into and that I still had bed clothes for them. Cat and children had not changed my
plans – but those plans could wait. I was glad that I had not managed to clear out
the day before, Monday the fourth – I would have missed all three. Tragic!
I got busy rustling up lunch for them – fancy cooking; I did open Campbell’s tomato
soup, two cans. `Let me see. We have quite a lot of not too stale cake left over
from the reception, and a half-gallon of vanilla ice-cream that has not been opened.
How much can you two eat?’
‘Plenty!’
‘Priss is right. We haven’t eaten anything today.’
‘Oh, my goodness! Sit down. Let’s get some soup into you fast, then we’ll see what
else you want. Or would you rather have breakfast things, seeing that this is
breakfast for you? Bacon and eggs? Cereal?’
‘Anything,’ answered my son. ‘If it’s alive, I’ll bite its head off.’
`Behave yourself, Donnie,’ said his sister. `We’ll start with soup, Mama.’
While we were eating Priscilla said, `Why are the books piled all around, Mama?’
I explained that I was getting ready to dose the house, preparatory to selling it.
My children exchanged looks; they both looked solemn, almost woebegone. I looked
from face to face. ‘Take it easy,’ I advised. `There is nothing to look sad about.
I’m not faced with any deadlines and this is your home. Do you want to fill me in?’
Most of it was fairly obvious from their condition – dirty, tired, hungry, and
broke. They had had some sort of trouble with their father and their stepmother and
they had left Dallas `forever’ – ‘But, Mama, this was before we knew that you were
planning to sell this house. We’ll have to find somewhere else to go… because
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Donnie and I are not going back there.’
‘Don’t be in a hurry,’ I said. ‘You are not out on the street.
I’m going to sell this house, yes – but we’ll put another roof over our heads. This
is the right time to sell this place because I let George Strong – he’s in real
estate – know that this place would be available once Susan was married. Hmm -‘ I
went to the screen and punched up Harriman and Strong.
A woman’s face came on screen. `Harriman and Strong, Investments. Harriman
Enterprises. Allied Industries. How may I help you?’
`I am Maureen Johnson. I would like to speak to Mr Harriman or to Mr Strong.’
`Neither is available. You may record a message-scramble and bush are on line if
needed. Or our Mr Watkins will speak to you:
`No. Relay me to George Strong.’
‘I am sorry. Will you speak to Mr Watkins?’
`No. Just get this message to Mr Strong: George, this is Maureen Johnson speaking.
That parcel is now available, and I punched in to offer you first refusal as I
promised. I have carried out my promise but I am going to deal today. So now I will
call the J. C. Nichols Company.’
`Will you hold, please?’ Her face was replaced by a flower garden, her voice by a
syrupy rendition of ‘In an Eighteenth Century Drawing-Room’.
George Strong’s face came on. `Greetings, Mrs Johnson. Good to see you.’
‘Maureen to you, old dear. I called to say that I am moving. Now is the hour if you
want to bid on it. Do you still want it?’
‘I can use it. Do you have a price in mind?’
‘Yes, certainly. Just twice what you are willing to pay.’
`Well, that’s a good start. Now we can dicker.’
‘Just a moment. George, I need another house, a smaller one. Three bedrooms, within
walking distance of Southwest High. Got something like that?’
`Probably. Or across the line and close to Shawnee Mission High. Want to swap?’
`No, I’m planning to skin you on the deal. I want to lease by the year, automatic
renewal unless notice given, ninety days.’
`All right. Pick you up tomorrow morning? Ten o’clock? I want to look over your
parcel, point out to – you its shortcomings and beat your price down.’