by Betty Bolte
She paused in the fresh produce section to debate on a spring mix of lettuce or a head of romaine. Suddenly she noticed an older couple—she in blue jeans and flowered top, he in khaki overalls with an open-collared work shirt—standing by the bin of tomatoes, peering at her as though debating whether to speak. Uneasy with their open appraisal when she didn’t immediately recognize them, she cleared her throat. “Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry to stare. But can it be our little Meredith? Is it really you?”
The lady’s salt-and-pepper hair framed her heart-shaped face. Despite her advanced age, few wrinkles graced her smooth skin. Piercing cobalt eyes smiled at her. Peering closer, Meredith finally recalled the older woman.
“Meg? My goodness, it’s great to see you.” Meredith embraced her grandmother’s housekeeper. “I’m surprised you recognized me after all this time.”
“I’d never forget you. You remember my husband, Sean.” Meg patted her husband’s arm twice and smiled at him, her love for him evident in her adoring expression.
“Of course.” Meredith shook his proffered hand. “How have you both been?”
“We were better before that lawyer gave us a pink slip.” Sean shifted his weight to lean against the buggy.
“After Grandma died?” She bristled on their behalf. The two longtime employees of her grandmother deserved better treatment than that. Meg occupied a special place in Meredith’s heart after all the wonderful times they’d shared during the annual summer visits. “What are you doing now?”
“Looking for work, but at our age it’s difficult to find a new situation.” Meg’s smile became strained. She looped one arm through Sean’s, and he stood straight once more.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could help.” Meredith gripped the buggy handle, her mind racing through possible solutions but coming up empty.
“I hesitate to ask, but…well—” Meg drew in a quick breath and smiled. “If you’re willing, of course, we could work for you, seeing as how you’ve inherited the place.” Meg shifted closer to Sean, her eyes hopeful. “It’s a lot to manage. You are planning to stay, right? That’s what Max told us, anyhow.”
Max. Stirring up trouble for her yet again. Meredith did not need anyone else interfering. This couple, as helpful as they may be, could only cause complications. Yet the hope shining in their eyes gave her pause. They’d devoted most of their lives to working for her grandmother, and now they were on the street because of Max. Through no fault of their own, they found themselves out of a job and a livelihood. And a place to live in addition to the rest.
“I suppose I could use your help to put things in order,” Meredith said slowly. “But I can’t promise for how long.”
“Thank you, Meredith. I hoped you’d say that.” Meg beamed at her. “We appreciate your confidence in us. We won’t let you down.”
“We’ll move our things back into the caretaker’s cottage this afternoon.” Sean shook her hand again, hope in his level gaze.
“Perfect.” Meredith mentally shrugged. They already knew their jobs, so how much trouble could they be? At a minimum, Meg could remove cobwebs and rid the joint of mildew. “I’ll see you later, and we’ll talk specifics.”
They waved as they hurried away down the aisle, chatting to each other with happy animation. She watched them until they turned the corner, wondering how they’d talked her into hiring them back so easily. Shaking off the encounter, she pushed the buggy quickly after them. Finally tossing in several cans of cat food to complement the bag of dry, she wheeled the buggy to the checkout.
She’d nearly made her escape when another female voice, one she hadn’t heard in a long time, stopped her in her tracks. “My God, I can’t believe I’m seeing what I’m seeing. Little Meredith grocery shopping.”
Meredith raised her eyes to confirm that the voice she’d heard was indeed that of Paulette. Crap, crap, crap. She had no idea she was anywhere near Tennessee. The last she heard, she was holed up with some bloke in Indiana, doing what she did best: bitch and cause trouble. Show no fear. She swallowed but held her gaze. “What are you doing here? Wait. How did you know I’d be here?”
“Is that any way to greet me after all this time?” Paulette strutted over to stand next to the buggy, an alligator advancing on its breakfast. “Mr. Chandler told me when I phoned him earlier on my way. I heard about your fortune, or at least your luck. What did you do to coerce Grandma into handing over her wealth to you?”
She’d have to warn Max about not revealing her whereabouts to others to respect her privacy. And to not share any information with Paulette. Meredith forcibly stopped herself from retreating backward, away from the angry flash of Paulette’s tawny eyes. “Do? Nothing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”
“I’m coming with you.” Paulette laid a hand on Meredith’s arm. “That house should have been mine. As the oldest and all, if nothing else.”
“Actually, it should have gone to our parents,” Meredith said, wanting but refusing to shake off the hand searing her arm. “Then we wouldn’t have this to argue about as well as all the other crap we’ve argued about most of our lives.”
“We don’t argue. We discuss heatedly.” Paulette winked. “I want to catch up with my little sister. Is there anything wrong with that?”
“Yes. And no, you’re not staying with me.” A bitter lump formed in her throat, and she forced it back down.
Paulette had once been her closest friend, until she’d started shooting down all of Meredith’s actions with stinging remarks that reverberated in her head for years afterward. Cutting, hateful comments. Meredith didn’t understand what had changed between them, but something had. It was like a secret she wasn’t in on.
Paulette’s blonde curls bobbed, denying Meredith’s words. “Yes, I am. You owe me.”
“I owe you nothing.” Meredith drew in a long breath, striving for balance and failing. She couldn’t be in the same room with Paulette without wanting to throttle her. Or at least, she became defensive in her presence. Wary and watchful and tense. Paulette deserved only one thing from her. “Nothing.”
“Whether you like it or not, Meredith, I’m still your older sister.”
“So you keep saying. What of it?”
Where was she going with this? What did she want from her now? The last time they’d seen each other was before she hooked up with Johnny What’s-his-name. Paulette had struggled to land freelance jobs as an interior decorator, which turned out to amount to merely slapping paint on walls and choosing fabric for ugly stuffed chairs. As a result, Meredith bailed her out of her rent more than once. Even gave her cash for groceries and utilities. Without a word of thanks in return.
The smile melted from Paulette’s lips. Her expression hardened but hinted at desperation. “I want what’s rightfully mine. Half of Grandma’s fortune.”
“What makes you think there’s a fortune to be had?” Meredith played for time, trying to find a way out of this hellish conversation.
Paulette could not be trusted to do right by anyone other than herself. Meredith had been burned by her opinions and tirades too many times to tally since they’d turned into teenagers. Now she refused to leave an opening for Paulette to target her verbal darts or missiles. No chinks existed in her emotional armor because Meredith refused to give Paulette any additional ammunition to use against her in these spats and catfights.
“If nothing else, that house is big enough for us to share.” Paulette’s pink lips twisted into something reminiscent of a pout. “If you don’t want to sell it?”
“Ah, so that’s it.” Meredith pushed the buggy closer to the waiting clerk, trying to shorten the length of time she stayed trapped by her sister. Finally the pieces of the puzzle snapped together. “You need the cash or a place to stay? Or both? Did Johnny leave you?”
Paulette wrapped her fingers around the wire buggy and stopped Meredith’s progress. Her pout flattened into a frown. “The bastard. He doesn’t know when he’s got it
good.”
“You still can’t stay with me.” Nothing would be worse than having Paulette in the same house for any extent of time. She pushed the buggy up to the counter and quickly unloaded her items onto the conveyor belt. Paulette’s hand remained on the buggy as though afraid Meredith would go running out the door. The beep of the scanner punctuated their conversation. “But there’s a B&B up the street from here.”
Paulette stared at Meredith for the span of three heartbeats before shrugging, a smile sliding onto her mouth. “You’re probably right. We’d hurt each other in the same house. I’ll have them send you the bill.”
Relief twined with anger flushed through Meredith. At least she’d dodged having her in the house, but she still had to pay the price. Literally. “Right.” She lifted the twin grocery sacks hanging off her hands, the weight quickly making her arms shake. “I’ve got to go. My cat’s in the car, and the longer I talk with you, the hotter it’s becoming out there.”
“Hang on.” Paulette caught one of Meredith’s arms, snaring her with an intense regard. “Meet me for dinner. I—I need to talk to you. How about the Hideaway for old times’ sake?”
Meredith stared at her. The hint of dark circles under her eyes suggested Paulette’s life had some difficulties. Again. Meredith forced tight shoulders down and rolled her neck to release the building tension. Shaking her head, a tiny movement, she admitted defeat to herself if not Paulette. She couldn’t dodge the woman forever. At some point, they had to put their hostility behind them. But was now the right time or the worst time to try? Reluctantly, Meredith nodded. “As long as we don’t sit in the cell.”
__________
The kitchen door squealed as Meredith pushed it open, grocery sacks and the yowling cat carrier bumping against her legs. Her purse slipped off her shoulder, yanking so hard she almost dropped the poor cat. She eased both to the floor before slinging the grocery sacks onto the counter. A puff of dust whispered into the air, making her cough.
Her grandmother had loved to cook, and thus the kitchen was the one room in the house allowed to vary in content and design from an antebellum-era kitchen. The renovated room served as an altar to culinary delights. Paneled doors hid the appliances, blending them into the surrounding walls, so finding the dishwasher and refrigerator became a game of hide-and-seek. Ceramic tiles graced the floor, complementing the tiled table set in front of the rear window.
She opened the fridge and sniffed the cold air inside. Passable, but she’d need to ask Meg to clean it soon. She placed her quart of milk, half-dozen eggs, and containers of yogurt in front of several bottles of wine shoved to the back.
“Meooww.” The carrier wobbled on the tiled floor as the yowl echoed in the room.
“Okay, okay. Hold on.” No dangers lurked in the corners and shadows as far as she could tell, so she’d let her feline loose. “Just don’t go getting lost, deal?”
“Meooww…”
Laughing at her vocal companion, Meredith slid the latches open and lifted the carrier’s lid. Grizabella’s white, black, and orange head popped up and swiveled like a periscope surveying the unfamiliar horizon. She leaped out of the confines of the plastic box in one fluid arc. Griz picked her way across the floor, lifting and placing each paw, nose and tail both twitching at the onslaught of new scents.
“Behave yourself.” Chuckling, Meredith found a place to hold her remaining groceries. She reached for the handle on the pantry door, only to have the tarnished brass and glass knob come off in her hand. Sighing, she pulled her Swiss army knife from her pocket and flipped up the appropriate tool to turn the inner mechanism. Finally popping open the pantry door, she flinched at the odor accompanying the spiderwebs stretched across the interior. This place needed more than a bit of work.
Wonder if Grandma kept things in the same places all this time? She hurried to the back staircase, the one once used by the servants of the house and connected the kitchen to the bedrooms above. Similar to the front stairs, a small door led to a closet made from the space underneath the risers. Unlike the front hall closet, this one’s door sat firmly shut. Meredith gingerly tested the doorknob before giving it a firm twist to pull it open. A small cloud of dust swirled around her feet, lightly coating her shoes.
Taking a deep breath, she ventured inside. The old straw broom Grandma had always preferred over the “newfangled” ones with plastic bristles rested against the back wall. A dust mop, rag mop, bucket, and round-headed wall brush Meg needed to use on the cobwebs everywhere flanked the yellow-bristled tool. Grabbing the broom handle, Meredith strode back to the pantry and swiped the webs from the shelves. Satisfied, she replaced the broom in its home. A roll of paper towels sat on a faux marble spindle on the kitchen counter. She wet one to wipe down the shelves. Before long, her groceries sat neatly situated in the pantry.
She glanced at her watch. Putting away her groceries only took an hour. If every task took that long, she’d be here until Independence Day, or worse, Christmas.
The light thump of cat paws sounded in the back hallway. Meredith kept one ear tuned to track where Griz explored, just in case she needed to rescue the cat from her own curiosity. Which had happened when they first moved into the little apartment in Baltimore, overlooking the Inner Harbor. Griz had sniffed out a hole in the wall between the kitchen and the living room. Meredith hadn’t known anything was amiss until the cat’s plaintive cries came from within the wall. Ultimately, repairing the wall was easier than trying to lure her back to the small opening.
Meredith paced through the house until she stopped at the wide doorway to the sewing room. Max had told her Grandma died in her rocker, head back, eyes closed peacefully as though taking an afternoon snooze. Meredith paused, mentally inventorying the contents of the room. Sunshine filtered through the sheers covering the oversize double-hung windows. A cut-glass bowl of lavender-and-mint potpourri sat on an antique table, a spiderweb glistening between the bowl and the wood surface. Two floral-print gooseneck-handled rocking chairs faced the windows, lace doilies pinned to their headrests. Meredith envisioned her Grandma taking her final nap in the chair farthest from the door. The same chair the woman had occupied every Sunday afternoon of Meredith’s childhood to do her mending for the week, or to add stitches to one of hundreds of gifts in celebration of a new baby or birthday or other milestone event.
Grandma didn’t know what Meredith had endured. What would she have said if she were here? How would she have handled the loss of two dear loved ones in such a tragic way? The horror followed by anger and grief was beyond her ability to describe to people who had not experienced it, and even more difficult for them to grasp.
Meredith swallowed the emotion threatening to sprout tears. The past was dead, just like Willy. Just like her Grandma. She could not permit herself to relive it. She could only press on with her life as she knew in her heart that Willy would want her to do, and pray for the day she joined all those who’d gone before her.
A panicked hissing sounded from the foyer, startling Meredith into turning with a soft cry of surprise.
“Griz? What have you gotten into?” She hurried down the hall. Grizabella stared at the front double doors leading out onto the wide porch where Paulette and Meredith had often played between the columns with the light glinting off the lake’s surface. The cat’s back arched, and she growled between hisses. “It’s okay, Griz. It’s only a door.”
A low, menacing cat growl told her Grizabella did not agree. The hairs along the ridge of the cat’s back bristled. Meredith inched closer to the door, hand reaching to open it. A cold draft floated across her skin, sending a chill through her. Griz growled a final time and then raced past her into the kitchen, claws scrabbling to find purchase on the old wood floors. She jumped out of the way of the terrified feline.
The aroma of honeysuckle wafted past Meredith before dissipating in the silence. She caught a flash of motion out of the corner of her eye and swiveled her head to the right, but nothing moved. Odd. She
glanced the other way, searching for anything out of place. All remained quiet. Must be the house settling, its old foundation shifting.
Really? What kind of foundation would take so very long to settle? In fact, if she remembered correctly, this building sat on a stone foundation. Frowning as she contemplated the underlying structure of the building, she walked back to the kitchen doorway. Grizabella sat in the safe haven of her open carrier, head poked up through the rectangular opening like a prairie dog popped out of its hole, eyes wide.
“Poor baby,” Meredith crooned. She walked into the airy, sunlit space, a cool breeze caressing her cheeks. She scooped up the cat and hugged her close, stroking her to calm her trembling. “What scared you, kitten?”
The calico replied with a low purring rumble. Grizabella nudged her hand with a warm nose and then butted her head into Meredith’s palm. She scritched the cat in her favorite places behind her right ear and under her chin. Did other cat owners refer to the soft rubbing scratch as scritching, or something else? She’d never asked anyone that question. Slowly the tense cat relaxed enough that she could put her back on the floor.
“Perhaps some dinner would help you settle better. You can’t be so scared of nothing around this old place, or neither one of us will get any rest.”
Grizabella wound about Meredith’s ankles until she reached down to scritch her again. When the cat sat down to lick one delicate paw, Meredith retrieved a can of cat food from the pantry. She located a small saucer in the cupboard, dumped the food on the plate, and placed it on the floor by the carrier. Grizabella stared at it for a long moment prior to picking her way across the tiled floor to sniff disdainfully at the flat spherical lump.
“I know it’s not your usual, but it’s all they had.” Meredith turned aside from her companion’s silent accusation.
Grizabella raised her head from where she’d been nibbling at her supper, ears cocked toward a sound outside, drawing Meredith’s attention from her reverie. She peeked out the window. A small dark-blue car drove into the driveway and went immediately to the little cottage, its white walls contrasted by dark-green roof and shutters, situated at the back of the clearing. Meg and Sean, no doubt, moving back into the house they’d shared for decades. Coming home must be wonderful for them. Home. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed the lump of nostalgia. She steeled her heart against any other emotion that might try to resurrect itself and turned away from the window.