Page 61 of Martha Calhoun

“Me, too.” I let the subject drop.

“What’s this all about, anyway?” Bunny asked. “What’s Mrs. O’Brien got to say that she hasn’t said before?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t talk to her.”

“There’s something wrong with that woman. She asked me questions about Grandmother and about your daddy that just made me sick. I’d be ashamed to pry into peo

ple’s lives like that.”

“That’s her job. That’s what she’s supposed to do.”

Bunny leaned across the sofa. “But she’s not supposed to enjoy it, that’s what I’m saying. She likes poking around. She’s not even humble about it.” She sat back. “Anyway, it’ll be a relief to get rid of her.”

“Have you talked to Mr. Beach lately?”

“Don’t worry. He owes me a lot of favors. He’ll come through.” She reached over and gave my cheek a soft chuck, the kind of pinch you’d give a baby. She took her hand away, and her face lit up. “Martha, God, with just a little color on those cheekbones you’d be the most beautiful girl in Katydid.” She reached over with both hands and pinched both cheeks, and I twisted to get away. “Oh, come on,” she said. “I’m serious. Those are classic cheekbones. I’d kill to have cheekbones like them.”

Mrs. O’Brien arrived at the same time as the tea. Before sitting down, she studied the tray of tiny toast sandwiches that Mrs. Vernon had set on the coffee table. Finally, she picked out a triangle smeared with cream cheese and sat down in Mr. Vernon’s chair. She carefully put the sandwich on a napkin on the arm of the chair, then sighed noisily and looked at Bunny and me. “We have a problem here,” she said.

Bunny and I glanced at each other. “Yeah?” said Bunny warily.

“I think you know what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah?” said Bunny again.

Mrs. O’Brien shifted in the chair. Her heavy, deliberate movements seemed to indicate that a great force was being brought into place. “Let’s not be coy with each other, Mrs. Calhoun.”

“I’m not being coy.”

“Your daughter appears before Judge Horner in three days.”

“I’m well aware.”

“I don’t think you are. I don’t think you’re even remotely aware.”

Bunny turned to me and shrugged, raising her hands, palms up. “What’s this?” she said.

“Sergeant Tony called me. He told me about the incident on Sunday. I didn’t believe him—I didn’t want to believe him, I should say—so I came down and read the police report myself.”

“Jesus,” said Bunny, staring at the floor.

“You disobeyed Judge Horner, you lied to me, you broke the law, and you ended up on a public road with a drunken, half-naked man in the backseat—the very man you’re not supposed to be seeing. And your daughter was right there with you.” Mrs. O’Brien uttered a false half laugh and turned to me, as if expecting to find some agreement. “It’s almost funny, or a kind of mockery. You seem to think this whole thing is a joke.”

Bunny stood up quickly. “I’ve had it,” she said. “I want another social worker.”

I reached for her hand to pull her down, but she brushed me away. “I mean it,” she said. “Why shouldn’t we have someone on our side?”

Mrs. O’Brien waited just long enough for Bunny to feel awkward, standing before us but not walking out. “You won’t get another social worker,” she said. “I’m your social worker. You can refuse to cooperate, but on Friday, I’ll be there in court, giving my report whether you like it or not.”

“Come on, Bunny, sit down,” I said. I got hold of her wrist this time and pulled her back onto the sofa.

“You’re beyond picking and choosing, Mrs. Calhoun,” the social worker said. “You’re way beyond that. The county is involved in your family now, and you can’t shut them out. The county is part of your family now, too.” Her tongue darted out and ran along her lips. Bunny was right—Mrs. O’Brien really did enjoy this. “When Judge Horner told you to clean up your affairs, he meant stop seeing Edward Boggs. And that’s not just advice you can choose to ignore. He’s a judge. He’s going to decide what to do with your daughter.” She moved forward in her chair, leaning toward us. “What’s so special about this Boggs fellow, anyway? I don’t know him, but he sounds bad to me, always drinking, drinking. He’s dangerous, don’t you see? I mean, half-naked in the backseat of your car!”

Bunny had curled up in a corner of the sofa. Her dress was pulled up, exposing a bruise the size of a quarter high up on the outside of her thigh. I reached over and pulled her dress down.

Mrs. O’Brien paused, and, on an impulse, I spoke up. “I can explain the thing with Eddie,” I said.

She looked puzzled. “The thing with Eddie?”

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