“I think he’s out on the patio.”
Tessie went to the bedroom window as Regina left the room to look in on the spaghetti-broccoli au gratin.
“Rory! Rory!” Tessie called through the window screen. “Can you come over here?”
Tessie stole back to the bed to set her violet print blouse against the cotton jumper. “I don’t like this,” she said to herself. “It doesn’t look insouciant. I want to look insouciant. Like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. Where is that sundress with the bib halter front?”
“Are you talking to me?” asked Rory. He was now standing just outside the bedroom window, holding his grill brush.
“This won’t do,” said Tessie, taking up the jumper and blouse. “I’m going to wear my salmon floral print sundress. Any of our guests who think I look too casual will just have to keep it to themselves.”
“What did you want, Tessie? I have to finish scraping the grill.”
“You should have done that already. I want you to promise me you’ll keep the TV off. It will absolutely ruin the party if everybody goes into the den and starts watching the hearings.”
“The Army — McCarthy hearings aren’t held on Saturdays, Tessie. Weekends is when the whole country gets a break from the ravings of the ‘Distinguished Senator from Wisconsin.’”
“Well, I don’t want you even talking about those awful hearings. I want this party to be a success. I don’t need rancorous political debates over my broiled fish with celery sauce or your vermouth-basted sirloin steaks.”
“Translated, Tessie: you don’t want me to do anything that will bring even a moment’s discomfort to our new neighbors. I know how important membership in the River Oaks Country Club is for you. I know how much you’ve been aching for a recommendation, regardless of the fact that your husband — your husband, the butcher—has absolutely no interest in hobnobbing with the Hobbys and the Hoggs.”
“You have no interest in doing anything,” said Tessie with a frown.
Rory didn’t reply right away. Then he said, “I’m in the bowling league.”
Another silence.
“I have to finish cleaning the grill. Then I need to go pick up your Aunt Irma.”
“Why? I didn’t invite Aunt Irma.”
“I did.”
“Without asking me?”
“She’s your only aunt, Tessie — your only living relative, not counting Regina and me.”
“You know she doesn’t mix well with our friends. And Dr. Crowley and his wife are an unknown commodity. What if she’s in one of her moods?”
“What if Vivian Crowley is in a mood, for that matter? What if your new patio furniture catches fire from one of Maddie Jorgenson’s foot-long Fatimas? What if Russia drops a bomb on our house right in the middle of the angel cake and plum ice cream?”
Tessie turned away from the window. “I can’t talk to you anymore. You go out of your way to make my life a daily trial.”
Rory finished brushing and scraping the backyard grill and then drove across town to pick up his wife’s aunt Irma.
Irma Chambers was in her early sixties. She had never married and lived alone in the small house she’d inherited from her mother. Irma had once been a schoolteacher but had to retire after a couple of years because of her nerves.
Rory had seen her only three days before, when she came into the Piggly Wiggly supermarket where he was employed as head butcher. He had caught her out of the corner of his eye in the pet aisle, holding a can of Ken-L-Ration dog food.
Aunt Irma didn’t have a dog.
“Howdy, Irma. How are you?”
Irma quickly returned the can to the shelf. “I’m doing well. It was a lovely morning so I thought I’d do my marketing.”
“How’s that old Chevy Clipper of yours getting on? Time to put her out of her misery?”
Irma shrugged, then shook her head. Her skin was pale; the over-application of rouge to her cheeks gave her a slightly clown-like appearance. She wore a scarf over her hair, which looked upon the margins as if it hadn’t been washed in a while. This was a woman who didn’t expect to be bumping into her nephew-in-law, or anyone else she might know, for that matter.
“Is she still running?”
“No. I think the battery’s dead.”
“I should come take a look at her. How’d you get over here?”
“I walked. It isn’t far, you know.”
Rory glanced at the cans of Ken-L-Ration dog food lined up on the shelf. Then he nodded in the direction of the meat department. “We just got in some really fresh ground chuck.”
“Did you think I was going to eat that?” asked Irma, pointing with a slightly quivering finger at the dog food cans.
“They eat horse in Europe,” said Rory matter-of-factly.
Irma didn’t respond. Rory looked down at her grocery cart. It held a small carton of milk and some over-ripe bananas that he was certain Irma had gotten from the “reduced” produce bin. “Let me get you some of that chuck. It’s on sale. In fact, we got a new thing here at ‘Mr. Pig.’ Ground chuck is free to family members of employees every other Wednesday.”
“Thank you, Rory, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that.”
“Then at least come to our house on Saturday. We’re having some friends and neighbors over. I’m grilling some prime-cut T-bones and sirloins, and Tessie’s making something with broccoli and cheese she got out of McCall’s.”
Irma’s response was another shrug. She seemed tired. What she seemed even more, though, was weak.
Weak with hunger.
“No ifs, ands, or buts, Irma. I’m picking you up at one.” Then, with a sly wink: “And you’re taking that ground chuck.”
It was one o’clock. It took a full two minutes for Irma to come to the door. She was still in her robe. The robe looked old and unwashed. Irma herself looked as if she hadn’t had a bath in weeks.
“Is everything all right?” asked Rory. Irma didn’t invite him in. In fact, she seemed to be blocking the door in case he had a mind to come in on his own. “Are you sick?”
Irma nodded. “I’m not feeling well.” Irma’s face seemed even paler than it had on Wednesday at the Piggy Wiggly. And there was a skeletal angularity to it. Formerly the face had appeared rounded, even doughy.
“Is there something I can pick up for you at the drugstore?”
“No. I’ll be all right. I just have to rest. Tell Tessie that I’m sorry I can’t come to your barbecue. Maybe next time.”
At just that moment Irma’s knees began to buckle. Rory caught her as she collapsed. He carried her into the house and laid her down on the sofa in the living room. The room was tidy, but everything within it seemed tattered and faded, as if it contained nothing that had been purchased in the last thirty years. At first glance it appeared to be the room of someone who was not only poor but had given up on trying to be anything else. Although they had Irma over to their house two or three times a year, it had been quite some time since either Rory or Tessie had visited her—years, even, since they had seen what had become of Tessie’s grandmother’s old house.
“Do you have someone who can come and stay with you?” asked Rory. He had pulled up a chair and sat down next to her as she lay slightly jackknifed upon the threadbare sofa.
“Oh, I don’t—” Irma shook her head.
“Then you’re coming with me. We’ll put you in our guest room until we can figure all this out.”
Irma shook her head again. “I don’t want to leave my home.”
“You can’t stay here, Irma.” Rory started to get up. “I’m gonna go look in your refrigerator and cupboards.”