Circle of Three Read Online Free PDF Page B

resist that reckless gleam in Jess’s eye. “I don’t know what he’d pay you. People say he’s got money, but nobody knows for—”
    “Jess,” I said in warning.
    The back door flew open and Ruth burst in, red-cheeked from the cold. Everything curves up when she smiles, mouth, eyes, cheeks, eyebrows. Oh, light of my life, apple ofmy eye. Love for my daughter swamps me at unexpected moments. I flounder in it, flailing for what I can’t hold on to much longer. “Hey, Jess,” she cried, “I saw your truck! Hi!”
    “Ruth—I can’t believe it. You grew .”
    Laughing, they stood in front of each other for an awkward few seconds, before finally exchanging a quick, shy hug. Their gladness surprised me—I wasn’t sure what I thought of it. Half a dozen times since Stephen died, Ruth had asked me to drive out with her to see Jess, see the cows, his dogs and cats, all the fascinating features of a dairy farm. But I put her off because I was too tired, too weird, too something. I wasn’t ready. She’d missed him, it was obvious, and that was my fault. Well, something else to be guilty of.
    If Ruth was surprised to see Jess, my mother was floored. She did a double take in her ladies’ luncheon finery, fur jacket over a navy wool suit, fur hat, medium-heeled pumps, navy handbag. Oh, Lord, and here came Birdie behind her, Mama’s lifelong bridge partner and oldest friend; she’d been a sort of half-dotty aunt to me for as long as I could remember. All of a sudden the kitchen was teeming with women.
    “Mama, you remember Jess Deeping,” I said in a hostessy voice, thinking, If she pretends she doesn’t know him, I’ll kill her . But she said, “Why, of course I do,” in her best southern accent, “you came to my son-in-law’s funeral, I so appreciated that.” Such an accomplished liar. Before Stephen’s funeral, Mama had been delighted not to lay eyes on Jess Deeping for twenty-five years.
    “And Birdie,” I said, “Jess, this is Mrs. Costello, my mother’s good friend.” They said hello, how are you, nice to see you. And then, because the silence was expectant and I was jittery and everybody was staring at me, I blurted out the worst possible thing. “Jess came over to offer me a job.”
    “A job?” Birdie’s faded blue eyes snapped with interest. She rubbed her hands together.
    “Wow! What job?” Ruth demanded, crowding in.
    My mother said nothing. She stared.
    Jess looked hounded, disbelieving. The glance he sentme— Carrie, what the hell? —should’ve cowed me, but it didn’t. For some reason it warmed me up. Us against them: just like old times. He closed his eyes for a second. And then with a pained, hopeless smile, he told everybody about Noah’s Ark.

4
Good Help
    I’ LL BE SEVENTY years old in the spring. I’ve been sixty-nine for nine months, and hardly enjoyed a minute of it. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a car speeding toward a boulder in the road somebody’s chiseled into a giant 7–0. The scenery might be nice, but all I can see is those numbers, high and hard and coming up fast. I’ve got a one-track mind.
    I must be bad off when George notices. “Dana,” he said to me the other night, “is anything bothering you?” Well, that got my attention. That was like a blind man saying, “Did somebody turn the lights on?” I tried to remember what I’d just been doing that could’ve focused George’s attention on me instead of his computer screen. Nothing—telling him to move his big feet so I could vacuum under his desk; fighting on the telephone with Birdie, who doesn’t think I should run for president of the Clayborne Women’s Club; slamming things around in the kitchen for the hell of it, just to make some noise. Calling Carrie twice in an hour with good advice. It must’ve been the accumulation, all four added up, because by themselves those aren’t very remarkable. But imagine George noticing. As I say, it pulled me up.
    He was sitting at his desk, working on