A Farewell to Yarns

out of town. When she brought the box over she mentioned that she was going to see her son in Hawaii for the holidays and was leaving today.“
    “Terrific. They’ll really move at two dollars.“
    “Isn’t that a truck I hear?“ Fiona exclaimed.
     
    It took until noon to get the tables in and arranged. The women, including Suzie Williams, who had arrived just behind the rental company truck, then set about making a rough arrangement. Suzie favored logic and order. “Put all the pillows and quilts in one room, all the food stuff in another—“
    “I’m not sure,“ Shelley said. “If a person on a diet sees a room full of food, she might just give it all a miss. Same with people who don’t like ‘loving hands from home’ art. You want to take them by surprise.“
    “That makes sense. Trick them into buying shit they don’t want,“ Suzie gave in cheerfully. “Let’s take a break,“ Fiona suggested. Jane had the feeling that Suzie’s raw language of- fended their hostess, though Fiona was always gracious to her. “I fixed some chicken salad and fresh banana bread this morning.”
    They settled in around the big kitchen table. “Where’s your husband today? Hiding from us?“ Suzie asked. She’d long been fascinated by the idea of a husband who did his work—whatever work, if any, he did—at home.
    “Upstairs. He’s got a miserable headache,“ Fiona replied. She set out everyday plates that Jane would have kept in a safe deposit box if they’d been hers. “When he was a boy, he had a bad fall from a tree and got a skull fracture. It all healed perfectly well, but he still gets these occasional headaches that devastate him. The doctors seem to think there’s a connection, but there’s nothing to do about it.”
    Suzie nodded knowingly. “I broke my ankle when I was ten, and it still hurts sometimes. Oh, music—how nice.”
    They all fell silent. There was music playing somewhere, and as they listened, it became recognizable.
    Richie Divine’s “Red Christmas.”
    Jane glanced at Fiona, who had become quite pale and was looking toward the glass patio doors leading to the backyard.
    “Where’s it coming from?“ Suzie asked, as yet blissfully unaware of the tension in the room.
    Shelley rose and went to the doors. As she opened one, a blast of cold air and a blast of music came in together. “It’s coming from outside,“ she said softly.
    Fiona rose slowly and joined her at the door. Jane and Suzie followed her. As she listened, Jane knew exactly where it was coming from—the deck of the house next door. Phyllis’s house. Now Bobby’s. That elaborate sound system was rigged so the speakers could sit on the deck outside the master bedroom.
    But why annoy the Howards?
    Suddenly Albert Howard appeared in the kitchen doorway behind the four women. “What the hell is that noise?“ he asked.
     

Eighteen
     
    Albert disappeared and Fiona, white faced, ran after him. Try as they might, Shelley, Jane, and Suzie could hear nothing of what they were saying to each other.
    “Is that the little fart next door playing the music? The one whose mother was a friend of yours?“ Suzie asked Jane, when Albert and Fiona had moved out of earshot.
    “I’m afraid so, but I don’t get it. Why is he trying to irritate the whole neighborhood, and why—of all things—a Richie Divine record?“
    “Why not?“ Suzie asked, then said, “Oh, yeah. I forgot Fiona was married to him, wasn’t she? Or is that just a typical neighborhood rumor?“
    “No, it’s true,“ Jane said. “That room through there is full of his stuff. Pictures, gold records.“
    “The one Fiona didn’t want us to use? Oh, well, it’s probably just coincidence that the kid is playing that record. I heard it on the car radio on the way over. It’s played a lot this time of year.“
    “Still, what’s the point, aside from making sure nobody misses the fact that he’s a nasty little bastard?“ Shelley asked, closing the door and shooing them back to the kitchen table. “Let’s eat lunch and act like we don’t hear it. For Fiona’s sake.“
    “I always enjoy it when I can eat for someone else’s sake,“ Suzie said, serving herself a large dollop of chicken salad. “The calories don’t count that way. Just like they don’t count if you eat them before seven in the morning or on a holiday—national or religious. I’m not sure about state holidays.“
    “I wish my thighs observed those rules,“ Jane said,