A Farewell to Yarns

“Mr. Whitman, please, George? Phyllis Wagner here. Yes, lovely trip. George? I’ve found the most adorable house I want to buy. Would you contact this man—“ She gave the information and waited impatiently while he wrote it down.
    “Now, it’s vacant, and I’d like to get in immediately. Tonight? Why not? What’s a closing? Oh, I see. Then ask him if I can just rent it until then. And George, it’s quite empty now. Could you please send a decorator over this afternoon with a few things—beds, linens, kitchen things, towels, you know—so I can move in tonight? Yes, I know you will, George.”
    Jane listened to this with fascination. Could you just buy a house and move in six hours later without even knowing what a closing was? She’d never heard of such a thing. And she heard it now with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was wonderful to think she might not have to harbor Bobby under her roof for a single night. Too good to be true. On the other hand, it installed Bobby and Phyllis in her own neighborhood on a more or less permanent basis. Besides her own concerns with this possibility, she hated to do that to Fiona. She was a nice lady who didn’t really deserve to get stuck with Bobby as a next-door neighbor.
    But Fiona had started it by mentioning the vacant house, Jane told herself. It was really her own fault, and who could tell—maybe they’d all get along great. She glanced at the Howards. Fiona was looking gracious and English and seemed to be drifting gently from slight worry to puzzlement and back. Albert, however, was gazing out at the frozen garden, stirring his tea and humming to himself. Phyllis, temporarily restored to her usual cheerfulness, had the phone receiver pressed to her ear and was gabbing away at her Mr. Whitman about the house.
    Jane mentally shrugged. Whatever happens, it won’t have anything to do with me, she thought.
    She was seriously mistaken.
     

Nine
     
    On the drive back home, Jane mentally prepared herself for the ordeal of helping Phyllis get her new home ready. To her astonishment, Phyllis didn’t seem inclined to do anything nor, as it turned out, did she need to. During the afternoon there were two calls from a man who politely introduced himself as Mr. Whitman of Wagner Enterprises asking for Mrs. Wagner. The first time, Jane slipped out of the room to throw in a load of wash. The conversation was over when she came back up, and Phyllis made no reference to it. The second time, Phyllis took down a couple of phone numbers, thanked Mr. Whitman, said yes, she usually did prefer yellow to blue, then hung up.
    Jane had the uneasy sense that someplace people were having nervous breakdowns and tearing their hair out in a desperate effort to please Phyllis, who was blissfully working on knitting a crimson sweater for Bobby.
    “I heard once that Queen Victoria could sit down anytime she wanted without looking back to see if there was a chair behind her,” Jane said as she dragged out her own afghan to attack.
    “How odd. Didn’t she ever fall down on the floor?“
    “No. That’s the point. There were people around her whose job it was to anticipate her every wish and be ready for it.“
    “What a strange way that would be to live,“ Phyllis said. “Whatever made you think of it?”
    Jane stared at her for a moment, wondering madly whether she could possibly fail to see the parallel. Apparently she could, and did. “I don’t know. It just ran through my mind. Phyllis, do you really think you’re doing the right thing to buy that house without even considering it or talking it over with Chet?“
    “Oh, but I have considered it, Jane. You see, I don’t believe it’s over between Chet and me, but I might be wrong. I came here meaning to stay as long as necessary. Her chin was trembling again, but she plowed on. “And if I’m right and he wants me back, having my own home will show him that I’m coming back out of choice, not because I don’t have anywhere to go or know how to take care of myself. If we can reconcile, it will be better if I have this house. And if we can’t—or it takes a while for him to come to his senses, I’ll have a home.”
    In a weird way, she was making sense. Except that her self-reliance so far had consisted of calling an employee of Chet’s and asking him to make all her arrangements. “But Phyllis, why here?“
    “Because Chicago is where I feel at home.”
    “Don’t you like living on the island?“ Phyllis put