Of Salt and Sand

by Barnes, Michael

  Teresa gasped.

  “Very cool” said Jessie.

  Sam’s face was too alive in blissful awe to speak a word.

  It really was amazing, and beautiful!

  There were cameras positioned at various angles both above and on either side of the entry. And on the right side, built into the panel was an intercom system. Teresa had just raised her hand to push the button, when the door latch suddenly clicked. With a swoosh, the great wide bulwark swung open.

  “Oh my,” Teresa said with a start, and stepped back . . . just a bit. Her arms instinctively moved in front of the kids.

  “Please come in,” came a timid, but pleasant voice.

  The light from the morning sun now spilled into a capacious foyer. It flashed along on elegant tiles, rugs and beamed off high chandeliers. Then, as if a grand finale, the sunlight spilled itself onto a quaint little woman sitting in what appeared to be a very modern looking wheelchair. She beamed, not only from the illumination of sunlight upon her, but from her expression as well. She was dressed very elegantly, as if an entire studio had done her up properly for this single event.

  “Thank you,” said Teresa, first, followed by much softer echoes from Jessie and Sam.

  They entered the home. Teresa turned to close the heavy door, but as she did, it had just clicked shut. Sam’s quick eye caught the movement of the woman’s wrist tapping a button on her chair’s armrest. He noted an entire panel of buttons surrounding the fancy support. Again, he thought, cool!

  The room was bright and well-lit even after the door shutout the sunlight. There were large yawning windows everywhere and chandeliers hanging from a high domed ceiling above—not to mention the recessed lighting which seemed to be ubiquitous in both walls and ceiling. There were heavy-framed paintings and tapestries; sculptured art of all sizes and varieties on tables, in corners and above arches. There were lifelike statues done in both metal and marble. Some were of animals, some of great birds of prey as if in flight, others were of tall-stemmed flowers and trees of hanging fruit. Each could have been a cast poured over the living entity, so exquisite was the craftsmanship. There were antique entry tables with high attached mirrors; rich leather furnishings—some Chesterfield couches and others high-backed Colonial cherry-wood chairs. And everywhere—as so prominent in the rest of the grounds—were bundles of flowers. The largest, brightest floral arrangements that Teresa had ever seen.

  “Miss Henington. What a pleasure to finally meet you,” came the woman’s familiar voice. Gracie extended a delicately gloved hand. “I find that just a voice—even one as lovely as your own—leaves far too much of a person’s character to be bandied by gauche assumption. A tragedy, especially when looking upon one so charming as yourself.”

  Teresa smiled, blushed a bit, then melted. What and introduction! She returned the woman’s gesture.

  The wheelchair suddenly hummed into motion. It turned slightly, stopping just short of the kids. “Oh my. My, my, my,” the woman whispered, her eyes watered, her face beamed. “I am Gracie Reitman,” she spoke in an air of clarity. “I am more pleased than there are words to express, in my joy of finally meet you, Jessie and Sam Goodwin,” she took in an eager breath. “Welcome to Sandcastle. We have been most excited for your arrival.”

  We? Teresa caught, keenly. Then she does have hired help? These were things that a DCFS agent would catch—they had been trained to do so. This will need to be clarified and discussed, Teresa made a mental note.

  Gracie laughed unexpectedly. Her perception was remarkable. It was as if she had just read Teresa’s mind. “Yes, my dear. I do have help here at Sandcastle. And I appreciate you being attentive for the children’s sake.”

  Teresa flushed, yet again. Had she been that obvious? “It’s just that . . . well the information I have does not mention employees, although obviously you must have them,” she explained, trying her best to sound professional rather than reserved.

  “I believe, Miss Henington, if you check your documents again, it states that I do have help, just not employees. I have two wonderful nieces who drop in most every evening. They stay and help me with whatever I need, then leave again quite early in the morning,” she nodded, happily. “And of course we have a grounds and maintenance crew. As I recall, however, the agency had no specific requirements regarding information on those whom I employed here at Sandcastle, as long as they do not reside within the estate itself. Is this not accurate?”

  “Yes,” Teresa nodded.

  Gracie tossed her a confused look.

  “I mean, no.”

  Gracie cocked her head.

  “I mean, yes. You are correct. This is the policy as you stated,” Teresa finally clarified in a stumble of words. Just calm down! She told herself.

  “Oh good.” Gracie continued with a whirl of her chair. “Now. Isn’t there a list of things you need to check off before leaving the children in Sandcastle’s care? Why don’t we get started, then.”

  Teresa’s eyebrows rose. The woman doesn’t waste any time.

  The wheelchair steered toward the hallway on the left. There were two main halls actually, both running off of the foyer. One went left, the other right. In between the two, an enormous marble staircase spread itself upwards in a cascade of white shimmering marble flecked in bronze and ebony. There, the steps attached to a second level.

  The chair motor suddenly stopped. “Where would you like to go first?” Gracie asked.

  “Well,” managed Teresa. “I really only need to see the children’s rooms . . . for now,” she paused, looking down at her clipboard of papers. “Yes, just their rooms. The rest of the information—mostly just mundane questions—can be filled out on these forms which I will leave with you.”

  “Oh?” Gracie turned in surprise. “Very good, then.”

  “As you are aware, Mrs. Reitman—”

  “Please, my dear. Call me Gracie. Mrs. Reitman makes me sound so old.”

  Teresa smiled. “Okay. Well then, Gracie, the State requires that I visit the premises at least twice a week the first month. Will that be a problem?” she asked.

  “Oh no. That is quite acceptable. May I ask if these visits are impromptu, or may I request a schedule.”

  Teresa cleared her throat, “well, technically they can be unannounced, but only if I feel that there is a need for such a visit. Otherwise, we can work at a tentative schedule.”

  “I see. Well that makes good sense now doesn’t it,” Gracie replied with a stolen wink at the kids.

  They each managed a smile, which was enough, given this conglomerate of strange surroundings and new sensations they were obviously reeling from.

  “Would Tuesdays and Fridays work?” asked Teresa, glancing at her phone. “Say ten o’clock?”

  Gracie thought for a moment. “Yes. I believe that will work just fine.” The wheelchair stopped again, just at the stairs. “There are two elevators,” she explained. “One on each side of the stairway.” She indicated to each with a delicate finger. “You are welcome to use either elevator. I assume, however, that since you are both young and full of energy, you may opt just to fly up the stairs,” she nodded at the kids pleasantly. Then she leaned into Sam and whispered: “the one on the right is my favorite. It is faster than the one of the left, and frankly, more fun to ride.”

  He giggled, and was immediately endeared to her.

  “I’ll meet you at the top, then,” she said. And with that, steered her wheelchair into the elevator on the right.

  “Why don’t we just take the stairs for now,” suggested Teresa.

  “Aha,” groaned Sam.

  Jessie gave his hand a firm squeeze and a chastising, wide-eyed ogle.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. And up the stairs they went.

  Gracie was right. The elevators where quick. She was waiting for them at the top. “Your rooms are down this hall, the first two on the right,” she said, addressing the kids. She turned and led them down the corridor. Her chair was surprisingly fast
. It moved right along, and they had to step up their pace just to keep up with her.

  They soon arrived at the first door.

  “Jessie. This will be your room,” said Gracie. “I’m excited for you to see it.”

  Jessie eyed the door with its fancy carvings, high archway and large gold latch.

  “Go on in,” Gracie urged, anxiously.

  “Okay,” she muttered, somewhat hesitant. She pushed on the latch and opened the door. She swallowed and tossed Teresa a last glance of excitement, then stepped inside.

  The others followed.

  Jessie’s eyes bulged, and she felt herself gasp.

  Teresa did gasp, a rather audible gasp, actually. “Jessie! What a beautiful room!”

  “It is beautiful,” Jessie stammered, finally finding her voice.

  Grace couldn’t help but smile, watching the child’s reaction. It gave her an old sensation of maternal joy. One she had not felt for such a long, long time.

  The room was elegant, but in a modern sense. It was full of bright colors and contemporary furnishings. There were fashionable amenities—teen amenities—which added to the character and feel of the room, and again more fresh cut flowers. It was as if the room had been recently designed to suit a teenage girl—perhaps it had, wondered Teresa.

  “Each of you have your own bathroom, of course,” Gracie added, indicating toward a door off the main bedroom. “Have a look” she said, eyeing Jessie with a smile.

  Jessie slowly opened the door. Her face beamed. She had never had her own bathroom before, and what a bathroom—it was huge! There was a walk-in shower; a lavish dais tub, with decorative tiled stairs leading into it; and a waterfall which ran down into a splash pool. There were large mirrors, sinks and plenty of counter space. The walls were painted like a spring garden, and there were a variety of real plants and flowers positioned to accentuate the backdrop.

  “Oh, I love it!” she cried. “Thank you!” Jessie whirled and threw her arms around Gracie.

  The action not only caught Gracie by surprise, but Teresa as well. In fact, Teresa was uncomfortable, and watched the woman’s reaction. It was rather impromptu, and perhaps a little to forward for their prestigious host. But when she saw Gracie smile, and noticed the emotion building up in the woman’s eyes, she knew that Jessie’s spontaneous hug, was okay. And not just okay, but warmly received.

  “You are so very welcome, my dear child,” Gracie replied, patting the girl on her back.

  “Wow!” came a sudden hoot from Sam, spotting the entertainment center. On the north wall, a large flatscreen television hung above rows of oak shelving; each covered with a variety of books, games, electronic attachments, and peripherals. Adjacent to these shelves, sat a spacious oak desk, topped with keyboard, mouse, screen and computer. “Does my room have one of these?” he whirled, excitedly.

  Gracie grinned. “Of course it does. In fact, why don’t we move into Sam’s room.”

  Sam nearly jumped out of his shoes with joy and shot off into the hallway.

  “Sam!” Jessie shouted after him. She gave Teresa a look of brotherly frustration. “I’ll go with him,” she groaned, and hurried to follow.

  Gracie laughed. “He’s just excited.”

  “A little too excited,” Teresa added with a hint of embarrassment.

  “Oh fiddle,” Gracie waved it off. “I would not have had these rooms refashioned in the flavor of youth if I had wanted to keep things stale and mundane. I want this, Miss Henington. I want to hear them laugh. I want to see them playing, singing, and scurry about like kids . . . happy kids. Truth is, if I wasn’t stuck in this chair, I’d be right there with them . . . in the middle of it all.”

  “Come see! Come see!” came Sam’s voice at the doorway. “My room is even cooler than Jessie’s!” Then he was gone again.

  Teresa turned back to Gracie and nodded. “They deserve to laugh,” she whispered.

  Soon they were all standing in Sam’s room, which proved to be equally impressive, but with a boy’s flair. No pastels or girlish items, but instead was filled with earthy colors and decorated in outdoorsy patterns and sporty artwork—along with the cool entertainment center, of course.

  Sam was elated. With each new discovery, he let out a hoot and clapped his hands together. And each time he did, Gracie laughed a little longer, and a little louder. She was so happy.

  Teresa had what she needed. Was there any doubt? These kids had been kissed from Heaven. That much was obvious. If only all of her fosters could be so lucky. That thought was the only hint of sorrow in an otherwise wonderful experience.

  Teresa soon noted the time. “I probably should get on my way. I still need to return with the kid’s personal belongings. I’ve got quite a lot of driving ahead of me, today.”

  “Indeed you have. I’m sorry about that,” said Gracie. “The children and I will get acquainted while you are away. There is a lot more to see, and some rules which we will need to cover.”

  “Of course,” said Teresa.

  Gracie offered to accompany her guest to the door, and suggested to Sam and Jessie that they stay and familiarize themselves with their rooms until she returned.

  As Teresa and Gracie drifted back toward the foyer, they continued in their conversation of business. Mostly last minute questions regarding the DCFS and its bureaucracy, but there was also the occasional ooh, or awe from Teresa when passing something aesthetically catching. The house, after all, was like some great modern museum.

  Soon they arrived back in the foyer. But as Teresa neared the main door, Gracie suddenly put a soft hand on her arm, catching her rather unexpectedly. She motioned for her to following into another exquisite room, just off the main hall. Once inside, Gracie shut the door softly behind them. “Before you leave, I want to thank you, Miss Henington, for bringing the children. And for everything else you have done in their behalf,” Gracie said in a whispered voice.

  “It has been my pleasure, Mrs—” she quickly caught herself. “I mean, Gracie,” she happily finished. “It’s my job, you understand.”

  Gracie sighed and nodded. “Yes. I know that.” Then she hesitated a moment, as if in some deep contemplation. “I . . . I must recapitulate most forcefully regarding our previous conversation,” she continued, although obviously uncomfortable with the impending subject. “Sandcastle can only be a provisional stay for them. You must understand this. They are wonderful children, but they need a permanent family. A good, solid family with other siblings and loving parents. You will continue in an aggressive search for this family?” The old woman’s eyes, deep-set and penetrating, turned on Teresa. They carried an air of urgency which she had not caught in any previous conversation.

  “Of course. I’ll be in constant touch, Gracie. The moment we find a suitable, adoptive family, we will let you know.”

  “If you need assistance . . . money or legal advice of any sort, just let me—”

  “Ah, yes,” Teresa smiled. “I’m sure your Mr. Poulson will be available if needed?”

  Gracie grinned, almost mischievously. “He is a dependable sort.”

  “Hmm.”

  Teresa turned to exit the room, but Gracie tapped her hand one more time. “I was just wondering. Did you tell them of my connection? That I was the their grandfather’s adopted mother?”

  “Yes. You said that I could.”

  “Yes, yes. I know. But,” Gracie hesitated, “well . . .” her voice cracked. “I mean . . . how did they respond? Were they hurt or upset by the news?”

  “No. Not at all. They felt fortunate, Gracie. They are fortunate. And don’t worry. They understand full well that this is a temporary agreement.”

  “Oh,” her voice spilled out in relief. “I’ve been so worried. I had to do this for my Tom, you know.” She again paused, and this time Teresa saw her eyes pool behind the wrinkled edges, and strangely, a tear rolled down her soft cheek. “We are just not equipped for children, here at Sandcastle. I wish that we were. But we can help the
m . . . all children of the world in ways you cannot possibly understand.”

  “Yes,” Teresa tried to perceive, nodding her confusion. This last statement was very odd. What on earth was Gracie talking about? And who, or whom, were these we’s she kept referring to? It seemed such a strange statement. But then again, Gracie Reitman was an old woman with heighted emotions, especially having just acquired two strange kids. Teresa figured the old girl had the right to be a little peculiar in the moment of it all. “Well, I need to be on my way,” she hinted again.

  “Of course. I’m sorry to keep you,” said Gracie, snapping back to host-mode. “Forgive my rambling. I’ll show you to the door.”

  There was a bit more conversation at the door—mostly Teresa asking Gracie how to get out of the gated checkpoints and back to a main road. And of course she had to get back in once she had gathered the kid’s things, so there was more discussion on that dilemma . . . it all just seems so complicated, Teresa thought. But Gracie had finally just given her an electric keycard, which she promised would, get you in and out whenever you want, dear.

  Gracie was right. It was much easier getting out of Sandcastle than it was getting in, and Teresa soon found herself on the road again heading for Salt Lake City—Sandcastle’s towering silhouette just a distant spot in her rear-view-mirror. As she drove, she pondered the visit. It certainly hadn’t been what she expected. Frankly, she had been surprised by the social ease of the old woman. Mrs. Reitman just didn’t seem to fit the odd eccentric recluse Teresa had heard so much about. In fact, the lady was quite the opposite—she seemed to possess a longing for companionship, an aching to have that massive mansion filled with the laughter of family and friends. It was all just so strange.

  Teresa exhaled and felt the need for some caffeine. There were no gas stations within fifty miles. Oh to have a diet coke, she mused. It was going to be a long day, since it had already been a very long night, and she’d certainly have to catch a catnap before driving back out to the secluded estate. But she had committed to get the kids their personal belongings by day’s end, and she’d do her best. The thought of driving back out there by herself, though, with all that automatic security and electronic surveillance definitely made her nervous. A person could get lost out there at night in that web of desert trails and back-roads.