Nutty As a Fruitcake Read Online Free Page A

am I , Judith thought, but she bit back the words. George had enough problems without hearing a neighbor’s sarcasm. “That’s okay. Take care.” She closed the door quietly.
    Coming out of the driveway, she noticed the pickup truck on the other side of the through street. It hadn’t been parked there over the Thanksgiving holiday. Judith had never seen it until that afternoon, when Renie had pointed it out. Mentally, she shrugged. It wasn’t her problem, as long as whoever owned it didn’t park in the already crowded cul-de-sac.
    Instead of going directly into her house, Judith stopped off at the converted toolshed behind the garage. It took eight knocks before her mother appeared. Gertrude Grover leanedon her walker and exhaled a cloud of blue smoke.
    â€œWhen’s supper?” she demanded.
    For once, Judith ignored the question. “Mother, have you ever wanted to kill Enid Goodrich?”
    â€œSure,” Gertrude replied cheerfully, puffing away at her cigarette. “A couple of years ago, after she threw a bucket of water on Sweetums, I had it out with the old bat. I warned her that if she ever did that again I’d stick her big fat head in a pot of sauerkraut and wienies and hold her down until she yelled ‘ Heil , Gertrude.’ How come you ask?”
    Having managed to sidestep both Gertrude and her walker, Judith flopped onto the sofa. “She’s probably the most disagreeable woman I’ve ever met. How has poor George put up with her all these years?”
    â€œGeorge!” Gertrude’s raspy voice was full of derision. Shaking her head, she clumped over to sit beside her daughter. “Now there’s a poor excuse for a man. No spine. The worst thing that ever happened to him—besides marrying Enid, I mean—was retirement. George Goodrich worked for over forty years as a bookkeeper at that meat packing place out past the railroad depot. He didn’t quit until he was forced to, when he turned seventy. Then he had to stick around the house, waiting on that wife of his hand and foot. What a sap.”
    Briefly, Judith reflected on the Life and Times of George Goodrich. It was easy for her mother to criticize a much put-upon spouse. Judith’s father, Donald Grover, had been a softspoken intellectual who had rarely raised his voice in anger. He had been a loving husband and a doting father. Gertrude had had it all, which was what made it so difficult for her to go on without Donald for over thirty years. It was also, Judith knew, what made Gertrude so difficult.
    But Judith had lived with Dan McMonigle for eighteen years. She understood how one partner could be forced to endure the relentless unpleasantness of the other. There was the basic commitment, which she—and apparently George—did not take lightly. There was also love, or something like it, that no one else could possibly comprehend. Then there were children and habit and ultimately, fear: fear of change, fear ofthe future, fear of how the rejected spouse might retaliate. Judith recognized all those emotions, though now, almost eight years after Dan’s death, musing on them was like unwrapping ugly, little-used Christmas decorations that had been shoved to the back of the cupboard.
    â€œYou never know,” Gertrude was saying as she stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray someone had swiped for her from Harold’s Club in Reno, “what really goes on with other folks. Most of ’em are just plain nuts. Or dumb as a bag of dirt.”
    â€œI don’t think George is dumb,” Judith replied a bit vaguely. “Enid, maybe.” But her mother was right. You could never be sure about other people’s needs and desires. Years ago, Uncle Cliff had given Judith and Renie some sage advice: When the neighbors shut the door, remember what side you’re standing on. Nobody can see through wood or into the human heart. Judith wondered if Uncle Cliff