Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection

by Becky Doughty

  “I called Makani last night.”

  Myra spun around, her eyes wide. “You did what?”

  “I called my son last night. He answered the phone. We talked.” Kathy kept her hands busy filling the tea balls with some of the mixture from the muslin bag, then she rinsed the mugs in hot water so the tea wouldn’t cool too quickly. She put generous amounts of honey in both, knowing her friend well enough to assume she’d want it extra sweet.

  Myra handed her half-eaten dog treat to Heidi who was lounging on the sofa. She pressed both hands to her flat chest. “Tell me all about it, Kathy-la! I can’t believe it!”

  The kettle whistled, Kathy snatched it up and filled both mugs, then handed one to Myra. Her eyes were bright with tears she refused to shed, but she could feel a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “We talked about Christmas, about good memories. He said he missed my cooking. He has a son, you know?”

  “I know! You told me many times. How old is he now? He’s named after his daddy, right?”

  “Makani Junior, of course. My boy isn’t going to let his son forget where he came from. They call him Kani for short, just like I used to call Makani when he was little. Kani will be four in April.” She’d never met her only grandchild, and it nearly broke her heart when she let herself dwell on it. She’d only seen pictures of him when he was a tiny baby, but she was certain she’d recognize him instantly if she ever saw him; she vividly remembered Makani’s squishy cheeks and big, brown eyes. She didn’t think little Kani’s features would be too different. She lifted the steaming mug close to her mouth and blew on the surface of the liquid to cool it. “I wish they lived closer.”

  After a few moments of silence between them, Myra took a sip of her tea. “Oh my goodness, Kathy-la!” She was cradling the mug in both hands. “This is delicious! It tastes like my Sangria, but hot.”

  Kathy chuckled, glad for the change in subject. Her conversation with her son—the first they’d had in years—had been achingly sweet, and she wanted to cherish it close to her heart a little longer. “Your Sangria tastes like juice. It comes in a box, Myra. A big juice-box for a big kid.”

  “Oh, leave me alone. I hardly drink at all anymore. My doctor told me I had to quit. He said my liver isn’t going to last much longer.” She sighed dramatically. “He said I’m probably going to die soon.”

  “We’re all going to die, silly. Some of us just sooner than others. It’s what we all moved here for; to die. And I bet I’ll go before you do. My heart isn’t going to last any longer than your liver, even if you do ever quit drinking for real.” Kathy sipped her tea, enjoying the way the tangy flavors soothed her throat. She could feel warmth flooding her chest from the inside out, and she sighed deeply. “Sounds morbid, doesn’t it? But it’s true.”

  “That we’re all going to die?” Myra shoved Heidi over to make room for her skinny backside on the couch.

  “No; that we all came here to die. Think about it.” Kathy shoved poor Heidi off onto the floor altogether and dropped into the corner the dog vacated. “Everyone who lives in our park.” She nodded her head sagely. “They all come here to die. Do you have plans to move again?”

  “Me? Aiee! Never again!” Myra shook her head emphatically.

  “Neither do I. Patti and Richard next door aren’t going anywhere, either. They’re living off his disability, and their son, he’s gay, so they won’t ever have any grandchildren.”

  “Don’t say that, Kathy-la. You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do. I met his boyfriend.”

  “That was his roommate. That doesn’t mean they’re together.” Myra squirmed a little, clearly uneasy with the topic.

  “Roommates, Myra?” Kathy was childishly enjoying her friend’s discomfort. “They’re not in college anymore. And they were holding hands. I saw them.”

  “I used to hold hands with my friends when I was younger. That didn’t make me…that way.”

  “Gay, Myra. They’re gay. Which means there won’t be any grandchildren. Patti and Richard have come here to die. Then there’s Joe. The way he fries all his food, I’m surprised he’s still looking so good.”

  Myra’s eyes lit up. “I know. That man, he’s a handsome one. If I was a little younger, I might ask him to cook for me.”

  Kathy rolled her eyes. “You’re ten years younger than he is already. How much younger do you need to be? It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s already got a lady friend. You’ve seen her. She comes out from Los Angeles about once a month to visit. Her daughter drops her off on her way to Palm Springs.”

  “I’ve seen her. She’s the real reason I haven’t asked him out.”

  “Besides, you’re obviously not his type, Myra. She’s at least a foot taller than you are, and she still wears high-heels and make-up. You can’t compete with that.”

  Myra looked down at her feet encased in the inelegant bulky socks she was wearing. Her faded blue rubber boots were outside on Kathy’s porch. Then she shrugged. “Joe has bad knees. He couldn’t bend over far enough to kiss me, so it would never work.”

  “Myra, I should send you out into the cold for putting that sick thought into my head. Yuck.” Kathy scowled disgustedly, then picked up where she left off. “Shelly Little and her cats. You know how that’s going to end.”

  “What do you mean? She’s not old.”

  “When you’re a cat lady, age has no bearing. One day, those cats are going to turn on her and Eddie will find her face down—”

  “Stop it! Don’t say it, Kathy! Aiee! What kind of movies are you watching these days?”

  “And speaking of Eddie,” Kathy continued, grinning capriciously over her friend’s ruffled feathers. “He’s got his own little kingdom right here. He’s the perfect trailer park manager. No woman, no kids, his mother tucked in two trailers over. He’s not going anywhere, not in a million years. He’s King of The Coach, as far as he’s concerned. They’ll have to crowbar him out of this place; him and his old Ford.”

  “How do you know he doesn’t have a woman? Maybe he’s got a girlfriend somewhere else.” Myra stood up to get a refill from the kettle.

  Kathy patted the binoculars on the end table. “I have my ways. His mom does his laundry for him; I’ve seen her folding his clothes. Besides, he only has eight or ten teeth and that gut is something else. He doesn’t have a woman.”

  “You’re so mean. And nosy,” Myra said, peering out the window to see what new developments were taking place across the way. “So what kind of name is Willow? I mean, I know it’s the name of a tree, but it sounds like a hippie name, doesn’t it? She’s too young to be a child of the 60’s; maybe it’s New Age or some Middle Eastern thing. I wonder if she has a boyfriend.”

  “And you call me nosy?”

  Myra reached for the kettle and offered Kathy a refill, too. “So, tell me something. If everyone comes here to die, why would someone so…so alive come here to live?”

  Chapter 4

  When Myra finally left, the sun was reaching for the horizon with shimmering rays. It was going to be bitterly cold tonight, and the wind had picked up again, unsettling the dogs, making them whine and whimper incessantly. They clambered onto the sofa next to Kathy, and together they sat in the warm comfort of their little home as twilight turned into evening. Even Bella Basset managed to slide off the bed and waddle across the floor to drop in a heap at Kathy’s feet.

  Her mind wandered back to the phone conversation with her son the night before. It had been over three years since they’d spoken in anything other than angry words. When Kani was born, Makani wanted to contact his father. He said he wanted to tell him about his new grandson, about how it felt to be a dad, but Kathy knew there was more to it than that. Makani, having now held his own son, really wanted to know how Paul could have walked away from him. He wanted to confront his father, to make him admit he was wrong to leave, and to tell his father that he, Makani, would never abandon his son the way Paul had abandoned him.

  But Kathy
knew the men in her life too well to stand back and let that conversation take place. She knew the answers and the words Makani needed from his father would never come from the man who’d beaten her bloody time and time again, who’d run around with other women, even while she was in the hospital delivering their son. She knew why Paul left; he refused to believe Makani was really his. He liked to tell her he only ‘shot blanks,’ so she must’ve been sleeping around on him, and got herself knocked up by one of her lovers. None of it was true, but Paul didn’t want to hear it. He just moved on one day. He packed a bag, got in his car, and drove away. As far as Kathy knew, they were still married after all these years, but she’d had the foresight to put her maiden name, Kekoa, which meant ‘brave soldier,’ on her son’s birth certificate, giving Makani his Hawaiian roots as his foundation. She’d left the father’s signature line empty.

  And twenty-six years later, she wasn’t going to give Paul the opportunity to fill in the empty places for their son, even if she did still know how to reach him.

  Makani’s requests had turned to demands, making him sound remarkably like his abusive father, and Kathy, reacting with the old rage she still had inside, lashed out at him, accusing him of being just like his old man. “You’re no better than he is, little man. You’re cut from the same cloth. Have you taken a swing at your wife yet?”

  Makani hung up on her, and she knew she deserved it. She gave him a few weeks, expecting him to call back and apologize. When he didn’t, she called him, prepared to give him what little information she had about Paul. But he refused to take her calls. He sent her letters and cards back, unopened. And after a year, then another, and a third had gone by, Kathy stopped hoping for reconciliation.

  Christmas was always the worst. For so long, it had just been the two of them and the assorted pets they’d had over the years, celebrating the season together. Kathy put on Christmas music the first day of December, and played it nonstop in their home for the whole month. They put up their little yard sale tree with the stiff wire branches that could handle the weight of homemade ornaments of modeling clay, rocks from their heart-shaped rock collection, and other assorted things they could drum up. One year, they made Hot Wheels the theme of their tree. They hit all the local thrift stores and bought up as many of the little cars and trucks as they could afford, then taken all of Makani’s from his toy box, and tied each one to the branches of the tree with red curling ribbon and tinsel. It was a little boy’s dream.

  Cookies. Santa had to have his milk and cookies, and just in case the jolly elf decided to drop in a little early to see if Makani was being good, the boy had taken it upon himself to make sure that the cookie jar was always full. Those were some of Kathy’s favorite Christmas memories; baking cinnamon sugar cookies and drinking eggnog and hot chocolate with her boy.

  How she missed him! How she’d missed the man he’d grown up to be, the father she knew he was—so different from the father he’d had—and his son who surely would grow up to be just like Makani. Her arms ached to hold that little boy.

  And now, it seemed that anything was possible. Now, because Willow Goodhope showed up on her doorstep smelling like delicious memories, there was hope. For whatever reason—they hadn’t talked about anything too serious—Makani had taken her call. For whatever reason, he’d talked and laughed and remembered with her. For whatever reason, the door that had been slammed and locked between them seemed to be opening up.

  Makani promised to call again on the weekend. Little Kani was already in bed, but her son assured her she could speak to her grandson on Saturday. “He knows who you are, Mom. He points at your picture and says, ‘Zat Gamma!’”

  Too emotional to ask him to tell her more, she’d said goodbye with the flicker of hope burning inside of her. Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.

  It was dark inside now, and she reached over to turn on the lamp. Time for dinner.

  Bella Basset was so old and arthritic that Kathy hated to make her go outside to do her business, but as soon as they all finished eating, Kathy bundled up, and herded the dogs out into the night. She didn’t care that her thrift store men’s coat was a teal popular in the eighties. It was lined with fleece, and the hood was huge, so she could pull it almost closed over her face, protecting her from the biting air.

  “I’m an island girl, God. A cool breeze is nice, but this wind? My blood is like ice in my veins.” She shivered on the top step, waiting while Bella Basset wandered around the yard with Heidi and Trixie. Glancing over at Willow’s cottage, her eyes widened with delight as the outside light flickered off, then a myriad of twinkle lights lit up the entryway instead. Many of the plants were draped in burlap again, but those under the cover of the porch roof shimmered in the soft glow as the wind made them dance, reminding her of a Thomas Kinkade painting. It looked so inviting over there, and she didn’t want to look away.

  The crooked green door swung open, and Willow flitted out into the cold. She had her hands up over her eyes, her fingers cracked just enough to see where she was going, as she made her way out into the little yard toward Kathy. She looked up, saw Kathy watching her, and waved.

  “I haven’t seen it yet, but what do you think? Does it look enchanted?”

  Enchanted. That was exactly the way it looked. “You’re a little wacko, you know that?” Kathy called back. “Where’s your jacket, girl?”

  The laugh that burst out of Willow’s mouth surprised Kathy almost as much as the lights had. It was loud, unchecked, and contagious. She couldn’t keep from smiling in response.

  “I’m so excited I can’t even feel the cold! Okay. Count to three for me, will you?” The girl had reached the fence and was leaning over to pet all three dogs who’d gathered to say hello.

  “Count to three?” Kathy asked.

  “Yes! It’s the Ceremony of Lights and you’re the new Mistress of Ceremonies!” Willow clapped her hands. “I can’t look until you count to three.”

  “Did you fall off the ladder while you were putting those up?” Kathy shook her head but made her way down the steps to stand at the gate near Willow. She smiled at the childlike anticipation on her neighbor’s face.

  “Come on, Kathy!” Willow reached over and grabbed her by the shoulders, gently shaking her. “Count! I can’t stand the wait any longer!”

  “Okay! Okay, already! One…two…three!”

  “Three!” Willow cried out the number in unison with Kathy, then spun around, her hair, loosed from the braid she’d worn earlier, fluttering around her shoulders. “Oh my!” she breathed. Then she was laughing again, twirling like a little girl, the wind catching strands of her copper locks and tossing them in her face. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Kathy was laughing now, too. “It is very pretty,” she agreed. Then she remembered her manners. “Oh! I had some of your tea today. It was very good.” She cleared her throat. “I, um, also had one of the peanut butter cookies before I realized they were for the dogs. You should have labeled those, you know.” She was still a little embarrassed by the mistake, but something about Willow made her think her neighbor would appreciate the story.

  “Oh, Kathy,” Willow gasped, her eyes alight with humor. “I’m just glad I didn’t put raw liver in them, or fish guts, or something terrible like that!”

  “I am, too!” Kathy’s brow furrowed a little as she thought about the afternoon she’d spent in Myra’s company. “You know, I haven’t been coughing much at all since I drank your tea. So, how did you know I was feeling sick?”

  “Oh, I didn’t know. I was just talking to God while I was puttering around yesterday, asking him what he thought you might like from my garden. The tea was his idea. I tried to tell him you might prefer a cordial or some jam, but he insisted on the tea.” Willow’s expression was sincere as she spoke, one hand clutching at her wayward hair, pulling it all forward over her shoulder. It looked to Kathy like she was beginning to feel the cold, but she continued talking anyway.

  “January is notor
ious around these parts for blowing in all kinds of fun stuff like colds and flu bugs. It even blew me into your life this year!” Willow laughed, bouncing up and down on her heels and hugging herself. “That elderberry tea is one of my favorites. It helps boost the immune system, keeps the sinuses clear, and works like a charm on fevers and muscle aches. I love it, and I’m glad to hear you love it, too. If you’re sick, you just keep drinking that all day. I can make you more in a heartbeat. You’ll be amazed at how much faster you get well.” Then she grinned and lifted her shoulders up around her ears. “I love it when I hear him correctly. And he probably loves it when I listen, right?”

  Kathy nodded, unsure of how else to respond. She often talked to God, but he didn’t talk back; probably because she only talked to him when she was complaining about something. She’d worked hard to get to where she was, and even though she wasn’t anywhere great, at least she’d managed to do it on her own. God hadn’t been much help. Not really. He was more like an imaginary friend, someone she could talk to in the middle of the night without worrying about him running off to gossip about her to someone else.

  “Okay. Now I’m feeling the cold. But I’m so glad you were out here to share this with me. I hate celebrating alone.” Even in the shifting light of the blustery night, Kathy could see something like longing flit across Willow’s face, and she felt like she’d just glimpsed something private, something she was not intended to see. It made her uncomfortable, and she didn’t like it.

  She cleared her throat and gruffly declared, “If I’m all you got, Willow Goodhope, then you’re really alone. You’re even worse off than I am!” Then she covered her mouth with her hand, the words sounding cruel and insensitive. Willow’s shoulders dropped like a deflated balloon, and the sudden glisten in her eyes only made Kathy feel worse. “I’m sorry. That sounded awful. I...I can’t believe I said that. I’m such a party-pooper.”