She smiled sadly at Stacy and held out an arm, and Stacy hurried over to hug her.
“How is she?”
Mom shook her head. “Not good.”
“Is she going to die?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can we see her?”
“In a little bit. They’re getting her settled in her room.”
How long did it take to get an eighty-eight-year-old woman settled? Stacy hugged everyone, helped her mother pace, got some coffee then paced some more. Finally the nurses opened the curtain in Nana’s room and allowed everyone to enter.
The woman on the bed looked so small, a fragile outline holding up the bedcovers. They all gathered around her and Stacy’s mother took Nana’s hand and squeezed it. “How are you feeling, Mama?”
Nana tried to smile. Only half her mouth cooperated.
Blinking back tears, Stacy stood at one end of the bed. This is where we all end up, sooner or later, she thought. “Nana, you have to get better. You’ve still got quilts left in you.”
Again, Nana tried to smile. She said something but her voice was so slurred Stacy had no idea what it was.
Stacy lingered until Nana’s eyes drifted shut. “You may as well go home, honey,” said her mother.
Dean put an arm around her and led her from the room. “I hate this,” she said bitterly as they waited in the hall for the elevator.
He squeezed her. “I know. It’s hard.”
It was just as hard the following day, seeing her grandmother still prone in the bed. “I love you,” Stacy told her, and squeezed her hand.
“Oooh, too,” Nana slurred.
You, too. It was clearer than the day before, Stacy was sure of it. That had to be a good sign.
“She seems to be getting better,” Stacy said to her mother as they went to the cafeteria.
“I don’t think she’s going to be coming home,” Mom said. “Aunt Vivian and Uncle Jack are looking at Cascade Rehab.”
“A nursing home?”
“It’s a nice one,” Mom assured her, “and each room has a lovely view so she can see the mountains.”
“She could see the mountains fine from her house, too. Why can’t we hire someone to take care of her there?”
Mom didn’t say anything.
“You guys don’t think she’s going to make it, do you?”
“We just don’t know.” Mom sighed. “But we’ll have to put the house on the market.”
“Sell Nana’s house?”
Her grandmother’s Victorian with its small yard in front and large vegetable garden out back was woven into the fabric of Stacy’s childhood. She remembered going over there after school for tea parties with her grandmother. She’d admired the Dresden figurines on the knickknack shelf, played with the button collection her grandmother kept in an old woven basket decorated with tassels, had her first quilting lesson on the antique blue velvet settee in the living room. Selling the house seemed wrong.
“Nursing homes are expensive,” her mother said.
“But doesn’t Nana have money?”
“Not a lot.”
“But if she gets well she’ll need a house to come back to,” Stacy protested.
“If she gets well she’ll come and live with me. We’ve already discussed this with Uncle Jack and Aunt Vivian.”
Pared down from a house to a room. How was that going to work? “What about all her things?” Stacy asked.
“We’ll have to go through them, decide what to keep, what to get rid of.”
Aunt Vivian was a take-charge kind of woman who, on more than one occasion, had said how much she hated clutter. Someone needed to be present to provide some balance. “I’ll help,” Stacy said.
“It’s going to be a big job,” her mother warned.
“That’s okay. I want to help.” And save as much as possible.
So the next day Stacy showed up at her grandmother’s house, ready to roll up her sleeves. She found her mother and Aunt Vivian in the kitchen with clipboards, taking inventory.
“There’s so much,” Aunt Vivian said, and her tone implied that this was a bad thing.
“The everyday dishes and good china can go to Christie and Cheron, so that takes care of a lot right there,” Mom said. She smiled at Stacy. “I assume you’d like her quilting supplies.”
Stacy nodded. But when she went into the spare bedroom she was almost overwhelmed by the bags and bags of material and all the paraphernalia. There was so much. Had it been breeding in here when no one was looking?
Stacy already had every quilting tool ever made, and she sure didn’t need Nana’s old sewing machine when hers was state-of-the-art. For now, she’d save it in case Nana got better. Same with the iron and ironing board and the pins and notions. She could always take them to the Kindness Cupboard later if...
She bit her lip to keep from crying and turned her attention to the old brass bed. Every square inch of it was covered with dolls and stuffed animals. More of Nana’s doll collection occupied a glass-encased cabinet in one corner of the room, as well as the top of the dresser. Who was going to want her doll collection? Nobody collected dolls anymore. At least, nobody Stacy knew.
She wasn’t sure anyone collected decorative plates, either, and those marched along the walls in this room. They also occupied space in the kitchen and the little dining room. And Stacy knew her grandmother had more boxes of plates stored in the attic. That was a lot of plates.
Then there were all the Beanie Babies piled up in the closet. Nana had thought they were so cute. For a couple of years everyone in the family had given her Beanie Babies for Christmas, her birthday, Mother’s Day.
She could hear her aunt’s voice from down the hall. “It’s going to take weeks to sort through all this stuff, Lila. We should call an auction house.”
Strangers coming in and valuing (or devaluing) Nana’s possessions? Ugh, what a sad thought!
“I don’t think we could convince even an auction house to take all these plates. No one wants them anymore,” her mother said.
“No one wants any of this,” said Aunt Vivian. “But we’re stuck with it.”
“Maybe the teacups...” Mom suggested.
“They’re gorgeous. But who uses these old-fashioned teacups? I wish our mother hadn’t been such a packrat.”
This was the sum of her grandmother’s life? Everything she’d treasured was now a nuisance to be gotten rid of? That just wasn’t right.
But as Stacy spent the day with her mother and aunt, sorting and saving, she began to feel her sentimental attachment fading. Who cared about American Blue the bear or Allie the alligator? And who needed a Scarlett O’Hara collectible plate. Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.
“I say we rent a Dumpster and toss all this and be done with it,” Aunt Vivian said.
Someone gasped in shock and Stacy realized it was her. What would Nana say?
“Why don’t we have a garage sale?” her mother proposed.
“Who do you think is going to buy this?” Aunt Vivian gestured to the boxes of items piled around the living room. “No one will take it even for free. We’ve tried giving things to everyone in the family. No one wants decorative plates or Beanie Babies. We’re lucky someone wants the china.”
“I’ll take anything you don’t want,” Stacy heard herself say. Where the heck would she store all this stuff?
“More power to you if you can,” said her aunt. “You might be able to sell some of those Beanie Babies online, but I’ll be surprised if you can.”
“Nana wanted the grandkids to have her Beanie Babies,” Stacy said sadly.
Vivian shook her head. “No one wants them. Unless you...”
Stacy had never been interested in Beanie Babies. “I’ll try
to sell them.” At least that would provide some extra money for Nana.
“You can probably get something for that Depression glass,” her mother said. “And the carnival glass.”
“It’s so sad to be getting rid of all the things she valued,” Stacy murmured. If Nana found out it would put her in her grave for sure.
“I tried to tell her over the years that nobody wants this stuff, but she wouldn’t listen,” Aunt Vivian said irritably. “And now, here we are dealing with all this...crap on top of everything else.” Her voice quavered and Stacy’s mom drew her into a hug. Her aunt let out a little sob and Stacy’s eyes began to tear up, too.
Her aunt got herself under control quickly enough, but her eyes were red when she pulled away. “We should get back to work. I’ve only got today and tomorrow and then I have to get back to the office.”
“We need to go to the hospital to see Mama later,” Stacy’s mother said.
“Then let’s get cracking,” said her aunt.
They went back to sorting and boxing and Aunt Vivian muttered, “By God, I’m going through my place this summer and getting rid of stuff. I don’t want to do this to my kids.”
It was a daunting job, Stacy had to admit. And not at all fun. As she sorted through another herd of Beanie Babies, trying to cull the salable ones from the trash, she couldn’t help thinking of all the things she’d been bringing home lately. What would be her equivalent of Beanie Babies?
She’d gotten rid of so much, but ever since discovering the joy of thrift shops she’d brought home a new wave of items to occupy space in her cupboards and closets. Just because something was pretty or a great bargain did she need it? Really?
She was exhausted by the time she got home but she didn’t let that stop her from touring her house with a critical eye, a trash bag and a cardboard box. Both were filled within half an hour.
The next day found her at the Kindness Cupboard with donations from both her grandmother’s house and hers. Janice Lind pointed at the Old Country Roses china clock perched on one of the boxes and raised an eyebrow. “This looks familiar.”
“It should. I bought it last time I was in here.”
“And you’re tired of it already?”
“I just don’t need it,” Stacy said. “I don’t need any of this. I’m lightening my load,” she added. “Again.”
Janice nodded.
She’d enjoyed finding the treasures but she didn’t need to turn her home into Treasure Island. So, no more thrift stores, no more bargain-hunting. That made her sad and she said as much to Janice as they priced the various things.
“Well, dear, have you ever thought of combining business with pleasure?” Janice asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, perhaps you could start a business selling secondhand items, maybe open an antique store here in town or have a store on eBay. That way you could still treasure hunt to your heart’s content, but you’d be matching those special things with people who really want them. Rather like what we do here.”
“Gosh, I don’t know anything about running a business,” Stacy said.
“You’re a smart young woman. You could learn. I think an antique store would do well in Icicle Falls. We get a lot of tourists. And tourists like to shop.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“You could begin by talking with Ed York. He’s trying to rent out the space next to his wine shop. Not a bad location. Tina’s lace and china shop is on the other side. You’d get loads of traffic. You could sell what you found and sell other people’s things on consignment.”
Stacy thought of Nana’s Depression and carnival glass, of the goodies she’d seen when she’d been on her jacket hunt in Seattle. Surely it wouldn’t be difficult to stock a small shop. And she had to agree with Dean. She needed to do something. She didn’t want to just drift through her empty-nest years.
That night as they worked together in the kitchen, Dean chopping vegetables for a stir-fry and Stacy putting rice on to cook, she mentioned the idea.
“A shop, huh?” he said thoughtfully.
“It’s probably a dumb idea. I mean, I really don’t have any business experience.”
“You worked in retail when we were first married,” Dean reminded her.
“Selling china in a department store doesn’t qualify me for running a shop.”
He shrugged. “It’s a beginning. I could help you get started. Between the two of us, we should be able to figure out how to do it. And it’s not like there’s no one in Icicle Falls to give us pointers.”
Dean was right. With all the people in town who owned shops, they wouldn’t lack for expert advice. Still, the idea was scary. “I’ll think about it,” she decided.
But the more she thought about it, the more nervous she became. Shops didn’t spring up out of nothing. She’d need money for inventory; she’d have to pay rent. She and Dean had some money in savings but she wasn’t willing to risk any of it on a business venture that might be a complete failure.
She said as much to him the following morning.
“It’s up to you,” he said. “But I think you can do anything you set your mind to, and I’m willing to risk some of our savings to prove it.”
She shook her head. “I’m not. Not when we have kids in college.”
“You could start out small. Sell things on eBay.”
“Janice suggested that.”
“Less risk. Of course, you’ll have to store your inventory here.”
More stuff coming back into the house. “I’d better think about this some more....”
“Up to you,” he said. He grabbed his lunch sack and kissed her on the cheek. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”
“Thanks, Deano.” He was about to rush out the door for work (wearing his rescued army jacket), but she caught his arm and pulled him to her and kissed him appreciatively. “Have I told you recently what a great husband you are?”
“Aw, you’re just saying that because it’s true,” he joked. He gave her one more kiss, then hurried off.
She sat down at the kitchen table with a second cup of coffee. Her mother would be all for this. Mom had been after her for years to get a job. Nana, on the other hand, had always encouraged her in her determination to be a stay-at-home mom. But there were no kids at home anymore. What would Nana say now? Stacy wished she could talk to her, but Nana was too busy trying to stay alive to have the energy to advise her granddaughter.
“I need a sign,” Stacy muttered.
The words were barely out of her mouth when the phone rang.
Chapter Fifteen
The best way to ensure things go smoothly is to plan ahead.
—Muriel Sterling, author of Simplicity
It had seemed like a brilliant idea to go out on Valentine’s Day, like a romantic adventure, but Jen had quickly regretted hitting the bar at Zelda’s. She’d passed by the dining area on her way in and seen Garrett Armstrong and Tilda the cop eating dinner at a window table. They were just one of many couples enjoying a romantic evening, which had made her achingly aware of the fact that she was alone.
It had taken the shine off her smile, but she’d moved on to the bar, determined to enjoy her evening no matter what. There she’d also found mostly couples. She was about to turn and run when she’d spotted Emily Ward sitting at a table with a group of people. Emily worked at the library. Jen had only been in and talked to her a couple of times, but Emily had seemed friendly. Hoping she’d be open to taking in a Valentine stray, Jen had gone over to say hi and Emily had invited her to join the group, which included two other women and a couple of guys. One had been Bill Will. He’d bought Jen a drink and flirted with her, but that hardly counted as a romantic adventure since he’d flirted with the other women at the ta
ble, too.
Still, it had beaten sitting home alone and she’d enjoyed the drink, something the waitress called a Chocolate Kiss. “I like Chocolate Kisses,” she’d announced to the table when Bill Will bought her another.
She’d become instant best friends with Emily and had wound up volunteering to help with the Friends of the Library monthly book sale and to spend one afternoon a week shelving books. This on top of promising Lula Wharton at the Icicle Falls Community Church only the week before that she’d organize the church library. In her tipsy fog her brain pointed out that she’d come to Icicle Falls to simplify her life, not to get overcommitted again. But she’d silenced the warning with a reminder that it was important to make friends. And, boy, was she making friends, flirting with Bill Will and his cowboy buddy, slurping Chocolate Kisses.
Who cared if Garrett Armstrong and his cop girlfriend had now come into the bar? She didn’t need Garrett Armstrong to have fun. And to show how little she was interested in him, she’d danced like a madwoman out on the dance floor.
She’d promptly learned that dancing and Chocolate Kisses didn’t mix. She’d lost her balance at the edge of the dance floor and managed to fall into Garrett Armstrong’s lap. Of course, gentleman that he was, he’d caught her, and held her so she wouldn’t continue her downward progress and end up on the floor. He was all solid muscle, and contact with him had been headier than a hundred Chocolate Kisses.
She’d been struggling (halfheartedly) to get to her feet when she found Tilda Morrison’s face right up in hers. “I hope you’re not planning to drive in this condition.” It wasn’t said in concern. In fact, the delivery style pretty much assured her that Tilda would be there to give Jen a ticket even if she wasn’t on duty.
Jen had switched to coffee after that. She still wasn’t sure which had sobered her more, the caffeine or Tilda’s beady-eyed glare.
The Cottage on Juniper Ridge Page 17