Left to Chance

by Amy Sue Nathan

  “You make me laugh.”

  Wow, it was that simple. And not simple at all. He made me laugh. And that’s what I’d missed as much as Celia herself. The laughing.

  “That’s a lot of pressure.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that…”

  “I’m kidding, Teddi. Take a walk with me. I can’t promise a stand-up routine but I might be able to take your mind off whatever’s bothering you.”

  “How do you know something’s bothering me?”

  “You’re parked at the cemetery?”

  I smiled.

  “Well, I can’t walk in there,” I said.

  “We can go wherever you like.”

  That sounded nice. A walk, maybe back at the park or around the square. What was I doing? Nothing. Walking was nothing.

  Until it wasn’t.

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure where I want to go. I’m not sure of anything. Cammy, you’ve been so nice to me.”

  “A second ago I made you laugh and now I’m Cammy and I’m nice? Ouch.”

  “You are nice!” I took Cameron’s hands. “I guess … I guess I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about anything. I think I’m almost engaged. And you live here in Chance. And I, I don’t.”

  “You think you’re almost engaged to who? Beck?”

  “No. Simon Hester.”

  “Well done.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I just think it’s a little strange that we’ve had two or three intense conversations in less than a week and you’ve never mentioned a millionaire fiancé, Teddi.”

  “I don’t have a fiancé.”

  “Oh, right. An ‘almost’ fiancé.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Cameron walked around the car and opened the passenger door. “I’ve got all day.”

  * * *

  I pretended the last five minutes hadn’t happened and I drove around Chance like a tour guide, espousing history I’d learned at Chance Elementary and on every Fourth of July during the reenactment of the town’s founding and important scenes from Chance’s history.

  I turned onto Fern Street at the edge of Chance’s downtown. The street was partly residential and partly commercial, as if it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be home to people or things. The grandest Victorian in Chance was on Fern Street, painted now in deep grays, soft whites, and muted pinks. I’d heard the home had been sold to a family from New York. Simon had moved from New York to San Francisco as a child. I wondered how he’d have fared in Chance, if he’d still have grown up to build a hotel mini empire. The people inside those walls, though? I wondered if they knew the house was rumored to have been a speakeasy during Prohibition, while masquerading as a dancing school. It was probably why my mother never let me take ballet, even though in the eighties, lessons were across town in the basement of Chance Hall, and even though liquor was legal and the house had been home to respected Chance families since 1933. No one in Chance talked about the 1920s’ speakeasy history, though everyone talked about the World War I history when the house doubled as a rehab hospital for army officers and was staffed by local nurses. I prickled with pride I’d forgotten. My great-great-grandmother had been one of those nurses. Still, when Celia and I were in high school, we turned down the coveted roles in the Fourth of July play. We regretted it by the time we turned twenty.

  “I’m surprised a history teacher doesn’t know all this history.”

  “It’s not really relevant, but I do agree, it’s interesting.”

  “Not relevant, really? If you’ve put roots down here it is relevant.”

  “I don’t live here, you know that, right? I’m just here for the summer.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Oakland.”

  “Oakland, California?”

  “Yes.”

  Oakland was right across the bridge from San Francisco. I shook my head and smiled. I think it was a stupid, lopsided smile, the kind I couldn’t control that came when I daydreamed or planned or when I was surprised. “Maybe we can get together for lunch or something.” Really? Ladies lunch. Men—men eat lunch too. And I’d just told Cameron about Simon.

  “And what would your almost-fiancé think of that?”

  “Who?”

  “Simon? Remember him? It has been about ten minutes since you mentioned him and your mysterious nonengagement engagement.”

  “I was focusing on the house.”

  Cameron smirked.

  “What? Just say it.”

  “I’ve only known you for a week, but I’m here to tell you it’s a really bad idea to marry someone you don’t love.”

  “How do you know I don’t love Simon?”

  “Do you?”

  “He’s wonderful to me.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “You are?”

  “What do you want me to say, Teddi? I like you. I think you’re cute. I like the way you lift your hair off your neck when you think no one’s looking and stick your hands in your pockets like they’re full of treasures. I’d love to get to know you again. I’d like to take you on a date. But not if you have a fiancé. Or an almost-fiancé.”

  I parked in front of Perk. My cheeks burned.

  “Thanks for the tour,” he said. “And the history lesson. And good luck with your maybe engagement.”

  “I like you, Cammy. I do. I wish things were different.”

  “You get to decide, you know.”

  “Decide what?” Was he asking me to choose between him and Simon, right here and right now, before we’d even gone on a date?

  “Your dash, Teddi. You get to decide.”

  Cameron walked up Main Street. I wished I could reach into the glove box and pull out the phone that connected me to Celia in my dream. Instead, I closed my eyes and squeezed my memories together to extract the right tempo, pitch, and cadence of her words.

  I knew exactly what she’d say.

  Chapter 19

  “PUT THEM IN THE oven and in thirty minutes I’ll show you the next step,” I said to Shay.

  Shay slid the cookie tray into the oven and I set a timer. When the door was closed I turned on the oven light. I had always liked to watch the mandel bread loaves rise and expand as I waited to slice and then bake them again.

  “So, you ready for the big day?” I asked.

  “I guess. Unless they cancel it.”

  “Shay, they’re not calling off the wedding! You know that, right? Your dad and Violet love each other. A lot.”

  Shay ignored me. “Can I show you my storyboard for my comic book? It’s my next project for art class.” She left the kitchen and walked toward the stairs. I followed to her bedroom. Sketchbook pages were clipped to twine that crisscrossed her room like a clothesline.

  The drawings were rough and in pencil, yet whimsical, the thought bubbles waiting to be filled.

  I stared at one sheet without seeing it. “Remember you said you wished I had a special friend, like a boyfriend?”

  Shay nodded. “Then you wouldn’t always be alone, Aunt Tee.”

  My heart tugged. She was worried about me. I didn’t remember the last time I felt like someone worried about me.

  “Remember hearing me talk about Simon? The man I work for? I’ve talked about him before.”

  “Daddy says he owns the hotels.”

  “He does.”

  “Is he rich?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me how much money he has.”

  “So, he’s your best friend?”

  I’d never thought of Simon that way, but I supposed he could be. If I let him. “I’ll tell you something not a lot of people know.” Shay opened her eyes wide and nodded. “I’ve been dating him. We have a lot of fun together. He’s really nice.”

  “He’s your boyfriend?”

  “I think he’s going to ask me to marry him.”

  “What? No!” Shay rose from the bed, bending at her waist and yelling, “No, no, no, no, no!” She yell
ed it so many times I lost count, and then she just sat on her desk chair and put her hands over her ears.

  I had no idea what to do, what to say, what to think.

  Maybe it was too much information, too much sharing. She was only twelve. What was I thinking? I just didn’t want her to worry about me—I’d have someone, I wouldn’t be alone, it would be a nice life.

  I didn’t know who I was trying to convince.

  Shay looked at me, but stayed folded in half. “Are you engaged?” She lifted my left hand in hers. “You don’t have a ring.”

  “He didn’t ask me officially. Not yet anyway.”

  Shay exhaled. “Oh.”

  “But if he asks—when he asks—I think I’m going to say yes.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and stood. “No. You can’t do that. You’ll ruin everything.” She yanked the papers off the twine and let them fall to the floor.

  “I don’t understand, Shay. Talk to me. Remember? We’re being honest. Tell me what’s wrong. You’ll like Simon, I know you will. And you will be in the wedding. I was thinking you could be my maid of honor.”

  She turned to me and shook her head. Tears streamed down her face. She gasped for breath and I released one I didn’t know I was holding in.

  “What about Daddy?”

  “Daddy can come to the wedding too.” Sure, why not. We were building the foundation of a new friendship, one that would include Violet. Shay looked away.

  Oh God. No. I reached out and turned her toward me. “Honey, your daddy and I aren’t going to be anything more than friends. I told you that.”

  “Why not? It’s perfect. You’ve known each other for so, so long and if you and Daddy were together you would be my stepmother. I love Vi, I do, but you’re already family. And you and Daddy both miss Mommy like I do. It would be like we were all still a family, not something new that doesn’t have anything to do with her.”

  “Your dad loves Violet. I care about him, but not like that.”

  “But you were best friends with Daddy.”

  “I was best friends with your mom, sweetie. Being a couple with your dad would be like having my brother for a boyfriend. And that’s just not right.” Shut up already, Teddi, before you blurt out every bit of irony left in the county.

  “But you can try, right? What if you told my dad you wanted to stay and be a family with him and me? Think about it, Aunt Tee. You already fit with us. I know you said your job is in San Francisco and I was thinking maybe we could just move to San Francisco and be there with you.”

  “Honey, your dad and Violet love each other. Your dad and I don’t.”

  “But he has fun with you and we can talk about Mommy. We can’t do that with Violet.”

  “Yes, you can. She doesn’t want to take your mom away from you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You have to trust me. It’s going to be okay. It might not seem like it, but it is. It’s a lot, I know. You’ve made new friends and your family is going to be new, but it’s all good new. I’ll do anything I can to help make it easier. Anything. I promise.”

  “You’re just going to leave. That’s what you do. I hear what the grown-ups say.”

  The timer on my phone went off. The mandel bread was done with its first bake.

  “Go,” Shay said. “Take the stupid cookies out of the oven. They don’t make you like a mother, you know. No matter what you think.”

  Shay inhaled deeply, her shoulders and chest rising.

  I reached over and Shay lurched back. My body quivered with the recollection of the first time she reached for me from Celia’s arms. Maybe at this moment she needed a little space. I knew I did.

  “I’ll be right back. Maybe we can look at the calendar and decide a good time for me to come back to visit.”

  “Whatever.”

  * * *

  I needed to help Shay find a place of peace even if it was just for the weekend. Then I’d be gone. Like Miles had said, I wasn’t her parent.

  Downstairs, I laid the cookie sheet on the counter, sliced the small loaves, and arranged the cookies on the sheet to bake again. I filled a kettle with water. I’d take up two mugs of tea. I wouldn’t attempt anything maternal. Was tea too maternal?

  I decided it was not, and carried two mugs up the steps. Shay’s door was closed, my invitation to take a breath and then purposefully intrude, but my hands were full.

  “Shay? I’m out here with tea. Open the door. Please.”

  Silence from the other side of the door. I rolled my eyes. Good thing the door was closed, because I was sure that was the incorrect response. “Shay, please, honey. Open the door. We can talk about this. We can talk about anything.”

  Still no answer, no noise, no movement noises. I set the cups on the floor and turned the doorknob, expecting it to be locked, but it wasn’t. I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  “Shay?” She wasn’t on the bed. She wasn’t next to the bed or under the desk. I checked the closet but it was empty. The bathroom was empty. The guest room and Miles’s bedroom were empty. I opened the door to the attic and pulled on the light. I ran up the wooden steps. Nothing.

  Back in the hall, I set my hands on my hips. “Shayna Rose! This isn’t funny.” I sounded like a mother but I didn’t care. Fear propelled me down the stairs. I jumped the bottom three. I opened the front door. “Shay!” I left the door open and ran back through the house to the kitchen and slid open the back door. I stepped out onto the deck and looked at the vacant swing set and scanned the bushes. “Shayna!” The sun hadn’t set so I ran around the house, looking into the car even though I’d locked the doors. I looked in the garage. Back in the house, Shay wasn’t under the tables, in the closets, in my car. Jeez. I opened the dryer, the fridge, the freezer in the basement.

  I texted her.

  Me: Where are you?

  No answer.

  Shayna was gone.

  My head pounded and my pulse raced. Hereditary catastrophizing kicked in even though not more than three minutes had passed. How far could she have gone? Where could she have gone? She had no friends to run away to or with. What else hadn’t Miles told me about her? What didn’t I know? Had she done this before? Would she hurt herself? Was she coming back?

  Shay could not end up on a milk carton.

  I dialed Miles’s cell phone. It didn’t matter what he thought of me or if Shay was somewhere in the house I hadn’t thought to look. All I cared about was finding her.

  Miles picked up on the first ring. The background noise was raucous.

  “What’s wrong?” A confidence-building greeting that was right on point.

  “I can’t find Shay.”

  “What do you mean you can’t find Shay? I thought this was girls’ night in. Where are you?”

  “I’m at the house, but Shay’s gone. I checked everywhere. We had an argument, more of a misunderstanding—or so I thought—and she was really upset. I didn’t realize how much.”

  “I’ll go get her.”

  “You know where she is?”

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “You have no reason to trust me at this point, but please tell me.”

  “I think you’ve done enough, Teddi.”

  “Please, Miles. I upset her but it’s not about me. Shay needs me to be the one who finds her. Please, Miles. I need to fix this. Please let me help Cee’s daughter.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Teddi.”

  “It’s the first good idea I’ve had in six years, Miles. Please.”

  Miles didn’t answer me.

  And then, I knew.

  * * *

  I drove to the West End Cemetery, pulled into the parking lot, stepped out of the car, and looked off into the distance, with its muddy, creeping darkness, its deafening silence.

  Be brave.

  I heard the words clearly inside my head, but this time it wasn’t Celia’s voice I heard. Or even Shay’s.

  It was my ow
n.

  I ran onto the path that led up and down every aisle of graves. I jogged up and down each path, looking straight ahead, seeing the monuments only in my peripheral vision. The marble blurs were streaked with sadness I ignored. The streetlamps had just turned on, and shined enough light for me to see where I was going. My chest burned by the time I saw her, standing, with her hands inside the apron she hadn’t taken off. I looked down. Neither had I.

  I kept quiet, conscious that any word I spoke carried the weight of a thousand stones.

  “Can I come closer?”

  Shay shrugged. My yellow light to proceed with caution. I stood about two feet behind her. I also faced Celia’s headstone.

  CELIA STILLMAN COOPER

  DAUGHTER, SISTER, WIFE,

  MOTHER, TEACHER, FRIEND

  ARTIST

  Now there was no pretending it didn’t exist. No hoping or praying or wishing it away.

  Celia’s headstone was the biggest one on the row. That would have been Miles’s doing. Gray granite with a deeply etched Star of David and the customary Hebrew acronym for “May her soul be bound up in the bond of life.”

  Celia’s certainly was.

  “I’ve never been here before,” I said.

  I just stood, feet firmly planted in the last place I’d expected to be tonight. Shay said nothing. I was going to wait her out. She was going to understand that I wasn’t leaving.

  Shay looked up and muttered a few words I couldn’t hear. They weren’t meant for me, but for the universe. She released them into the sky and onto the wings of birds and butterflies so they could carry her thoughts away. Then they would hurt less.

  “I don’t remember her.” This time, Shay said it louder. “I can’t hear her voice in my head. We have videos, but that’s what I remember, not the real person. I don’t know what she smelled like. Nothing reminds me of her.”

  I squeaked to hold in my cries. I was the lucky one. I was the selfish one.

  “Can I come closer?”

  Shay nodded, so I walked up behind her and put my arms around her. We stood at Celia’s feet, I imagined. I didn’t like the idea of standing on her head. I hoped that Celia knew Shay and I were together, connected by her, and through ourselves. I dipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out my stone.