Shop Talk by Carolyn Haines

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    It had been no secret that Happy was dying. The doctors said it was his heart, but there was some confusion. It wasn’t a stroke or a heart attack or a clogged aorta or a weak ventricle, it was something else. Something that not even the doctors fully understood. Just one of those strange things that happened to the human body. But it had been one of Happy’s last acts to extract the promise out of Bo to care for Lucille and Ethel.
    “We Hares are a special breed,” Happy had said, his voice reedy and thin because his heart was not pumping properly. “You and Lucille, you’re the last. The best.” He had made a face. “It’s up to you, Bo, to look out after your mother and your sister. There are some things I need to tell you,” he’d sighed then, big and long, “but I haven’t the heart.” He’d chuckled weakly at his own pun. “Besides, you’ve done fine not knowing, and sometimes a little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing. Just promise me you’ll look out for Mama Hare and your sister.”
    And Bo had promised. Because that was what a good Hare did.
    “Bo, if you don’t let us meet up here, they won’t let me be part of the group. They’re real writers, Bo. They might be able to help me get an agent, or find a publisher.”
    Bo tried to ignore her. His own stomach was doing a St. Vitus dance at the thought of those women in his work space. He connected with Iris’ gaze, but she gave him no help. She claimed to be part Indian, and Bo had an image of her standing in front of his shop with a fistful of cigars. Her expression was wooden–until she whipped the axe from behind her back.
    “Bo!” Lucille stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “Please. Just give it a try. If we make a mess, you can tell us not to come back. If you say yes, I promise I’ll go to work on time. I won’t give Mr. Johnson any reason to fire me.”
    “Let me talk it over with Driskell.” Bo hated himself. “You’ll have to make sure you don’t disturb him.”
    Lucille’s smile was one of victory. “Driskell won’t mind. I can assure you of that.”
    Iris put her cigarette out in the ashtray at Bo’s elbow. “Don’t blame me if we come in here one Thursday morning and find them all stacked in a corner, drained of their blood.” Iris cut her eyes at Coco, who had bent over to fluff the pompon on her right shoe. “All except that one. He’d have to get a hydraulic suction pump to get anything out of her.”
    “Oh, thank you, Bo.” Lucille leaned over and kissed his cheek, leaving a dark lipstick stain. She turned to Mona. “Bo says if we don’t bother Driskell we can meet here.”
    Mona looked at Coco, who was watching the contestants on
Jeopardy
soundlessly gesture and clap. “We’ll put it to a vote and let you know.”
    “How many others are there?” Lucille asked. “I didn’t make but three copies of my book. There’s one more in the car.”
    “Three more.” Mona rattled her keys. “Let’s go, Coco.”
    “When can I see what you’re working on?” Lucille twisted her hands together. “I can’t wait. I can’t believe this is actually happening to me, Lucille Hare. I’m going to be part of Writers of Mississippi Books!”
    “Wednesday night.” Mona said. “Six-thirty, exactly. Come on, Coco.” The bell jangled their departure.
    “Captain Bligh and her greyhound,” Iris said. “Where did you find those two, Lucille?”
    “I have to get back to the bank.” Lucille edged toward the door. The one thing she didn’t want to do was answer questions about Mona or Coco.
    “Lucille, if Driskell says no, you’ll have to call them up and cancel.” Bo tried hard to sound firm.
    “He won’t say no.” Lucille knew he wouldn’t. He’d been the one who encouraged her. “Bye now.” Lucille pushed open the door and ran into the April afternoon, which had begun to cloud.
    Iris watched as Lucille slammed herself into her car. “Jesus, baby, that scene was like a wreck