Coming Home to Greenleigh

Chapter 5

Angela Stewart was peering down from one of Mrs. Miller's upstairs bedroom windows, her face pale and strained with anxiety. "Mrs. Stewart?" Elisabeth said in amazement. Angela waved at her through the billowing folds of crisp white curtains, leaning precariously forward.

"I would like to talk to you," she said in a stage whisper. Elisabeth cupped her hand around her ear, indicating that she could barely hear her. Angela tried again.

"Alone," she mouthed exaggeratedly. "Talk to you alone."

"Oh, right," Elisabeth said, nodding. She suspected that Angela Stewart was a bit overwhelmed by Mrs. Miller's generosity and probably could use a bit of time to reflect without being pressed at every opportunity to file for divorce. She called up softly, "Can you come down?"

Angela nodded vigorously. "Side door," she mouthed. "Five minutes."

Elisabeth knew that if she hung around too long in front of Mrs. Miller's either one of the neighbors or Mrs. Miller herself would eventually emerge and ask her what she was doing there.

"How about coffee? Pierre's? I'll go ahead?" She pointed significantly at Mrs. Miller's front door and the surrounding houses. Angela nodded and ducked behind the white curtains again.

Pierre's was the little coffee shop and breakfast nook opened by a French Canadian couple decades ago. It had long since been bought out by a young woman with a tattoo, but it would always be Pierre's to the denizens of Greenleigh. It had the best coffee--apparently Ms. Tattoo had bought the coffee secrets from the previous owners as well--and lots of newspapers so that one could go in for a coffee and stay all afternoon for the price of a cup. It was a ten minute walk from Mrs. Miller's, and it was always busy. Elisabeth ordered coffee in a paper cup, and stood about browsing through the comics until Mrs. Stewart arrived.

Elisabeth recalled again how pretty she was. Today she had taken less care in her appearance, and was wearing a faded yellow blouse and a denim skirt, but she had truly perfect white skin and lovely shiny dark hair. She was breathing hard, as if she had run all the way.

"Oh, I'm so glad I caught you!" she exclaimed.

"So am I," Elisabeth said. "May I get you some coffee?"

"Oh, let me do that," Mrs. Stewart said, heading toward the ancient push-button cash register in the corner where Ms. Tattoo sat reading Dostoevsky. She said over her shoulder, "Let me get you a refill."

"Thank you." Elisabeth stood quietly while Angela snapped plastic lids on the cups. She handed one to Elisabeth.

"Do you mind if we talk while we walk? I don't want to be overheard." She blushed.

"Of course," Elisabeth said, pushing the door open and gesturing for Angela to precede her. They strolled slowly down the street, narrowly avoiding the path of a skateboarder who skipped nimbly off the sidewalk just in time to avoid them. The teenager called out an apology and waved.

"Do you remember how popular skateboards were back in the seventies?" Angela was sipping slowly, savoring the coffee.

"I do," Elisabeth said. She was used to starting out her meetings with aimless chitchat. People needed to warm up a bit before they could talk about something upsetting. Yankees in particular have this way of sussing you out, she thought. They put you through the ropes, find out if they like your style, and then they might confide in you--or they might part with you amiably and never see you again. "I do remember that. I never had one, but I knew kids who did. I was a roller skater myself."