The Divas of Doom by Sherry M. Siska

Author:Sherry M. Siska [Siska, Sherry M]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sherry M. Siska

15

In a place as small as Glenvar, bad news travels at the speed of light. The food moves even faster. The whole afternoon and evening, starting about half a second (or so it seemed) from when I first heard that whispered “Robby Pluck”, people delivered casseroles, cakes, cookies, pies, ice, coffee, soda, gallons and gallons of tea, ham, a four-pound roast, and various other delicacies to Dicey’s house.

Tim, who was assigned the unfortunate job of breaking the bad news to Dicey, left Charli and me with her because, as expected, she was devastated. Thankfully, Mom and Dad arrived soon after to help out and Mom put her superb organizational skills into action. If it had been left up to me, the doors would have been locked, the phone unplugged, and we would have all been hiding in the closets.

Mom, on the other hand, was like the director of a Broadway play. She assigned us to various tasks, polished the silver, sorted out the kitchen, and never even broke a sweat. She had us moving about our duties so smoothly that even I looked graceful. Well, almost.

She sent Dad to their house for masking tape, disposable storage containers, and coolers, then, when he returned from that trip, out again for some supplies from the grocery store. Along with the other tasks Mom assigned us, Charli took on the phone duty, and I did door-answering detail. Dicey alternately cried and blamed herself. As much as we could, Charli, Mom, and I took turns hugging her, bringing her tissues, and holding her hand.

“I can’t help it. I know it’s foolish, but I loved that boy,” she said, for what must have been the two hundredth time. “I wanted us to get married, but he said people would talk. Why didn’t I insist?”

Mom was in the kitchen boiling water for hot tea and trying to wedge all of the casseroles and other food into Dicey’s fridge and the coolers. Charli was still manning the phone, taking message after message and telling people, “thank you for the thought, but I really can’t think of a thing in the world Dicey needs food-wise. Yes, I’m absolutely sure. Thank you so much for offering. Of course, I’ll let you know right away if there’s anything you can do.”

I patted Dicey’s hand again and was about to murmur my usual spiel about how he loved her too, that he was a good guy and only wanted to protect her, when the doorbell chimed. I plastered what I hoped passed for an appropriately sad look on my face, and prepared to greet yet another neighbor bearing offerings of chicken and mushroom soup casserole or lemon lust. I suppose astounded would be an accurate description of how I felt when I saw who was at the door.

Giselle looked terrible, like she’d been rolling around in a gutter. She reeked of cheap cologne and body odor. If I hadn’t felt so bad for Dicey, I probably would have been tempted to make some smart alecky remark about her appearance.

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