Blessed is the Busybody
“Entire months passed unnoticed as she watched HBO and crocheted extravagant afghans for my two sisters and me. We, the Wilcox branch of the family, own three of that treasured collection. Now one of them, a granny square in hand-dyed earth tones, covered a body on my front porch. Another—a more upbeat turquoise basket weave—draped the trembling shoulders of Sally Berrigan.“I don’t usually scream like that,” Sally said.I perched beside her on the parsonage sofa, patting her shoulder with a hand ...that trembled, too. “That’s okay. You don’t usually find bodies.”Sally, who ran the public radio auction each spring, who ran three miles four times a week, and who’d run—unsuccessfully—for mayor of Emerald Springs during last fall’s election, shuddered and fell silent again.“We can certainly fall apart, or we can pull ourselves together and do whatever needs to be done,” Gelsey said.Gelsey’s pronouncement had the ring, if not the humor, of a church signboard. I tried to think of a response that wouldn’t sizzle the parsonage air, but my brain was still caught up in the nightmare of a stranger lying naked on my front porch.Ed came inside at that moment, as if sensing the need for his pastoral presence.MoreLess
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