Shaking free of Amanda’s arm, my mother stormed me the way the Huns must have attacked the Roman Empire. Her index finger led the charge. “You ran off and left me! I was alone in that big house! How could you? Do you know how frightened I was? Didn’t the doctor tell you that I was sick? What did I ever do to raise an ungrateful, unkind daughter like you? I will never, ever forgive you. You’re lucky I’m even talking to you.”
Lucky. Yeah, I sure was lucky.
My mother hadn’t even noticed I wore a bandage and sported a multi-colored bruise.
“Mom, she was kidnapped at gunpoint. Give her a break,” Amanda said. “If she hadn’t sidetracked that crazy woman you might have wound up dead. Come on, let’s go home.”
“Home? Ha! You call that woman’s house ‘home’? I miss my antiques. I want to go back to Arizona. Where’s Claudia? What did you do to her, Kiki? You ran her off, didn’t you?” Mom’s lipstick covered most of her two front teeth, turning her mouth into a big red maw that mesmerized me as it flapped open and shut.
“Mrs. Montgomery, the woman you knew as Claudia Turrow was a con artist. Her real name was Beverly Glenn, and she specialized in stealing from lovely people like you.” Robbie Holmes stepped between my mother and me. With his huge mitten of a hand, he gently pushed her angry, pointed finger away from my face.
At his touch, Mom simpered and did a little “pshaw” move of her hand. “Oh, that’s just the kind of nonsense I’d expect Kiki to tell you. The truth is that Claudia loved me more than she loved anyone on earth. She told me so. I was the mother she never had. A con artist? You must have heard silly rumors. Of course, my friends were very, very jealous of me—and my relationship with Claudia. They probably made up stories about Claudia to drive us apart.” Mom batted her skimpy eyelashes at Robbie Holmes.
“Yes, ma’am, I can certainly believe that people would be jealous of you. Beauty runs in your family. And you have a wonderful daughter who risked her life to make sure you didn’t come to any harm.”
Mom smiled at him shyly. “Isn’t Amanda wonderful?”
sixteen
Thursday, Day 3—after the shooting
The next morning Amanda swung by in her rental car to see how I was doing. “I’ll drop Anya off at school and take you to the store. Chad mentioned that you shouldn’t be driving. At least, not yet. Mom’s still in bed, so we can grab breakfast at a drive-through if you two want.”
Chad? Oh, she meant Detweiler! I’d have to become accustomed to people using his real first name!
“The dog comes with.” I nodded at Gracie.
“No problem. I love dogs. I almost married two of them.”
The offer of a breakfast burrito from McDonald’s thrilled Anya, even if going to school didn’t. She suffered from a bad case of “I’m-ready-for-school-to-be-out”-itis. I struggled with a bad bout of morning sickness. I buried my nose in a cup of hot tea and nibbled on an English muffin so my stomach wouldn’t misbehave. Amanda ordered a big breakfast sandwich that she ate with one hand while Gracie drooled over her shoulder.
Following our instructions, my sister drove to CALA. As we turned into the circular drive, Amanda struggled not to gawp at the palatial administration building, class buildings, and expansive grounds. “This is some school,” she whistled.
“Sure is. Have a good time,” I told my daughter as I kissed her goodbye.
“Right,” Anya snarled. “Like taking algebra and French are loads of fun, Mom.”
“Do her moods always swing from high to low so quickly?” Amanda asked as Anya walked toward the building.
“Nope. Usually they cycle faster. Any leads on finding a place where you and Mom can both live? Does she realize she’s moving here?”
“I told her last night. She started to have a cow, but I reminded her that your nice neighbor, Mr. Haversham, showed a real interest in her, and then I pointed out that a long-distance romance might be hard on both of them.”
“You weasel, you. Leighton will have to peel Mom off like chipped nail polish.”
“He’s a big boy. He can handle it. Listen. To deal with Mom, I’ve become a crackerjack liar and a nearly professional-quality manipulator. Otherwise, I’d be battling her every day, all day. With any luck, I’ll find a place that’s move-in ready before your mother-in-law is released from the hospital. That or I’ll have to rent one of those short-term, executive-stay hotel suites.”
“Let me know how I can help you. If I can.”
“Huh. I always thought you were overly sensitive about her criticism, but after watching her lay into you yesterday, I’ve been forced to revise my opinion. You’re right. Our mother really, really doesn’t like you!”
My sister came into the store and wandered around while I went through the process of opening our door for another day of retail selling. The craft gene—a variation on the XX chromosome that’s yet to be mapped—skipped a generation with my sister Amanda. Nothing in the place particularly appealed to her, so she gave me a hug and left for an appointment with a real estate agent.
Horace walked in with Dodie, settled her in the big black office chair behind her desk, and gestured to me for a private powwow. “Rebekkah will bring her lunch. We have another doctor’s appointment at one.”
“Horace, I am so sorry. I mean, after talking with her yesterday …” I stopped. What could I say? I couldn’t find the right words. “Look, whatever I can do for you, I will. The baby isn’t due until January, but I can work until I go into labor if that will help.”
His face crumpled as he said, “That won’t matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean she doesn’t have that long.”
seventeen
Dodie stayed in her office for most of the morning. I looked in on her and found her arranging paperclips. At one point, she wandered out and looked around as if she were lost. “What are you doing?” she asked me.
I invited her to take a stool across from me as I worked at the craft table. “I thought I’d come up with a new class idea. You love my class ideas. We always get a lot of customers to sign up. That means money for the store.”
As she sat across from me, she picked up various things, a pencil, an eraser, and a colored marker, one at a time and dropped each of them on the floor. With every “thunk,” I stopped my work to retrieve the lost object. It reminded me of babysitting a toddler who had just realized she could train her minder to play fetch.
I deftly moved the Fiskars scissors and the craft knife beyond her reach, hoping she wouldn’t notice they were gone. The last thing I needed was for Dodie to drop a sharp blade into her own flesh. Or mine. If it hit me, I might very well faint at the sight of my own blood. Or puke. Or both.
I don’t know who named this malady “morning sickness.” Probably some squirrel of a doctor who couldn’t tell time. I happen to get sick all day long. Just when I would forget about my pregnancy, I would start to heave.
At some point, I had to do something to quell my nausea, so I ran to the back and got Dodie a Coke and myself a Zevia Ginger Ale, a no-calorie cola sweetened with Stevia.
To fill the silence between us, I made yet another trip to the back, returned with her radio, and tuned it to a classical music station. That’s how we spent our time until eleven when the front door flew open and a young woman walked in.
Probably in her mid-twenties with a slender frame, long blonde hair, and perfect features, the customer wore an elegantly simple dress, and sky-high heels. Most of our ladies are more interested in comfort than in style, so she surprised me.
“May I help you?” I brushed a few stray pieces of scrapbook paper off my khaki pants. This morning I’d done the old “extend the waistband” trick by looping one end of a rubber band through the buttonhole and the other end over the button. It works but it pinches. I wiggled two fingers down as I stood and tried not to grimace.
�
�I’m looking for Mrs. Goldfader. I heard this is her place.” The visitor’s red-rimmed eyes suggested that she had been crying, and the distracted way she scanned the store told me she wasn’t a scrapbooker.
“She’s right back there. At the worktable.”
“Oh. Okay. Um,” she said as she walked in the direction that I’d pointed.
As my boss heard the footsteps, she half-turned on the stool to face the girl.
“A-a-are you Nathan’s mother? I mean, um, were you?”
Dodie nodded, slowly. Painfully.
“I killed him.”
“Excuse me?” Dodie squinted at the girl. “What did you say?”
The girl shivered. “I said I killed him!”
And she turned around, ran past me, and out the door.
eighteen
Dodie’s sobs shook her so violently that I decided to move her off the stool and into the office where she could sit in her desk chair.
I hurriedly dialed Horace’s cell phone. When he answered, I stuttered, “You have to get here right away. Dodie’s had a shock. It’s not a medical emergency, but she needs you.”
“I am coming.”
As best I could, I comforted my boss. “Shhh, shhh,” I said as I tried to rock her in my arms. “It was a prank. A cruel prank. That’s all.”
It seemed to take Horace forever to get to the store, but by the clock he must have run several red lights to arrive so quickly. I explained what had happened. By then, Dodie had calmed down, somewhat. Leaving them alone, I ran to the refrigerator to get her yet another cold Coke, the first-aid choice for any problem that happens at the store. Returning with the can, I knocked before entering the office. Horace knelt opposite his wife, holding both her large hands in his small ones, and talking to her in a low voice. Dodie didn’t seem to notice I was there, even though I popped open the drink and put it next to her. She kept saying, “Don’t try to hide it from me. I know what is happening. I know!”
Horace whimpered, a noise like a dog might make when you kick it. I slipped out of the room.
“Kiki!” she yelled.
“Yes?” I trotted back in and put a hand on her shoulder.
She turned wet eyes to me. “Promise me. One thing. Promise?”
“Whatever you ask of me, I’ll do.” I debated adding, “If I can,” but under the circumstances quibbling was cowardly.
“I am trusting you. I don’t have much time left. I know it. Promise you will find that girl. Promise you will learn what really happened to my boy.”
“But you know what happened,” Horace said. “He was out with other kids. They partied and he dove into a gravel pit. God works in mysterious ways.”
Dodie looked up at me. “That is what they say, but none of it ever made sense.”
“Don’t,” begged Horace, his voice breaking. He stopped to wipe his eyes. “Teenagers. They are young. They are foolish.”
I passed them the box of tissues we keep in the office. First I short-stopped the box to grab a handful for myself. We all sobbed loudly, and it occurred to me that if a customer wandered in, we would certainly scare her or him off quickly. In short order, I started hiccupping because I was crying so hard. Dodie’s recognition that she was dying cut me to the core. She and I have had our problems over the years, but in retrospect, I owed her everything. After my husband died, it was Dodie who chided me, “You have a child to take care of. You cannot afford to stick your head in the sand and wave your backside around. Grow up!”
She had been so right. Many times I resented how harsh she was, but hindsight is the best vision-corrector around, and I could now see how she had forced me into adulthood, kicking and screaming at her all the way.
Now I faced saying goodbye to my dear friend and mentor. My chest ached so badly I could barely draw a breath.
“Nathan was a good swimmer. A smart boy. Smaller than his classmates, because he skipped a grade. He was always cautious. Why would he do such a thing? Why jump off a cliff in the dark? That is not like him. You know it, Horace!” She pounded her fists on the desktop.
“Oyf eygene kinder is yederer a blinder,” Horace mumbled. Turning to me, he said, “When it comes to one’s children, one is always blind. Perhaps he was not as careful as we thought he was. Or maybe he grew tired of being the cautious one.”
“Why? Tell me! Is that like our boy? No! Even as a little boy he thought first and then acted! Always so solemn. So thoughtful. You said so yourself when they told us what happened. Remember?”
Horace grabbed her hands again, kissed them tenderly, and brought them close to his heart. “Yes, my love. I said it did not make sense. But the older I get, the more I accept that life does not make sense. We plan and God laughs. That is the way of it.”
“No! Finally someone has spoken out. There is more to the story. More to Nathan’s death. He would never willingly jump like that! I tell you, a mother knows!”
Again, she looked to me, her eyes hard and demanding. “Promise! I know you are good at solving puzzles. I know you won’t give up, even if it is very, very hard. Promise me, Kiki, and I will die happy. Promise!”
What could I say? “I give you my word, Dodie. I will find out what happened.”
nineteen
“A copy of Nathan’s high school yearbook might help us. You could go through the photos and see if you recognize our visitor,” I said.
Dodie nodded. “Yes. In my diary I have all the names of the others who were with Nathan. I can look at them and then at the photos. That is a very good idea, Kiki. I can also have Rebekkah see if she remembers anything about the girls who were with my son that night.”
“How much older was Nathan than his sister?”
“Three years,” said Horace.
“That’s good. Any longer and she probably wouldn’t know much about the other kids, but a three-year age difference isn’t that much. She’s bound to remember something, and if not, perhaps she can talk to schoolmates who were a year ahead of her, and who might remember personal details.”
The smallest hint of a smile started on Horace’s face. “You really have gotten good at this, haven’t you?”
That broke the tension. “Believe me, it was never my intent to become a good snoop.”
In chorus, we all repeated, “Man plans and God laughs.” The silliness gave a well-needed sense of relief.
“Look, Horace, why don’t you take Dodie out to eat? Bring me back a salad, would you? You know what I like.” I was eager to get them up and moving and out of the store. Sitting here and obsessing about our odd visitor wouldn’t help anyone.
“Let me wash my face,” Dodie said. As she stood, she grabbed at the desktop. With both hands spread wide for balance, she lurched from desk to door frame and out into the stockroom. Her lack of coordination shocked me, and I guess my reaction showed because when I turned to Horace, he said, “That’s one of the signs she’s doing poorly. Her fine motor skills are eroding. She has no balance. Her mind gets stuck like an old vinyl record with a deep scratch on it.”
“I will do everything I can to make her comfortable here, but is the store a good place for her? I mean, today doesn’t count. I’m sure she won’t have an unsettling visitor every day.”
“As long as she wants to come here, I think it’s a good idea. Any semblance of normal life will help us all. Does her presence create a problem?”
“No, I just don’t know how to care for her. I mean … if she needs something … will I know what to do?”
“Here is the phone number of the hospice nurse assigned to our case.” He wrote a number on a sticky note. “Her name is Sally. Sally Lippert. She’s very nice, and she can answer any questions you have.”
“I’ve never been around someone who is …”
“Dying?” Horace supplied the word for me. “In the United States, we like to pretend that everyo
ne will live forever, so we shuttle people off to a hospital as soon as we can. That way we don’t have to watch them struggle. We can maintain the illusion that they will get better. It is all very neat and sanitary, but it is also cruel. Too often while we ease our suffering we prolong theirs.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. Not a blinking clue, so I nodded my head and decided I would either call the hospice nurse or my new friend Ned as soon as possible. My stomach rumbled, and my hand automatically went to my belly. How odd would it be, having my life bookended by birth and death. But then, that was the natural order of things, wasn’t it?
After the Goldfaders left, I straightened the store, paying attention to what was selling and what wasn’t. As usual, when I discovered merchandise that wasn’t moving, I would design a class around those items. “Turn,” which is the retail term for moving merchandise in and off of the sales floor, is critical to success in any retail operation. Think of it this way: Would you rather get paid once a year or twelve times? The higher your turn, the more times you collect the profit from your sales. If the item isn’t turning, it needs to be replaced with a product that does, promptly. Otherwise, it’s like having money sitting in a drawer rather than in a bank account where it can draw interest.
Our colored markers hadn’t moved. Neither had the hypotrochoid art set, a novelty drawing tool that I was confident our Zentangle® enthusiasts would love once they saw how the interlocking circles worked. That got me thinking. I wasn’t really keen on how we packaged our pen sets. As a person who whipped out her Sakura pens to tangle at any spare moment, I knew that those plastic clamshell packs were a pain to open. Instead, I went online and found clear zippered bags that would be perfect for carrying pens.
I was placing the order when Robbie Holmes walked in.
The dark circles under his eyes aged him twenty years.
“Sheila?” I asked and jumped to my feet quickly. I stood up too quickly. I gripped the worktable to steady myself. That’s what immediately came to mind. I figured my mother-in-law had taken a dramatic turn for the worse. Then another thought: “Johnny?”
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