Silver Threads

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “What about money?” Daddy Green asked. “Are you okay, or do you need me to send you a check?”

  “I’m okay,” Drew said. If Daddy Green didn’t have love to give, then Drew flat out didn’t want his money either.

  On the third day Marta and Walter came to visit.

  Drew ordered sandwiches and tall glasses of iced tea, and they all gathered around one of the poolside tables with an umbrella shading them from the sun.

  As they sat and talked, Marta saw the toll this past year had taken on Drew. There was now a bit of graying at his temples and a dullness in his eyes. He looked tired—not the kind of tired that comes from missing a night’s sleep, but the kind of tired that is soul-weary. The kind that comes from carrying the heartaches of life on your shoulders.

  When Brooke clicked the leash on Lucy and walked her across to the grassy area designated for dogs, Marta seized the opportunity to broach the subject on her mind.

  “What’s going to happen now?” she asked.

  Drew shrugged. “Well, they’ve booked Eddie Coggan, and he’s being held without bail. Hilbert told me this is his second offense and they’ve got him for parole violation, car theft and attempted kidnapping, so the likelihood is that he’ll be in jail for a long time.”

  One thought remained unspoken. A long time is not the same as forever.

  “That’s good,” Marta said. “Has Brooke accepted that he won’t be able to come after her again, or is she still frightened?”

  “Still frightened. I doubt that she’ll ever want to go back to the house to live, but I haven’t made any other plans yet.” Drew gave a weighted sigh. “I think what I’ll do is cash in my IRA and take some time off. Brooke needs to get away. Maybe a month of traveling, being in places where there are no bad memories…”

  He left the end of that thought unsaid. Brooke forgetting wasn’t a given; it was, at best, only a hope.

  “Where would you go?” Walter asked.

  “Not California,” Drew said absently. “And not a place crowded with tourists.”

  “We have a summer cottage in Magnolia Springs,” Marta offered. “You’d be welcome to use that.”

  Drew thanked her and said he’d keep it in mind but that he still had a lot of thinking to do before he decided on anything.

  “Right now my main concern is just spending time with Brooke. I want her to realize that no matter where we go or what we do, I’m here for her.”

  The thought of going somewhere else and starting over remained in Drew’s mind long after he’d tucked Brooke in bed for the night. He sat in the living room with the television flickering and the sound turned so low it was impossible to hear what was being said. Long after Jimmy Fallon had signed off and Seth Meyers had given up poking fun at politicians, Drew reached a decision.

  He was going to quit his job.

  For the past six months he’d lived a halfway life. One half of him always thought about the job, the other half always worried about Brooke. Neither of the two things he loved ever got his full attention. Whenever he sat with Brooke and tried to focus on their conversation, he was thinking about the next sale, or a job on press, or mulling over the fact that next month’s commission check would be smaller than the current month’s check. It was unfair to Brooke and unfair to Southfield Press.

  His thoughts flickered over to Eddie Coggan. Sooner or later Coggan would get out of jail. Five years? Ten years, maybe? Then what? Would he come back? And if he did what would happen?

  It was near dawn when Drew finally decided the answer was to sell the house and move away. Start over again. A smaller house in a quiet neighborhood. A place where Brooke would feel safe again. A place where Eddie Coggan would never find them. He had no idea where that place was but they’d travel around until they found it, and when they did they’d settle down and stay. He’d find some kind of work, and they’d live a quiet peaceful life.

  Drew decided to call a realtor and put the house up for sale. After that he would call Brian Carson and tell him that he was leaving the job.

  High Above the Earth

  The Keeper of the Scales saw the sadness in Drew’s face, the heavy ridges of worry creasing his brow and the way his shoulders now slumped. Drew Bishop was a good man, a man undeserving of such a life. He had lost his wife, almost lost his daughter, and now he would lose his home and the job he loved.

  The Keeper’s power was such that he could only balance the happiness and sorrow of a man’s life. He could not reverse or change what had been ordained. The injustice of such a destiny caused a fire to blaze in his great heart.

  “This cannot remain so!” he roared.

  He lifted the blue stone of benevolence and dropped it onto Brian Carson’s scale. Then, in what to a mortal would be a single heartbeat, his majestic eye scanned the silver threads crisscrossing the heavenly landscape. He selected one that passed near Bishop’s scale.

  At that moment the moon moved from behind a cloud and lit the sky with a brightness that rivaled day. The Keeper smiled then lifted a large stone that glittered with the color of rose quartz. He placed that stone on the happiness side of Elizabeth Cunningham’s scale and watched as the weight of it caused the silver thread beneath her scale to grow taut. As it tightened the thread began to move, and when it finally came to rest it was lying across Drew Bishop’s scale. Just as the Keeper had foreseen.

  That morning the sun rose with a seldom-seen brilliance and the Keeper, pleased with his work, settled back to watch what would happen.

  The Offer

  Drew’s first call was to Marta. He told her of his plan and asked if she would show the realtor through the house.

  “Of course,” she replied, hiding the sadness she felt. Much as Marta hated to see them leave, she knew it was for the best. Sooner or later she and Walter would also leave, downsize or possibly go live in the Magnolia Springs cottage.

  “I hope wherever you go, you’ll stay in touch,” she said.

  “Of course we will,” Drew replied. “We consider you family.”

  The words “wherever you go” settled on Drew’s ear uncomfortably. He needed to think it through, find a place that was right for them.

  Tomorrow. Or the day after. Or maybe a week from now. But soon.

  Drew’s second call was to Brian Carson. Before he tapped in the number, he thought through all the things he would say. He would tell him what an honor it had been to work for the company and how he’d enjoyed the years of their association. He would explain that with being unable to travel, he wasn’t giving Southfield Press the full measure of loyalty they deserved. He would volunteer to provide a comprehensive list of his account activity to make training a replacement easier. And lastly he would explain how he had no other choice. His daughter had to be his first priority, and he needed to be there for her.

  Brian was a no-nonsense businessman. He would appreciate a man owning up to the fact that his performance was less than it should be. Although Drew was saddened by the thought of leaving, he knew they would part ways on an amicable basis and that was of some small comfort.

  Drew dialed, and Brian answered on the first ring.

  “I don’t know if you’ve seen the story in the newspaper,” Drew said. He’d planned to go on and detail what had happened, but Brian cut in.

  “Yes, I read it,” Brian said. “Helluva thing to go though, that’s for sure.”

  Drew told him that they’d moved out of the house and were living at the Marriott Suites.

  “This is just temporary,” he said. “But Brooke will never feel safe in that house again, so we’re planning to move.”

  “I figured,” Brian said.

  “Not just from the house but away from here. Maybe downsize, find a small place in a quiet little town—”

  Brian gave a muffled snort. “Did Wilcox tell you?”

  Such a response puzzled Drew. “Tell me what?”

  “About the job in Burnsville. Wilcox already clued you in, right?”

&
nbsp; Still confused, Drew said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “He didn’t tell you I was going to offer you the job as plant manager for the Burnsville Offset Shop?”

  “Plant manager?” Drew echoed. “Me?”

  “Yeah, Wilcox has already given notice. He’s retiring as of September first. The job’s a good fit. You’re familiar with the company, understand the ups and downs of offset, and there’s no travel.”

  Drew knew Fred Wilcox. He’d known him for years, and he was also familiar with Burnsville, Virginia. He’d been there for press runs a half dozen times or more. The town was exactly the type of place he’d envisioned raising Brooke, but the thought of it came at him so quickly he had to pause for a breath.

  “I don’t know—”

  He was going to say “I don’t know how to thank you,” but Carson interrupted before he finished.

  “Think about it before you say no,” he said, assuming Drew’s hesitation was a prelude to declining the offer. “Southfield is willing to match your previous year’s income and pay all relocation costs including a buyout of your current home at fair market price.”

  This time Drew didn’t hesitate.

  “It’s a deal,” he said.

  Later that afternoon as he and Brooke sat by the pool he told her about the job.

  “It means we’ll have to move away,” he said. “Are you okay with that?”

  “What about Marta? And my friend, Ava?”

  “They’ll stay here in Clarksburg. But I’ll fix it so you can Skype with them like I do with my customers.”

  “What about my ballet class? Missus Thomson said I was going to be a fairy in the next recital.”

  “We can find you a new ballet class, but I can’t promise you a fairy role. You’ll have to work real hard and earn that yourself.”

  “Oh.” A look of disappointment settled on Brooke’s face.

  “What I can promise you is that you’ll be safe. I’ll be working right there in the same town where you go to school.” Remembering how more than once he’d seen one of Wilcox’s kids in the office, he added, “And there will even be days when you can come to work with me.”

  “Really?”

  He gave a nod. “Really. I’ll give you a tour of the plant and explain how all those printing presses work.”

  Of course Brooke had a dozen other questions about school and the house they’d live in. Would she have her own room? Would there be kids for her to play with? Was there a doghouse for Lucy? Would Lucy still be allowed to sleep in her bed?

  “Lucy saved my life,” she said, as if he needed a reminder.

  “I know,” he replied.

  As they sat there side by side with legs dangling in the pool, the questions continued. In time they would all be answered, but for now there was only the sadness of saying goodbye.

  In the days that followed Drew went back to the house several times. He packed boxes with things they would carry in the car and filled suitcases with the clothes they would need. He chose the most precious things to carry with them: the photo albums Jennifer treasured, the potted plants she’d loved, a set of silverware that once belonged to his mama, Brooke’s favorite books and toys.

  On those days, Marta came to the Marriott and sat with Brooke alongside the pool.

  “I’m going to miss you and your daddy,” she said, trying to hide the sound of her sorrow.

  “I’m going to miss you too,” Brooke replied. “But I can call you from the computer, and we can still see each other. Daddy said so.”

  Marta laughed. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to teach me how to do that.”

  “No problem,” Brooke said, repeating what she’d heard her daddy say.

  On the day before they were to leave Clarksburg and begin the trek to Burnsville, Drew called Fred Wilcox. They spoke for a long time about the plant operations, the people working there and the town itself.

  “It’s a nice place to live,” Wilcox said. “I think you’re going to like it here.”

  “After what we’ve gone through here, any place will be a welcome change,” Drew replied. He asked if there was a Marriott Suites or other chain hotel nearby.

  “We’ll need a place to stay for the first week or two,” he said. “At least until I can find a more permanent place.”

  Thinking back twenty-five years to when he’d first arrived in Burnsville, Wilcox said, “No Marriott, but we’ve got the Memory House Bed and Breakfast Inn.”

  Remembering how Ophelia had served a breakfast of homemade muffins and eggs so light they could almost float away, he added, “Mildred and I stayed there when we first came to town, and she still goes there to buy the tea and remedies they sell at the apothecary shop.”

  “Is it nearby?” Drew asked.

  “Yep, just a mile or so from the plant,” Wilcox replied. “The place has a new owner now, but Mildred claims she’s pleasant as Ophelia was.”

  “Sounds like a good place to stay. I’ll call the reservation desk. Do you have the phone number?”

  Wilcox chuckled. “They don’t have a reservation desk, but I’ll have Mildred tell Annie to expect you.”

  Before they hung up Drew asked for the address of Memory House, and although Fred didn’t have the address handy he claimed it was a place you couldn’t miss.

  “It’s the white house at the end of Haber Street. You’ll see a sign that reads Memory House Bed and Breakfast right before you turn into the drive.”

  After he’d hung up the phone Fred Wilcox sat there thinking back on the weeks they’d spent at Memory House. This past year he’d grown increasingly forgetful, but he forgot little things like dentist appointments and the dry cleaning Mildred asked him to pick up on his way home. He could easily enough think back twenty-five years and remember Memory House with its fluffy comforter, pots of dandelion tea and ducks splashing about on the pond.

  Months ago Mildred told him that with the twins toddling about Annie Doyle had closed the bed and breakfast part of the house. The rooms were still there, but now it was simply Oliver and Annie’s home with a small apothecary shop in the front of the house. That was one of the things Fred forgot.

  That evening as they settled down to supper, Fred got to talking about the fishing trip planned for Saturday, and thoughts of Drew wanting a room at Memory House were gone from his mind.

  When Mildred asked, “How was your day?”

  He answered, “Same old, same old. Nothing new.”

  A Sad Goodbye

  Marta Feldman set her alarm clock for five-thirty, but she was awake long before it started to ring. Today was the day. Brooke and her daddy were leaving for Virginia, and Marta knew this was probably the last time she would see the child. Yes, they’d talk on the phone and send letters, but it would never be the same as hugging Brooke to her chest and feeling the rhythm of her tiny heartbeat.

  Marta hurried down to the kitchen and began her preparations. This was going to be a very special breakfast. She set the table with the china and crystal used for holidays, then scooped the inside of the melon into tiny round balls and placed them in a silver dish. She set skillets of ham and eggs on the stove and a tray of biscuits in the oven, then poured herself a cup of coffee and waited for the doorbell to ring.

  Drew and Brooke pulled into the Feldman driveway at seven-thirty, and as he walked from the car he turned to take one last look at the house he’d lived in.

  It was the place he’d called home for almost ten years. Brooke had been conceived in that house. It held a million memories both good and bad. Now they were leaving it behind.

  A new family would move in. Strangers. People he didn’t even know. In an odd way he wished they could have stayed long enough to sell the house himself, perhaps get to know the people who would be living there. Tell them how in the early morning they could see the sunrise from the master bedroom and how on a stormy night they could listen to the slush of rainwater rolling across the roof without ever having to worry that it might
leak.

  When she opened the door Marta saw the weariness in Drew’s face. She pulled him into her arms.

  “I know this is hard,” she said. “It’s hard for me also, but we both know it’s the best thing for Brooke.”

  Drew gave a solemn nod.

  Although the table was laden with food, it seemed no one but Walter had much of an appetite. Marta scooped a pile of eggs onto her plate then drank a second cup of coffee and left the eggs untouched. Drew picked at a single sausage. Brooke ate one biscuit and asked if instead of eggs she could have a cookie.

  “I have a whole bag of cookies for you and your daddy to take in the car,” Marta replied.

  They talked about the trip, the anticipated weather and what they might expect in the new town, but beneath the words there was an underlying layer of sorrow.

  At eight-thirty Drew said it was time for them to get on the road. Marta walked them to the car, hugged Brooke to her chest one last time then turned away before they could see her tears.

  Drew pressed his foot to the gas pedal and pulled away from the curb. In the rear view mirror he could see Brooke turn for one last look at Marta. A cascade of tears rolled down her cheeks.

  ~ ~ ~

  He pulled onto Route 20 and drove east until they circled around Atlanta. Then he continued on Route 85 North. It was almost all highway driving so there was little to see, and Brooke found a dozen different reasons to stop. She had to go to the bathroom, then she needed a soda. After that Lucy had to have a walk, then it was time for lunch.

  Although Drew had loaded three new games on her phone thinking it would be enough to keep her busy, that too was a problem. “Catch the Berry” was too hard. “Hungry Guppy” was too much like doing math. She’d already read the first two stories in the Secret Keeper Series he’d selected for her. And sometimes for miles at a stretch there was no data signal at all.