The Lace Reader. Brunonia Barry
looks at me curiously. I’m watching his eyes, waiting for signs of recognition. He shows nothing. “Excuse me?” he says slowly, deliberately.
I’m staring at him now, trying to read his thoughts. His mind is either intentionally blank or unreadable. His eyes are steady. He might be telling the truth, or he might be just a hell of a good cop. I can’t decide which.
Irene comes back into the room then, fluffing her skirts down as she goes. “What’d I miss?”
“Tell her about the statue,” Jay-Jay says to Beezer. “Hey, Reenie, you gotta hear this one.”
“I was telling Anya about the time Cal tried to get the statue of Roger Conant removed,” Beezer explains.
Irene smiles, remembering.
“Because it looks like a witch?” Anya asks.
“Because it looks like it’s masturbating,” says Irene.
“What?” Anya says, peering out the window at the statue of Salem’s founding father, which is right across the square. “Oh, please, it does not.”
“Swear to God.” Jay-Jay crosses his heart.
Irene goes to the window and tries to point it out to Anya, who’s squinting into the gathering darkness, trying to make herself see it.
“Where?” Anya says.
“Right there. The way he’s holding his staff.”
“More like his rod,” Jay-Jay says, and even Irene thinks he’s gone too far.
“I’ve gotta get back to work,” Rafferty says then. I start to get up to walk him to the door. “You want me to take him with me?” He gestures to Jay-Jay.
“He’s okay,” I say.
Rafferty shrugs.
“Thank you for coming,” I say.
“We’ll see each other again.”
“Yes,” I say.
I walk him to the door, watch as he walks down the steps to the black unmarked car. He sits there for a minute, then starts the engine and does an illegal U-turn on the square, barely missing a parked car.
Ann Chase is cleaning up, gathering dishes off the tables, taking them to the kitchen. I follow her.
“See? There? It really does look like he’s jerking off.”
“Does not,” Anya says, but she’s laughing now, a hearty Norwegian sort of laugh.
“Does too,” Lyndley’s voice says in my mind, flashing a random memory. It was the summer before Lyndley died that she discovered the statue of Roger Conant. I don’t mean she literally discovered it—we’d been looking at that statue all our lives. But that summer when she looked at it, she saw something completely different. She was laughing so hard she almost couldn’t tell us what she was laughing at. She stood on the curb directing us, making us walk around and around the statue, looking at it from all angles until we saw what she had seen. It was Beezer who saw it first, and his face turned bright red. He was so embarrassed he actually went back inside the house, although I’m sure he wouldn’t remember that now. It took me a lot longer. By the time I saw it, cars were stopped, tooting their horns at me, and Lyndley was laughing, yelling back at the cars, telling them not to “get their panties in a wad,” a southern expression she’d picked up over the winter and one she used for everything. Finally a driver laid on the horn; and Lyndley gave him the finger. It was then that I caught the right angle on old Roger Conant, and I just started laughing hysterically. I don’t know if it was the expression on the driver’s face or on Lyndley’s or the sight of our distinguished founding father all robed and holding a staff that from the back right angle looked like an erect penis. I don’t know which thing set me off, but I didn’t stop laughing until Eva came and got me off the sidewalk and made me come back to the house. She didn’t ask me what I was laughing at. I had the impression that she didn’t want to know.
“I’m not seeing it,” Anya says.
“You can’t see it so well from here,” Beezer says to Anya. “It’s better from outside.” Then he tells her the story about how Eva single-handedly saved that statue and how it pissed Cal off royally but made Eva a town heroine from that moment on.
I grab some more dishes and follow Ann Chase to the kitchen. She is standing at the sink, carefully peeling off a piece of lace that has gotten itself stuck to the bottom of a saucer.
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