The wine bottle was almost empty when I found myself telling of that dreadful day five years ago. “Sometimes I think if the phone hadn’t rung, if only I hadn’t answered it, life would be different. I was in the kitchen making Marc’s favorite lasagna. I picked up the receiver, still stirring the sausage. I thought it was a bad joke. Marc and his buddy Jeff could sometimes come up with some terrible pranks, particularly after a day of fishing and beer. They thought they were hilarious. But this time, Jeff’s voice sounded odd, out of breath, as though he had just run a marathon.”
My lungs had run out of air and I sucked in a breath. “He told me Marc had been shot. A drive by. He said he was coming to get me, but I said no. I had to get to the hospital. That’s when he told me to wait for him because Marc had already been pronounced dead.”
Tears stung my eyes. “He blurted it out. Just like that. I dropped the phone and ran for the car. Everything after that is a blur. I don’t remember driving to the hospital.” I stared at the tissue Anita had put in my hand. “I barely remember being there. You know what’s strange? I can still remember the smell of the sausage browning in the pan but I don’t remember the funeral.” I choked in oxygen.
Clair reached over and poured the remainder of the wine into my glass. Her mascara was smudged. I glanced at Anita. She held a tissue to her eyes.
I took time to breathe, and we sat in silence for a full minute. “I guess I put a damper on the evening.”
Anita reached over and took my hand. “No Sweetie, you needed to tell the story. It’s the only way to heal. But why didn’t we know about this? Why didn’t you come home?”
“I don’t know why you didn’t hear. Jeff took care of all the arrangements. He even called my father. Dad didn’t come down for the funeral. I never even heard from him or from Aunt Ruth. I guess they were still mad I’d eloped. That’s when I knew I was on my own. I didn’t hear anything from them until three years ago when I got the notice that Dad died.”
Clair huffed, and her voice rose to a higher pitch. “What? I can’t believe they didn’t go to be with you. And they didn’t let any of us know. We would’ve been there.”
Anita slapped the table, causing Clair and me to jump. “Wait a minute. Five years. Wasn’t that about the time your father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s?”
I stared at Anita. “Alzheimer’s? I never heard that. I got a note from Aunt Ruth that he’d been cremated because he was emaciated from an illness. I didn’t even know there had been an illness.”
“Oh gosh, Lauren. I’ll bet it was at the same time. Your dad’s mind was gone by then, so if Jeff called and talked to him, he wouldn’t have remembered. Ruth wouldn’t have heard of it. And poor Ruth had her hands full, taking care of him until she put him in Beaver Creek Nursing Home. She probably never thought to call you or maybe didn’t know how to get hold of you. We wondered why you didn’t come home then.”
A rock formed in my stomach. “Or, if she did call, I didn’t answer the phone. I was worthless for months. After a while, even my friends in Florida stopped calling.”
Clair sniffed, “I’m dumbfounded. Your father gets Alzheimer’s and Marc dies at the same time? What a horrible, horrible cosmic joke.”
“I can’t wrap my mind around this.” I leaned against the sofa to rest my head, and closed my eyes.
I don’t know how much time had passed when I opened them again. The house was dark, with only a single light shining from the kitchen. A blanket had been placed over me, and the plates and glasses had been cleared. I turned on a light and checked the door. My friends had locked it behind them.
In the morning, my head was foggy from the wine, but a weight was lifted from my shoulders. I’d shared the horror of Marc’s death and survived. I’d learned a tragic turn of events had left me alone in my time of need. My father hadn’t abandoned me and maybe, neither had Aunt Ruth.
Chapter Seven
T he small air conditioner unit struggled, rendering the house a sauna, so I sat on the back porch hoping to catch a late morning breeze. The roar of Wallace’s lawn mower drowned out any bird songs. My hairdresser, Rarity, sat at his picnic table gesturing to him as he mowed. Her mouth moved but was I willing to bet Wallace couldn’t hear a word. He nodded at her and smiled as he pushed the mower on the far side of the yard.
Rarity caught sight of me, cupped her hand to the side of her mouth and called, “Lauren, how about a nice glass of lemonade? Wallace can’t hear a thing I say to him with that mower running. I’ll be right over.”
She ran into Wallace’s house and was back out in a flash.
After climbing my steps, and nudging the screen door open with her hip, she held out a large glass. “Fresh squeezed.” Then she giggled. “Not by me. That’s what it said on the bottle—all natural, fresh squeezed.”
I gripped the glass, slippery with condensation. “This is wonderful, Rarity.” The icy cold lemonade made my mouth pucker. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”
Rarity sat in the chair next to me and tucked her feet up underneath her. “This is such a nice porch. Ruth used it a lot in the last years.”
I took in a deep breath. Time for the truth. Who was Aunt Ruth, the woman I remembered or the perfectly sweet lady these people talked about?
“Did she? I know you have such nice things to say about her, everyone does, but I remember a very strict, and not very kind, woman.”
Rarity tipped her head to the side for a moment. “You’re right. I think she was unhappy when you were young. I didn’t know her well until after you’d moved away and your father had begun to show signs of dementia. She spent every day at his place, taking care of him. She changed a lot during that time. I think the stress transformed her. After he died, she’d become a much gentler person.”
We drank our lemonade in silence a few minutes before Rarity continued. “You know, sometimes it’s in the middle of a storm we realize we need help. And sometimes, it isn’t until the storm’s passed that we look back and see God’s provision. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but she found an inner peace. I saw it in her face.”
Rarity reached out and touched my arm. “After that, Ruth always wanted to help the less fortunate, volunteering at the nursing home and the church. That woman found joy in every moment. She told me once she’d spent her life worrying about silly things. She didn’t want to waste another minute.”
“I’m surprised she wanted to help others after caring for my dad. It seems like she would want time for herself.”
“That’s what often happens when someone recognizes how God has helped them through a hard time. The gratefulness makes them want to share. Don’t get me wrong. She enjoyed her life, too. She had the whole interior of the house painted in these pretty soft colors.”
Rarity pointed at the frame hanging on the wall. ”Did you know she painted that lovely inspirational verse herself? ‘The trees of the field shall clap their hands.’ Doesn’t it make you smile? It’s from the Old Testament.”
“That’s such a whimsical thought, perfect for this porch. I wish I had known that Aunt Ruth.” I fell silent as I looked around the small porch, something pricking the back of my mind.
When my attention returned to Rarity, she was studying me. “I’m sorry. I got distracted. I was sure I put some flowers out here. They were in a really pretty pot. My friend Anita gave it to me.”
“Perhaps you put it on the front porch.”
“I don’t think so. I must have left it in the house, maybe the kitchen.” I pressed the cold glass against my hot forehead and laughed. “I must be losing it.”
Rarity put her feet down and sat up straight. Pushing a stray curl from her face, she announced, “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I just had a thought. There are two or three mornings every week the girls and I are really busy at the salon. We hardly have time to think straight with trying to do hair while greeting customers, and answering the phone. Why don’t you come and be my receptionist?”
T
hat got my attention. “Me? I can use the extra income, but most of my time is dedicated to writing.”
“It would be just Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Say, from eight until noon? We’d love the help at the desk during the busy times. Yesterday morning, I was so busy I didn’t know which way was up.”
“I’d thought of getting a job. Do you think I could do it? I went through all kinds of odd jobs in Florida, but I don’t know anything about hair.”
“You don’t have to know about hair, and I can teach you how to schedule appointments. Pretty much, all you have to do is be nice to the customers. The hardest thing is staying calm when one of the hairdressers throws a hissy-fit. But don’t worry about that. I’ll run interference until you get used to them.”
Rarity’s smile grew bigger than ever. Curls bobbed and the ice rang like bells, as she waved her glass in the air. “Oh, say you will. God must have arranged this. He knew I needed help and here you are.”
I couldn’t help but laugh along with her. I certainly could use some extra money. Maybe things were looking up. Maybe God did arrange it.
“Okay, I’ll try it. When do you want me to start?”
“The sooner, the better. Can you come tomorrow? I’m not busy in the morning so we can work at scheduling appointments. Oh, this is going to be fun.”
Rarity leaned over and hugged me. “I’m so excited.”
Chapter Eight
B irds were singing the next morning, as I hopped into the Chrysler to head to The Rare Curl, for my first day of work. It’s amazing what the promise of a little extra money will do for my attitude. A paycheck would ease my financial worries and get me out of Evelynton even faster.
Rarity met me at the door and took me straight to the front desk for a quick lesson on scheduling. She’d made up a cheat-sheet, listing the timing and cost of services. Within twenty minutes, I was fielding calls on my own.
Stacy hurried in carrying a large box of donuts. “Rarity called and told me you would be here. Welcome, girlfriend. These will be in the break room when you want one.”
Patsy slipped in quietly, glanced at me when I said “Hello” and proceeded to the back of the salon.
During the first two hours, I’d had time for coffee and a donut, scheduled five appointments, and calmed a customer when Stacy got off schedule. I was beginning to think this might be my perfect job.
I’d just replaced the handset on the phone when the door opened, and a pale, twig of a woman crept in.
“Good morning. How may I help you?”
Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Patsy.” She padded past me so quietly that I couldn’t resist glancing down to see if she was wearing bedroom slippers. She wasn’t—they were regular shoes. She slithered into the chair where Patsy waited, cape in the air.
The woman seemed familiar. I was willing to bet she’d been the one who’d watched me on the day I moved in, from the upstairs window of the blue house.
I ran a finger down Patsy’s column in the appointment book until I found the woman’s name—Murine Baron—and decided to speak to her on her way out. However, before long, I looked up to see Murine open the front door.
“Murine….” Too late. She was gone.
Patsy hovered at my shoulder and handed me a check. “This is for Murine.” The check was signed in a bold signature, Clive Baron. His was the only name on the account. The address was 416 Stoneybridge.
I swiveled my chair around. “Patsy,” I said, catching her as she turned to go to her styling station. “Murine is my neighbor. I wish I’d caught her before she left. I was hoping to introduce myself.”
Patsy half turned toward me and put her hand on her hip. “She’s shy. You probably would have scared her half to death. She hardly talks to me, let alone strangers. Her husband is a friend of Earl’s.” She wagged a finger in my direction, nodding. “You’re the one.”
With that, she retrieved a broom from the corner and returned to her chair.
I’m the--? “Patsy, wait. What did you mean by ‘You’re the one’?”
Patsy’s brows rose when she turned toward me again. “Oh, nothing. Just that you’re the one who moved in.” She paused for a minute. “Clive’s not the friendliest guy. He wanted your house for his son and thought he could buy it cheap when Ruth died. He wouldn’t have been happy with anyone except Clive Jr. moving in. He acts mean, but don’t worry about him.” Patsy went back to her chair.
Sure. I shouldn’t worry about a big gruff man who’s mad at me and keeps a loaded 12 gauge.
I was studying the appointment book later when Rarity came to the desk and put her hand on my shoulder. “You did a great job today, Lauren. You’re a natural. How did you like it?”
I glanced at the clock, thinking twelve noon never looked so good. I’d worked my full four hour shift. What would I do if I had to work a full day?
“I’m finished for the day? The time went fast. It was fun.”
Okay, I was stressed and tired, but no need to tell my boss. I had my handbag on my shoulder before I finished speaking.
“I could tell you were enjoying your work. You are good with the customers. So, I’ll see you day after tomorrow?”
I was half-way to the door when I waved. “Sure thing. I’ll see you Saturday morning.” The phone rang and Rarity answered it.
I stepped out onto the sidewalk, and breathed a sigh of relief.
Chapter Nine
I ’d parked the Lincoln two block down the street, and on my way there, I passed a storefront where fluttering caught my eye. Inside, Anita and Clair pressed their faces to the window. They waved and motioned for me to come inside.
On the glass above them, bold letters read Ava’s Java Shop. A coffee shop. Why hadn’t I noticed it before?
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee engulfed me as soon as I pushed through the door. The upscale decor surpassed my expectations for a small town shop. The walls were mouthwatering tones of milk chocolate and latte, the counters and tables a deep coffee brown, and overstuffed chairs in varying shades of forest green.
“We’re over here, Lauren.” Clair’s voice rose above the chatter.
“Coming.” I wandered to their table, taking in the pewter lighting fixtures. “This place is fabulous.”
“It’s our favorite.” Clair scooted her chair out as I sank into mine. “I’m buying your first cup of Ava’s amazing coffee. Or would you like one of the special coffee drinks? Caramel java macchiato?”
“No. Thank you, straight with a little cream would be wonderful.”
Clair’s heels clicked as she trotted toward the counter.
I turned to Anita. “This is great. I love it. Reminds me of home—well, Florida.”
Anita added a packet of sugar to her cup and stirred. “We always meet here. You’ll have to join us.”
She tapped a notebook sitting open in front of her. “This is the final meeting of the reunion committee. The cocktail party is tomorrow. You’re coming, aren’t you? Drinks and snacks. It’ll be fun.”
I grimaced. “Yikes. I forgot. Maybe I’ll stop by for a while. You know me and crowds.”
Anita picked up her cup and peered over the top. “I know, but I also know that once you’re there, you’ll have fun.”
Clair reappeared, and slid an emerald green ceramic mug in front of me.“ Ava’s special blend. It’s the best.”
“Thank you.” I let the hot liquid roll down my throat. My eyes closed, and I almost purred. “Excellent.”
When I opened my eyes, Clair was back in her chair, wide-eyed and staring at something over my left shoulder. I turned to follow her gaze until I found the focus of her attention. Ava was handing a brown to-go cup to a tall man with broad shoulders. I recognized the dark hair, and when he turned, I remembered the dark eyes from my first day in Evelynton. His gaze crossed mine, and I caught the hint of a smile before he turned his attention to the exit. I might have imagined it since he seemed otherwise unconcerned with the three awe-struck
women staring in his direction.
“Whoa,” Clair said in an uncharacteristically soft voice. She turned her head and tracked him as he walked to the door, then craned her neck to peer through the window. She was silent as he climbed into a black SUV and drove away.
“Cute.” Anita quipped, and looked back at her notes. “Do you think we ordered enough of those little sausages for the cocktail party?”
When no answer came, she looked up at Clair, whose attention was still riveted to the disappearing SUV.
“Clair. Snap out of it. Didn’t you just tell me you were in love with that guy you met? You know, the one you’ve been seeing almost every night? Remember Philip? What’s his last name?”
Clair turned to face us. “Townsend. Philip Townsend. And I am in love with him. I was only looking.” Her gaze wandered back at the window. “Have you seen that beautiful man before? Wonder who he is.”
“It’s looking that lands you in trouble every time.” Anita shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before.”
Clair took a gulp of her coffee and directed her attention to me. “How could I not admire him? He’s gorgeous, isn’t he Lauren?”
“Hmm. He was nice looking.” I concentrated on my coffee, giving my best unimpressed performance.
“Well ladies, I think I should ask around. He’s new in town and might want to buy a house. It’s my business to know people.” She tipped up her coffee mug, and drained the contents.
Anita leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “Clair, you never change. When will you settle down?”
“Maybe with Philip, but I’ll stop looking at gorgeous men when….” She shrugged and flapped her hand in dismissal. “I never will. Anyway, I’ll find out who this one is. Trust me.”
Clair shot out of her chair, and strode to the counter. Once she got Ava’s attention, the two women put their heads together for a few minutes. My friend returned and pressed both hands on the table, smiling like the Cheshire cat. “Ava says he paid cash so she doesn’t know his name, but he has something to do with the police department. She saw him go in there early this morning when she was on her way to work.”
Heart Strings Page 4