The Big Cat Nap

Are you in there?” Susan stood outside the clinic’s narrow changing booth, its brightly colored cotton curtains shutting off the occupant from the other women at the mammogram center.

“What are you doing here?” A note of surprise crept into Harry’s voice.

“I longed to see you in hospital chic.”

“Susan, I told you I could do this myself. It’s just a checkup.”

“You told me, but that doesn’t mean I listened. Now, are you going to invite me in or not?”

Harry pulled open the curtain. “All right.”

Susan stopped, looked her best friend up and down, head to toe. “Oh, honey, brown paisley becomes you.”

“Shut up.” Harry laughed as she plopped down on the bench, Susan dropping beside her.

“At least your boob’s not hanging out.”

“Did that.” Harry glanced down at the top of her breasts, visible in the thin shift. “Ever consider what a royal pain these things are?”

“July. That’s the worst. For me, anyway. You can’t stop sweating. You can lift up your blouse to wipe yourself dry. You go into air-conditioning and the wet feels cold. Walk outside into the furnace again and more sweat. Ugh. Even now, May, I’m starting to sweat a little.” Susan paused. “How long ago was your mammogram taken?”

“Fifteen, twenty minutes. I really don’t like them.”

“It’s the squish that gets you. You can’t move. Still, it’s a wonderful tool. When I look back on some of our parents’ friends who died of breast cancer, I wonder if they’d have been saved if only they’d had mammograms. The technology we have today,” Susan mused out loud.

“Bet a lot would. And a hundred years from now, even these methods will look primitive.” Harry crossed one leg over the other. “Much as we dislike the boob squisher, it beats a prostate exam.”

They laughed.

“Been back to ReNu?” Susan asked, a slight accusatory note in her voice.

“Why would you ask that?” Harry asked, suspicious of her longtime friend.

“Because I’ve known you all your life. Spill it, sister.”

“You’re just fishing. You don’t know anything.”

“I ran into Nick Ashby at Fresh! He mentioned that he’d seen you. He has a good memory, because he remembered my face from that awful day.”

A slight pause followed Susan’s revelation. “I take it Nick flashed his big smile for you,” Harry said.

“Did.”

“Sometimes I hate this town. People talk too much,” Harry grumbled.

“They talk too much in Istanbul, in Paris, France—and even up the road in Paris, Virginia, too. Human nature.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry leaned back against the wall.

“I’m waiting.”

“Me, too. I hope my X rays don’t need a second reading.”

“This place is packed today. Aren’t you glad Ruth let me back here to find you?”

Ruth was the head nurse, who had gone to high school with them.

“I have to think about that.”

Susan punched her in the arm. “Why did you go back to ReNu? Harry, you are out of your mind. How do you know the killer doesn’t work there?”

“I don’t, but I keep seeing that body sprawled out, faceup. Bothers me. We must have missed something. The sheriff must have missed something.”

“It’s not your job to find Walt’s killer.”

“I know, but …” Her voice trailed off.

“Just think about it, Harry. That man didn’t stand a chance. Maybe he stole some money, slept with another mechanic’s wife—who knows? Nosing around there is not too bright.”

“Motive always explains, defines a crime.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Susan’s voice was firm. “You don’t know the motive, but if it involves one of his co-workers, that guy has just seen your face again. Sometimes I swear you have no brains.”

Hearing steps approaching, Harry did not reply.

Ruth called, “Harry.”

Harry rose, pulled aside the curtain to face the nurse. “How’d I do?”

“Clean as a whistle. I’ll see you in six months. You, too, Susan. I checked your records and you, BoomBoom, and Alicia—along with Harry, who had her mammogram when you all did last winter—you will all be due then. I’m keeping tabs.”

“I’m grateful. It’s a lucky thing we did come for that mammogram. Caught Harry’s suspicious spot early.”

Susan couldn’t bring herself to say “cancer.”

After Ruth returned to the front desk, relief flooded Harry’s face. “I wasn’t worried.”

“Liar.”

“Well, just a tad,” Harry confessed.

“Come on, girl. Put your bra and your shirt back on. Let’s blow this joint. I’ll wait outside.”

“Where are we going?”

“Starbucks. I’m buying you a giant Frappuccino, double chocolate, to celebrate.”

From Central Virginia Medical Center to the Starbucks in Waynesboro off Route 340 took all of fifteen minutes.

Never one to fret over calories, Harry ate the mound of whipped cream before sipping through the straw.

“At least the woman behind the counter didn’t call me ‘Sir,’ ” Harry mentioned.

Susan laughed. “People don’t pay attention if you come in wearing overalls with mud on them, a baseball cap, no earrings, and a bandanna around your neck. They can’t imagine a woman farming, I guess.”

“Remind me to wear my tiara next time I drive the tractor.” Harry took a long pull on the straw.

“Great idea. You could make the cover of The Progressive Farmer.” Susan named a farm periodical they both read.

“Better wear my evening gown, too.” Harry smiled, then leaned toward her friend. “It would be easy to ship drugs in the boxes of auto parts, the hoses, headlights. Easy.”

“What?”

“Drugs and porn are the two richest industries in the world. Betcha.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Susan considered that information. “But I know you need to kill this obsession right now.”

“Umm …”

“Just forget it, Harry.”

“Okay. Should we talk about boobs some more?”

Susan put down her large cup and laughed until the tears filled her eyes. “Drugs and boobs. Has a ring to it? What’s in your Frappuccino?”

Harry laughed, too. “Well, you don’t want to talk about the murder, so boobs. Okay, Susan, what do you think when you see a woman with a great set?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“Me, neither. So please explain to me why, if a woman is well built and reasonably attractive, men have to be put on a respirator.”

“Does Fair?” Susan asked.

“He forgets to breathe.”

They got sillier and sillier.

Finally able to control her giggling, Susan replied, “I don’t know about this boob stuff, but it never hurt us. Our parts are useful.”

“I will never, ever figure out why men lose their reason over cleavage, but I will figure out the murder. It might take me a long time, but I can’t walk away from it.”

“Girl, if you don’t walk away from it, you’ll wind up running away from it. Mark my words.”