onto that roof with her, but only to give her a shove, convinced that they were doing the world a favor by hastening her departure. No, these folks were not a crowd of likely suicide prevention counselors.
Minnie stood now with her arms outstretched like Jesus on the cross, her purple robe billowing in the breeze like the sails of a ship. A particularly strong gust came along and snatched the turban off her head. When she tried to grab for it, she pitched forward so awkwardly that everyone gasped. Minnie wobbled for a few seconds, but soon righted herself. Then she stuck her arms out and struck her martyr pose again, looking angry and defiant as the little wisps of gray hair that poked out from the hairnet she’d worn under her turban danced in the wind.
We all watched for a while longer. Then Little Earl, who had been summoned from the kitchen by his wife, let out a groan. “I guess I better go have a talk with her.” He took off his apron and came out from behind the steam tables. But he halted at the front door when he saw that someone had appeared on Minnie’s lawn and was having a lively conversation with her.
A slim young woman carrying a pale pink cardboard box labeled “Donut Heaven” under her left arm stood in the center of the lawn. She was wearing a long white dress that looked like it had seen better days. Strips of cloth hung from the ragged hem of the dress, like somebody had taken scissors to it. Stains of assorted sizes and colors dotted the fabric. At first it seemed she and Minnie were having a casual conversation, but then the young woman began to shake an upraised fist in Minnie’s direction. Suddenly it was clear that the exchange they were having was anything but casual.
Clarice said, “I can’t believe it. It’s Sharon.”
I squinted and saw that it was, indeed, Sharon, the almost-wife of the now re-incarcerated Clifton Abrams. As I watched, Sharon’s movements graduated from testy to furious. Now, instead of a fist, she jabbed her middle finger up toward the old woman.
Clarice said, “I should call Veronica.” She twisted around to get at the pocketbook that hung on the back of her chair and fished inside until she found her phone. Then she dialed her cousin.
“Hi, Veronica, it’s me. I’m having supper at the All-You-Can-Eat and Sharon just showed up … No, she’s not having supper with us. She’s across the street and it appears she’s having words with Minnie … Uh-huh … And, Veronica, she’s in her wedding gown … Really? Every day? … Well, right now she’s just standing there yelling at Minnie with a Donut Heaven box under her arm.”
The shriek that came from the other end of the phone line at the mention of Donut Heaven was so loud that Clarice jerked the phone as far away from her head as the length of her arm would let her. When the wailing subsided, Clarice put the phone back to her ear. She listened for a moment and then told Veronica, “I can’t really say for sure from this distance, but my guess would be it’s the family-size box.” Another shriek. This one came and went too quickly for Clarice to pull the phone away. She listened for a few seconds longer and then turned off her phone. Then, to us, Clarice said, “She’ll be right over.”
We continued to watch the spectacle across the street. The restaurant was so quiet now and Sharon was yelling so loud that we could hear an occasional word even though she was dozens of yards away and separated from us by a thick pane of glass. Her gestures got bigger as she became angrier. She escalated things by opening the donut box, removing a long chocolate éclair, and lobbing it at Minnie like a javelin, which drove the audience in the restaurant to hoots of amusement and shock. The pastry sailed wide of its target and missed by two feet. Minnie made an obscene hand signal back at Sharon and then they screamed at each other for a while longer. Little Earl sighed again and opened the restaurant’s front door to go outside and play referee.
Clarice, Barbara Jean, and I glanced at each other, each of us trying to come up with an excuse for following Little Earl across the street that didn’t seem like pure nosiness.