by Robin Wells
“Yes, Mom. To move you to San Francisco.” He spoke in a patient tone, as if he were talking to someone who didn’t understand English well or was slow-witted—or nuts.
I hadn’t lost my mind. I had the feeling he thought I was crazy.
“We’ve talked about it a lot, remember?”
“Yes,” I said, although I didn’t remember, not entirely. I remembered talking with Eddie and Hope and some lady at the hospital about how I couldn’t live in my house anymore, and I knew I’d agreed to something, but what that something was, I couldn’t quite fix in my mind. The one thing that really mattered was the one thing I knew for sure: Hope was going to stay here and help me pack up the house, bless her heart, and I’d have the chance to set things right.
But Eddie was talking about what would happen afterward. Maybe I’d better speak up before Eddie’s plans got too far along to change. “I don’t know if we’ve discussed it, dear, but as much as I love you, I want to live on my own.”
The redhead’s muffled snort let me know we’d discussed it plenty.
Bless his heart—Eddie’s eyes remained warm and patient. “I know, Mom. We’re going to find a nice assisted living center for you and Snowball.”
“And I insist on paying my own way.”
“You will, Mom. You have your savings and you’ll have the proceeds from selling the house.” He bent down and squeezed my hand. “The important thing, Mom, is that you’ll be near me. I’ll get to drop by your apartment all the time.”
Apartment? “An apartment won’t have much space. Where will I . . .”
I’d been about to say “develop my photos,” but then I remembered that I quit doing that a few years ago. Everything was digital now.
Digital. Used to mean you did it by hand—with your fingers, to be exact. Now digital just meant a machine did it for you. Which was easier and maybe even more precise, but something was lost in the process. I’d quit taking photos when that became the thing everyone wanted.
Eddie’s brow wrinkled. “Where will you what?”
I patted the back of his hand. “Never mind, dear—just having a senior moment. I seem to be living one long senior moment these days.”
Eddie turned his hand to take my palm. “You had a hard blow to the head, Mom, but it’s all going to be okay, and you don’t have to worry. While you’re here, you’re going to have round-the-clock home health care. And when you get to California, we’ll take good care of you.” The way he looked at me made my finger press down, wanting to capture the moment. His eyes glowed with that caring, worried, earnest, eager-to-please puppy dog look that was quintessential Eddie. He’d had that expression when he was four, and he still had it fifty years later. He used to look at Charlie like that, wanting, so badly, his approval.
Charlie thought that praising a child too much made him weak, that Eddie needed toughening up, that I’d spoiled him into sissy-hood. His parents had done that to him, I knew, but still, a surge of anger shot through me. He’d been wrong—so very, very wrong.
“Mom? Are you all right?”
I realized I’d closed my eyes. I opened them to see Eddie squatting beside my chair. I blinked. I saw three of him, and then two.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”
“And you’re okay with me leaving now and coming back in June to help you move?”
I don’t have much choice, do I? I didn’t say it, of course; he was doing the best he could. He was a dentist with an established practice. He couldn’t just up and leave it and move out here. Even if he could, I wouldn’t ask that of him.
And, truth be told, I was ready for a change. The thought of a move, a whole new life, was exciting. I was ready. I’d always wanted to live on the coast. And yet . . .
I flashed him a smile. “I’m fine with it, honey.”
“I’ll call every day, and with Hope here, we can Skype each other.”
I had no idea what that meant, but I nodded all the same.
His brow furrowed. “Are you sure you don’t want to come now? We could catch a later flight. I could pack up a few of your things, and you can just let Hope deal with the house on her own.”
“Oh, no, Eddie.” A memory formed in my mind, a long-ago memory from when I was a girl. I’d wanted to play outside, but Mother had insisted that I resew a button I’d just sewn in the wrong place on my sweater. “Finish what you start,” she’d said. I could see her clearly, so clearly, as if she were standing beside me right now. “Always clean up your messes before moving on to the next thing.”
I blew out a long sigh. Maybe Mother had arranged all this.
“What?”
I opened my eyes at Eddie’s voice to see him peering at me, his brow still knitted. I hadn’t realized I’d closed my eyes or spoken aloud. “Oh, nothing,” I said, feeling sheepish. “I was just remembering something Mother told me about seeing things through.”
Robert—or was it Richard? I knew his name started with an R—leaned in. “Is she on the ceiling here?”
“I—I don’t think so.” I started to explain that she could read my thoughts, then realized how cuckoo that sounded. They already thought I was crazy enough.
“So . . . where do you and Hope plan to begin?” Eddie asked.
“Oh, my—I don’t think it matters. Usually if you just dive in, you’ll end up where you need to be sooner or later. Thinking too much can paralyze you.”
“Interesting philosophy,” the redhead said. “You’ll have plenty of options.”
I followed his gaze into the dining room. For the first time, I realized it was stacked with trunks and boxes from the attic. He and Eddie must have moved them down while I was in the hospital.
I patted Eddie’s hand, then turned it loose. “You’d better get going or you’ll miss your train.”
“Plane,” Eddie said softly.
“Yes, of course.” How could I have forgotten how the world had speeded up?
After a flurry of good-bye hugs and kisses, the screen door banged shut, and a car engine growled to life in the driveway.
As the sound receded into the distance, Hope handed me a tissue and sat down in the chair beside me. “You okay?”
I hadn’t even realized a tear was snaking down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away. “Just fine, dear. Looking forward to spending time with you.”
“Me, too.”
“I have so much I want to tell you. I . . .” A sound from the kitchen made me jump. “Who’s that?”
“The home health aide.”
Oh bother! I didn’t want a third party hanging around while I spilled the secrets of my soul.
“I don’t need a nursemaid,” I grumbled. “Can you get rid of her?”
“Not entirely,” Hope said. “Eddie absolutely insisted you have help here around the clock.”
“But I want to talk to you privately.”
“Well, then, I can send her on an errand.”
The suggestion brightened my mood.“Why don’t you do that, dear, then put on some tea. You and I are due for a nice long chat.”
6
hope
I was a little nervous about being alone with Gran. It was kind of like the time I’d babysat my friend’s toddler—the child had no knowledge of her own limitations, I had no confidence she would heed my warnings, and I worried she was going to fall and hurt herself. What if I didn’t watch her closely enough and something happened? I reached for Gran’s arm to help her stand up, then realized my efforts were only thwarting her own.
“I can do it, child,” Gran muttered, pushing out of her chair. “Stop hovering over me.”
“I promise to quit hovering if you promise to use your walker.”
“Fiddlesticks. That thing’s more likely to trip me than help me.” To my relief, though, she reached for the walker all the same and shuffled through the dining r
oom into the kitchen.
She stopped in the doorway and eyed the array of cakes, pies, and cookies lined up on the counter. “Good Lord! Looks like we’re having a bake sale.”
“You should see the refrigerator,” I said. “Half the town sent over a casserole.”
A grin spread across her face. “That’s the way things work around here. Someone has a hard time, and everyone tries to feed them better.” Scooting her walker in front of her, she shambled to the kitchen table and sat down.
“Do you want iced tea or hot tea?” I asked.
“Hot, please. And are those Mabel Tharp’s brownies?”
A parade of people had brought food over the past few days. I scanned my memory for the brownie bearer. “Is she a thin, elderly lady with rosy cheeks?”
“Yep, she always looks like she fell into the rouge pot. But she’s not elderly. Why, she’s only seventy-eight.”
Practically a spring chicken. “I stand corrected.” I carried the plate of brownies to the table, then filled the teakettle and put it on the stove. I had just gathered up a couple of napkins and dessert plates when the doorbell rang.
“Sit tight,” I told Gran. “I’ll get it.”
A couple who looked to be their early sixties stood on the porch. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, and reminded me of Ronald Reagan. His arm was looped around the waist of a round-faced blonde with lively blue eyes and pale, dewy skin that looked like it had never seen the sun. She held a large covered bowl. “I’m Peggy Armand, and this is my husband, Griff. We live across the street.” She shifted the bowl to her left arm and held out her other hand. “We brought over a salad. Figured you’d need something green to balance out all the casseroles.”
“How nice!” I introduced myself and shook their hands. The screen door creaked as I opened it wider. “Come on in. Gran’s in the kitchen.”
Peggy stepped inside. “How is she?”
“Better, thanks.”
“We visited her in the hospital, but I don’t think she knew us.”
“She still has those moments,” I warned them. I didn’t want to say too much, for fear of Gran overhearing.
“Well, that’s perfectly understandable.” Peggy peered into the dining room. “So you’re the artist who painted that beautiful mural.”
I nodded. Gran had been repainting the interior of her home the summer before my junior year in high school. She’d intended to wallpaper the dining room, but she couldn’t find any paper she liked. “I know!” Gran had exclaimed. “You can paint a mural!”
“Of what?” I’d asked.
“What about the backyard?”
So I had. I’d covered the wall with an acrylic painting of the lawn and garden, complete with the shed and a couple of trees that had since blown down in Hurricane Katrina. Using one of Gran’s photos, I’d created an early springtime scene much like the view out the kitchen window now, complete with azaleas and a bed of tulips.
Working on that mural had been one of my all-time favorite projects. Every time I’d lifted my paintbrush, I’d gone into a state of flow—instinctively mixing colors and riffing on my sketch, losing myself in the joy of creating.
“I’ve always admired that so much,” Peggy said, stepping into the dining room and gazing at it. “Do you still do murals?”
“That’s the only one I’ve ever attempted.”
“Look at this, Griff.” Peggy edged around a stack of boxes to step closer to the wall. “It’s almost like looking out a window.”
“Fine work.” He nodded. “Mighty fine.”
Peggy touched the trunk of a painted tree. “It’s absolutely exquisite.” She turned and followed me into the kitchen, where she spotted Gran trying to push out of her chair. “No, no, Miss Addie—don’t you dare get up on our account!” Setting the salad on the counter, she hurried over to the table, leaned down, and kissed Gran’s cheek.
“So nice to see you,” Gran said. I wondered if she had a clue who these people were.
Griff went over and kissed her cheek, too.
“Oh, my, you smell so good,” Gran said. “I love a man who wears shaving lotion!”
“So does Peggy,” he said. “She keeps me around as air freshener.”
“Peggy.” From the way Gran repeated the name, I could tell she’d just placed the woman. “I take it you’ve met my granddaughter, Hope?”
“We just met. But I’m afraid Sophie made her acquaintance a few days ago.”
Gran looked puzzled.
“The little girl next door,” I explained. “She crawled through Snowball’s doggie door.”
Gran’s face lit up. “Oh yes! I just love that child to death.”
“I was horrified to learn she’d been sneaking into your house,” Peggy said.
“She’s welcome anytime. Her visits always brighten my day.”
“Well, she’s not supposed to leave the backyard. It caused quite a stir when Matt and Jillian discovered she was gone. Jillian said they were frantic.”
The pieces fell into place. So these were Jillian’s parents—and Sophie’s grandparents. The parents of Matt’s late wife.
“Jillian said she and Matt found her here in the kitchen with Hope,” Peggy said.
My face flushed. If Jillian had mentioned that we’d met, it was a sure bet that she’d mentioned what I was wearing. I didn’t think Gran would be offended I’d been trying on her clothes, but the fact I was doing it while she was lying in the hospital seemed, well . . . inappropriate. Insensitive, even.
The teakettle whistled. I hurried over to deal with it, relieved at the opportunity to change the topic. “Can I get you some tea?” I looked at Peggy, then Griff. “Or a beer? Eddie left some Abita in the fridge.”
“I’ll take one of those,” Griff said.
“I’ll have tea, dear, if you’re sure it isn’t any trouble.”
They settled at the table. I set out plates, napkins, and spoons, along with a selection of baked goods. “Oh, are those Mabel’s brownies?” Peggy asked.
“Yes, indeed,” Gran said. “Help yourself.”
I poured tea and brought Griff a beer, then sat down with them, a cup of Earl Grey in my hand.
“I was telling Hope how much I admired the mural in your dining room,” Peggy said.
Gran beamed. “Hope has a lot of artistic talent.”
I smiled self-consciously and bit into a brownie. Rich chocolate flavor flooded my mouth. Mabel’s reputation was well deserved.
“My granddaughters want their room painted like a castle,” Peggy said. “I’ve been looking for someone to do it.”
“Hope could paint it,” Gran volunteered.
I froze in mid-chocolate ecstasy.
“It’ll give her something to do in the evenings,” Gran continued. “After a day of helping me sort and pack, she’s going to need to get out of the house.”
I tried to swallow my mouthful of brownie, but it stuck in my throat. I hadn’t picked up a brush since my divorce. Actually, since well before it.
“I’ll pay you, of course,” Peggy continued. “It’s my gift to the girls. I’d arranged to hire an artist from New Orleans and pay him six thousand dollars plus travel expenses, but he decided he didn’t want to make the drive.”
Six thousand dollars? I have to say, the prospect of earning some money during my time in Wedding Tree had a certain appeal. So did the idea of painting a mural. My ex would have scoffed at the idea, calling it lowbrow and common.
Which, come to think of it, was a great reason for me to go ahead and do it. “Sounds interesting,” I said. “But I haven’t painted in a long time.”
“Oh, it’ll come right back to you.” Peggy looked at Gran. “Miss Addie, are you sure you can spare her?”
Gran flapped a wrist dismissively. “Eddie’s hired round-the-clock aides to stay
with me. I’ll be just fine.”
“Wonderful!” Peggy clapped her hands together. “I’ll talk to Matt and see when would be a good time for you to meet with him and the girls and discuss it.”
The conversation drifted to other topics. The aide, a wide-hipped, pleasant-faced woman named Nadine, came back from the store and announced it was time for Gran to take some medicine.
Griff and Peggy rose to take their leave. “I’ll be calling you,” Peggy said as I saw them out the door.
When I returned to the kitchen, Gran’s face looked drawn and pale, and Nadine was helping Gran out of her chair.
“Are you okay?” I asked, alarmed.
“My head hurts. And I’m afraid my get-up-and-go got up and went.” Gran leaned hard on the walker. “Let’s have our chat tomorrow.”
“Sure thing, Gran.”
Between chats, visitors, naps, tea, nursing aides, and lining up a potential painting project next door for me, I’d begun to wonder if sorting through her belongings was even on Gran’s radar.
While she’d been in the hospital, Eddie had arranged for a contractor to repair and paint the exterior of the house, and I’d gone through her refrigerator and pantry, throwing out everything past its expiration date. That had been easy enough, so I’d thought I’d tackle her linen closet. I quickly found myself in over my head. What did she want to take to California? What did she want to give to Eddie?
Shifting gears, I’d started researching the worth of Gran’s furnishings, but dollars seemed a totally inadequate way to value a chair Gran’s great-great-grandmother had sat on before the Civil War. It was a dilemma, because I had no place to put it, and Eddie’s aesthetic was modern minimalism.
The prospect of dismantling a household filled with family treasures and lifelong memories was going to be at least as tough emotionally as it was physically, I realized—and if I found it daunting, I could only imagine how hard it was going to be for Gran.
7
adelaide
I woke to find the sun shining through the sheer curtains of my east window, which meant it was at least nine o’clock. Three kind-faced women wearing blue shrubs—no, that wasn’t the word; what the heck was it?—loomed in the doorway. They morphed into two.