Finding Miranda

by Chacon, Iris

  “Tell me the truth, Speedy: are you capable of taking care of yourself or not?” asked Martha.

  “I am capable of taking care of myself, Miz Martha,” Shepard said.

  “Then why ain’t ya doin’ it?” she snapped. “Yer not feeling well, yer hurtin’, yer sad, life stinks right now. I get that! You lost two good friends. Sure. But you ain’t lost yer last friend. You got people around ya wantin’ to help ya. Ya got a little gal right next door who’d do anything for ya. And you ain’t even doin’ anything fer yerself!”

  “People wouldn’t want to be so nice to me if they knew what really happened.”

  Martha swallowed the first words that came to her mind. She took a calming breath and said, “I find that hard to believe. Just what do you think ‘really happened’?”

  “The whole thing was my fault, and I walked away scot-free.”

  “Beg to differ on that, but go on with the story.”

  Shepard sighed and slumped back into the cushions. “Pietro told me to stop, but I just kept talking it up, on the air, night after night, thinking the Great Shepard Krausse was bullet-proof. Man, I was such an arrogant S.O.B. I know the Montgomery clan, and I know what kind of self-important, amoral stuffed shirts they run around with. If anybody knew what they were capable of, it should’ve been me. Instead, I chose to live in my fantasy world where the bad people fear the law, and the guilty get punished, and the innocent go to Disney World. Stupid me. I poked at the monsters until they fought back. Then I was surprised that they fought dirty.”

  Martha patted his knee with one knobby-veined hand. She waited, and after a moment he went on.

  “We were leaving for work,” he said. “Pietro was behind the wheel, I had just let Dave into the back seat, and I said I had to go back in the house and get my cellphone. Pietro said he’d get it, but I said no, I was halfway there already. Dave started to get out of the car and come with me, but I told him to stay.”

  His voice broke when he said, “He stayed. They both stayed in the car.”

  He stopped to breathe deeply and collect himself.

  Martha said, “And we all know what happened next.”

  “Oh, no, Miz Cleary, you don’t know the best part – the really stupid part: Bean found my cellphone after the explosion. It was in my friggin’ pocket the whole time. So not only did I provoke the monster, I staked my friends out for the slaughter like a goat tethered to a tree by tiger hunters. And I didn’t even have the decency to die with them, because I was too dimwitted to know what was in my own pockets.”

  Martha said, “Shepard, honey, don’t do this to yourself.”

  Shepard forsook good manners and shouted at the elderly lady, “Exactly what do you want me to do!? Huh? What will make everything all better?! Nothing! There’s nothing for me to do! Nothing I could do will ever change what happened!”

  “That’s right, you cain’t change what happened!” Martha shouted back at him. Then she stood, laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and said quietly, “But you can decide what happens next.”

  Shepard covered his eyes with one hand and dropped his chin to his chest.

  Martha massaged his shoulder. “Now, I’m gonna do jest what yer Grandma Krausse would do if she wuz here. You take a shower, and I’m gonna help you organize your clothes and get spiffed up, then yer gonna eat a good home-cooked meal, and then yer goin’ to git in bed and git some rest. Okay?”

  He nodded.

  Martha placed her hands under his arms and helped him stand. As they moved toward the bed- and bath-rooms, she scolded him, “An’ the next time you answer a door, young man, you better be dressed and in yer right mind or I’ll know the reason why. Get me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. Then after a second he added, “Thanks, Miz Cleary.”

  “Yer very welcome, Speedy Boy,” she said.

  27 THE LIST

  Miranda trudged through the workweek, keeping busy at the library, going in early, staying late, reading during her breaks. The problem was the in-between time. While driving, cooking dinner, doing laundry, taking a shower, trying to sleep, she was having tremendous difficulty controlling her thoughts.

  She spent a reasonable amount of time mourning and remembering Dave and Pietro, and that was okay. It was healthy to transition through all the stages of grief, about which she had been reading. She knew the pain of that loss would lessen over time, even though she would never forget them.

  What was not healthy was her preoccupation with the one thing that was forbidden her. She recalled the prayer her mother had taught her: “Lord, give me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

  Miranda wanted to be with Shepard Krausse.

  He didn’t want that.

  It was something she could not change, and she was not serene about it.

  If the situation was truly unchangeable, she wanted to accept that fact, wrap herself in serenity, and move on. She had prayed. She had tried to tell herself to simply accept. She had filled every minute of the day that she could fill. But every time she stopped praying, accepting, filling for even a minute, Shepard crowded into her mind.

  Fourteen days had crawled by since Miranda had left Shepard at the door of his house and had run away. She had not seen him, spoken to him, or even spoken about him since the moment that door had closed between them.

  She had given it her best efforts, but her serenity prayers just weren’t working. She decided to look at the rest of the prayer. What about “the courage to change the things I can”? What about “the wisdom to know the difference”? What “difference”? The difference between “things I cannot change” and “things I can.”

  Miranda experienced an epiphany. She had made a mistake. She had placed her situation in the wrong category. It wasn’t a “cannot-change” situation at all. It was definitely a “change-the-things-I-can” situation.

  She finally knew the difference. Change was possible. Courage was the prerequisite. She had courage. She had shown it in dealing with police officers, emergency medical technicians, doctors and nurses, even Shepard’s mother. Courage was a natural outgrowth of loving something or someone more than yourself. She knew she had that. Because she knew she loved Shepard Krausse.

  Miranda resolved to take decisive action. She would charge the enemy lines; she would storm the battlements; she would fearlessly face the foe. She would make a list.

  Several hours later, Miranda was putting the finishing touches on her hair and—yes—her makeup. It was only blusher and lip gloss, but it was more than Miranda

  usually wore. The irony was not lost on her, of course, but she primped to make herself feel attractive. It didn’t matter that no one was going to actually see her. Satisfied that she looked, and smelled, her very best, Miranda picked up the carefully typed list (on carefully chosen pale blue paper with high rag content), and exited her back door.

  She tromped across her back yard, wondering if sandals had been the best choice for navigating wet grass. She passed through the break in the hedge and proceeded to the Krausse kitchen door. Holding the precious list in one hand, she knocked with the other.

  “Coming,” called the man of her dreams from somewhere inside the house.

  Miranda’s heart rate climbed. She switched the list from one hand to the other.

  To Miranda’s lonely eyes, the opening of that kitchen door was like a sunrise after three months of darkness. She drank in the sight of white-blond hair and beard, broad shoulders, blue eyes. “Oh, gosh golly, you look wonderful!” she exhaled without thinking.

  The man’s lips parted in a wide smile. “Castor Bean!” he said.

  Miranda shoved the list into his hand, crumpling it in the process. “Here!”

  He manipulated the paper between his fingers then used both hands to smooth the crinkles out of it. He held it up, “What is it?”

  “It’s a list,” she said. “There are things we can�
��t change and things we can change, and this list is to change some things we can change, and I know I have the courage to change these things and I’m pretty sure you have the courage to do it, too, but we’ll never know if we don’t, you know, talk it through. Step one. Talk it through. The list, I mean.”

  “Lord, I’ve missed you,” said Shepard with a chuckle. “Come on in. I’ll fix us some lemonade and you can tell me about step one and the list.” He handed the paper back to her. “Would you mind holding this for me for a minute?”

  “Oh, sure,” she took the paper and followed him into the kitchen.

  He still used his cane, but he was walking with less discomfort and more assurance. He had made excellent progress during the weeks since they had parted. She told him so while he put ice in glasses and poured from a pitcher of lemonade.

  He offered her cookies a neighbor had baked for him, but she declined. Butterflies in the tummy, she said.

  At last they sat opposite one another at the kitchen table.

  “I think I have to take some things off the list already,” Miranda said.

  “Well, why don’t you tell me what the list is, and we’ll take it from there.”

  He sipped his lemonade and waited for her to explain.

  Miranda thought for a moment about how best to begin.

  “Here’s the thing,” she said finally. “I want to be with you, but you want to be alone. I think if we’re objective and analytical about this situation, the situation can be changed.”

  “Bean, I—” he began.

  “Wait!” she interrupted. “Let’s just go down the list. Then if you still don’t want me around, ... well, ... we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

  “But, Bean, I never—” he tried again.

  “Item one,” she spoke over him. “You’re rich. You might think I’m after your money. But I’m not. You should know that I live rent-free, and I don’t have a car payment—that’s thanks to you now, but I didn’t have a car payment before.”

  “You didn’t have a real car before,” he injected.

  “I don’t carry credit card debt, I give my tithe to the church, I have a retirement account with state civil service, I don’t have any outstanding student loans, I don’t have any addictions—not even to shopping—and I can still wear the clothes I wore in high school and college.”

  “Really,” he said, sounding amused. “So, not a fashionista.”

  “Right,” she said. “And that’s not just good financially, because I don’t spend a lot on clothes, it’s also good relationally.”

  “It’s good ‘relationally’ for you to wear old clothes?”

  He covered his smile with one hand and held his lemonade with the other.

  Miranda was ignoring her lemonade in her passion for her subject.

  “It’s perfect if I’m in a relationship with you, because you never see what I’m wearing! Isn’t that great?”

  He coughed behind his hand. “Great!”

  “Plus, you probably have lawyers who can put together an ironclad pre-nup so I can never touch your money, anyway, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So item one is off the list. You being rich has nothing to do with us being together.”

  “What a relief,” he said.

  “Yeah,” she said, ignoring his sarcastic tone. “So we just strike that off the list. Have you got a pencil? I didn’t bring a pencil, sorry.”

  “No prob,” he said. “Drawer next to the pantry.”

  Miranda got up, went to the drawer, and brought back a pencil. She crossed off the first item with a flourish.

  “What’s number two?” asked Shepard, getting up to refill his lemonade glass. Miranda’s was nearly untouched, and her ice was melting.

  “Number two,” said Miranda. “You’re famous.”

  “I wouldn’t say—”

  “No. No, you’re a local celebrity, you can’t deny it. You have your own radio show.”

  “Actually, I may not go back to Sheep Counters,” he said.

  Miranda looked stricken. “What?” she said. “They can’t fire you because of what happened. None of it was your fault. And you’ve been in the hospital and—”

  “It’s okay, Bean,” Shepard said. “It may be time for someone else to host Sheep Counters. I’ll still have a job. I won’t fire me.”

  Miranda’s brows furrowed. “You are your boss?”

  “Sure,” said Shepard. “I thought you knew that. It’s no secret.”

  “You own the radio station?” Miranda asked, wide-eyed.

  “I own five FM stations in four states,” he said. “Is that a problem?”

  Miranda thought about it. “No,” she announced. “Owning a bunch of radio stations falls under item one—you’re rich—and we already took care of item one, so no problem.”

  Shepard emitted a theatrical sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” he said.

  “Anyway, about item two,” Miranda continued. “You’re famous and I’m nobody—”

  “I object!” he slapped the table for emphasis. “I object to characterizing you as a nobody.”

  Miranda looked at him wryly. “No objections allowed. Don’t get all lawyery on me or we’ll never get through the whole list.”

  “Heaven forbid,” he quipped.

  “Anyway,” Miranda went on, “even if we stipulate—how’s that for lawyery—we stipulate that you’re famous and I’m nobody, that would mean that you’re famous and I’m not famous. But this is not a problem—”

  “Agreed!” shouted Shepard.

  “I’m not finished,” said Miranda. “It’s true that I am not famous. That doesn’t mean I’m not important. I’m important to my family; I’m important to the people I help every day; I’m import—”

  “To me,” Shepard said. “You’re important to me. And since you and I are the only people who count with regard to this list, item two is a wash. Next?”

  “Right,” said Miranda, crossing off item two with a sweep of her arm. “Item three: you’re drop dead gorgeous and I’m as ugly as ten miles of bad road.”

  “What!?” Shepard yelled. “Are you crazy!?”

  “Are you blind!?” she shouted. “Okay, that didn’t come out right, but are you serious!? You don’t have any idea how women—and a few men, okay—drool all over themselves when you walk by.”

  “Even if that were true, what does that have to do with you and me?” he asked.

  “Shepard,” she spoke as if explaining to a small child, “you don’t want people to look at you and say, ‘Why is that handsome guy hanging around with that skanky woman?’ do you?”

  “Skanky? You think you’re skanky?” Shepard was incredulous. “What does that even mean? And who are these people? Obviously not anybody who knows you,

  because anyone who knows you knows you are the most beautiful person who’s ever entered a library. And that’s any library, anywhere.”

  “Oh, Shepard,” she said softly. “That’s sweet. But the truth is, I’m not pageant material. There’s a line in Jane Eyre where Jane describes herself as ‘poor, obscure, plain, and little,’ and that’s me exactly.”

  “Miranda Castor Bean Ogilvy, you listen to me,” Shepard said, reaching out and finding her hand. He squeezed her fingers and said, “You are the most beautiful creature I have never seen. I veto item three. It’s off the list.” He let go of her hand. “Next!”

  Miranda stared at him for five seconds, then ten.

  “Bean?”

  She shook her head in wonder at him then applied the pencil to item three. Gone.

  “Item four,” said Miranda. “Well, this one is probably no good any more.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Okay, item four is a reason that we should be together.”

  “Sounds good, what is it?”

  “You need someone to take care of you,” said Miranda. “I know you told your mother that you don’t need anyone, but I thought if you really gave me a chanc
e, there would be things I could do for you.”

  “Bean—” he tried to interrupt, but she wouldn’t hear him.

  “When you opened the door a while ago, and I saw how perfect you look, how well your house is organized, and your kitchen—you probably cook better than I do—it’s just,” she began to cry, “if you could just be a tiny bit helpless, y’know? While you’re recovering at least. Instead, you’re all Chuck Norris against the bad guys in the woods, and then you’re all Martha Stewart around the house, and—”

  “Bean!” he stopped her. Again he took her hand, and this time he wrapped it in both of his. “Bean, Bean, Bean,” he said soothingly. “You’ve got it all backward. It’s not me who has been the hero in this relationship, sweetheart, it’s you. All those days in the hospital when I wanted to fall apart, you were there, keeping me together. In the woods, if you hadn’t been with me, I couldn’t have taken on those thugs. You were my reason to keep going. On rainy mornings when I didn’t want to go for a run, I went because I knew you would be waiting for me.”

  Miranda wiped her nose on the sleeve of her free arm. “But you told your mother you didn’t want me around. You closed the door in my face and told me to go away and stay away.”

  Shepard rose from his chair, came around the table, and pulled Miranda up and into his arms. He hugged her to him and kissed the top of her head.

  Laying his cheek against her hair, he told her, “I was a coward. I was afraid of looking weak in front of my overbearing mother, and that’s understandable. But I was wrong to be afraid of letting you see me at my worst. I didn’t want you to see me needing help.”

  Miranda wrapped her arms around his ribcage and held him tightly.

  “You misunderstood what I said to my mother – which, I might add, is what you get for eavesdropping, Miss Big Ears. I don’t want you to be my nurse, or my caretaker, or my cook, or my driver, my therapist, my butcher-baker-candlestick-maker. Bean, there’s only one job opening for you, and I’ve told you a hundred times exactly what it is.”

  She could feel his tears falling into her hair. Gradually, her own tears ceased. Soon, she felt him pull himself together as well.