Family Pieces

by Misa Rush

“Yes, actually.” Karsen’s eyes rose to meet his. She pulled the chain from beneath her shirt and held the charm in her palm. “This.”

  Mr. Milton moved closer, adjusting his glasses on the brim of his nose. He scooped the piece into his own palm and turned it tenderly. His eyes squinted as if to admire the minute detail of his own handiwork.

  “Well, doggone. I haven’t seen these in years,” he said almost wistfully, releasing the necklace back to Karsen’s grasp.

  “Then you made the three charms, right?”

  “I did indeed. Well,” he raised his hand to his chin and rubbed it in a moment of reflection, “that must have been over twenty years ago.”

  “Such an endearing idea,” Mrs. Milton added. “These days people seem to find more reasons to disown their families than connect with them. So sad, today’s society.” She shook her head.

  “Very true,” Karsen agreed. “Mr. Milton, do you keep records of each piece, by any chance?” She wasn’t certain exactly what to ask. When finding a needle in a haystack, it’s helpful to know you’re looking for a needle.

  “Yes,” he replied hesitantly, “but…that was an awful long time ago.”

  “We’ve never transitioned to the age of computers, you see,” explained Mrs. Milton. “With our small little shop, everyone was happy with a hand-written receipt. Going back so far, well, certainly you understand.”

  “I do.” Karsen’s heart sank, realizing her efforts had produced no fruit. As a last resort, she asked, “Mr. Milton, you probably don’t, and that’s okay, but, do you remember if all the charms fit together? You know, linked?”

  He valiantly searched his fading memory for an answer. His eyes brightened finally and he said, “I believe they did. Yes, I think so,” he reiterated confidently. “Your mom had an old piece that we made a mold from.”

  “Okay then.” Karsen smiled and thanked them for their time. She pulled a pen and scrap of paper from her purse. “If you think of anything else, here’s my cell number. Call me anytime.”

  “All right then,” said Mr. Milton, picking the paper off of the counter and staring at her number as if trying to make sure he could read her handwriting. “Have a good day, young lady.”

  “Thanks. You, too.” Karsen left and headed home feeling defeated.

  Karsen spent Sunday morning resting and trying to relax before her flight. She started by making breakfast for her dad, a feeble attempt to distract him from asking her additional questions about her whereabouts the day before. She could tell he was still suspicious of her motives for coming home, but she wasn’t ready or willing to divulge the truth.

  Later that night, Hanna stood against the wall of the airport terminal, latte in hand. She scanned the exiting flock of passengers as they scurried through the gate. An older couple bickered at each other, dressed in bright yellows and oranges. The man wore a wide brimmed hat, and the woman sported black sunglasses the size of two cantaloupes. Typical tourists, Hanna smirked. She watched as another woman and toddler raced to welcome a man, a soldier returning from deployment. The couple embraced passionately with the child clinging to the pant leg of his military fatigues. Karsen trudged behind the pack, worn out from the whirlwind trip.

  “Thanks for picking me up.” She hugged Hanna lethargically.

  “No worries. Caffeine helps. Could your flight have been delayed any longer?” Hanna whined jokingly.

  “Sorry.” Karsen glanced at her watch. It was almost midnight.

  “Brad’s waiting in the car. His performance last night rocked the house. I think he celebrated with one too many Coronas, though.”

  “Nice.” Karsen managed a weak grin.

  “I should forewarn you, he’s pretty pissed about your little excursion. You should have at least called him.”

  “He’s my brother, not my father,” Karsen grumbled.

  “Still, he’s worried about you.”

  “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

  “No, not about that.”

  “Good. Thanks,” Karsen said, relieved.

  “Have you decided anything?” Hanna inquired hesitantly.

  “No. Strangely enough, I barely thought about it at all.”

  They broke off their conversation once they reached the car. Karsen flung her bag into the open trunk and slammed it shut. She climbed into the back seat. She listened as Brad scolded her like a schoolgirl who broke curfew. All she could do was apologize. Whether she felt it was warranted or not, she knew in her heart that he was sincerely worried about her. She didn’t know how she could she fault him for that.

  “How’s Dad holding up anyway?” Brad asked as he pulled the car away from the curb.

  “He seems to be doing okay. Which reminds me, I need to call and let him know I made it.”

  She powered up her cell phone. A small envelope appeared in the upper corner indicating she had messages. While Brad and Hanna chatted in the front, she sank back against the seat and hit send.

  First unheard message: “Hi. It’s Hanna. Got your message. I’ll be there to pick you up at nine-thirty. Flight 347 from Chicago. See you then.”

  She pressed delete.

  Next unheard message: “Heellloooo? Karsen?” An old gentleman’s voice quivered, uncertain how to proceed. Her mind immediately sparked. Mr. Milton?

  She heard some fumbling on the other end of the line and then nothing. The caller had disconnected.

  Anxiously, Karsen listened to the next message.

  “Karsen?” Yes! It was the same male voice again. “This is Mr. Milton. You said to call if I thought of anything else. If I recall, you mentioned three pieces were made. I believe I actually made four. There were three closer together, then one…” Beeeep!

  Karsen heard the allotted voice message time cut him off. Damn. She saved the message then listened wearily as the phone reported, “You have no new messages.” She hit disconnect. Before dialing to leave the voice message for her dad, she felt an adrenaline rush surge throughout her. She sat, now wide awake, the number four bouncing around in her head. Poor Mr. Milton, she thought. He must be confused.

  16

  A chain saw revved outside Karsen’s window.

  “Damn landscapers,” she mumbled, inwardly pleading with them to go away. She glanced at the clock. It was just before six Monday morning, giving her ample time to make her eight o’clock class. Feeling the churning in her stomach, she groaned and reached, too tired to move anything but her arm, for the sleeve of Saltines on the nightstand and lugged them across her chest. Crumbs fell and scattered indistinguishably upon the white cotton sheets. She didn’t care. There would be no one entering her bed but her anytime soon.

  She collected herself enough to complete her morning routine before heading off to campus. Shower, check. Deodorant, check. Makeup applied, check. She gave herself a complete once-over in the mirror. Not bad. That is, not bad if you don’t mind blood-shot, droopy eyes. Cute on a bloodhound puppy maybe, but on a college girl, not exactly attractive. She shrugged, shaking the bottle of eye drops and squeezed one last dribble into the corner of each eye.

  Something about Mr. Milton’s phone message from the night before stuck in her head. She recounted it again. He sounded totally confident, not uncertain as he had at his shop.

  She pulled up the call log. With one click, the phone began dialing.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Milton? It’s Karsen Woods. Is Mr. Milton available?”

  “Yes, dear, just a minute.” She placed the phone on the counter. There was no fancy phone system or hold music. Karsen could hear activity in the background.

  “Well, hello again, Karsen.” Mr. Milton’s voice sounded as if every day were a holiday.

  “Hi, Mr. Milton.” Her voice sounded sad in comparison. “You said something in your message last night that I wanted to call and clarify.”

  “Yes, and what was that, dear?”

  “You said that you made four charms. That’s not possible. My grandfather made three,
and there are only three more.”

  “No, dear, I’m quite certain I made four. I remember there were three closer together in years. Then, there was another. I believe your mother was expecting you when I made the last one.”

  “I’m sure that can’t be,” Karsen replied, growing a little uncomfortable.

  “Well, dear, I almost forgot about the first one. It was the year our store opened, 1969. We’ll be celebrating our fortieth year in business – and maybe our last – next year,” he said, going off on a tangent.

  “That’s certainly an accomplishment, Mr. Milton.” Karsen couldn’t imagine doing anything for forty years. “If there was a fourth charm, though… you must have made it for someone else then?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I know my clients like family. Your mother, she was a beauty back then. Looked a lot like you do now; you both have a certain glow about you.”

  “If you did make another charm for my mother, did she say who it was for?” Karsen drew in a deep breath and held it, not sure she wanted to hear his reply.

  “Well, honey, it was a long time ago. I reckon it was for a boyfriend. She did have one boy she seemed smitten with. Handsome fellow. Left around the time of Vietnam if I recall correctly.”

  “Did you know his name?”

  “Sorry, I’m afraid not.”

  “Okay, Mr. Milton. Thanks again for your time. You take care of yourself,” And she hung up.

  Karsen sat absorbed in thought. Perhaps her mother thought she was in love and had a charm made for her high school sweetheart. But if that were the case, why would she have kept it a secret?

  A knock at the door interrupted Addison’s train of thought. Marjorie had not announced anyone. She looked up. The door opened slightly and a hand holding two tickets appeared, followed by a familiar face. A broad smile spread across her lips.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Pleasantly surprised, she attempted to conceal her delight.

  “Stealing you away for a night on the town?” Russell wore cargo shorts, dark brown leather sandals and a deep navy flowered shirt that intensified his crisp, ocean blue eyes. Addison admired his casual look, thinking he could look sexy in anything.

  “It’s Monday.”

  “So?”

  “So what makes you think I’m available?” she teased.

  “Just a hunch. You have a well-oiled machine of a company, complete with a fully capable staff that you compensate above any market-value industry threshold. I’m certain they can hold down the fort for one night. And seeing that your mother told cancer who is boss - I suppose all that practice raising you over the years helped her hone those skills – I figure she can make it through one night without you, too.” He gave her a quick wink.

  “So, unless you have another hot date with two premiere tickets to Spamalot and reservations at Restaurant One, NY, I’m guessing my offer sounds enticing?”

  Addison paged Marjorie. “Didn’t I tell you to keep the crazies out?”

  “You sure did, Ms. Reynolds. That’s what I used to tell your father before he let you move into that office,” she bantered back. “Didn’t work then, didn’t work now.”

  “So, is it a date?” Russell moved in closer to her desk.

  “Yes. It’s a date,” Marjorie’s voice chanted from the hallway. “And if she doesn’t accept, would you consider an old broad like me?”

  “Any time, Marjorie,” he yelled back.

  Russell’s eyes lingered on Addison awaiting her reply. She was beautiful, her light olive skin flawless. He’d heard the rumors of her noncommittal history; the tabloid reporters often compared her to a female playboy. He didn’t see it. There was something about her he found irresistible. She challenged him and that alone enthralled him.

  “Well?”

  Addison finally acquiesced. “Okay. It’s a date. There, happy now?”

  “Yes, actually.” He smiled his crooked smile that she was starting to adore. “I’ll pick you up at six.” He leaned across the desk and kissed her. His mouth lingered just long enough to arouse her. He smelled uniquely good. She inhaled, trying to place the masculine scent.

  She straightened up in her chair. “Now go. Unless you happen to need a full-page advertisement running twelve issues in Urbane, that is. In that case, sign here.” She pushed a pile of papers toward him and held her pen in his direction.

  “Can it be a personal ad for you?”

  “I’m sorry, we’re not that type of publication.”

  “How about I just see you tonight then.”

  Smiling, he turned and shut the door behind him.

  Four dresses sprawled across the bed, each with their merits and shortcomings. The fifth, Addison evaluated in the mirror. Sexy but not too revealing, she thought. Typically, she was not this indecisive. She stripped off the dress one last time and again tried on dress number one. The dress was a sleek black number dipping low in the back with the length falling just over her knees. Elegant and sexy. This is the one.

  She scoured her drawer for the appropriate lingerie and proceeded with getting dressed. She pulled her hair into a loose, flowing up-do, making visible the sleek skin of her shoulder blades all the way down to her lower back.

  Russell arrived promptly at six. She opened the door and ushered him in. “Wow!” His eyes widened. “You look great.”

  He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek.

  “Thanks.”

  He followed after her into the kitchen. He noticed the vase of orchids still on the table from their first date. The robust birds of paradise and greenery remained, while the more fragile flowers she had obviously pruned out. He was pleased she had cared for them enough to preserve their longevity.

  “By the way, you don’t look too shabby yourself,” she said. He was dressed impeccably in a dark gray suit tailored perfectly for his powerfully built physique. She imagined him in the boardroom, exuding confidence and strength. The thought excited her.

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said playfully.

  She blushed slightly and took the last sip of water from her glass and set it in the sink.

  “I’m ready if you are. Just need to grab my coat.”

  She moved toward the hallway. He jumped ahead of her, opened the closet, took the coat off the hanger for her and held it open. She turned her back to him and slipped her arms into the sleeves. His hands squeezed her shoulders lightly then moved seductively down her back, pulling her hips toward him.

  “Mmmm.” He moaned slightly, nestling his face into the nape of her neck. She could feel the masculine scruff of his unshaven cheek and allowed herself to melt against him for a moment. He felt strong, safe. She squeezed her eyes tight and soaked in the moment before straightening up and turning to face him.

  “We should go,” she smiled demurely, thinking to herself, before we can’t.

  They arrived back at Addison’s loft just after midnight. She was rarely up this late during the week. The usual stress-induced fatigue escaped her, though, replaced by a rather giddy, energized state.

  “Who would have imagined Monty Python on Broadway?” she asked, dusting off a few lingering snowflakes before placing her coat back in the closet. “I couldn’t stop laughing. I think that was better than any ab workout I’ve ever tried.”

  Russell didn’t comment. Instead, he grasped her arms gently, turning her to him. He lifted her into a long, passionate kiss. She welcomed his brazenness with exhilaration and suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been saying as she lost herself in his embrace. She stopped kissing and stared into his eyes, trying to read his intent. Was he falling for her? Was she falling for him? Grabbing his hand, she led him silently to her bedroom.

  Morning arrived swiftly as the sound of Addison’s alarm resonated through the room. She hit the off button and snuggled back onto Russell’s shoulder. He stirred.

  “Good morning,” he said in a raspy, just-woke-up voice.

  “Morning,” she replied, always
unsure how to act the first morning after. He turned his head and met her lips. She pulled away and held her hand over her mouth. “Morning breath, sorry. Let me go brush my teeth.”

  “Uh-uh.” He pulled her hand down gently and kissed her anyway. In a swift movement, he rolled, positioning his body over her. He held the weight of his body with his arms as his lips moved lower to explore. She hadn’t meant for him to stay the night. She needed to maintain control, yet she felt his strength radiating a feeling of protection around her. Too easily persuaded, Addison relented.

  17

  A fourth piece.

  How was that possible? Karsen mulled the information around again and again in her mind as she sat like a zombie in class. Surely, Mom would have told us if she had made another charm. She didn’t know whether to question her mother’s honesty or question her own sanity. A twinge of anger crept into the pit of her stomach. She did her best to squelch the feeling. Now that she was gone, the last person Karsen wanted to be upset with was her mother.

  The professor handed back her latest chemistry quiz. A large, red ‘C’ appeared on the top. Karsen stared in disbelief. A C? She had never received a C before. Ever. She placed the paper in her bag before Hanna caught a glimpse of the grade. At least it was only one quiz. She knew the trend would continue if she didn’t get her focus back soon.

  After class, the two made their usual trek across campus to the student center for lunch. Suddenly, Hanna tugged on Karsen’s arm, pulling her hurriedly in the opposite direction.

  “Ouch! What are you doing?” Karsen exclaimed.

  Hanna kept walking. “I forgot something.” She pulled at Karsen’s sleeve harder, making her stumble and drop her bag.

  Irritated, Karsen shook herself free. “Well, then I’ll meet you there.”

  Before Hanna could stop her, Karsen turned around and instantly it all made sense. There before her eyes was James. He had apparently wasted no time. His hand brushed a loose hair from a girl’s cheek and placed it behind her ear. Karsen couldn’t help but stare. The girl’s radiant dark brown hair was cut into a trendy bob that lay just above her shoulders. She looked young, perhaps a freshman or sophomore, Karsen figured, noting the weather was a bit cold for the mini-dress she was wearing.