He took a step toward her, looking both unsure of himself and absolutely furious. I thought it a dangerous combination, but Elaine didn’t flinch as he approached. “I bet I know who set off that goddam smoke alarm,” Dolan said. “Might could have been a certain old bitch with claws for hands. Now get out of here. Me and Paulie haven’t finished our little talk, yet!”
“His name is Mr. Edgecombe,” she said, “and if I ever hear you call him Paulie again, I think I can promise you that your days of employment here at Georgia Pines will end, Mr. Dolan.”
“Just who do you think you are?” he asked her. He was hulking over her, now, trying to laugh and not quite making it.
“I think,” she said calmly, “that I am the grandmother of the man who is currently Speaker of the Georgia House of Representatives. A man who loves his relatives, Mr. Dolan. Especially his older relatives.”
The effortful smile dropped off his face the way that writing comes off a blackboard swiped with a wet sponge. I saw uncertainty, the possibility that he was being bluffed, the fear that he was not, and a certain dawning logical assumption: it would be easy enough to check, she must know that, ergo she was telling the truth.
Suddenly I began to laugh, and although the sound was rusty, it was right. I was remembering how many times Percy Wetmore had threatened us with his connections, back in the bad old days. Now, for the first time in my long, long life, such a threat was being made again … but this time it was being made on my behalf.
Brad Dolan looked at me, glaring, then looked back at her.
“I mean it,” Elaine said. “At first I thought I’d just let you be – I’m old, and that seemed easiest. But when my friends are threatened and abused, I do not just let be. Now get out of here. And without one more word.”
His lips moved like those of a fish – oh, how badly he wanted to say that one more word (perhaps the one that rhymes with witch). He didn’t, though. He gave me a final look, and then strode past her and out into the hall.
I let out my breath in a long, ragged sigh as Elaine set the tray down in front of me and then set herself down across from me. “Is your grandson really Speaker of the House?” I asked.
“He really is.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Speaker of the statehouse makes him powerful enough to deal with a roach like Brad Dolan, but it doesn’t make him rich,” she said, laughing. “Besides, I like it here. I like the company.”
“I will take that as a compliment,” I said, and I did.
“Paul, are you all right? You look so tired.” She reached across the table and brushed my hair away from my forehead and eyebrows. Her fingers were twisted, but her touch was cool and wonderful. I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, I had made a decision.
“I’m all right,” I said. “And almost finished. Elaine, would you read something?” I offered her the pages I had clumsily swept together. They were probably no longer in the right order – Dolan really had scared me badly – but they were numbered and she could quickly put them right.
She looked at me consideringly, not taking what I was offering. Yet, anyway. “Are you done?”
“It’ll take you until afternoon to read what’s there,” I said. “If you can make it out at all, that is.”
Now she did take the pages, and looked down at them. “You write with a very fine hand, even when that hand is obviously tired,” she said. “I’ll have no trouble with this.”
“By the time you finish reading, I will have finished writing,” I said. “You can read the rest in a half an hour or so. And then … if you’re still willing … I’d like to show you something.”
“Is it to do with where you go most mornings and afternoons?”