There were literally dozens of reasons Ivy might lie. I decided not to bring that up, and said, “But if he was as busy as she says, he’d have needed to make notes somewhere, don’t you think?”
“Maybe he just had a really good memory.”
“And was he reallythatbusy? It doesn’t take long to write a sermon,” I said. I’d taken a speech class in college. I’d show up for class hungover and give a ten-minute speech I hadn’t bothered to prepare for. With a little effort I could have spoken for half an hour.
“The choir,” she said. “Barbara says he is—was devoted to it.”
“How would she know?”
“She’s a soprano.”
“Oh. We should talk to her then?”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. I glanced over, and saw that she looked exhausted.
I told her, “You look like you need a nap.”
“I’m all right. I’ll call Barbara when we get home.”
I left her alone the rest of the way. When I pulled into the long driveway, Reilly emerged from behind the house and ran alongside the SUV. Fortunately, he was a big enough dog that I could see him well enough not to run over him.
Once I parked, I jumped out and ran to the back to get Nana’s walker. I ran because I knew she’d open the door and try to get out on her own. I got over to the passenger side just in time to catch her as she attempted to climb down.
Reilly jumped up on both of us.
Nana Cole said something like, “Gaaa.”
“Down boy.”
He didn’t respond to either command. In general, he was a well-behaved dog but not what you’d call well-trained. Ignoring him was usually the best strategy.
Nana grabbed the walker from me and began taking her customary giant steps.
“Slow down,” I said, but she paid no attention. She was nearly into the house before I could shut the door to the Escalade.
Once inside, I got her settled at the table and began to put together some lunch. I got out the ingredients to make tuna sandwiches and a pot to heat up some canned tomato soup.
My grandmother interrupted me, saying, “I want to call Barbara.”
“We can do that after lunch,” I suggested.
“No. Now.”
I went over to the wall phone and picked up the receiver. The cord was extra-long so I knew it would reach to the table without a problem. “What’s Barbara’s number?”
“616-422-89—”
“Wait, that’s not right,” I said. “The area code is 231.”
“No, it’s 616.” She looked confused but then giggled. “Oh, crud. They changed it. It used to be 616.”
I waked over to the nearest cabinet drawer. The one where she kept her address book. I didn’t know Barbara’s last name, so, crossing my fingers, I flipped to the B’s. There was a Barbara there, so I went ahead and dialed it.
As it began to ring, I handed the receiver to my grandmother. She brought it about an inch away from her ear and kept it there the entire time.
“Barbara? It’s Emma.”
She listened a moment, the asked, “Can you come over this afternoon?”
