“Why don’t you come about seven o’clock?” Kate had said. “That sounds like a nice, fashionable hour to dine. Furthermore, it will give Jack and me time to get home from work and get dinner ready.”
“And for the two of us to have a snack, so we won’t be starving to death,” Eileen had said when Mary Helen relayed the message.
Since they received Kate’s invitation on Monday afternoon, Mary Helen had been wrestling with how best to get Kate interested in her growing uneasiness about Erma’s whereabouts.
“It’s not against the law to move,” Kate had told her.
It’s also not against the law to find out why a person needed to do it so quickly, she reassured herself.
She might even mention that strange dream entry she had discovered in her friend’s journal. But how could she bring that up without letting on that she had ripped out the pages and read them? As hard as she tried, she could not figure out a way.
On the dot of seven, the Sisters arrived in front of the yellow peaked-roof house on Geary Boulevard. Mary Helen was surprised to see a white Camaro parked in her usual spot.
“She never mentioned other company,” she said. “I wonder who…” It didn’t take her long to find out.
“Sisters, Sisters, come in.” Mary Helen recognized Mrs. Bassetti’s voice immediately. “It’s so good to see you! And right on time. Jackie, it’s the Sisters. Don’t just stand there, take their coats.”
Well, well! she thought, realizing now who the driver of the Camaro was. There’s lots of zip left in us old girls yet. If the opportunity arose, she must invite Mrs. Bassetti to join OWL.
The Murphy-Bassetti living room was warm and cozy. Outside, the fog hadn’t lifted all day. Mary Helen settled down in front of the roaring fire. Actually, as far as she was concerned, the fog hadn’t lifted-literally or figuratively-all week long. Not in the neighborhood and certainly not about Erma Duran. The living-room fire was so bright and welcoming. Tonight might just be the night. She moved over on the sofa to make room for Eileen and waited for the first opportunity to talk about Erma.
“What can I get you, Sisters?” Jack returned from hanging up their coats.
“Tell them what you have.” His mother settled next to the Sisters. “That’s not the way I raised him,” she apologized.
Patiently, Jack reeled off a long list of spirits. Both Eileen and Mary Helen settled on beer.
“He’s a good boy.” Mrs. Bassetti beamed, watching her son leave the room.
“He surely is,” Eileen agreed. “That reminds me of an old saying we had back home.”
Mary Helen frowned. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine which one.
“ ‘Three things are always ready in a decent man’s house.’ ” Eileen looked around, smiling, “ ‘A beer, a bath, and a good fire.’ ”
Both Mrs. Bassetti and Mary Helen stared. For a split second, Mary Helen feared Mrs. Bassetti was about to run the tub.
Jack reentered with the drinks. Now might be her chance. Kate, who had been sitting quietly, passed around a platter of crisp vegetables and creamy dillweed dip. Mary Helen was amazed to see how much more patient the young woman had become, especially with her mother-in-law.
You could do well with some of that patience yourself, old girl, she thought, trying to stay calm. Erma and her predicament would come up in its own good time.
The five chatted pleasantly about everything and nothing, until Mary Helen was nearly convinced that the evening would turn out to be purely social. Try as she might, there was no polite way to introduce Erma Duran into the conversation. Mary Helen was beginning to seriously consider impolite ways.
As they finished their second drinks, Jack excused himself. “Dinner will be served,” he announced, “just as soon as I finish the gravy.”
“Aren’t you going to help him?” Mrs. Bassetti frowned at her daughter-in-law.
“He hates it when I help him,” Kate answered. “Besides, he’s getting to be a much better cook than I am.”
Unable to restrain herself, Mrs. Bassetti rose and bustled toward the kitchen. “Jackie,” they heard her say, “don’t use a fork. Here, let me do that. Get me a wooden spoon. God help us, you’ve got company and there’s nothing worse than lumpy gravy.”
As soon as Mrs. Bassetti was out of earshot, Kate moved over and sat on the couch with the Sisters. “Poor Mama Bassetti.” She twisted a thick piece of her red hair. “She can’t get used to a liberated woman.”
“And how are you, Ms. Liberated Woman?” Mary Helen asked.
“Just fine, really, except”-Kate cut the chitchat short-“there is something I wanted to ask you about before my mother-in-law comes back.”
Aha! So there was a hidden agenda, after all! Mary Helen felt suddenly warm inside. She would have sworn that Kate had something on her mind when she called last Monday, and she was right. The old touch was still right on target.
“I want to ask you about getting pregnant.”
Mary Helen hoped her expression didn’t give her away. She had been so sure Kate was going to talk about Erma that it took her several blinks to rearrange her thoughts and several more to adjust her face.
She didn’t want to appear disappointed, nor did she want to appear astonished, when she realized what the topic was.
“Pardon me?” Eileen’s voice rose. Obviously she was not fretting over appearances.
The two listened attentively while Kate told of her desire to conceive and her failure so far. At least Mary Helen was as attentive as she could possibly be, wondering all the while what in the world Kate was getting at.
“Then she”-Kate pointed toward the kitchen-“gave me some St. Gerard oil. She was given it by a neighbor and claims it works miracles.” Kate quickly related the story. “What do you know about it?” she asked.
So that was the point! Mary Helen racked her memory. “Nothing,” she said finally. “Nothing at all.”
To be brutally truthful, she had never heard of St. Gerard oil, and she seriously doubted that St. Gerard had either. Perhaps Eileen knew something about it That kind of thing was more up her alley. She looked questioningly at her friend.
Equally baffled, Eileen shook her head. “I have never heard of it either.” Kate looked so deflated that Eileen couldn’t resist adding, “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” she said. “After all”-her eyes twinkled-“neither of us has ever had any call to use it.”
“I suppose not,” Kate said absently.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Mary Helen offered. Obviously, in her present mood, the girl needed a straw to grasp. “First thing tomorrow morning, as soon as Eileen’s library opens, I’ll look it up and give you a call. If your mother-in-law attributes three children to having used it, someone must have heard of it.”
That settled, maybe now she could mention Erma.
But Mrs. Bassetti, her face flushed, reappeared in the doorway. “Come to the table. Quick! While it’s hot. Mangia! Mangia!” She wiped her hands on the corner of an oversized butcher apron, which must have been her son’s.
Jack’s leg of lamb was delicious and the gravy lumpless. The dinner conversation flowed from current events to life at the college. Mary Helen waited for the lull. She was just about to fill it when Mama Bassetti beat her to it. She regaled them with several charming stories about Jack as a youngster. Although he fidgeted in his chair, Jack seemed to take them good-naturedly enough.
The evening passed pleasantly and quickly, although several times Mary Helen found herself distracted. Erma Duran hung on the edge of her mind like a heavy weight. Something bothered her and, whatever it was, hovered just out of reach, evading her grasp. She felt like a person awakening after a vivid dream, aware of it yet unable to remember the details.
When the old-fashioned clock on the mantel struck ten, Mary Helen was shocked. High time they went home. Everyone should be starting to droop. Besides, their hosts had to go to work tomorrow. For that matter, so did Eileen and she. Mary Helen glanced around the table. Actually, the only one who looked droopy was Jack. But then, poor dear, he had been bending over a hot stove. With his mother “helping.”
About ten-thirty, they finally rose to go. Jack walked them to the car and Kate waved from the open doorway. Mrs. Bassetti was already in the kitchen, attacking the dishes no doubt, in case it was also Jack’s turn to clean up.
“Congratulations, old dear.” Eileen said as soon as Mary Helen turned on the ignition.
Great waves of fog billowed down Geary Boulevard, obscuring her vision. She hit the defrost and the windshield wipers simultaneously. “Congratulations for what?”
“For spending an entire evening with two police officers and not bringing up Erma Duran, not even once!”
“It’s not that I didn’t want to bring her up.” Mary Helen edged carefully away from the curb, watching for approaching headlights cutting through the swirling fog.
Eileen’s gray eyes opened wide. “Then why didn’t you?” she asked.
“Because I really could never find a way to fit it in.”
“Which in itself is a miracle of sorts,” both nuns said in unison.