CHAPTER 49

DAY 3 TRENTON

Tuesday evening

Grandma came out of the house as soon as I pulled into the driveway. I waved at my mom in the doorway, and it looked like she was trying to say something to me. Before I could roll my window down, Grandma jumped in the passenger side and slammed the door. "Drive," she yelled.

I did as I was told. I didn't need a last-minute reminder from my mother not to let Grandma cause trouble. I knew what was on the line, and I wasn't going to lose out on dessert for a month because of a wily old woman. "What's the hurry?" I asked as I backed out of the driveway and motored down the street.

"I'm sick of your mother micromanaging my life. I changed her stinky diapers, and now she thinks she's the boss of me and can tell me what to do. Pfft. I put up with that from your grandfather for years. Now I'm free, and I ain't going back. Oh, turn here. We need to pick up Aggie."

Now, I understood why my mother looked so bothered. Together, Aggie and Grandma were a handful. "Sure, but you have to promise no shenanigans with the casket or causing a scene. I intend to eat pineapple upside-down cake, and you're not going to mess that up for me."

"Your mother isn't the only one who can bake, you know."

"Regardless, no trouble, okay?"

"Fine." She stuck her tongue out at me and blew a raspberry. "You're no fun anymore."

Aggie was waiting on the porch when I pulled up in front of her house. "Hello, Stephanie," she said as she wiggled her petite arthritic frame into my Jeep. "Did you have a nice vacation?"

"She wasn't on no vacation," Grandma said. "Stephanie was getting trained in that martial arts stuff. She's gonna teach me how to do it, and I'll show you and the other girls what I learn."

"Really?" Aggie sounded far too interested. And for the record, I did not tell my grandmother I'd teach her self-defense. She was dangerous enough. She was practically a nuclear weapon as it was. And nobody had the abort code.

"Nope. Not teaching anyone martial arts. Mom would disown me."

"She doesn't have to know," Grandma said. "Helen would be much happier if she'd mind her own business."

Ignoring her, I turned to the backseat and smiled. "How've you been, Mrs. McLeary?" Seeing her reminded me of her grandson, Ian, my first real love and the boy who broke my heart. I had a huge crush on him in fifth grade. He asked me to the Valentine's Day dance, then right after, his family moved to California. I didn't hear from him again until the summer before my senior year of high school. I came close to asking her about him, but something always stopped me.

"Peachy, honey, just peachy." That was one thing I liked about Aggie and my grandma. Neither of them complained about their ailments like most old people. Their policy was to ignore them and act like they were twenty years younger. It worked for them. I waited until a couple kids on bikes went by before I pulled out onto the street. Mrs. McLeary sighed. "I remember my Ian and the rest of you kids riding your bikes around the neighborhood. I miss that boy."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Grandma asked.

"It's been a couple years now, I guess. I usually fly out to California once a year but last year, I had the vertigo, you know. The doctor wouldn't let me fly."

Grandma nodded.

As far as I know, no one but Mary Lou and Lenny knew that Ian and I had gotten close that summer in high school at the shore. He had a grand plan to go back to California and ask his parents if he could live in Trenton with his grandma to finish high school. I never saw him again. Not knowing why he didn't contact me to at least let me know why he wasn't coming back had always bothered me, but it was probably best to leave the past in the past. Shaking the memories away, I parked at the funeral home and helped Grandma and Aggie out of the Jeep.

I gave Grandma a pointed look. "You promised to behave, remember?"

"Yeah. Yeah." She waved her hand in the air and took off for the side door to avoid the line. It was also a straight shot to the cookie trays.

I wandered around at a distance but kept a watch on Grandma. As I walked by slumber room No. 2, I saw a familiar poof of red hair in the front row. Joyce Barnhardt was alone in the room, staring at a mahogany casket. We had a lot of history. None of it good. She was the kid who tortured me throughout my childhood. She threw my crayons in the toilet, spilled water in my seat and told everyone I peed my pants, spit in my lunch, told everyone I didn't wear underwear, and that I had a third nipple like Chandler from Friends.

It only got worse in high school. Joyce took pictures of me in the locker room and made flyers for our classmates. She spread lies and ruined more than one friendship. The only good thing she ever did for me was to screw my husband, Dickie. That marriage had been a mistake, and she gave me the perfect reason to get out of it. I just wished it hadn't stung my pride in the process.

As an adult, Joyce was quick to insult me and considered us in some kind of rivalry. We've stunned each other so many times I'm surprised we have functioning brain cells. When I mentioned her to Finn, I called her my archenemy. But right now, she looked lost, and I couldn't leave her like that.

Mom and Grandma had told me Joyce's mother died a few days ago. As long as I can remember, the Barnhardts lived on Liberty Street. Joyce's mom had been a retired schoolteacher, and her father had been a retired HVAC installer. They were sort of odd and didn't socialize much. I couldn't let Joyce grieve all alone. I came halfway into the room and spoke only loud enough for her to hear. "I'm sorry to hear about your mother."

Joyce turned in her seat. She had the same teased red hair, long painted nails, and revealing clothes, but there was something different about her. Something vulnerable. She sniffed and narrowed her eyes as if assessing my sincerity. "I heard you disappeared off the face of the earth."

"Just took a little time away," I said, coming closer and gesturing toward a seat near her. "May I?"

She shrugged. "Sure, why not."

"I'm so sorry about your mom."

Tears welled in Joyce's eyes, and she turned away. "You can go now. Tell all your friends how you saw me crying."

I handed her a tissue from the box on the seat beside her. "I told someone about you while I was away. I told them all about my archenemy since elementary school. As the words came out of my mouth, I realized something. I don't want an archenemy. I'd like to be your friend." Maybe this wasn't the time or the place, but it all just came out. Perhaps I was finally turning into a bonafide adult, or maybe I was a glutton for punishment. I like to think I grew up over the last few months and put things in perspective. Things that used to irritate me were trivial now. I haven't been the best person when it came to Joyce, and maybe she was reacting to me being unkind. Of course, she did start things way back when, but we were children, and I didn't want to be the kind of person who wouldn't let people change.

She laughed. "What if I don't want to be your friend?"

I shrugged. "Too bad. I've already decided we're friends, and my decision is final."

She narrowed her eyes at me. "You're kinda bossy."

I nodded.

Joyce faced her mother's casket. "She was my best friend. No matter what I did, my mom thought I was great. Now, who's going to think I'm special?"

It was true. Joyce's mother chose not to see the many bad things Joyce did but isn't that what mothers do? I don't know what I'd do without my mother, even though she gets on my nerves. Since I had no answer, I just put my arm around her and nudged her to stand. "Come on. I'll take you home."

"I don't want to go home. There's no one there." Thanks to her many husbands, Joyce was doing well financially. She lived in a 1.5 million dollar townhouse and drove a Mercedes. But no amount of money could cure loneliness.

"Then come home with me."

Surprise etched on her face. "You shot up my hairpiece the last time I stayed with you."

I shrugged. "The bathroom was dark, and it looked like a rat."

"You see a lot of ruby red rats?"

"You've seen my building. There's no telling what all lives there."

"True." She laughed and then sobered. "You're not gonna stun me and dump me in your apartment hallway again, are you? That was really shitty, by the way."

"That's not my plan."

"You're not going to have your friends tie me to a tree naked again, are you?"

"I had nothing to do with that. It was all Carol. You didn't deserve that even if you had been behaving like a… like an unkind person." I had to temper my language. We were in a funeral home, after all.

"I'll need to stop at the store. Last time all you had to eat was Froot Loops and Pop-Tarts."

I smiled because that was true, then. "No need. I think you'll be pleased with my healthy food selection."

"Does that mean you're doing more than watching the Cooking Channel?"

"I've gone full-on domestic. My mother is so proud."

Joyce frowned. Danggit! I'm standing in front of her mother's casket. How could I be so careless with my words? Before I could apologize, she eyed me suspiciously and asked, "Why do you care if I go home to a lonely house?"

"Maybe I could use the company." I reached out to clasp her shoulder. "Come on. We'll stop by your place and pick up some clothes… and pajamas." Eyeing her pointedly, I continued. "There will be no sleeping naked on my couch again. Capeesh?"

She stopped walking and looked at me. "You're real uptight, you know that?"

"So, I've been told."

"I bet you've been called worse."

I lightly elbowed her in the side. "By you."

We laughed again.

After dropping Aggie and Grandma off and stopping at Joyce's for an overnight bag, we finally made it to my apartment. I let Joyce use the spiralizer to make zoodles, and we had a pleasant conversation for a change. Joyce knew all the best gossip. I was learning so much to pass on to Mary Lou and Grandma.

Joyce paused, which told me she was mulling over telling me something really juicy. Knowing her, it could be an indecent personal confession I probably didn't want to hear about. "You know I tried my best to get Joe Morelli in bed."

"I'm aware. Wait, are you telling me you succeeded?"

"No."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Even though Morelli and I were done, I felt better knowing he hadn't given in to Joyce's charms. From how she was eyeing me, she had something she needed to get off her chest. "I know you have something to say, so spit it out."

"Rumors are swirling around about Joe and Terry Gilman. I saw them myself at Jessup's Bar a week ago." Jessup's was outside of the Burg. A perfect place to go and not be seen. I didn't know what to say, so I kept eating. "Why didn't you marry him?"

I thought about it for a minute. I didn't want to tell Joyce about my humiliating experience in Philly and what I witnessed in Morelli and Terry's love nest, so I settled on vague reasoning. "We had a lot of small disagreements. He hated my job, and I wasn't crazy about his. Oh, and he hated the people I work with."

"You mean Ranger." She made it a statement because I guess even a blind person could see how I felt about Ranger.

"Ranger was a factor, but there was also Morelli's family. You have met Grandma Bella, right?"

We both did a full-body shiver. "Excellent reason. Say no more." She took a sip of her wine. "I wonder what it would be like to marry for love. I have plenty of money now, so I might try that next time."

"How many times have you been married?"

"Six."

I couldn't imagine getting married a second time, let alone six times. "Maybe you're finally ready for something serious?"

"Perhaps." She seemed to be pondering something. "I think I might like to be a mom. What about you? Do you ever think about having kids?" Things were getting deep now.

"The idea of kids sounds nice, but they're a lot of work. I've watched my sister and Mary Lou run themselves ragged, and it never seems to end. I'm not sure I'm cut out for that. Being an aunt is fun. I get to return them when I get tired."

She looked at her manicure. "True. But being rich means I can hire help."

Parenting Joyce style.

Joyce checked her phone when it vibrated.

"Are you going to answer that?"

"Nah, it's a number I don't recognize. I keep getting calls from random men making vulgar suggestions. They're adamant they met me in clubs that I've never gone to and that I gave them my number."

Guilt overtook me. This was probably my fault. I'd left messages all around town saying for a good time call Joyce and listed her number. Also, anytime someone asked for my information and I didn't want to give it to them, I'd give them Joyce's name and digits. Confessing now might not be a good idea. "Maybe you should change your number."

"I can't. My grandma lives in Florida and has a horrible memory. If I got a new number, she likely wouldn't be able to remember it, and if she didn't talk to me every month, I could kiss my birthday and Christmas check goodbye."

"That's a pretty good reason."

"It's like my name and number are written on half the bathroom walls in Trenton or something. You know, like when Joe Morelli wrote that poem about you. You were so lucky."

"Lucky? I got grounded the whole summer."

AN: What do you think about Steph mending fences with Joyce?