Look Before You Jump by D. A. Bale

toward the
range building.
    “See ya Wednesday night,” he called over his
shoulder.
    That’s it. I really was done with men. For
sure this time.
    Damn men.

Chapter Eight

    The Vernet clan goes through maids almost as
fast as they spend Sunday morning’s offering. I’m not sure if it’s
an agreement they have with the placement service, but nine times
out of ten they end up with those named Maria. Maybe it’s part of
their contract. Perhaps they feel closer to God by employing
someone who shares a close relation to His earthly mother’s name,
though I doubt if the entire crop could claim virgin status. Either
way they save the congregation some money because they don’t have
to buy a bunch of new nametags every few weeks.
    Personally, I think it’s so they have more
left over for Mary Jo’s designer shoe collection. And for the
weekly new handbag, though these days it more likely goes toward
Botox injections.
    After a shower and third change of clothes
for the day, this week’s Maria escorted me to the formal living
room before trudging up the winding staircase to locate Bobby. The
living room – or Blue Room as Mary Jo preferred, as if her home was
the White House and she the First Lady – reflected the heights of
gaudy extravagance.
    Silver-gray paper adorned the walls while the
windows were swallowed by heavy brocade gray-blue drapes. Metallic
threads were woven in so that, as Mary Jo once stated, they captured and scattered the light as God intended . Matching
tufted chintz sofas and chairs dotted gray carpet with far too many
mirrored coffee and end tables scattered about. These were then
cluttered with crystal and silver bowls, vases, and trinkets that
reflected what sunlight penetrated the drapes. The glare and
inception effect threatened to give me a headache.
    After the wait extended past five minutes and
the Maria-of-the-week didn’t return, I decided to make myself at
home and headed up the staircase. Halfway up, a door somewhere on
the second floor slammed. I stopped. Another door slammed. I almost
rode the banister down the staircase when Mary Jo’s shrill voice
echoed up the corridor.
    “Don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m
talking to you, Robert!”
    Bobby’s lowered but firm voice followed.
“I’ve left Vicki waiting long enough, Mother.”
    “That girl has already caused this family
enough scandal. Why did you invite her over here? Don’t you care
how it reflects on you?”
    “Don’t you mean how it reflects on you and
Dad?”
    “Robert!”
    “If you’ve forgotten,” Bobby continued, “I’m
just as much at fault for what happened. More so actually.”
    “If more people find out you’re spending time
together again, they’ll assume the worst.”
    “That was eleven years ago, Mother.
You’re so quick to forgive me, and yet you continue to hold this
over her head.”
    “This is my house, and I don’t want her in
it,” Mary Jo commanded.
    “She was in it Saturday.”
    “She works in a bar , for goodness
sake, promoting drunkenness and God knows what else.”
    Mary Jo’s sentiments didn’t surprise me one
bit. Matter of fact, I too was surprised she’d allowed me in her
home for the funeral dinner. After my parents left, I’d half
expected to be approached by some servant and escorted from the
premises – in secret, of course. Any public spectacle would’ve
reflected poorly on Vernet and Company, and we all knew by now how
they wished to avoid any spectacle where I was concerned – public
or otherwise.
    “You know,” Bobby said, “I’m beginning to
understand why she left the church. Seems she wasn’t wanted in that house either.”
    “Robert.” Mary Jo’s voice ratcheted up about
ten octaves. “Robert, come back here.”
    A heavy gait clomped overhead. Bobby’s blue
eyes blazed when he saw me standing in the foyer.
    “You ready?”
    “Bobby, I…”
    “Come on then,” he said, reaching into his
pants pocket and jingling his keys. “I’m