The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society

by Darien Gee

  “Then I’ll figure something else out,” Isabel insists. “Bettie knows me, Yvonne. I can take care of her.”

  “Isabel, this isn’t about you,” Yvonne says gently. “It’s about Bettie, about what’s best for her. Everything Imogene said is true. Are you sure you want to take on that responsibility, even if you could? It’s a lot for any friend to take on.”

  Isabel sits down at her table, looks at the whiteboard with Bettie’s daily schedule, color coded and marked with different activities, people, and phone numbers. A small glass vase filled with pink colchicums from Bettie’s backyard adds a burst of color and cheer to Isabel’s otherwise plain kitchen. On the counter are three containers filled with Bettie’s medication and vitamins.

  “There’s always an adrenaline rush whenever there’s a crisis,” Yvonne continues. “People want to help—it feels good to help. But once everything settles down, can you see yourself putting Bettie to bed every night? Helping her go to the bathroom? Bathing her? Even if you get help, those are the sorts of things you’ll be doing. If not now, then someday soon.”

  “So you’re saying I shouldn’t do it.” Isabel feels dejected, discouraged. She finally wants to do something for someone else, and she’s shot down.

  “I’m saying you should think about it carefully, that’s all. A year from today, can you see yourself with Bettie watching TV in the living room? Just take a moment, Isabel. What do you see?”

  Isabel closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. Fast-forward one year, carving pumpkins for the porch, readying the candy for the trick-or-treaters. She tilts her head, listening to her future. And unlike the past few years, what she sees—and hears—is far from an empty house.

  Ava walks into the Avalon Grill, the sounds of forks and knives on china greeting her. Everything looks the same since the last time she was here, over five years ago. The dark mahogany tables, the slightly cracked garnet leather booths, the large oil landscape of Leaf River, the river that runs adjacent to Avalon. The waiters and waitresses are dressed in black slacks and white shirts. Ava recognizes the manager, a nice guy who used to greet Bill by name.

  It’s a good-sized lunch crowd. Soups, steaks, salads, French fries, onion rings. People are talking and laughing. Everything smells so wonderful it makes Ava’s stomach rumble. She can’t remember the last time she had a meal out, much less anything other than macaroni and cheese.

  She spots Colin behind the bar, drying glasses. His face is a bit rounder, more relaxed, and he seems happy. Ava can tell that things are going well for him, and the manager, Arnold, gives him a friendly nod as he passes by. A few customers are sitting at the bar, and she watches as Colin talks with them, joking and laughing. He looks good.

  What is she doing here? Maybe she’ll come back some other day, when it’s less crowded and she has a little more courage. She’s about to walk out the door when she hears Colin call her name.

  “Hey, Ava!” he says in surprise.

  Busted, Ava turns around and gives a weak wave. “Hi, Colin.”

  “I was wondering if you’d ever stop by,” he says. “I’m up to my ears in bottle caps!”

  Ava nods. “I meant to come by earlier, but …”

  “Don’t go,” he instructs, as if she might suddenly disappear. “I need to go to the back to grab them. Hold on?” He gives her a hopeful look and Ava nods.

  He disappears behind the double doors and a moment later returns with a large burlap bag. Ava can’t believe it. “Is that full of bottle caps?” she asks, amazed.

  He nods. “I’ve been collecting them since I saw you last,” he tells her. “And I asked some of my bartender friends to save theirs, too.”

  Ava steps forward to reach inside. There are easily thousands of bottle caps. “I’m making some money from my jewelry now,” she tells him, “so I can start to pay you. Do you want to charge me per cap, or maybe by weight …” She suddenly frowns as she looks at the bag, wondering if she’ll have enough money to pay for it.

  “Ava, it’s not a big deal,” Colin says. “You’re recycling them. They’d end up in a landfill otherwise. It’s great, what you’re doing.”

  “But I’d feel better if you let me pay for them,” Ava insists. She begins to open her purse but Colin shakes his head.

  “I don’t want your money,” he says. “And technically they’re not even my bottle caps—they came from drinks that belonged to the restaurant. So you might even get me into trouble if you gave me money for them because I’d be accepting payment for something I don’t technically have a right to sell.” The look on his face is serious but she sees the twinkle in his eye.

  Ava laughs and closes her purse, impressed. “Wow, I’m not even sure how to counter that.”

  “Good. Don’t.” There’s the sound of a bell from the kitchen. “Excuse me—I’ll be right back.”

  Ava scoops out a handful of caps, her mind filling with possibilities. She’ll be able to take on more ambitious projects like belts and purses. The caps are all clean and in wonderful condition. She turns one over in her hand. It’s cork-lined with “Diet Sun Drop Cola” stamped on the top. She frowns as she studies it, but she can tell right away that it’s an antique. There’s no way Colin or his friends removed this from a bottle of Diet Sun Drop Cola, because they don’t make it anymore. She looks through the bag again. Most of the bottle caps are current but she finds another one, an old root beer cap that’s in mint condition. It confirms what she’s suspected all along, that Colin’s been secretly adding to the collection.

  Colin reemerges from the kitchen holding a steak salad. He places it on the bar and hands Ava a cloth napkin and silverware. “Here you go.”

  “But I didn’t order this,” Ava says, confused.

  “I know,” Colin says. “I ordered it for you. You look like you could eat a horse, Ava.” A thought crosses his mind. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

  “No.” Ava can’t stop staring at the salad. The steak is cooked medium rare and resting on a bed of fresh salad greens. There’s fresh corn, bell peppers, and blue cheese. A small ramekin of salad dressing is tucked on the side.

  “Go ahead and sit down,” Colin says, filling a glass with ice and lemonade. “Lunch is on the house. Well, it’s on me. They give me a generous friends-and-family discount and I don’t use it as much as I should. It’d be like I wasn’t supporting the place where I worked, so you’re actually doing me a favor. I’d hate to offend them.” He places the lemonade on the bar next to Ava’s salad and grins.

  She hesitates, still not sure what to do. So much is unclear in her life right now. Does she want to complicate things by inviting Colin into her life?

  Colin starts to wipe down the bar even though Ava doesn’t see a crumb anywhere. “So can you stay?” he asks. “Or do you have to go?”

  Ava looks into his eyes, at his kind face. The root beer cap is still in her hand and she gently rubs it between her fingers, memorizing each groove, thinking about the history in this simple item—where it’s been, how it found its way to Colin, what she might make with it. For the first time she doesn’t bother to look around, to see who might see her, might recognize her, might judge her. She doesn’t need to think about this anymore.

  “I’m staying,” she says, and slides onto the stool with a smile.

  Chapter Twenty

  Connie pulls into Madeline’s driveway, a smile on her face, so happy to see everything as if she’d been gone for months or years instead of a handful of days. She hadn’t expected she’d be coming back and it feels so good to be here.

  Home.

  She cuts the engine and steps outside, gives a stretch. It’s just past four and the street is quiet and cool. Connie pulls her jacket around her and goes to pop open the trunk of her car.

  “Hey, there, missy,” comes a gruff voice. Connie turns and sees Walter Lassiter crossing the yard toward her, a thick manila envelope in hand.

  Connie stiffens. “Serena’s no longer here, Mr. Lassiter, so y
ou don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

  He casts a look toward the backyard. “Yeah, no kidding. I can finally sleep nights.”

  Connie grits her teeth and reaches for her bags.

  “So, anyway, this is for you.” He thrusts the manila envelope at Connie.

  Confused, Connie lifts the flap and reaches inside. She pulls out a stack of photographs and gasps.

  It’s pictures of Serena. Connie and Madeline are in some of them as well but Serena is clearly the focus of attention. There are close-ups, long shots, everything. There’s one enlarged that shows Serena’s face full of mischievous intent. “What are these?” she asks, bewildered. There are over a hundred pictures, chronicling Serena’s arrival up until the day she left.

  “I was taking pictures to file along with my complaint,” he says. “But, seeing how your goat’s gone, that won’t be necessary. I was going to throw these out but with all this business with Bettie Shelton and so on … well, I thought you might like them instead.” He clears his throat. “I put a DVD in there with the original files, in case you want to print out different sizes or something.”

  Connie clutches the envelope to her chest, her eyes shining with tears. Walter Lassiter’s eyes grow wide in alarm.

  “Oh, no,” he says, backing away.

  Connie laughs and springs forward to give Walter Lassiter a kiss on the cheek before he can escape. “Thank you, Mr. Lassiter, I’ll treasure these forever.”

  He looks startled, then embarrassed. “No need to make a big deal, missy,” he says, his ears red. “They’re just pictures. And before I forget, you’d better tell your customers to stop parking in my driveway!” He hurries back toward his house.

  “I will!” she promises, but his only response is a slam of the door.

  Connie quickly gathers her things and walks through the front door, dropping her bags in the foyer. “I’m back,” she calls out, when she’s suddenly caught up in an embrace.

  “Don’t you ever leave again!” Madeline scolds as she gives Connie a tight squeeze. She steps back, her eyes wet. “That was the longest week of my life! I told myself I need to let you find your own way, but I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to be a selfish old lady and tell you that I need you. This is your home and you can’t ever leave again, is that clear?” She looks Connie up and down, as if looking for any bruises or broken parts. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” Connie says, laughing, her own eyes still wet. “I’m more than all right.”

  Hannah emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She grins when she sees Connie. “I told you she’d come back, Madeline. Just like she promised.”

  “I haven’t slept a wink since she’s been gone, I was so worried.” She grips Connie’s arm as if Connie might slip away again.

  “Madeline …” Connie begins, guilty, but Madeline waves the thought away.

  “I was fine,” she amends. “Just missing you terribly.”

  “I missed you, too,” Connie says, and gives Madeline another hug. She steps forward and smiles at Hannah. “And you.” She riffles through one of her bags until she finds a brown paper bag and gives it to Hannah. “It’s strawberry jam, some corn relish, and a cherry marmalade from Doherty Farms.”

  “Doherty Farms?” Madeline looks surprised as Connie hands her a bag as well.

  “That’s where I’ve been the past few days,” Connie explains. “They invited me to stay with them at the farm. After they found out I didn’t do it, I mean. Rayna wasn’t too happy to see me at first.”

  “Sergeant Overby called us right away,” Madeline says. “And you can imagine how upset I was that I had no way of reaching you to tell you the news.” She ushers them into the dining room. “We are going to get you a cellphone, Connie Colls. I never thought much of all this technology until I realized I couldn’t find you. We’ll include it as part of your salary.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Connie protests, but Madeline shakes her head firmly and Connie knows better than to argue with her.

  “I’m going to make us some tea. In the meantime, sit down and tell me everything. Whatever possessed you to go to the Dohertys’?”

  Connie drops into a chair, happy to be back in the kitchen with all its familiar sights and smells. “I kinda ended up there. I wasn’t planning on it, but I wanted to see Serena one last time. I met Mr. Doherty, and then we heard that some boys had come forward and admitted to taking Serena.”

  Hannah sighs. “Jamie’s youngest brother Peter was part of that group of boys,” she says, the disappointment clear in her voice. “They planned to unleash her in the football coach’s office. She escaped before they could do anything and of course they didn’t say anything because they were scared they’d get into trouble.”

  Madeline shakes her head. “This reminds me of what Ben, my stepson, was like when he was growing up. Steven was always quick to bail him out whenever he got into trouble, which was a lot. But in the end I don’t think Ben was better for it. In fact, I know he wasn’t.”

  “Sandra Linde and her husband feel the same way,” Hannah says. “As does the school. The boys got kicked off the football team, which is huge because it’s a championship year. Some of the other parents are complaining about it but the Lindes aren’t going to let Peter go back on the team even if the school changes its position. They’re adamant about Peter taking responsibility for this. It’s not just about Serena, but about not having come forward sooner.”

  “To think they might have let the blame rest with Connie,” Madeline sighs. “Thank goodness they had enough sense to admit the truth.”

  “Well, Peter, at least,” Hannah says wryly.

  Connie nods. “He and another boy came to the Dohertys’ farm this morning,” she says. “Right before I left. They volunteered to spend their weekends up at the farm until the end of the school year, helping with odd jobs around the property.”

  “I heard about that,” Hannah says, nodding. “Peter’s mom is still pretty upset, but I think she’s quietly proud that Peter has stepped up, though I doubt she’ll say anything for a long time. Apparently some of the other kids, like the instigator, are fighting to get back on the football team. Seeing the way Spit and his family are conducting themselves has been a real eye-opener for Peter. I think that friendship may be over, which quite honestly isn’t a bad thing.”

  “It would have been easy to let everyone keep blaming me and go on as if nothing had happened,” Connie says. “But I’m glad they came forward.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Madeline says with a smile.

  “And I am selfishly glad you’re home,” Hannah tells Connie. “I don’t know how you and Madeline do it, but I’m pooped. I think I’ll stick to teaching music and joining you in the kitchen every now and then, but there’s no way I could do this full-time. Oh, and one of the ladies from the scrapbooking society called and wants your recipe for …” Hannah frowns as she tries to remember. “… Mountain Dew Apple Dumplings. Is that right?”

  Connie grins. “Yep.”

  “Are they easy to make?”

  “Very.”

  Hannah nods. “Well, I want the recipe, too. On top of spending every weekend at the farm, Peter’s grounded on weekdays, too. This recipe might be just the thing.”

  “I can help you make them for him,” Connie offers.

  “Oh, I’m not going to make them for him,” Hannah snorts. “I’m going to have Peter make them for his family. It’s going to take a lot for him to get back in their good graces. If he learns how to cook, he might be a little more helpful around the house and Sandra might be inclined to forgive him a little sooner.”

  The women laugh. Connie looks at the thick manila file next to her. “If it’s all right, Madeline, I’d like a couple more days off. I know I’ve been gone, but there are still a few things I’d like to get done if I could.”

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Madeline says. “I’ve checked the calendar and we don’t
have any big meetings or gatherings so I say we close for the week. We both need a break.”

  Madeline sounds so determined and Connie wants to laugh—it’s as if they’ve made some big decision instead of merely giving themselves some much-deserved time off.

  “I want you to relax and unpack,” Madeline continues. “For good. I want you to make the room yours, Connie, for as long as you want to be here. Find furniture that you like, paint the walls, it doesn’t matter to me. The only thing that matters to me is that you’re happy and you feel at home.”

  Home. There it is, that word again. Connie runs her hand along the grain of the table, a small smile on her lips. “Thank you, Madeline,” she says. “Maybe I’ll do something different in the future, but for now I’m happy with how everything is. Instead I want to do something I’ve been putting off for way too long.”

  Both Hannah and Madeline look at her, curious. “What?” Hannah asks.

  No more hiding her suitcase under the bed, for starters. Connie is going to unpack everything this time, including the pictures she’s carried with her all this time. “My scrapbook.”

  It’s early Monday morning and Isabel is walking the perimeter of her house, a notebook in hand, when she hears a honk from the street.

  “Hey, Isabel!” Ian Braemer pulls up to the curb, then leans over and rolls down the passenger-side window. “I guess a congratulations is in order.”

  Isabel gives him a puzzled look. She walks over to his truck.

  Oh, he looks good. Nice smile, rugged features, laughing eyes. He’s wearing a barn jacket, flannel work shirt, and jeans. She shivers in her coat even though she’s comfortably warm. “Hi, Ian. Congratulations for what?”

  “You sold your house! Sign’s gone.” He nods to the empty space on her lawn. It’s only been a few days but so much has happened that Isabel almost forgot the sign used to be there.

  “I didn’t sell the house,” she tells him. “I called the buyers and told them it was off. They weren’t the right people to be living here after all.”