Emmy refilled the water can and turned to pour some water into the pothos that draped around the top of the breakfast bar. Water dripped out of the bottom of the pot and spilled across the front of a portrait that showed Emmy smiling at the shoulder of a man with a broad face and bald head.
“Oh,” she crooned. “Look what you’ve done to Albert’s face.” She wiped the water away with a dish towel. “There he is. You don’t remember him, of course. He died before you were a shoot. What a fine man.”
“Emmy?” a voice called. A door slammed somewhere.
“I’m here, Bobbi,” Emmy answered.
Bobbi came to her, working her backpack off as she walked. “Sorry it took so long. You called while I was teaching. I got the message and came right home.”
“Did I? Did I call you, dear?”
“Yes. You called me and said you needed my advice and I was to hurry. You sounded scared. What happened?”
Emmy looked out to the patio and then to the watering can. She looked to the curtains and then to the fern. “I remember it now. Yes. Those people were throwing things and shouting, the people next door. The woman told him no. He drove away.”
“I know, Emmy. They do that all the time. The trouble is, until Sugar either turns him in to the police or leaves him, nothing will get done.”
“But it doesn’t seem right, us not doing anything for her.”
Bobbi let the backpack slide to the floor at her feet. “I’m a graphic arts teacher, not a social worker. Maybe I could ask someone else at school how to help, but I’m out of ideas myself. Maybe you could try to go over and make friends with her.”
“I don’t know. I hate to impose on anyone.”
“They impose on you often enough with their fighting. It’s in your space once it leaves their house.” Bobbi shouldered her backpack and added, “Since I’m home anyway, I’m going to take a shower and then head over to see Polly. I won’t be long. I’ll cook you some dinner when I come back.”
“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I’ll cook us something.”
Bobbi shook her head and loped out of the kitchen. Emmy addressed the pothos. “I’m so glad I rented that room out. Albert would have loved her just as I do.”
She opened the refrigerator and poked around, humming as she appraised the items inside. “Oh, that Bobbi…she cleaned out again. She’s so squeamish about a bitty bit of mold. That’s one thing. You shouldn’t waste food. I wish she understood that.” She snagged a container with a whipped cream label and popped the lid. “Look there. She didn’t notice this one. What a great surprise for her when she comes back and finds a batch of that good goulash all piping hot and ready.”
