A Single Thread (Cobbled Court)

by Marie Bostwick

  “And Liza?” I asked. “Will she forgive me too?”

  “Well, that’s the one thing in all this that isn’t your choice,” Margot said, squinting a little as a car with its brights on approached and she flashed her high beams at it. “Maybe she will and maybe she won’t. Deep down, in spite of all that she’s been through, Liza has a good heart, but there are no guarantees. One thing I do know for sure, she never will if you don’t ask.”

  I was tired. I let my head drop back against the headrest and closed my eyes for a moment. Margot had given me a lot to think about. At my age, was it possible to change, to make things right again? Maybe. But none of that would matter if we couldn’t find Liza. Where could she be?

  With my eyes still closed, I said a silent prayer.

  God, I know there really isn’t any reason for you to listen to me tonight. I haven’t done a very good job of listening to you these past sixty-two years, so a part of me feels kind of hypocritical coming to you after all this time. I wouldn’t blame you a bit if you ignored me, but I pray you won’t. Margot says I have to forgive Susan so that you can forgive me, and I want to. I’m just not sure I can, not unless you help me. Please, dear Lord, please help me. I’ve always thought of myself as so strong, but I’m not strong enough for this. I just can’t do it alone anymore, and I don’t want to. Help me.

  And God, about Liza. I’m so worried about her, and I can’t find her. I don’t know much about you, God, but I do know that you know where she is. Please help me find her. Help her to come home. And to forgive me. Amen.

  Just as the “amen” was forming in my mind, I heard the tinny, computerized chirp of Margot’s cell phone. My eyes flew open, and I turned in my seat to face Margot as she flipped her phone open and held it to her ear.

  It’s Evelyn! God heard my prayer and helped her find Liza!

  And it was Evelyn. When I raised my eyebrows, silently questioning Margot as to the identity of the caller and mutely mouthed “Evelyn?”, Margot responded with a grin and a quick nod.

  “Evelyn! Hi! Where are you? Did you find her?” The expectant smile on Margot’s face faded. “Oh. No, we haven’t either. No, not a sign.” She was quiet for a moment, listening. “Me too. It’s so cold out there. I’m worried. We really don’t have a choice.” Another moment of silence. A quick glance in my direction.

  “She’s sitting right here. All right. Wait just a minute.” Margot took the telephone away from her ear and gave it to me.

  “Here. She wants to ask you something.”

  27

  Evelyn Dixon

  After a couple of hours driving up and down every street in town, looking for Liza in every likely spot, I decided it was time to change tactics and look in the unlikely spots. That’s when I decided to call Margot and Abigail.

  It was painful ground to cover, but when Abigail got on the line, I asked her several questions about Susan and Liza, their life together, and the circumstances surrounding Susan’s death. It occurred to me that perhaps Liza had headed to the house she shared with her mother, or some other place that reminded her of her old life. It was just a hunch, but I had to try something and soon.

  We didn’t speak of it to Abigail, but Margot was in agreement with me. If we couldn’t find Liza by morning, we would have to convince Abigail to file a missing person’s report. Neither of us wanted to see Liza end up in front of a judge, but with the temperatures so bitter and Liza having disappeared with no money, it seemed we had no choice.

  After we talked, Abigail put Margot back on the line.

  “Margot? I’m going to head over to Stamford. Maybe Liza is trying to get back home. It’s too far for her to have walked, but maybe she had some extra cash in her pocket Abigail didn’t know about and caught a train. She might even have tried to hitchhike.”

  “Oh! I hope not! You never know who might have—” Probably remembering that Abigail was sitting right next to her, and not wanting to alarm her, Margot didn’t finish the sentence. “Anyway, that sounds like a good idea. Now, what do you want us to do?”

  “I guess you’d just better keep driving around town. Maybe she’s still there and we just missed her. You should probably go back to Abigail’s and check there. Maybe she calmed down and came home on her own.”

  “All right. Did you go by the shop? Maybe she went there.”

  “Good point. You have a key, don’t you? Could you drive by and see if she’s there? I’m going to start driving south.”

  “No problem. Abigail and I will head over there right now. I’ll leave my phone on. Call if you find her.”

  “I will. You do the same. Thanks, Margot.”

  It had started snowing again, and the roads were terrible. It was well past midnight when I got to the address Abigail had given me, the townhouse that Liza had shared with her mother. I had been praying during the entire drive, asking God to let Liza be sitting on the doorstep of her old home, but she wasn’t. Next I drove around the neighborhood, through the downtown area, past Liza’s old school, and, finally, past the hospital where Abigail said Susan had died, but there was no sign of Liza.

  Finally I checked in with the others and we decided to call it a night. Margot was going to drive back to Abigail’s house and sleep there; we were all still hoping that Liza would turn up on her own. I was going to head back to my place, grab a couple of hours’ sleep, and be back at Abigail’s by seven-thirty. If Liza hadn’t come home by then, we would have to consider calling the police.

  Snow was falling even harder as I headed back to New Bern. Fat flakes drove toward my windshield with a constant, monotonous force that gave me the feeling of being trapped on a conveyor belt and surrounded by a continually rotating image of snowfall, running as fast as I could but getting nowhere. I was tired. It took all my concentration to focus on driving through the whirling snow. About ten miles from home, the storm subsided and I started thinking about Liza again. Where could she be?

  I went over it all again in my mind, trying to think of every possible place she might have gone, but nothing new came to mind. Logically, I knew I’d done everything I could, and my exhausted body craved the comfort of my bed and a few hours’ rest, but my mind was still uneasy.

  It’s just so frustrating, I thought. I’ve spent half the night looking for Liza, driven across the whole state, and I’ve still reached a dead end.

  A dead end.

  That was it! The New Bern exit was coming up on my right, but I stepped on the gas and flew past it, heading farther north toward Winthrop, a sleepy village just a few miles from the Massachusetts border. I’d never been there before, but if I could find Winthrop, I’d find Liza. I was sure of it.

  The gates were open, but the wind had pillowed the snow into drifts. I didn’t want to risk getting stuck on the unplowed road, so I pulled my car up in front of the cemetery and parked.

  Getting out of the car, I saw that the snow wasn’t quite as pristine as it had appeared on first glance. Someone had tromped a trail through the front gates of the cemetery and down the road, past the ancient, crumbling headstones so battered by wind, weather, and time that it was impossible anymore to know who was buried beneath them, only that those who lay sleeping there had once been “Beloved” of someone.

  I followed the footsteps, first through a grove of evergreen trees shrouded with an icy blanket of snow that glittered in the first light of morning, into the newer sections of the cemetery, where those who had known this life in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries rested awaiting the clarion call to a new world, and finally to a small plot set apart, surrounded by a short wrought-iron fence, to a gray marble crypt that bore the name of Burgess.

  Liza, dressed all in black, stood in front of the crypt with her head bowed. The snow muffled my steps. She hadn’t heard me coming.

  “Liza?” The fence gate squeaked as I opened it and stepped into the Burgess family plot.

  Liza turned around. Her eyes were red from crying, and there were dark circles under them.
She didn’t ask how I’d found her.

  “Sweetie, are you all right? You must be freezing. We were all so worried about you, especially Abigail.”

  “I’m sure.” Her voice lacked the smug sarcasm Liza so often used when referring to her aunt, but there was a flatness, a hopelessness, to her tone that was even more disturbing. I came up alongside her and read the inscription on the stone.

  SUSAN KATHERINE BURGESS

  BORN—JUNE 26, 1950

  DIED—SEPTEMBER 20, 2005

  Susan’s tomb did not declare that she was a beloved mother, but she was. It was written in her daughter’s eyes. How she missed her. I put my arm around Liza’s waist. Her eyes were fixed on the crypt, but I could feel her body relax a little as she leaned into me.

  “Tell me about her.”

  “She was my mother,” Liza said simply. “She took care of me. She made sure I did my homework and cleaned my room. She told me she loved me all the time, and sometimes, when I messed up, she yelled at me. Usually I deserved it, so I didn’t mind that much. She worked really hard because I don’t have a dad. I mean…I have a dad but he bailed out before I was born.” Liza shrugged. “I don’t even know who he is. Mom had to pay the bills all by herself, and sometimes she was really tired, but every Sunday was our day together. She always got up and made a big breakfast, pancakes or waffles or something, and then we’d do something together, something inexpensive like go to the park, or window shopping, or to some free concert she’d read about.”

  Liza smiled a little as she remembered. “Some of those concerts were pretty awful. Once, in February, when it was cold and miserable and there was just nothing to do, the only thing she found in the paper was an accordion recital at the Moose Lodge. Have you ever been to an accordion recital?” I shook my head. “Well, you aren’t missing anything. And it just went on and on! Mom kept making this goofy face at me and kind of bouncing in her seat, you know, like she was about to break out and start doing the polka or something. I just about choked trying not to bust out laughing. That was Mom. She could make anything fun.”

  “She sounds like a wonderful mother. You were lucky.”

  “Yeah,” Liza whispered. “I was lucky. For a while I was. She was the only person I could always count on. At least, I thought I could, and then…” A tear seeped from the corner of her eye as she stared at the tomb. “Now I’ve got nobody.”

  “Nobody like your mother. There will never be anyone like her, but you’re not as alone as you think, Liza. There are a lot of people who care about you. Margot and I. And your Aunt Abigail. She cares about you, Liza, much more than you realize.”

  Liza’s lips flattened into a thin line of disgust. “She doesn’t care about me. She puts on a good show, but she doesn’t care about anyone but herself.”

  “That’s not true. And it’s not fair.” Finally looking up at me, Liza’s eyes flashed, and she started to protest, but I wouldn’t let her interrupt. “Listen to me. I know she hasn’t always been the easiest person to live with, but she’s changed. And the way she treated you and your mother was…well, it was despicable. I know that because she told me all about it and that’s the word she used to describe her behavior.”

  Liza furrowed her brow, listening but not able to completely believe what I was saying. “She told you about Mom? And me? About why I’m living with her?”

  I nodded. “She told me everything.” A flush of color rose in Liza’s cheeks. I suppose she was embarrassed that I knew about her run-in with the law.

  “Liza, don’t worry about that. I don’t think any less of you. What you did wasn’t right, but sometimes, when people are laboring under the weight of a terrible grief, when they’re suffering and in pain, they do things they normally wouldn’t. That doesn’t mean they are bad people. Even if, sometimes, they act like they are.” I paused for a moment before going on.

  “You may not believe it, but Abigail really has changed. Truly. She realizes what she’s done, and she’s sorry. She wants another chance. She wants to make things right between you. She wants you to come home.”

  “She does? How nice for her!” Liza let out one bitter laugh. “Isn’t that just her all over? Abigail wants another chance. Abigail wants me to come home. Abigail! Abigail! It’s always about her! Abigail wants something, and everyone is supposed to run to get it for her. Not this time. Abigail’s sorry? Well, I’m sorry, but I really don’t give a damn what she wants! And I’m not going back!” She pulled away from me, turned, and started to walk toward the gate that separated the Burgess family plot from the others. I reached out and grabbed her arm.

  “Liza! Wait a minute! This isn’t about Abigail. It’s about you. She’s your only living relative, your only surviving link with your mother. Whether you know it or not, whether you like it or not, you need Abigail.”

  “No, I don’t!” Liza shouted as she spun around to face me again. Angry tears filled her eyes. “I don’t need anybody. You can’t trust people! They always let you down! They always leave!”

  I nodded. “I know all about that. It’s true, Liza. Sometimes the people who are supposed to love you most let you down. My husband left me. After twenty-eight years, he decided he didn’t love me anymore. And it hurt, Liza. It hurt so badly that I wanted to close myself up in a box and hide. I didn’t want to risk being hurt again. For months and months, I just cut myself off from everyone. I sat at my kitchen table and cried and felt sorry for myself. I stayed there for a long, long time, but eventually I realized I had to get up and move on. I had to! Even if it meant that I’d fail or get hurt again. Liza, everything that makes life worth living—finding love, finding our dreams, trying to make them come true—is risky, but we can’t do any of those things alone. It took me a long time to realize that, but it’s true.” Liza’s breath was coming out in short, frozen bursts, and her chest rose and fell heavily as she tried to calm herself. I took a step nearer.

  “I think that’s what Abigail is realizing. You might not believe it, but I think you should come home and find out for yourself. You and your Aunt Abigail are very much alike. And you’re about to fall into the same pit that she’s been trapped in for all these years. You’re going to cut yourself off from everything that matters—from family, friends, and any possibility of finding love or happiness—all because you’re afraid of getting hurt again. You say you hate Abigail, but you’re about to make all the same mistakes she has. Come back with me, Liza. Listen to what Abigail has to say, not for her sake, but for your own.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” Liza whispered. “It hurts so much.” She lifted her head and looked around the frozen graveyard at the rows and rows of stone markers surrounding us. “Sometimes I just want it to be over.”

  Her eyes were so weary, so sad. Eyes too old for such a young face. My heart broke for her.

  “I know,” I said. “There are times when I’ve felt that way too, like I just wanted to give up, but I’m glad I didn’t. If I had, I’d never have met you. And that’s something I wouldn’t have wanted to miss. We’re not meant to live alone, Liza. Everyone needs someone to care about and someone who cares about them. We need someone to share with, to laugh with, someone who’ll yell at us when we mess up.” I smiled and reached up to wipe a tear from Liza’s frozen cheek. “We need someone to go to accordion concerts with.”

  Liza sniffed and tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. Her face folded in on itself, crumpled into an expression of despair. She turned her head and covered her face with one hand. “Evelyn, you’re so nice to me. You’re just like…You remind me so much of Mom.”

  “Thank you, Liza. That’s probably about the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should go back and at least hear what Abigail has to say, but if I do, will you promise me something?” She turned back to look at me, her eyes earnestly examining my face for a pledge of honesty.

  “I will if I can,” I answered.

  “
Don’t die, Evelyn. Don’t! I like you so much. Really! I know I haven’t been very nice to you the last few weeks. Ever since you told us about your surgery. I know it’s not your fault, but sometimes I just can’t stop myself. I get so mad at you. At Abigail. At everyone, I guess. I’m sorry, Evelyn. I’m so sorry.”

  “I know you are. I understand. We all do.”

  Liza swallowed hard and nodded, relieved. “Good,” she said. “That’s good. Okay.” She squared her shoulders and took a step away, as if she was ready to go.

  “Liza, I can’t do it,” I said. “I can’t promise you I won’t die. That’s the kind of promise that children make. Promises that are really just wishes. You’re not a child anymore, Liza. You know there are some things that no amount of wishing will prevent. This is one of them.”

  Liza’s shoulders sagged again. She looked at me, then back to her mother’s grave marker. “I know.”

  I reached out and took her hand. Even through the fabric of her black gloves, Liza’s fingers felt like ice. I cupped my two hands around hers, trying to warm them. “Liza, I don’t want to die. Your mother didn’t want to die either. I’m sure that, more than anything in the world, she wanted to live so she could see what an amazing young woman you’re turning out to be. But by the time she found out she was sick, it was just too late. It’s not fair, but that’s what happened. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Sometimes bad things happen and there’s just nothing we can do about it.”

  “I know,” she repeated sadly, her voice and face registering a weary resignation. “I just don’t understand why life is so unfair sometimes.”

  “Yeah. You and everyone else on the planet.” I smiled. “But I can promise you one thing. I am going to try absolutely everything I can to beat the stupid cancer and live a long, full life. If I’ve got any say about it, I’m going to be around to make quilts to celebrate your wedding, and the births of your babies, and of your babies’ babies. So don’t you dare give up on me yet, Liza. I’m feisty!”