The Tea Series

by Sheila Horgan

  “Not that many.”

  “You should sit in the tub.”

  “It’s really cold.”

  “That’s the idea. I thought we had a bag of ice in the freezer.”

  “I had to take it out when I made food for Teagan’s mother-in-law.”

  “Get in the tub. I’ll be right back. You breathing okay?”

  “I’m fine. I don’t need ice.”

  “I’ll be right back.” He walked out of the room. I would have stormed out if it had been me, but he’s better than that. Or at least he is more disciplined than that. He stuck his head back in. “I thought the reason we bought that little freezer to put in the laundry room was so that you could have extra space for things like that.”

  “It was. It is. I got carried away.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. I’ll be right back.”

  I may have gone too far. A.J. doesn’t normally get annoyed like that.

  He was back in record time. I’m not sure if it was love or vengeance, but he brought back three huge bags of ice with him and dumped them all in the tub.

  About the time my foot was frozen enough not to hurt so much, someone started pounding on the door so hard I thought they were going to break it down. After all the work Roland and his people did to reinforce it, that would have taken some doing, but I thought the person on the other side of the door might just do it.

  Teagan.

  I heard her trying really hard not to yell at A.J.

  Two seconds later she was in the bathroom, as mad as I have ever seen her.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Hello to you too, Teagan.”

  “Cara, you have pulled some stupid stuff in your life, but this might be the most stupid ever. Why did you have to get in the middle of it? Why did you have to involve my job? I’ve never heard Mr. Fisher so angry. I literally thought his head was going to explode. And now she’s in jail. How the hell did you get away? And why would you leave her there to get arrested? What is wrong with you?”

  “What?”

  She started to yell, repeating herself.

  “Teagan, I didn’t mean that I couldn’t hear you. You are plenty loud enough. I meant that I have no idea what you are talking about. What happened? Who’s in jail? Why? What’s it got to do with me?”

  “According to Honey — the person in jail — you were with her earlier tonight.”

  “I was. She said that she was going to go snoop on the person she is doing the detecting on, and I didn’t want her to go alone. I’m the hero in this. Look at my foot. I was nearly ant-ed to death, and you’re yelling at me.”

  “Cara, why did you go snooping with Honey?”

  “The person she said she was snooping on sounded like Adeline. It wasn’t. Thank God.”

  “So you just left her there to get arrested. When they find your fingerprints, and they will, you’re going to be sitting right next to her.”

  “What are you talking about? There won’t be any fingerprints. You can’t leave fingerprints on a palmetto…”

  “Stop trying to be cute, Cara. This is serious. Breaking and entering is a crime.”

  “Whoa. Stop. I snooped around, but I didn’t enter anything. I didn’t even enter that couple’s yard. I have no idea what you are blaming on me. We just met in a parking lot, found our way around the fence that holds out the minions, walked through a few fields, that were probably private property, but the truth is, we were probably on every security camera in the development, and we knew it. We didn’t do anything really illegal. When I was sure that it wasn’t Adeline Honey was snooping on, and Honey was sure that she found the right house and was kind of feeling sorry for the couple she was snooping on, we left. On the way out I stepped on an anthill, and I’ve been home trying not to go into anaphylactic shock ever since. What did Honey do after I left, because I swear to God, Teagan, that she drove off ahead of me? I wouldn’t have left her there alone. Not even if I’d let her call an ambulance, which is what she wanted to do when she saw my foot.”

  “Your foot is a mess. Now I feel a little bit bad.”

  “You should.”

  “I said a little bit. Cara, you know Honey is crazy. I’ve told you a hundred times she isn’t thinking right. Remember? The whole ‘smoked herself stupid’ thing. Why would you do this? You know she’s married to my boss.”

  “Partner.”

  “That doesn’t make it any better, Cara.”

  “Well, it kind of does. I’m sorry. That was the whole plausible deniability thing. You can honestly tell Mr. Fisher that you knew nothing about it. You can even pass a lie detector test.”

  “I worry about you sometimes.”

  “I know.”

  “Cara, I don’t know what has happened to you, but you’ve lost it. You used to be, well, you used to be Cara. I don’t know who you are now, but I can tell you one thing for absolutely sure. This person that you are isn’t anything like the person you were, and I liked the person you were a whole lot better.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I’m not kidding, Cara. You used to laugh all the time. You used to put family ahead of everything else. You used to be sane.”

  “You need to go home now, Teagan.”

  “See? That isn’t a response the old Cara would have given.”

  “Maybe I’m growing up. Or growing old. Or growing tired. Nobody stays the same forever. Life doesn’t work that way.”

  “You’re right. But the core person, that doesn’t change. One of the things I’ve always respected about you, Cara, probably the thing that I’ve always respected the most, is that you live your beliefs. Other people don’t. You do. It’s rare. It’s something I truly aspire to. It’s something you have always done. Or always did. But lately, not so much. I don’t know what happened, but you aren’t acting like you.”

  “Maybe I’ve finally started acting like me and not like the person that you and everybody else think I should be.”

  “I don’t believe that, but it’s simple enough to figure out.”

  “Okay, you’re so smart, what do you think is this easy way to figure it out?”

  “Are you happy, Cara? If you are, then forget everything I said. But I don’t think you are. I think you let go of your happiness in the search for something else, and you forgot where you put it. I think all the stuff you used to do, you did because you were happy, but for some stupid reason you let life, or some unnamed person, or whatever, talk you into thinking differently. That just because you’re different, you’re wrong, or not right, or weird.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “That’s my point. Cara, if you were really happy, no thought would be required. You’d know it. Down to your soul.”

  “I said I’d think about it. What’s happening with Honey? How did she end up in jail?”

  “I guess after she left you, she went back by herself. She broke into their house to get a quick look around. I don’t know. Mr. Fisher was so mad he didn’t make any sense. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.”

  “I will say one thing for Honey. She’s loyal.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “She didn’t tell anybody about you, and she made sure you were long gone before she broke in. But she did break in, and that’s a problem.”

  “I’m sorry. But, Teagan, I doubt anything I did or said resulted in all of this. I don’t think if I’d called you and told you about it that it would have stopped Honey.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Let me know what happens.”

  “You want me to fix you a cup of tea? Drive you to the hospital? That foot might have to come off.”

  “Not funny. I have A.J. He’ll take care of me.”

  “You better start showing a little appreciation for that, Cara. You guys are like two ships and all that. You have not made him a priority in your life. You know I’m right.
I know you’re busy. I know he’s doing this whole thing with Old Town, but I’m telling you that you need to step up your game. That whole thing that lots of women do, where they justify their own basic laziness and blame the results on life or the guy or the kids? You’re starting to go there. Don’t do it, Cara. You’re better than that.”

  “I’ll try not to be resentful of those comments — for myself and all women — and learn from the intent.”

  “I really don’t care if you resent the truth, Cara. I’m not saying the attitude is your fault; it’s the way of our society right now. Look back just twenty-five years. People didn’t walk around looking like slobs in the name of comfort, and they didn’t have their house looking like something from a television docudrama because they had to buy so much stuff they could no longer be bothered to take care of it or put it away. All I’m saying is that you’re creating an outcome you aren’t going to want, and that’s totally unlike you. You aren’t being true to yourself. That’s all I’m saying. And I get to say that because I’ve put just about as much energy into your life as I have my own, and I don’t want to sit back and watch you mess it up. It’s your life, you can mess it up if you want to, but I’d hate to see it.”

  I couldn’t decide if Teagan was losing her mind because of work or home or a combination of the two, but she was definitely not being very Teagan-ish. I could have argued, or asked what was going on, but I decided to just let her go. Sometimes the best thing you can do is nothing.

  I doubt that she was out the door before I was out of the tub and limping around on my poor foot. I was beginning to think that there was a possibility I was going to lose a few toenails. My feet were so swollen it felt like they were going to pop off. Due to the swelling of my left foot, I decided to inspect a little bit and found lots of white bumps on that foot as well. Turns out I was so busy picking fire ants off my right foot that a whole other flank of the little critters worked their way into my other shoe.

  I’m proud to announce that I didn’t die in my sleep last night. I know it’s kind of obvious, but looking at my foot, I’m surprised.

  It might be time to go to the doctor.

  Of course, if I didn’t die already, I probably won’t.

  Wonder how many people drop dead after thinking that?

  I hobbled into the kitchen. There was a note on the fridge from A.J. Cara — Call me when you wake up. You need to go to the doctor.

  I texted A.J. that I was awake and alive. A bit redundant, but I wasn’t totally recovered from all the antihistamines I took last night.

  I didn’t really get the chance to sleep them off, because I didn’t really sleep. I dozed a little, but mostly I stewed about what Teagan had said. I hate it when that happens.

  I made myself a cup of tea and popped a couple more pills.

  I checked my emails and found there were no emergency situations I needed to deal with for Adeline.

  I figured I’d hear from Teagan when she was calm enough not to yell at me, which might take a while, but really I don’t even feel guilty because I didn’t do anything wrong.

  I am allowed to go snoop with anyone I want, and if that person is dumb enough to go back after I leave and do something irresponsible, it doesn’t create responsibility for me.

  I kept repeating that to myself.

  I have a problem with responsibility.

  I seem to take on everybody else’s.

  I took a shower, which just about killed me. Turns out warm water on fire-ant-munched feet is a no-no.

  I decided I was not going to the doctor. Since I wasn’t dead, I’m not going to die, so why pay the deductible?

  I refuse to admit that I all but have a panic attack around doctors and hospitals since the whole Barry thing.

  I think that reaction is normal and will pass with time.

  I hope.

  I did the next best thing to going to the doctor. I called my sister. She is a nurse after all. Why have a nurse in the family if you can’t abuse her for knowledge now and then? The reason I say abuse is that she is smart enough to hate to give any kind of medical advice. She really hates giving it over the phone, not having seen the problem and having to trust that I’m relating the information properly when I have no medical training at all.

  The baby is fine. Growing, which is a really good sign.

  I’m gonna live.

  I need to make sure that the bites don’t get infected.

  I can’t scratch. I can’t pop the stupid little blisters. Normally I do, because it helps with the whole itch thing, but there are so many, I think I’m gonna do what I’m told.

  I soaked my feet in water with some bleach in it, careful to rinse really well so that I don’t have bleach footprints on my carpet.

  I limped back out into the living room and put my feet up.

  On the coffee table.

  Which is actually that stupid trunk with glass on top of it.

  I let out about three frustrated huffs, went in and fixed a cup of tea, and was back out pulling the glass off the table before my tea cooled enough to drink.

  It seems to me, at least today, that my life was going pretty damn well until the trunk came to live here.

  I’m not saying it’s cursed.

  Not out loud anyway.

  I opened the lid.

  How could something that smells so good be bad?

  I pulled out a tissue wrapped package.

  Held it for a minute and waited for the memories to come flooding back.

  Nothing.

  I sniffed the citrusy smelly good stuff.

  Waited.

  Nothing.

  I crinkled the tissue paper.

  Nothing.

  What the hell?

  I’m finally ready to unleash the demons, and I get nothing? Bupkis? Teagan used to think that word was butt-kiss.

  Teagan. It’s her fault I’m even trying to get to the bottom of all this. I erased her from my brain.

  Or at least I tried.

  The harder I tried, the more she clung to the outer edges of my consciousness, which, I might point out, is just like Teagan.

  I got more frustrated.

  Then I got mad.

  Then I got all the way to irate.

  Why were people always messing with me? I have — or had — a happy little life, and now look at me. My toes are all purple, and I have a headache. My blood pressure is probably higher than is healthy. I’m thinking about blood pressure! What the hell?

  I don’t know why, but I lunged forward, dumped everything in the trunk on the floor, and all but screamed — even when insane I didn’t want to freak out Suzi, and she would probably have heard me — and before all the tissue-wrapped torture devices could hit the floor I decided that I was just going to throw it all away.

  Okay, not throw it away, that would be wrong, but get rid of it.

  Maybe just have Teagan pick it all up.

  Or my mom.

  I stood up to get some garbage bags, my mangled foot reminded me who was actually boss, and I landed on my butt right next to the only thing in the trunk that wasn’t wrapped.

  Crap.

  Why did I have to notice that now?

  My nosiness kicked in so fast, I didn’t even think. I opened the journal — a rich burgundy leather with a bright green ribbon to use as a marker — and saw the inscription on the inside front cover. It was written in Bernie’s distinctive hand.

  My Dearest Cara,

  I started this memory book when you were but sixteen. I recount my life from that age, the age at which I believe I started to live.

  These ramblings are as near as my memory will allow, although at the heart of it, I am quite certain there is a poetic moment or two when my recollections have been tainted by time or romance. Please indulge an old woman.

  I know the occasion will arise when you sit with a cup and ask yourself why I collected these treasures and why they are now yours. The answer that comes to me most easily is that you, my child, ar
e the one most like me and it is you that I wish to witness the whole of me.

  I have yet to decide if I will be living or passed as this old trunk is given you, but it is my fondest hope that in the telling of the story I will live on. Perhaps that is just the Irish of me, but you, dear child, will best understand.

  Blessings and my love,

  Bernie

  Oh. Dear. God. There is no mystery at all. The trunk is just full of Bernie’s memories. Things that have nothing at all to do with me. Why did I ever think anything else?

  I reread the inscription.

  I couldn’t decide if I was let down or relieved.

  Before I could come to that answer, I started to cry. I cried for the loss of the adventure that I thought the trunk represented. I cried for all the drama that it had created in my life. Wasted time. Wasted energy. Allowing myself to be so stupid for so long.

  Stupid?

  Really?

  I wasn’t stupid. I made assumptions. Based on the very limited information I had at the time. But then, I didn’t do anything to get more information, which is a kind of stupid.

  I tried to decide if I wanted to open a treasure or start to read the book.

  Maybe the book would explain the treasures.

  Maybe the treasures would define the book.

  I decided to take a look in the journal first.

  Then I’d have a childish fit and pack it all up to send to my mother or my sister or some charity.

  I did not consider myself to be one of the altar ladies. They were older, more settled, and much more sophisticated. If I force myself to be candid, a trait I admire but often fail to attain, I did ache to be like them. Each was married. Most had children. They wore lovely clothes and nice shoes and always had a smile and a kind word.

  I slapped the journal shut. This is so not good. I was so ready to be rid of all this. I had convinced myself that whatever is in the trunk had nothing to do with me and that any and all trauma I thought I’d suffered was little more than screwed up memories of a little kid. It’s true that Bernie had me around some weird people and stuff was going on around here, but I really didn’t need to read the story of her life. Not that interesting. I’m not interested. I’d let Mom have that honor.