JUDY. Right here. In front of God and everyone. I’m so sorry—
LUCILLE. I was expecting something else. I thought there would be blood and yellow police tape and chalk lines where her body was. (Beat.) Where’s the FBI? Didn’t anyone collect the evidence? I thought it would be like Law and Order. (To Linda because she’s there:) I like that program.
JUDY. The sheriff was here for an hour. And the coroner.
LUCILLE. I’ve already been there. I took one look at her and said, “Well, she looks a little swollen, but that’s her. That’s my ungrateful granddaughter.”
JUDY. (Unsure how to react:) You must be torn apart right now.
LUCILLE. It’s a very sad situation, but let’s be honest. (A secret:) No one exactly liked her. I knew she’d fall into an early grave.
JUDY. Lucille, you’re upset right now. You don’t understand what you’re saying.
LUCILLE. You’re expecting me to cry? I’ve already been through this before. I’ve lost two husbands — one to cancer and one to Vietnam. My son has been arrested twice. My daughter left town with her head hung low and her bra tucked in her purse. I’ve known grief in my lifetime, Judy, but this ain’t it. Rosie chose her own path. The minute she got mixed up with that man, she was sealing her fate. Her mother at least did the right thing and left town before this place killed her. Rosie might’ve been my only grandchild, but she was never my pride and joy. She lived with me for free, ate my food, slept in my house, wore me out with her constant complaining. There was no love lost between us. She was a very angry girl. She hated the world.
JUDY. Well, if there’s anything I can do—
LUCILLE. Thank you, Judy. I appreciate that. I’ll be boxing up her things this weekend. Come by and pick them up. Give ‘em to the church if you want. I got no use for ‘em.
JUDY. The church will gladly accept your donation.
LUCILLE. Well, they should. They’ve been cashing my checks for thirty-two years.
JUDY. You give money to the church?
LUCILLE. I don’t have to spend time in that place to talk to God. I can do that at home without all of those eyes staring at me and those mouths whispering about me when I walk by. (Again, to Linda:) This whole town thinks I’m crazy.
JUDY. We didn’t know where you were. When the sheriff was here, he said they couldn’t find you.
LUCILLE. (Excited:) I was out in the fields. There was a sighting in Kearney two nights ago. It shouldn’t be long, Judy. They know I’m ready to go.
LINDA. Go where?
LUCILLE. You’re not from Grand Island, are you?
LINDA. No, ma’am. I’m from Harmonville.
LUCILLE. A place the pioneers should’ve destroyed.
JUDY. This is Linda. She’s—
LUCILLE. About eight months pregnant.
LINDA. Seven and a half.
LUCILLE. And either homeless or single or both. Your folks turn their backs on you?
JUDY. I don’t think Linda’s relations are of our concern.
LINDA. My boyfriend Alfred was mean to me. I left him at a gas station and I came here.
LUCILLE. You should have waited for another hundred miles. This place is better seen through a passing window.
JUDY. Then why have you stayed so many years?
LUCILLE. My house is paid for. Besides, this is alien country.
LINDA. (Terrified:) Alien?
LUCILLE. You ever see Close Encounters of the Third Kind?
LINDA. No, ma’am.
LUCILLE. What about ET?
LINDA. I don’t think so.
LUCILLE. I made Rosie watch ET about thirty times. She hated that movie. She said he looked like a pork roast. I didn’t really care for it much — it wasn’t very genuine. But the more she hated it, the more I wanted to watch it. You see, little Linda, I believe that life exists on other planets. I don’t mean places like Mars or Jupiter or Saturn. I’m talking about undiscovered territory. The wild west of the Milky Way. There’s another world out there — probably tens of thousands of them. A form of life with higher intelligence — intelligence we idiot humans couldn’t even begin to understand. A few years ago, I was planting marigolds around midnight — about two dozen seeds. I had insomnia and my rheumatism was in remission. I was wide awake and feeling spry. My hands were in the dirt and I heard a noise. It was like a soft whistle, a teakettle. So I looked up to the sky and I saw the most beautiful lights. They were shiny silver and purple and they glowed and the sky above my house lit up and I was blinded for a second, from the brightness and the beauty. And this sudden sense of calmness just crept over me like a warm bath. I can’t even describe it to you in words but I know what I saw. It took my breath away. I know it was not of this world. They were trying to communicate with me, making these gentle whistling sounds like a thousand lullabies. It was a symphony of sorts. Like the voices of angels. At first, I thought maybe I was dying and I was about to meet my maker. But I felt safe. I felt alive. So, I whistled back, just gently at first and then with more force. And the lights got brighter and the sounds got sweeter and it overwhelmed me. I blacked out and the next thing I remember is waking up with marigolds all around me, in full bloom.
JUDY. Do you think they’re really coming back for you, Lucille?
LUCILLE. People do come back, Judy. And before I tell you something, I want you to realize that this is our good bye. You and I have been friends for many years. I’ve watched you break your back for that father of yours while he filled his liver with bourbon and whiskey down at Clyde’s.
JUDY. (Defeated:) Southern Comfort.
LUCILLE. When you leave this place, make sure you tell others my story. It won’t be long before I’m gone, too.
JUDY. What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere.
LUCILLE. (Beat.) There’s a man outside. He’s waiting for you in the parking lot and he’s got five hundred miles of bad road in his eyes but forever in his smile. He asked me to come in and tell you that Tulsa is waitin’ for you.
JUDY. (She rushes to the main entrance and looks out to the parking lot.) He came back.
LUCILLE. In your heart, you knew he would.
JUDY. No. No, I doubted it.
LUCILLE. Go, Judy. Before you give it a second thought. Don’t stop by the house and get your things. Don’t tuck your father into bed. You walk out this door, get in that big rig and don’t ever look back.
JUDY. I want to go, Lucille. God forgive me, but I do.
LUCILLE. So did Rosie.
JUDY. (She goes to Linda.) I won’t leave you here.
LINDA. You don’t even know me.
JUDY. Yes, I do. And I would never forgive myself if I left you in Grand Island.
LINDA. I don’t want to be the death of anyone. I don’t want to hold you back.
JUDY. That will never happen to me again. (Beat.) Come on. Let’s get your things. It’ll be warmer in Oklahoma. I promise. I’ll buy you a new pair of shoes.
LINDA. (Beat.) I don’t know how to thank you.
JUDY. (Linda hugs Judy.) Remember what your Aunt Ruth said? We have to take care of each other, Linda. We really do. (They start towards the door. Judy stops, as she contemplates embracing Lucille.)
LUCILLE. Don’t say good bye to me, Judy. Just keep walking. (After a moment, Judy and Linda exit. Lucille sits down and takes out a hand held video game from her back pack.)
RICARDO. (He enters from the kitchen, with his duffle bag.) Lucille?