edge of the table.
“I didn’t say crazy,” Mrs. Place said softly. She tried to put her hand over Olivia’s, but was batted away. “I never said crazy. But she was . . .” She paused.
“Olivia, I know you were just a little thing, but surely you remember something
of how she was. All those days she refused to come out of her bedroom, kept the
curtains drawn.”
“So what if she felt poorly sometimes? She was just fine in the head. She
played the piano, and painted pictures, and wore the most beautiful dresses. She
was way prettier than you. Just because she was delicate and took cold easily, that’s no excuse for you –”
“No, you’re right, I’m sorry.” Mrs. Place stared at her plate. “I owe you an apology, Olivia. I don’t know what I was thinking, saying something like that to
you.”
“My mother was not crazy.” Olivia glared at Mrs. Place. Who does she think
she is? A slut like her, daring to say things like that about my mother, pretending
to be my friend. No wonder no one in town speaks to her. Why did I come here?
Why did I tell her anything?
“No, she warn’t crazy,” Mrs. Place said. “She was a lovely lady. Very special.
Very talented. But delicate, like you said.” She hurriedly finished her meal and
rose to put her dishes in the basin while Olivia sat in silence, her untouched plate
in front of her. “I have to get back to the bakery. I can see I’ve upset you. I suppose you feel like stomping out of here and I can’t blame you if that’s what
you want to do. You shouldn’t though. What with me prattling on like the old fool that I am, we haven’t discussed your situation at all. Don’t make it worse than it has to be, just cause you’re riled with me. We’ll talk it over after I close
up this afternoon. Don’t do something you might regret. And you got to eat.
Whatever’s coming, you need your strength to face it.”
After the door closed behind Mrs. Place, Olivia sat at the table for a long while. Then she shoveled the cold food into her mouth, rose to do the washing
up, and could think of nothing else to do. She returned to the rocking chair in the
parlor, her expression blank. Mrs. Place must know about her mother hanging
herself. Of course, he would have told her. That’s why she thought Nola June was crazy. Olivia did remember tiptoeing past her mother’s closed door. Mrs.
Hardaway leaving trays out in the hall that remained untouched. The
housekeeper and her father whispering in the kitchen. Now that she thought of it,
she could hardly remember a Sunday dinner with both her parents at the table.
Although she had no appetite, she went back to the kitchen and cut herself a
generous slab of the peach pie. She stood holding her plate over the basin while
she put one forkful after another into her mouth. Before she had swallowed the
last bite, she cut a second piece and took it to the parlor with her. She quickly ate
it and returned for a third. She felt sick to her stomach, but finished it all, even
the crust. Two hours later, when the back door opened, Olivia was once again in
the parlor, rocking in the chair.
“Good,” Mrs. Place said when she came into the room. “I’m awful glad
you’re still here.”
Olivia waited for Mrs. Place to settle into her chair before asking, “Is it true
about my mother, that she hung herself?”
“Why on earth would you be asking –”
