Enid saw Evelyn coming and turned to face her, surprise reflecting in her pale, tired eyes. She was dressed in matching shorts and halter top that had fit better when she was twenty pounds lighter. She brushed back a few loose strands of her lank, tousled hair and dragged out an uncertain smile.
“Hello, Mrs. Freemark,” she greeted, her voice breaking slightly as she caught the look in Evelyn’s dark eyes.
Evelyn came to a stop directly before her. “Enid, I’ll come right to the point,” she said softly. They were alone except for Bennett and Old Bob; no one else could hear what was being said. “I know you’ve had some rough times, and that raising five children all alone is no picnic. I think you’ve done better than a lot of women would have in your circumstances, and I admire you for it. You’ve kept your family together the best you could. You’ve got five children you can be proud of.”
“Thank you,” Enid stammered, surprised.
“I’m not finished. The flip side of this particular coin is that you’ve made a whole bunch of decisions in your life that testify to the distinct possibility that you have the common sense of a woodchuck. Sooner or later, some of those decisions are. going to come back to haunt you. Your choice in men, for example, is abominable. You’ve got five fatherless children as proof of that, and I don’t see much improvement of late. Your frequent visits to the bars and nightspots of this community suggest that alcohol is becoming a problem for you. And it is no shame to be unemployed and on welfare, but it is a shame not to want to do anything about it!”
Robert blinked in disbelief, hearing the fire in his wife’s voice, seeing the stiff set of her back rigid within her flowered dress. Little Bennett was staring at Evelyn, her mouth open.
“Well, I don’t think you have the right to tell me …” Enid Scott began, flustered and angry now.
“Understand something, Enid. I’m not standing here as an example of how a woman ought to live her life.” Evelyn cut her short, brushing aside her attempt at defending herself. “Matter of fact, I’ve made some of the same mistakes you’re making, and I’ve made them worse. I’m closer to you than you realize. That gives me not only the right to talk to you this way, but the obligation as well. I can see where you’re headed, and I can’t let you walk off the end of the pier without shouting out a warning of some sort. So this is that warning. You can make a lot of mistakes in this life and get away with it. We both know that. But there’s one mistake you can’t make-not ever, if you want to live with yourself afterward. And that’s not being there for your children when they need you. It’s happened several times already. Don’t say anything, Enid. Don’t say it isn’t so, because that would be a terrible lie, and you don’t want to add that to your catalogue of sins. Point is, nothing bad has happened yet. But sooner or later, it will. If it does, that will be the end of you.”
Evelyn held the other woman’s gaze, took a quick breath, and stepped forward. Enid Scott flinched, and Bennett jumped. But all Evelyn did was reach down and take Enid’s hand in her own, hold it, and then pat it gently.
“If you ever need anyone, you call me,” she said quietly. “Any time, for any reason. You call me. I’ll be there. That’s a promise.”
A few people were looking over now, sensing that something was going on, not sure exactly what it was. George Paulsen detached himself from the horseshoe competitors and sauntered over, mean eyes narrowing. “What’s going on here?” he snapped.
Evelyn ignored him. “Are you all right, Enid? I didn’t speak too harshly, did I?”
“Well,” whispered Enid Scott uncertainly.
“I did, I expect.” Evelyn continued to pat her hand, to hold it between her own, her voice soothing and calm. “I speak the way I do because I believe it is best to be direct. But I would like to be your friend, if you would let me. I know you have no family here, and I don’t want you to think that you are alone.”