“Basements are for tornadoes,” Zhondra said. “I don’t know what she’s doing here. She should have called me. I would have told her not to bother.”
“Maybe she needs the money. That husband of hers can’t make a dime.”
“Maybe she just wants to be safely out of the storm,” Zhondra replied. “We’re the highest ground around here. Go out and talk to them, Alice, will you? I’ll come out as soon as I get Ginny settled.”
“You mean you’re going to give her something to do?”
“Why not? She’s here. And I can’t send her back into town with the storm this close. I couldn’t do that to the baby.”
“It’s a cute baby. Too bad it doesn’t have better parents.”
“Go, Alice.”
Alice stood up, stretched, and started down the steps. “You be careful,” she said. “I don’t trust that woman. Baby or no baby.”
“She’s harmless,” Zhondra said automatically. “She’s stupid.”
“Stupid is never harmless.” Alice shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I’ll do what I can, Zhondra, but then it’s going to be up to you. They never listen to me, you know. They just tell me I’m blind to the feminine forces of spirituality in the universe. I keep wanting to give them all copies of The Case Against God.”
Then Alice was gone, and Ginny was there, starting up the steps, smiling that bouncy queen-of-the-cheerleaders smile she had—that all of them seemed to have, all the women in this place. Zhondra came from a place where women were shrill and sarcastic and nasty, but never too eager to please. All this sweetness and light made her distinctly nervous.
“Hello, Ms. Meyer,” Ginny sang out. “Here I am now. Ready to get to work.”
Right, Zhondra thought. Tiffany gurgled in her carrier. All the molecules in Ginny Marsh’s body seemed to be bouncing around at random, like the balls in the demonstration chamber of an old Mr. Wizard show. Zhondra turned around and headed up the steps again, saying nothing at all.
Less than five minutes later, Zhondra and Ginny were standing together in the large west wing study. Ginny was putting Tiffany in a plastic baby seat to one side of the computer on the broad oak desk. Zhondra was thinking that the big chandelier looked dirty and ought to be cleaned. All around them, velvet wall hangings fought with aggressive modern art, and both sides seemed to be losing.
“Well,” Ginny said, checking the strap on Tiffany’s baby seat one more time. “There we are. Do you have a minute to talk to me now, Ms. Meyer? There’s something I have to bring up.”
“Is there? Maybe we can talk about it later, Ginny. There’s something I have to do.”
“Well, I don’t want to hold you up any, Ms. Meyer. But this is very important. It’s about my going on working here after today.”
“Do you mean that you have to be leaving us? I’m sorry about that, Ginny.” Zhondra wasn’t really. Not exactly. “You’ve done a very good job.”
Ginny fiddled with the computer keys. “It’s not that I have to leave no matter what. It’s about… about our agreements here. My husband is putting his foot down.”
“About what?”
“About my not being able to put my picture of the Lord up on my desk when I work,” Ginny said. “Bobby doesn’t mind it about how you won’t let me listen to the radio. He says a lot of bosses don’t let their workers listen to the radio at work. Although why not, I’ll never know, Ms. Meyer. I mean, I type a lot faster when I’m praising the Lord with all my heart. But Bobby says that’s all right.”
“Does he.” Zhondra’s tone was dry.
Ginny wasn’t paying attention. She was fooling with the computer keys. She was squinting at the fine print on the bottom of the screen. She was touching Tiffany’s bootie-clad foot with her fingertip.
“The thing about the picture, though,” she said, “is that it wouldn’t bother anybody. It wouldn’t make any noise. Nobody would even see it unless they came in here.”
“But what if they did come in here?” Zhondra asked.
“Well, it wouldn’t be bad for them if they did. It’s a picture of the Lord I keep next to me, Ms. Meyer, not some rock star. Maybe someone would come in here and see that picture and feel called, you know, called to Christ.”
“Most of the women who are here have been Christians in their time, Ginny. Most of them don’t think it was a very pleasant experience.”
“That’s just the Devil talking,” Ginny said. “The Devil does those things to people. He counterfeits. He makes you think he’s Christ, and then he ruins your life, and you think Christ has done it.”