emerald green, cut low in the back. Behind the bar, BW was watching them as they moved around the floor. Now and then Jake would turn, looking over his shoulder, following their progress with a shake of his head. He and BW exchanged glances.

“That’s what got Foley raging in the first place, her dancing with him,” BW remarked.

“Just about anything sets him off. Piece of shit,” Jake said.

BW studied him. “I don’t suppose you want to talk about Mary Hairl.”

“Not especially. No offense.”

“None taken. You tell her we’re thinkin’ about her, Emily and me.”

“I’ll do that.”

“How’s that beer coming?”

“I’m fine for the moment.”

Violet and Padgett settled at the bar again, but he’d no more than sat down than he glanced at his watch, startled at the time. Jake watched as he threw some bills on the bar and said his good-nights. Once the door shut behind him, Violet turned her head, looking down the bar in Jake’s direction. He made a point of looking the other way to avoid her gaze. She was the type who went to bars intent on conversation, while he was the type who went in hopes of being left alone. Dimly he was conscious of her crossing the room behind him, heading for the ladies’ room. He ordered another beer and was in the process of lighting a cigarette when she appeared at his side. Her hair was now combed and her green eyes assessed him with curiosity. She was holding a cigarette and, well-mannered fella that he was, he extended his match. By then the flame was burning so close to his fingers, he was forced to drop it and strike another one for her. She eased onto the stool next to his. “You want company?”

“No.”

“That’s funny. You look like a man who could use a friend.”

He had no reply to that. Jake probably hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words with Violet in the six years he’d known her. There’d been that business about the dog, but that was about as far as it went. He’d heard the rumors about her. The whole town of Serena Station buzzed with stories about the Sullivans-Foley’s drinking, the fisticuffs, her screwing around. Quite the happy little pair. Jake despised Foley. Any man who raised a hand to woman or child was the lowest of the low. Violet, he wasn’t sure about. Mary Hairl seemed to like her, but his wife was a good-hearted soul, who’d put out a bowl of scraps for any stray cat that wandered up on the porch. He put Violet in that camp-hungry, wary, and needy. “You still mad about the dog?”

“I got my money. Not that it was mine for long,” she said. “How’s Mary Hairl?”

“He just asked me that,” Jake said, indicating BW with a wave of his cigarette.

“What’d you tell him?”

“Said I didn’t want to talk about it, thanks all the same.”

“Because it’s painful.”

“Because it’s nobody’s business.” he was quiet for a moment and then surprised himself by going on. “They’ve got her on a drip. Morphine, most likely. The doctor won’t tell me anything and what he says to her, she keeps to herself. She doesn’t want me to worry.”

Violet said, “Well, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It has nothing to do with you.” He glanced off across the room. He could feel tears sting his eyes. He’d made a point of not discussing his wife’s illness. Acquaintances would ask, but he tended to cut them short. He didn’t like the idea of exposing the intimate details of Mary Hairl’s condition. He couldn’t talk particulars with her father, even if he’d known. Hairl had been a surly son of a bitch ever since his wife died. He was burdened enough as it was, knowing he was on the verge of losing his only child. Which left who? Jake certainly couldn’t talk about her sickness with the kids. Both he and Mary Hairl had agreed early on to spare them. Steve, at sixteen, was aware of what was happening, but he kept himself detached. Tannie was mercifully oblivious, which left Jake on his own.

Violet studied him. “How’re you holding up? You don’t look so hot yourself.”

He lifted his beer bottle. “This helps.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” she said, and clicked her wineglass against his bottle. “Why is it men are always trying to prove how tough they are? Situation like yours, what harm would it do to talk about it?”

“What for? I live with it from day to day. Last thing I need is talk on top of that.”

“You sound just like me. Too proud to admit when you’re hurting. I can sit here in tears and everybody thinks it’s just something I do. You’re the first guy ever offered to have a decent conversation.”

“I don’t call this a conversation.”

“But there’s hope of one,” she said.

“What about Padgett? He was talking to you.”

“He’s about as popular as me. People think I’m a whore and he’s a fool. Gives us something in common.”

“Is that true?”

“What, about him or me?”

“I couldn’t care less about him. What’s the deal on you?”

She smiled. “It’s like that song about the Whiffenpoofs… What the hell’s a Whiffenpoof? You ever ask yourself that?”

“What song?”

“The duet Bing Crosby and Bob Hope sang in Road to Bali. ” She started to sing a fragment in a voice that was surprisingly sweet. “’Damned from here to eternity. Lord have mercy on such as we.’” Her smile was weary. “That’s the deal on me. Damned.”

“Because of Foley?”

“Everything wrong in my life is because of him.”

“I thought you liked tussling with him. You do it often enough.”

“Tussling? Well, I guess that’s one way to put it. Foley pounds the shit out of me on a regular basis and I got the black eyes to prove it, but does anybody ask how I’m doing? He could knock me to the floor and nobody’d offer me a hand. I don’t want pity, but once in a while I’d like to think someone gives a shit.” She stopped and then smirked. “Listen to me. I sound like a victim. Nobody likes a victim, least of all me.”

“Why do you put up with it? That’s what I don’t get.”

“What choice do I have? I can’t leave him. He’s threatened to kill me and I know he’d do it for sure. Foley’s a psychopath. Besides, if I left what would become of Daisy?”

“You could take her with you.”

“And do what? I got married at fifteen and never held a job in my life. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“What about that money you’re always talking about.”

“I’m biding my time. I figure I’ve got one shot and I’m not about to blow it. Anyway, Daisy’s crazy about her daddy.”

“Most girls are crazy about their daddies. I’m sure she’s crazy about you, too. What’s that got to do with it?”

“Daisy’s crazier than most. She thinks Foley hung the moon, so why should I get in the way? Sometimes I think they’d be better off without me. I mean, it’s one thing if I leave, but take away his little girl? He’d rip my heart out, if he hadn’t already done it.”

Jake shook his head. “He doesn’t deserve either one of you.”

“No fooling.”

“So what’d you see in him?”

“He was a sweet guy when the two of us hooked up. It’s the alcohol does him in. Sober, he’s not all that bad. Well, some bad, but not as horrible as you’d think. Of course, he says he’s forced to drink to put up with the likes of me.”

“What’s he have to put up with? You’re a beautiful woman. I can’t picture any big hardship living with you.”

“I’m a pain.”

“How’s that?”

“I got a reputation as a party girl for one thing. According to him, I don’t do anything right and that sets him off. No matter what I do, he’s never satisfied. After work, he walks in the door and starts in on me. Either the house is a mess or his dinner’s not hot enough or I forgot to take the dirty clothes to the Laundromat again. He wants to know where I’ve been, wants to know who I talked to, and where I was every time he tried to call me during the day. I’m thinking, what am I, his slave? I’m entitled to a life. I try to keep my mouth shut, but he lays into me and I have to fight back. How else can I hang on to my self-respect?”