Claire patted the pocket where the money Mitchell had given her lay tucked away. “Good idea.” As she followed him out of the room, she briefly acknowledged the jewelry box out of the corner of her eye. That box would go back where she found it, and there it would stay, untouched.
Chapter Twelve
Activity in downtown Knoxville had picked up a vibrant pace compared to the earlier part of the morning when she and Mitchell had stepped off The Tennessean. More cars moved up and down the streets, and people slipped inside the department and furniture stores. Claire’s stomach rumbled, and she wished George would take her to a diner.
Much to her relief, he led the way on down the sidewalk until they reached S&W Cafeteria. Claire stepped inside first, and with his hand resting in the small of her back, George led her to the food line. Workers busied themselves loading food onto plates as patrons pointed out what they wanted. She picked up her tray and silverware and move down the line. From the dining room, she marveled at the sound of an organ, its vibrant notes blending with the hum of voices.
“Get whatever you want, Claire. I’m picking up the tab for this.” George smiled as he slid his tray along the railing. How unusual the notion of having a choice on what to eat. The passage of time had almost buried the notion of ever having choices again. Her mouth watered at the smell of cooked meat and vegetables. The taste of succulent roast beef with some tasty broccoli and mashed potatoes hit her fancy as she voiced her selections to the ladies behind the glass. George picked out his food and both maneuvered their trays to the cashier.
George’s eyes held a warm glow. “Miss, we’re together, so ring up hers and mine.” Claire’s heart quickened as he paid the tab and guided her toward the dining room, his hand resting against her back again, as if they dined here together on a regular basis. The waiter, a sophisticated black man in uniform, had taken their trays and requested they follow him. An empty table not far from the organ sat clean and ready. George tipped the waiter, who offered a polite nod and a statement of thanks.
Claire sat comfortably in the chair George pulled out for her. When he seated himself, they both ate in silence a few minutes. She glanced around the dining room, watching people as they conversed, women’s eyes lighting up as their friend filled them in on family secrets or the latest gossip.
Eager young men courting pretty women, chatted away, becoming more animated the more their date expressed agreement. Focusing her eyes back on George, she noted with surprise that his face showed the same interested expression Adrian’s had when they first started seeing each other, the look of new interest, new excitement. A flutter of nervousness gathered in the pit of her stomach, and a giddy school-girl feeling rushed over her. She hadn’t experienced that feeling in years, obviously, but she hadn’t forgotten it, either. This is what being alive meant, a future worth living for, good food, secure home, and the company of good friends.
“Mitchell told me the amount he gave you and begged me to get that money in the bank as soon as possible. When we finish eating, we’ll take care of it. Hamilton National Bank isn’t far from here, just up the street.”
“Is there a drug store and a place for groceries nearby? Though I could eat here and listen to that beautiful organ every day, I know I’ll be in the kitchen cooking.” Claire grinned.
“You bet. There’s Lanes Drug Store, and after that, we’ll head on out to Magnolia to Cas Walker’s for groceries.” As George leaned forward, he rested his leg lightly against hers. He didn’t seem inclined to move it, and Claire sat nodding, taking in every word, trying not to focus on the heat building up inside her. She took a sip of water from her glass, fixing her gaze on George.
He continued, “You’ll need some more clothes. I know you only brought a few things, so maybe we can finish up the rest of the shopping this weekend.” His eyes burned with intense interest, planning out her needs as if they were his own.
“I really appreciate this, George. But I have one big concern, and that’s finding a job. I’ll need more money, and Mitchell isn’t a bank.”
“Would you like to help me with my store?” He jogged his eyes to hers and back to the fork-load of fish he held before popping the food into his mouth.
Claire stopped eating and stared at him. “Help you with your store? Like how, a clerk, stock person?”
“I mean help me run the business the way Anita did. How does that sound?” His eyes blazed with new excitement. “Oh, come on! Don’t look so surprised. You’ve helped in a manufacturing business, so surely you can help with a humble department store like mine.” He winked at her and dug his fork into the fish for another bite.
Her face flushed. “The manufacturing business, I left to the men. I sometimes helped with new hat designs and wore some of the models to see how they’d hold up. But I didn’t get too deep into the accounting or the more detailed aspects.”
“Nonsense.” He secured his fingers around her wrist for emphasis. “You probably know more than you think. It won’t be hard to show you the ropes, the merchandising, ordering, pricing, that sort of thing. If numbers bother you, I can teach you that later. I really could use the help, Claire, and I can’t think of a better person than you.”
“Don’t see why not. I’m a quick study, and I love retail.”
“You seem to have an eye for pretty things, and I agree with Mitchell, a woman’s touch makes all the difference.”
His expression had turned into one riddled with pleading, and she found his suggestion endearing. Mostly, she felt relief. At least she’d landed a job. This had been pure luck.
She beamed back at him. Prospects of having a job, something productive, filled her with excitement. Working kept her mind sharp and gave a sense of purpose. Even in the asylum, hard work in the garden or kitchen had served as some consolation, allowing a semblance of safety while away from the unit. Work turned the focus on getting a job done and off getting belted by someone who didn’t have better things to do.
“When do I start?” Claire kept her eyes on him as she reached for her tea.
“Since today’s Friday, I say Monday. It’ll give you the weekend to rest up and get ready.”
“Good. Gives me something to look forward to.” She took in a deep breath. He’d not moved his leg from hers since they’d sat down. Though the diner’s air conditioner hummed full force from across the room, the heat from his body had warmed her all over. When he stood up, the absence of him shot a chill through her system, filling her with a strange sense of aloneness.
“All right, my dear, let’s get you to a bank.” George’s lips turned up into a kind smile as he guided out of the diner and down the street.
***
Claire waved as George pulled out of the driveway. Setting up a bank account and shopping for the necessities had been tiresome, but he’d been patient through all of it.
“That’s why I have employees,” he had told her. “It lets me help lovely people like you.” The tone fell on her ears, sincere and pleasant, and she detected hesitancy when he left.
The Friday afternoon sun had turned into the hot glow of early evening, when rays burned their brightest. Fall would come soon in the next few weeks, bringing with it a certain characteristic crisp freshness, an air of vitality before the setting in of death, the winter season that wound its way into all living things.
She walked back inside and finished putting away groceries. Eyeing the stove, she laughed. The prospect of using appliances again seemed foreign to her right now. She’d get used to it quickly, though. What should she cook for dinner? And for one person? That’s all she was now, one person. This situation would be the most difficult to deal with. She’d only been totally by herself when she first struck out on her own. When she ended up in Memphis, Adrian had come into her life several weeks later.
After neatly folding and putting away the grocery sacks for future use, she turned her attention upstairs. When she entered her bedroom, she saw Anita’s beloved jewelry box on the dresser.
Claire shuddered. With a grimace, she strode forward and glared at it. She still felt guilty about George catching her red-handed.
She should never have tried on those pieces. What surprised her most was that he clearly didn’t want the box with him. While women oftentimes embraced sentimental tokens, weaving them into their memories, men took a different stance, perhaps. She’d learned this through living with Adrian.
George had found his own way for dealing with his grief, just like she’d find a way to deal with hers. They shared this common thread, her and this new man, one who’s heart and words expressed understanding. He knew how existence changed like the breeze outside, and how the leaves must feel as they are caught up and carelessly tossed around, floating helplessly to the ground once again. Through all her trials, Claire learned one thing. She had not totally shut herself off from desire and longing. They may have been buried deep in her psyche, put away for a bit, but she always believed hope sprang eternal.
With a sigh, she picked up the jewelry box and returned it to its rightful drawer. She checked each drawer for additional stray boxes and found none. One by one, Claire arranged her purchases in the dresser and closet, and placed new cosmetics and hair care products in the bathroom. On the counter, she placed a small bottle of fragrance. She already had sprayed a little on her skin and enjoyed the smell. A pair of new rhinestone hair clips sparkled under the light over the sink. In the mirror, she gazed at her hair, longing for the moment when she’d dress up and wear these beauties.
One bag remained on the bed. It held a small jewelry box for housing a few pieces of costume jewelry, which she’d also purchased. At least she’d start Monday morning in George Parker’s store looking fresh and presentable. She’d wanted to see the store, but George wanted to keep things private until Monday. Customers apparently liked his merchandise. She’d spotted them filing out the doors, bags in tow. She arranged her new box and jewelry on top of the dresser and stood back surveying the room. Finally, everything was put away. Rays of light stole through the window, shrouding the room in a soft glow.
Her eyes roved over the bed, the empty one, one that would hold one lone person tonight, and for a moment, she envisioned George and Anita, snuggled together, Anita’s fingers playing through George’s hair, while his hands slid over her satiny flesh. In her mind, she viewed the passion in his eyes, and the glow of love on her face. Claire shut off the vision, feeling like an intruder. She hadn’t forgotten the way she and Adrian gave each other longing looks, tender touches.
Would she ever resolve her anger toward Adrian? Should she view him as dead, one who’d graced her life for a short while? After all, he might as well be dead. He didn’t exist in her life anymore. Though she resolved to live life again, she knew there would be parts of her wishing for the past, wishing everything had turned out differently.
Old ghosts didn’t die easily, but she could try and fight them off one day at a time. Right now, she possessed everything she needed, home, food, clothes, Mitchell, and George. For this abundance, she mouthed a quick prayer of gratitude.
A twitter of a bird sounded from the window; the outside called. If she didn’t get out of this house right now, her own thoughts stood a great chance of suffocating her. Claire made her way carefully down the stairs. When she opened the front door, her eyes widened in surprise.
Next to one of the wicker rockers sat an unexpected guest, a small young girl with blonde hair falling in loose ringlets around her face. A set of ten metal jacks lay scattered, and in her hand, she held a tiny red rubber ball. After tossing the ball up in the air, she grabbed a jack and caught the ball after it bounced on the porch. Ignoring Claire, the little girl continued this game until all jacks lay in a neat pile by the rocker.
“There, I got ’em all.” She gazed up at Claire with shining eyes. “And I did it without touching any of them.” Her lips turned up into a wide smile. “You can’t touch any when you’re playing. It’s against the rules.” She lowered her voice. “Sometimes I make up my own rules, but don’t tell anybody.” Her eyes remained steadfast on Claire’s face, while her small hand stifled a giggle.
What an angel. Claire marveled at the child’s sweet little nose and cherubic lips. The set of eyes she bore sparkled glacier blue, and her smile lit up like the brightest lights. Seating herself in a rocker, Claire smiled back. “That’s okay. Sometimes you have to make up your own rules.” She paused a moment, and the girl continued staring as she tossed the ball lightly from one hand to the other.
Leaning forward toward the girl, Claire asked, “I don’t think we’ve met. What’s your name?”
“Anna.” Former excitement trickled down to sudden shyness, and her gaze turned into one of caution.
“Hello, Anna. I’m Claire.” She smiled at the girl. “You’re awfully pretty.”
Anna responded by turning her face down and staring at her pile of jacks.
“Aren’t you far from home?” Though George told her he’d purchased a house nearby, she had no idea where nearby really was.
“Hunh uh.” Anna shook her head, scattering blonde curls across her face.
“Is your house close by?”
Pointing past Claire’s right shoulder, Anna answered, “It’s over there.”
Claire turned and, saw nothing but fields, but determined one could reach George’s house if they kept driving past this one. “You walked here, then.” She turned back to the little girl, who’d gathered up her ball and jacks.
“It’s not far.” Anna turned her eyes homeward for a moment before facing Claire. “I don’t have to go to school tomorrow or the next day.” She grinned. “I can play for two whole days, can’t I?”
“You sure can, precious. And you can play right here anytime you want.” For an instant, Claire wanted to take the child in her arms and hold her tight. If she could smother her cheeks and forehead with kisses, she’d do that too.
“Anna, how old are you?”
“Five.” Another big smile crawled across her face.
“Five? Why you’re almost grown up.” Claire reached out and patted her on the shoulder.
“I gotta go home.” Anna, turned and stepped gingerly down the porch steps.
Worried, Claire got up from the rocker. “Let me walk with you. That way I’ll know you got home safely.”
Anna waited by the steps, and the two picked their way down through the yard and onto the main road. Embraced by the light cool of evening the two walked together, breathing in the scent of clover and thistles, while fields rolled lazily around them. The sky had faded into a comfortable baby blue, streaked with orange-pink tints as if an artist had carelessly tossed color on a canvas. The September air exhaled cooler draughts, and any humidity lingering from the day had passed.
A cow stopped its feast of grass, eyed the visitors, and let out a soulful moo. Anna paused by the barbed wire fence, mooing back in between giggles. When the cow bellowed in response, Anna mooed louder and with more determination. Claire fought the urge to laugh. Bored with human company, the cow turned an eager mouth toward the grass for another juicy bite of dinner, ignoring the interlude altogether.
At times, Anna skipped down the road, kicking at stray gravels along the way. One time she picked up a stick and threw it as hard as she could, but not before asking Claire to kindly hold her ball and jacks.
“I can’t lose these. They’re my most favorite.” She gently placed them in Claire’s hands, making sure the ball and all the jacks had been accounted for, counting each piece. “Do mother squirrels sing their babies to sleep?” Anna pointed in the direction of a tree, where a bushy tail flicked wildly back and forth, followed by noisy, excited screeches.
Claire grinned. “I don’t know. But I’m sure they take care of their babies in their own special way.”
The little girl turned a sideways glance at Claire. “I sing Lulabelle to sleep every night. She says it helps her sleep better.”
“Lulabelle?” Claire nodded, pretending she knew
exactly who or what “Lulabelle” was. “She really said that?”
Anna snickered. “No, she’s my most favorite doll, but I pretend she talks.”
“Do you sing a lot, or do you just sing to Lulabelle?”
“I don’t know. I sing when I feel like it, or when I know a song. But I don’t feel like singing right now.” She picked up her pace. “I’ll race you to that fence post.”
Laughing, Claire raced forward, deliberately holding back her speed. Anna’s shrill laughter cut the stillness of the country road, and her curls flew out about her head. Her little feet crunched against the gravel as she charged as fast as she could toward the post.
“Yay, I won!” She jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “I knew I’d beat you.” Her eyes flashed, and her lips turned up into a wide smile.
“My goodness, you are fast. I think you’re a natural-born runner.” Claire laughed, wiping back a lock of hair from her forehead.
“I’m very fast. I win all the races at school.” Anna skipped ahead a few paces and stopped for Claire.
Several minutes later, rounding a small curve, George’s house came into view. Surrounded by flowers and neatly trimmed bushes, the white-washed house sat tucked away from the road. In the gray of evening, it looked like a cottage out of a story book, entrenched in its own world, nearly hidden away from the casual eye. So, this quaint place had been George’s sanctuary from death, his hideaway from a broken heart. She followed Anna to the front door. Before she’d begun her good-byes, the door opened.
George stepped outside, taking Anna in his arms and smothering her with a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks for walking my little girl home.” He patted Anna’s shoulder as she edged her way inside the house. “I’ll have to talk to her later about not wandering off. She’s quick.”
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