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going to do, chase you down the driveway and beat you up?”
She laughed, a harsh rainbird caw that was strangely charming. And took the coat.
“Regards to Rosette,” I said. “Tell her I’ll see her in her dreams.”
She stopped smiling. “I hope not, mister. That one she had about you was a nightmare. Bout
screamed the house down, she did. Woke me out of a dead sleep at two in the morning. She said the
man who cotched her ball had a monster in the backseat of his car, and she was afraid it would eat her
up. Scared the life out of me, she did, screamin like that.”
“Did the monster have a name?” Of course it did.
“She said it was a jimla. Prob’ly meant a jinny, like in those stories about Aladdin and the Seven
Veils. Anyway, I gotta go. You take care of yourself.”
“You too, Ivy. Merry Christmas.”
She cawed her rainbird laugh again. “Almost forgot about that. You have one, too. Don’t forget to
give your girl a present.”
She trotted to her old car with my coat—her coat, now—thrown over her shoulders. I never saw her
again.
17
The rain only froze on the bridges, and I knew from my other life—the one in New England—to be
careful on those, but it was still a long drive back to Jodie. I had no more than put the water on for a
cup of tea when the phone rang. This time it was Sadie.
“I’ve been trying to get you since suppertime to ask you about Coach Borman’s Christmas Eve bash.
It starts at three. I’ll go if you want to take me, because then we can get away early. Say we’ve got
dinner reservations at The Saddle, or something. I need to RSVP, though.”
I saw my own invitation lying next to my typewriter, and felt a little twinge of guilt. It had been
there for three days, and I hadn’t even opened it.
“Do you want to go?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t mind making an appearance.” There was a pause. “Where have you been all this time?”
“Fort Worth.” I almost added, Christmas shopping. But I didn’t. The only thing I’d bought in Fort
Worth was some information. And a housekey.
“Were you shopping?”
Again I had to fight not to lie. “I . . . Sadie, I really can’t say.”
There was a long, long pause. I found myself wishing I smoked. Probably I had developed a contact
addiction. God knew I was smoking by proxy all day, every day. The teachers’ room was a constant
blue haze.
“Is it a woman, George? Another woman? Or am I being nosy?”
Well, there was Ivy, but that wasn’t the kind of woman she was talking about.
“In the woman department, there’s only you.”
Another of those long, long pauses. In the world, Sadie could move carelessly; in her head, she
never did. At last she said, “You know a lot about me, things I never thought I could tell anyone, but
I know almost nothing about you. I guess I just realized that. Sadie can be stupid, George, can’t she?”
“You’re not stupid. And one thing you do know is that I love you.”
“Yes . . .” She sounded doubtful. I remembered the bad dream I’d had that night at the Candlewood
Bungalows, and the caution I’d seen in her face when I told her I didn’t remember it. Was that same
look on her face now? Or perhaps an expression a little deeper than mere caution?