Bishop's Road Read Online Free Page B

all she has to clean up her act. She has had as many chances as she’ll ever get. The joke is they don’t know the half of it but they might any day now and a bad move will have her in shit so deep she’ll never get out again.
    So as quickly as she blows up she calms down. Tells Mrs. Miflin she’s sorry for calling her names and making such a fuss and heads out to the garden to see what Eve is up to. When she sees Judy coming Eve takes off her earmuffs and smiles hello. Judy had a grammy once who was nice to her and she likes old women though this one is older than anyone she has ever seenbefore. She asks Eve what she’s doing and actually listens to the answer. Judy, who has never noticed a flower in her life, can walk on dandelion and crocus alike and not blink an eye, hears where the primrose will grow and how high the clematis will climb and the best place to plant calendula and morning glory. She touches the curled leaves of monkshood and columbine and when Eve describes the workings of a compost bin and where she’d put one if Mrs. Miflin would only allow it, Judy blows her own sharp mind by volunteering to build one.
    â€œDoesn’t sound too complicated,” she says. “If we had some wood. Do you think missus might have some in the basement? There’s always wood in basements. Probably a saw and hammer too.”
    Mrs. Miflin follows them to the foot of the basement stairs, yammering all the while about the smells and the flies and the rats more than likely and why can’t Eve just get some nice fertilizer instead it’s bad enough what with mud being tracked in over the floor all spring she’s not putting up with rats on top of it, and that she isn’t. Judy says she’s bored out of her friggin’ skin with nothing to do around here and if Eve wants a compost bin why shouldn’t she have one. Judy knows of a boarding house over on Caine’s Street where they let the tenants do whatever they friggin’ well want and wouldn’t it be nice now if Eve decided to pack up and move there. And just think how much you’ll save on garbage bags with the potato peels and all going into the bin. And Mrs. Miflin, who prides herself on the rapid growth of her savings account, gives up and grumbles her way to the kitchen to prepare lunch.
    The old basement is musty and damp, full of boxes and bags and nuts and bolts, trunks and dead things waiting. Mrs. Miflin never comes here if she can help it, lets the furnace man find his own way around. As Judy reasoned, there is wood. Tools. Nails. The only thing missing is chicken wire and Eve says maybethey can buy it at the hardware store out near the mall but it will be difficult bringing it home on the bus. Judy has a cousin who might have some. He’s always collecting junk for one thing or another and after they drag their treasures to the backyard she makes a phone call. Comes out with a grin on her face. Says, “Well now, we got our chicken wire. As much as we need. Harold is going to bring it over this afternoon. I told him make sure he does. I told him if he doesn’t get it here by two-thirty sharp I’m going to tell the cops he’s been trying to get into my pants since I was ten years old. See, Eve, you just got to know how to talk to people.” And Eve smiles the saddest smile. Says, “Thank you.”
    Mrs. Miflin calls through the kitchen window. “One of you run upstairs and bang on Ginny Mustard’s door and tell her to get herself out of that bed and come down for lunch. If she doesn’t eat she’ll be moping around the whole day with her stomach rumbling and I’ll be damned if she’s getting anything else before supper. Go on, now, and get her up.”
    Ginny Mustard has not slept this soundly for a long time. All through the night she was rocked gentle and held so close. When she hears Judy’s knock and opens her eyes it is almost noon. She is