by Judy Duarte
“Ham, turkey, or pastrami on rye?” Sam asked, drawing Claire’s attention from her musing.
“Turkey, please. But only half. Maybe someone else can share with me.”
“Look at the size of those sandwiches,” Hilda said. “We’ll be able to feed an army with the leftovers.”
“Like I said…” Sam tossed Claire a crooked grin. “I forgot who I was ordering for. Besides, I’m hungry.” Then he reached into the box for the sodas. “I’m afraid I only purchased three drinks at the deli, but if Hilda has any paper cups, we can make this work.”
“I brought herbal tea for myself, so those three sodas will be plenty for you.” Hilda slipped her hand into a large canvas tote bag, and her smile soon morphed into a grimace of perplexity. “Oh, dear. Where’s my thermos?”
“Did you leave it in the car?” Analisa asked. “Like last time?”
Hilda faltered momentarily, then brightened. “Maybe so.” As she got to her feet, she added, “You all go ahead and eat. Please don’t wait for me.”
After the elderly woman headed for the parking lot, Analisa bent forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Sometimes she forgets stuff, and I have to remind her.”
Sam didn’t seem too concerned about the comment, but Claire, who’d been privy to the child’s pleas to God, wasn’t so sure. Children didn’t always have a grasp on what was going on in the adult world, yet Analisa seemed to be unusually aware of everyone around her, including the grown-ups.
As they sat at the picnic table and began to unwrap sandwiches and pass out chips, fruit bowls, plastic forks, and napkins, Claire couldn’t help but steal a glance at the child. The doll she held, a brown-haired baby with tan skin and dark eyes, was a bit tattered and worn, but in a Velveteen Rabbit way.
“You have a nice baby,” Claire told the girl. “What’s her name?
“Lucita.” Analisa carefully propped her doll on the table, so that it sat beside the sandwich. “She used to belong to my friend, Soledad. But when Uncle Sam came to get me at Rio del Oro, and we had to leave, Soledad gave her to me.”
“Analisa has plenty of dolls at home,” Sam said, “all brand-new. But she prefers that one.”
“That’s because Soledad loved her so much.” Analisa caressed the scraggly brown hair, then offered Claire a smile. “Me and Soledad didn’t used to like each other. But when Mommy died, I had to stay with her family for a while, and she was nice. So we made friends. Then, when my daddy died and I had to go with Uncle Sam, we cried and cried. Soledad said that since she still had her parents and I didn’t, she wanted me to have Lucita. So I have to take really good care of her.”
An ache settled in Claire’s chest. Did Sam realize Analisa had lost not only her parents, but a friend, too? A child who’d given up her prized possession to the little girl she’d never see again?
Had he made arrangements for the children to talk on the telephone? To write? To keep in touch somehow?
“Know what, Uncle Sam?” Analisa adjusted the doll, making it face her bowl of fruit.
Sam unwrapped the pastrami on rye, then tore open a bag of tortilla chips. “What’s that, honey?”
“Trevor said that dolls are dumb.”
Sam popped a chip in his mouth. “Who’s Trevor?”
Analisa pointed toward the playground, where the boy sat on the down side of the teeter-totter all by himself. “There he is.”
Sam slid a glance at Claire, eyes sparking, a grin tugging at his lips. “Someone needs to teach Trevor a little tact, especially when it comes to dealing with girls.”
“What’s tact?” Analisa asked.
“It’s choosing your words carefully,” her uncle told her, “so you don’t offend someone.”
“What’s offend mean?”
He cleared his throat, glancing at Claire, before returning his attention to the child. “It means to hurt them or upset them.”
“Then Trevor really needs to learn it.” Analisa lifted the top off her sandwich and removed the slice of tomato.
“Trevor is still a child,” Claire said in the boy’s defense, “so that means he still has a lot to learn.”
“You’re a boy, too,” Analisa told Sam, “so maybe you can talk to him about it.”
“I don’t think a stranger ought to tell him about that sort of thing. Besides, it’s a lesson his parents should teach him.”
“Why don’t I talk to him?” Claire said. She had no idea why she’d volunteered, yet now that she’d opened her mouth, she wasn’t sure how to backpedal. “I’ll explain that Analisa loves Lucita as much as or more than he loves his skateboard.”
It’s the approach Claire would have used if Erik had been the one to make light of a doll that had become much more than a toy.
A shadow of sadness skulked over her again, as it often did whenever she thought about her son, and she tried her best to ignore it.
About that time, Mrs. Richards returned to the table with a thermos, unscrewed the lid, and filled a red plastic cup with herbal tea. Then she looked up and smiled sheepishly. “I knew I’d brought it today. I always do.”
Analisa agreed. “Mrs. Richards loves tea. And when she was a little girl like me, she used to have tea parties.”
Hilda smiled, then took a dainty sip from the plastic cup.
For the most part, they ate their lunch in silence. When Claire had finished her sandwich and fruit, she excused herself, saying she had to go. “I need to stop by the dry cleaners and the grocery store.”
Sam got to his feet. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll walk you to your car.”
“All right.”
As Sam began to pick up the used napkins and wrappers, Hilda shooed him away. “You go on back to the office, Mr. Dawson. I’ll clear the table. It’ll give me something to do.”
“All right, Mrs. Richards. Thanks.” After saying good-bye to Analisa and telling her he’d see her at home, Sam walked with Claire to the parking lot.
There was a light wind from the west, a salty ocean breeze that stirred the scent of his musky cologne. Their shoulders brushed once, twice.
The first time it happened, she didn’t think much of it. She just basked in an awareness of his bulk and his warmth. But the second touch triggered a flutter in her pulse that suggested they could become more than the friends he’d claimed they were.
Not liking the direction her thoughts had drifted and looking for a distraction, Claire glanced up ahead and saw Trevor. When his gaze met hers, he lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers.
She waved back. She’d promised to talk to him about Lucita, and she would—later. After Sam left.
For some reason, she felt compelled to extend her time with Sam, although she refused to ponder why.
“You know,” he said, interrupting her thoughts, “I’m not used to dealing with kids, especially girls.”
“I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”
He shrugged. “My home life was crappy when I was growing up, and to be honest, I never really saw myself becoming a parent. So, needless to say, I’m out of my league.”
Claire’s own early years had left a lot to be desired, too, yet she’d always wanted to be a mother, to have a big family. She’d dreamed of living in the suburbs with a house full of kids and driving a loaded-down minivan to soccer practice or dance lessons.
But Ron hadn’t wanted children. “I’m not up for all the drama,” he’d said on more than one occasion.
If truth be told, Claire, who’d been an only child, wouldn’t have minded the noise, the you-started-it squabbles, or the age-old cootie wars.
“By the way,” Sam said, “I received a call from Russell Meredith’s attorney today.”
As Sam’s steps slowed, Claire turned to face him, her wistful reflection fading as quickly as her hackles raised. “What was that about?”
“It seems that Russell has been a model prisoner and has shown a great deal of remorse. There’s a good chance he’ll be released.”
�
�Great. And then what? He just goes back to his six-figure income, his home in the most exclusive neighborhood in town?”
Sam didn’t respond.
She crossed her arms. “I’ll never believe that he wasn’t driving while intoxicated that day, that he didn’t know he’d hit my son. And I told you before, I don’t want him released before he serves his full sentence.”
“I understand where you’re coming from and why you’d like to see him punished. I’m fully prepared to represent you and your interests during the hearing in the next couple of weeks. But for what it’s worth, Russell has lost a lot in the past three years.”
“So have I.” Tears welled in Claire’s eyes, and a drop slipped down her cheek. Then another.
Sam placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip warm and tender, his gaze intense, his compassion sincere. “I know.”
She wanted to lean into him, to rest her head against his shoulder, to seek the emotional support that had been missing from her life long before Ron had packed his things and moved out of the house. But she rallied and stood firm, going so far as to step back.
“Words can’t express how sorry I am for your loss, Claire, but punishing Russell won’t bring Erik back.”
As the truth of his words hung over her like a shroud, she gazed at him through watery eyes. “I know. Erik’s loss is something I have to live with. Something I’ll never be able to shake.”
“It’s got to be tough, but you’re not the only one suffering.”
Claire merely looked at him.
“Russell has a boy about the same age as your son was, a boy who hasn’t seen his father outside of prison in three years.”
For a moment, her resolve waffled—but only temporarily. “At least Russell still has a son.”
Sam, who probably never had trouble conjuring a counterpoint in court, didn’t argue.
“Thanks for lunch.” She forced a smile, then turned and walked away. For a while, it had seemed as though she’d joined the world of the living again.
But she hadn’t been able to stay.
Claire couldn’t remember the last time she’d pulled out her sewing machine or laid fabric on the dining room table in order to pin on a pattern. But that’s what she’d done this evening.
On Saturday afternoon, when she’d left the park in a rush, she’d only been thinking about getting away before Sam saw her break down and cry. And when she’d arrived at home, she’d realized she hadn’t talked to Trevor like she’d promised Analisa she would. So on Sunday, she’d returned to Mulberry Park, hoping to find the boy, but Trevor hadn’t been there. Neither had Analisa.
Rather than go home to an empty house, Claire had wandered over to the mulberry tree and sat on the concrete bench. Out of habit, she’d glanced into the branches, where sometimes there’d been a letter waiting for her.
There hadn’t been.
As she’d sat on the cold stone seat, the ocean breeze caressing her face and taunting wisps of her hair, her thoughts settled on the orphan who’d penned the poignant letters to God and her scraggly-haired doll. It hadn’t taken long for an idea to form.
On the way home, Claire had stopped by the fabric store, where she spent a surprising amount of time picking out pieces of flannel and cotton, as well as rickrack and lace. Then she chose several patterns for doll clothes.
Now, as she carefully cut a piece of pink cloth that would soon be a romper for Lucita, Claire focused on her task. In the course of the week, after her workdays, her plan was to make a stack of nightgowns, diapers, and receiving blankets for Analisa’s doll. Then she’d return to the park on Saturday with her surprise.
As the scissors snipped around the first pattern piece, the telephone rang.
Usually, Claire let the machine answer, since most of her calls at this time of night were from telemarketers, but for some reason, she reached out and took the receiver in hand. “Hello?”
“Hey, I finally caught you at home.”
It was Vickie, and there wasn’t any way to avoid the call.
“I’m sorry, Vick. I meant to call you back, but I’ve been pretty busy lately.”
“Busy is good. I hadn’t talked to you in months, so I thought I ought to give you a call. What have you been up to?”
Claire glanced at the fabric-littered table. “Actually, I’ve been sewing.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You’ve always been a great seamstress. I still have that apron you gave me a few Christmases back, the one with all the intricate appliqués. And I still get tons of compliments on it.”
Silence lingered on the line, as Claire scrambled to find some common ground without quizzing her friend about her family or her kids. Vickie’s son, Jason, had been only a year older than Erik, and each time Claire thought of the boy, thought of the things he was involved with, the sports he played, she was reminded of all Erik had missed out on. All the activities she, as a mother, hadn’t been able to share.
It wasn’t as though Vickie had been insensitive to Claire’s discomfort in the past. She’d always gone to great lengths to avoid bringing up family stuff, although tiptoeing around it didn’t work very well, either.
“So what do you say about having a girls’ day?” Vickie said. “I don’t know about you, but I could certainly use a day of pampering. And that new spa is supposed to be great.”
All right, Claire wanted to say. Let’s grab our Day Planners. However, Claire’s calendar was pretty blank these days, and Vickie’s had to be filled to the brim with…What sport was Jason playing this time of year? Little League?
“How does this Saturday work for you?” Vickie asked.
Claire glanced down at the pink flannel, ran her finger along the soft fabric. “Actually, I’m busy this weekend.” For once, the excuse rang true.
But so did the possibility that Vickie would finally throw in the towel of their friendship. And try as she might, Claire couldn’t forget how tight they’d once been.
After all, Vickie had been the first one to arrive at the hospital following the accident, the one to wait while Erik was in ICU, offering to put him on the prayer chain at her church. And during those dark days before and after the funeral, it had been Vickie who’d called the president of the PTA and saw to it that meals were brought in to the Harper home on a regular basis. For the next couple of weeks, when it was all Claire could do to roll out of bed and put one foot in front of the other, Vickie had done the laundry and picked up groceries.
She’d been a godsend, and Claire had told her so many times. But as life and reality began to settle around them, Claire had finally been forced to level with Vickie, admitting that as much as she loved her, as much as she valued her friendship, being around a happy wife and mother hurt too much.
And Vickie, bless her heart, had understood. “I’ll continue to call and check on you every couple of months or so,” she’d told Claire. “Just let me know when you’re ready to pick up where we left off.”
They’d had lunch two or three times over the past couple of years, and Claire had called Vickie when Ron had moved out. But they were no longer close. Not like they’d been in the past. And now that Claire thought about it, she realized that Vickie’s calls were becoming less frequent.
If Claire didn’t snap to pretty soon, she stood to lose the best friend she’d ever had. Something she couldn’t let happen.
“You know,” she said, “although I’m busy this Saturday, I’m free the next. Are you?”
Vickie cleared her throat. “I…uh…well, darn it. That won’t work for me.”
A dance recital maybe? A baseball tournament? A family camping trip?
Claire knew better than to ask, and Vickie was sensitive enough not to explain. But at least Claire had agreed to meet her.
“Why don’t I give you a call in a week or so,” Vickie said. “Maybe then we’ll be able to lock in some time to get together.”
“Sounds good.” Claire gripped the receiver until her knuckles ached, trying to hold onto the
frayed connection. “I know how busy you get, Vick, so I’ll call you. And if the spa doesn’t work, maybe we can try lunch again.”
“That would be great.”
When they said their good-byes and the line disconnected, Claire returned to her project.
She realized that she could have altered her plans to take the doll clothes to the park this weekend, going with Vickie instead. But she’d also promised to talk to Trevor on Analisa’s behalf.
Hopefully, seeing a smile light up the little blonde’s face would be more therapeutic than a massage.
On Monday morning, Walter made his way toward the sidewalk that wove through the park. He walked just steps behind Hilda, who clutched her canvas tote to her side as if it held everything she owned.
Analisa had run ahead to the playground, leaving the elderly nanny to bring up the rear.
“Good morning,” Walter called out.
When Hilda turned to face him, he lifted the two folded lawn chairs he carried, one in each hand. “These are a lot more comfortable than the park benches. I had an extra one in the garage, so I thought you might want to use it.”
“Why, thank you.” She offered him a weary smile. “I believe I’ll take you up on the offer. Those fiberglass seats are hard on more than my back. And since I forgot to take my pain medication this morning…” Rather than go on to explain, she clucked her tongue instead.
Walter tended to keep to himself these days, yet he had a feeling Hilda was in the same boat he was. Well, maybe not the same one; sometimes he swore his was sinking. “I know you like the shade, as well as being close to the playground to watch Analisa. So what do you say we set your chair here?”
“That’ll be just fine.”
Moments later, he had the seat open, sturdy and ready for her. “There you go.”
When she thanked him, he asked, “Do you mind if I join you for a while?”
“Sure. Go ahead and sit down.” Her smile softened the lines in her face and caused her blue-gray eyes to sparkle.
Once he’d set up his own chair, she reached into her tote, withdrew her thermos, and poured herself some tea. “If you happen to have a spare cup, I’ll share this with you.”