Chapter 15 #2
So far, it looked like it was gonna be a real hot day.
According to yesterday’s Oxford Eagle, Oxford hadn’t had rain in nearly three weeks, and now we were in an August heat wave this state hadn’t seen in years.
When Frances left for the Orphan and Mrs. Tartt had gone to bridge club, I put somebody’s straw hat on and gave the garden a good watering and weeding.
The coriander had gone to seed, the parsley had cooked, but the gourds and tomatoes might be all right if somebody cared for them.
The weather gauge, appropriately sponsored by the outfit O H Douglas at twenty-six, he still lived in his mother’s house.
I knew that caged feeling, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.
“So I think I deserve that dress after everything I’ve been through,” Frances said. Obnoxious, even by her standards.
I was about to go do some dishes that didn’t exist, to give this man one less set of eyes needling him, when he said, “You know … maybe you’re right.
” He sounded defeated. “Why don’t you all go shopping tomorrow, the three of you.
” The sun singed the edges of his white shirt. “I’ll drive you myself in the morning.”
I shook my head to show I was not part of this shopping idea.
“Can we really?” Frances said.
“Get yourself that new dress, Frances. In fact, buy whatever you want. Tell Mr. Lewis to put it on the account. Mother, if you’ll please wait, I’ll bring your dividend home Friday and I’ll pay Pic and Polly and be sure and tell them it won’t happen again. They’ll understand.”
She sighed but nodded. “Alright, son.”