A Farewell to Yarns

him out of his hair, Jane thought. Surely even Phyllis couldn’t fail to see the truth in this. And yet, it was amazing what people could fail to see if they put their minds in it, she realized with a sick feeling. She herself had managed to be completely blind to her own husband having an affair right under her nose. When Steve had announced that he was leaving her, it had been a hideous shock. She’d never suspected, and even if someone had tried to tip her off in advance, she probably would have refused to believe it. Just like Phyllis was working so hard at not understanding the trouble.
    Should she try to make Phyllis see? There were so few really good marriages in the world, and it was a terrible pity to see one sacrificed on an altar as unworthy as Bobby Bryant.
    “Phyllis, let me ask you something—what if you had to choose between Bobby and Chet?“
    “Jane! What a terrible thing to think of. Why would I have to choose?“
    “I don’t know, but suppose you did.“
    “Why, I’d stay with Bobby, of course. As much as I love Chet, Bobby needs me more. A man can have many wives, but a boy only has one mother. You know that. You wouldn’t abandon your children for anybody.“
    “But my children are young. Bobby’s an adult, and he’s managed without you all these years,“ Jane said, knowing she might as well try to reason with a geranium.
    “He’s still my baby. My only baby—“ Phyllis said, making another dash for the bathroom.
    I can’t do her any good, Jane thought with a sense of sadness so profound it brought tears to her eyes.
     

Seven
     
    The phone rang, cutting the conversation short. Jane picked it up with relief. Even somebody trying to sell her bronzed baby shoes would be a welcome break. But it wasn’t a salesman, it was Fiona Howard.
    “Jane, I hate to disturb you, but I have a bit of a problem. I didn’t realize that Albert had scheduled the exterminators to come this afternoon, and I’m worried about any food that might be in some of these bazaar boxes. I know about the gingerbread men and the hard candies, but several people have dropped things off since you were by here this morning, and some of the cartons appear to have different things in them. I’m afraid there could be something in the bottom of one that we might be poisoning. I know Shelley isn’t available to help, but I want to have all the food items safely out of the house before they start spraying—“
    “I’ll run over and see if I can figure out what’s what,“ Jane offered. Phyllis had come out of the bathroom again and seemed to have a grip on herself. She was puttering around, cleaning off the kitchen table.
    “I hate asking you when you have company,“ Fiona was saying. “I tried to ring Shelley first, just in case she’d changed her plans, but there’s no answer at her house. Do bring your friend along, and I’ll make us a lovely tea. No, I guess I can’t even do that with the bug people here.“
    “We’d love to come, tea or not. We could all go out for Cokes at McDonald’s.”
    She hung up and told Phyllis. “I’ve got to run over to a neighbor’s house to take care of a crisis with the church craft bazaar. You don’t need to come along if you’d rather rest, but I’d be glad to have you. We can talk more about this later,“ she added, knowing there was little else she could say.
    “Jane, we don’t need to talk about me anymore. I just felt I owed it to you to explain. You have problems enough, I’m sure, without mine. I’d love to help if I can,“ she said. The way her face lit up, it was obvious that she was sincere. As she mopped her eyes a final time, she said, “Chet’s so sweet and generous, and I don’t ever mean to sound ungrateful, but if there’s anything I’ve missed all these years, it’s that sort of thing—church bazaars, other women who like crafts and things. Of course, a lot of real artists used to come to the island, but they weren’t interested in things like Christmas ornaments and knitting and Easter egg decorations.”
    Jane had sudden vision of Phyllis fluttering around a modern-day Picasso, trying to interest him in styrofoam wreaths.
    “I read about this wonderful thing you do with Easter eggs that makes them look batiked. I’m dying to try it,“ Phyllis went on.
    “I think Fiona does that. You can ask her about it.“
    “This Fiona isn’t Fiona Howard, is she?”
    “Why, yes. Do you know her?“
    “No, but we know some people who