Read The State We're In: Maine Stories for Free Online

striped pattern with the stripes filled in with paisley, sat by the back door. Another empty box had been discarded in the trash: stilettos, said the print on the box, black patent, size 7 1 / 2 . She must have taken them. To do what? Stumble around in her pregnancy? Bea’s family lived in Jersey City, New Jersey. Her mother worked for a dry cleaner. Her father was an accountant. One of his clients had been Big Pussy, from The Sopranos .
    Shortly after Bea’s departure, Mrs. Heppendale also left. She told people she was going to visit her sister in London, but both Alex and Mr. Heppendale said that it was a made-up story, that she was simply walking out on them. Part of her reason was that they were obsessed with Bea, and inconsolably distraught about Artigan, while they’d paid no attention to her when she had the flu, or when her migraines began (she’d had to get a cab to the ER). Also, her husband and daughter danced outside on the terrace under the stars to big-band music piped out through those excellent Bose speakers they had everywhere, and she was worried that anyone seeing such a thing would think something incestuous was going on.
    I was the last one to see Mrs. Heppendale. I was at the transportation center in Portsmouth, waiting for my best friend since first grade to arrive by bus from Logan airport. She’d just been given a Tiffany engagement ring. She was coming for a visit to show it off and to take me to dinner with her fiancé’s American Express card, to which she’d been added. Things were going to work out for Stella. Hers wasn’t going to be any tragic situation. I’d gotten my hair highlighted and was wearing new ballet flats. Stella had the same shoes—everybody that summer had those shoes—but hers were bright yellow.
    Suddenly out of nowhere came Mrs. Heppendale, as the bus was visible in the distance. Well, she came from inside, but she just appeared, big zippered bag slung over one shoulder (she traveled light), purse in hand. “How interesting that, as I exit, I encounter the budding writer,” she said to me. “I’m going to England and not coming back. I’ve got a sister there who loves me, and I love the theater. It hasn’t been easy, seeing summer productions in barns full of mosquitoes and minor TV actresses at the Ogunquit Playhouse in revivals of The Sound of Music . There’s not much of a story in my running away, because once you say I drink, no one’s going to be interested or sympathetic. I thought you were a nice girl, though seriously lacking in self-confidence. I never understood why you hung on Bea’s every word. You and everybody else thought she was so great. I thought she was scared of her own shadow and that she tried to cover that by being outgoing. Did she and Arty ever really seem to be in love? I never thought so. But I’m quite a bit older than you girls, so I’m not preoccupied with love. All I care about anymore is mysteries and crossword puzzles. And by the way, I know more about orchids than any of them. I kept telling them to stop repotting. Orchids are best grown in the smallest possible pot, you know. All they care is that they’re fashionable and that they’ll sell well. That’s why we stocked those ceramic kissing frog couples and hoses made to look like cobra skin.” She gave a little snort.
    How had she gotten to the transportation center? Had she driven and left her car in the parking lot, or had someone dropped her off? She said, “There’s a species of orchid in Australia—only in Australia—a subterranean species that blooms underground. It has no chlorophyll, but it flowers beneath the soil. It’s a perfect metaphor for something, isn’t it? Use it sometime, and think of me.”
    “Mrs. Heppendale. You’re really leaving? Right now?”
    “If the bus ever arrives,” she said.
    The bus was swinging around the curve to pull into its bay. An announcement of its arrival came over the PA system.
    “I’m sorry we never really got