by J. L. Wilson
I turned and did a double-take. A tall man was emerging from one of the banker offices, hand outstretched and a big smile on his face. Bobby Noble was another one of Peter’s gang of Lost Boys. We called him Lightly because he never used to take anything seriously. His fair hair was still wrapped in tight curls on his head and he was still handsome with that cocky grin that seemed to say he knew a secret nobody else did.
“Tom, I heard you were in town.” Lightly smiled at me. “Wendy, it’s good to see you. I was sorry to hear about your mom. She was one special lady.”
I blinked back tears. It was gratifying to know how well-loved Mom was, but it was also hard to bear. It just kept reminding me of how much I already missed her and would miss her far into the future. “Thanks, Bobby.” I rearranged the bundle of papers in my arms, one of the notebooks slipping out of my grasp.
Bobby grabbed it before it could reach the floor. “You look overloaded.”
“I didn’t come prepared for so much stuff. It’s been a while since I came down here with Mom to go through the box. I couldn’t remember what she had in there.” I turned to the girl who hurried across the lobby, holding open a plastic shopping bag.
“That’s from your mom’s deposit box?” Bobby asked while I tipped the contents of my arms into the bag.
“Thanks,” I said to the girl, who smiled and moved away. “Yes, it is. I’m not sure what’s in here. I’ll go through it all with Totts when I meet with him this afternoon.”
“Totts is your lawyer?” Bobby ruffled the pages of the blue notebook he still held. “Funny to think of it, isn’t it? I mean, who would have thought Totts would grow up to be a lawyer.”
“Who would have thought you’d grow up to be a banker?” I asked. “Or that Bell would become a programmer?”
“Oh, I saw that one coming,” Bobby said. “Tom was always tinkering with computers, even back then.”
Bell took the notebook from Bobby. “This is one of your Dad’s Inspiration Spirals,” he said to me, leafing through the yellowed pages. “I remember he was always jotting down ideas, events, his thoughts—whatever sprang into his mind. It’s like a combination diary and notepad, all in one. The early version of Evernote, I guess you could say. I did the same thing when I was first getting started designing software code. Your dad would put down an idea and five or six pages later, something else he was thinking about would tie into that first idea. Just like writing code and subroutines. I learned so much from him.”
Bobby nodded. “Your father was like one of the kids in a lot of ways, Wendy. I remember those marathon video contests we’d have, holed up in your basement playing games. I always enjoyed running in and out of your house. Your parents sure made us feel welcome. If I can do anything to help, just let me know.”
“Thanks, Bobby. I appreciate that. I think I have almost everything under control. I just have to proofread the obituary and go through some pictures, and I think that will do it.”
“Speaking of the obituary, that reminds me. I talked to Sylvia Barry the other day.”
Bell closed the notebook, giving Bobby his full attention. “Really? What’s she up to?”
“She still gets the town newspaper and she read the death notice. She wanted to know if I knew if you’d be in town, Wendy, and for how long. She calls now and then when she sees something in the paper that she’s curious about.”
“I’m surprised,” I said. “You’d think after all this time—and with the bad memories she has—that she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with Kensington.” I glanced at Bell, but he was once again leafing through the notebook, his face thoughtful.
“She and I exchange Christmas cards and I think, well, I think she’s lonely. It doesn’t sound like she has a lot of friends in California. Speaking of friends, we should all get together.” Lightly looked from me to Bell. “Get the old gang together.”
Bell nodded and I knew what he was thinking. Maybe we could pick their brains about what happened. “How about tonight?” I said. “I’ve got a bunch of cousins coming in to town tomorrow and Friday, but tonight is free. Come on over to the house. Bell can make Mom’s pizza. He claims he has her recipe.”
“Claim, nothing, I do have it,” Bell protested. “Sure, I can whip up dough for a couple of pizzas. You’ll see Totts this afternoon and you can invite him. I’ll call Dibs and ask him. How about you, Lightly? Can you come by tonight? What about Curly? Is he around?”
“He moved out of state,” Bobby said. “The last I heard he was a manager at a building supply company. Are you sure, Wendy? You’re probably busy right now. We can go out somewhere. You don’t have to entertain us.”
I smiled. “I won’t entertain you, you guys will entertain me. Come over around five-thirty and we’ll have a drink and talk about the old days.”
“I’ll be there. See you later.” Bobby went back to his office, pausing in the doorway to watch Bell and me while we left.
“Now why would Sylvia be in touch with Lightly?” Bell mused, pausing under the overhang to peer out at the rain. He handed me the notebook and I dropped it into my sack.
“Who knows?” I looked at the steady drizzle. “Ready to make a run for it?”
“I’ll race you.” Bell dashed out.
I followed more sedately, hampered by my purse and the bag full of Mom’s belongings. I fell into the passenger seat, running a hand through my hair and shaking off the rain drops. “Well, that went better than I expected.” I set the bag on the floor at my feet.
“What did you expect?” Bell backed out of the parking spot, looking over his shoulder and glancing at me as he did.
“I don’t know. More forms to sign or something, I suppose. It seems like all I’ve done for the past few days is sign papers and accept condolences.” I tapped the bag with my foot. “Totts and I need to inventory this because anything in the box is part of the estate.”
“Do you think there’s anything of value?” Bell made a left turn to head south to the house again.
I took the two jeweler’s boxes out of the sack. The name on the box was from a jewelry store in Iowa City, one that hadn’t been in business for years. “I doubt it.” I opened one box, pulling out a small velvet snap-lid box. I opened it. A plain gold wedding band was tucked into the slot in the yellowed white satin.
The ring was too large for my fingers. “It must be Dad’s wedding ring.” I opened the other box. It was hard to see the small diamond ring on the white satin through my tears. “This must be Mom’s original engagement ring.” I twisted the ring I now wore on my right hand, the one with three small sapphires surrounding a ruby. “Dad bought her this ring after us kids were born.” I put the boxes back in the sack and stared out my window, tears rolling down my cheeks.
Bell’s hand closed over mine. “There are some things of value there, I guess.”
“Yes,” I said. “There are.”
He released my hand and we drove in silence for a minute or two. “Do you want me to help with the notebooks? I’d be happy to read through them. I remember your father and his doodles.”
“Sure.” I wiped the tears away. “Maybe you can skim them and let me know if there’s anything interesting. And don’t forget you have to make pizza.”
“I’ve been challenged,” he said with a grin. “I won’t forget.”
My phone chimed from my purse. I fumbled it out and checked the display. “Hello, Aunt Jane. How are you today?”
“Fine. How are you?” There was a note of insistent curiosity in her voice.
“I’m doing okay. I just left the bank. I cleaned out Mom’s deposit box.”
“That’s nice. Loretta at the front desk just showed me a picture of you in the newspaper.”
I almost groaned aloud. “I’m so sorry, Aunt Jane. I meant to call you but I’ve been busy.”
“It appears you have been.” She sounded amused. “Are you coming over this afternoon so we can go through the pictures?”
“Absolutely,�
� I promised. “In fact, I thought I’d join you for lunch. Is that okay? I have to meet with Totts at three, so that should give us plenty of time.”
“Good. I’m sure we have a lot to discuss.” There was definite insistent quality to her voice and I knew I was in for a gentle interrogation.
“I’ll see you in an hour or so,” I said.
“I have quite a few pictures and some that you may want to use. I’m looking forward to a visit with you.”
I ended the call and dropped the phone back in my purse. Jane was my mom’s only sister. They had been very close, in touch with each other every day until Mom’s stroke landed her in the hospital. Even then, Aunt Jane visited Mom daily because her assisted living apartment was next door to the hospital. I felt guilty that I hadn’t kept Jane in the loop on the funeral planning, but she told me to do what I felt was right, so I did and hoped for the best.
“Aunt Jane saw our picture in the paper,” I told Bell.
He nodded as though it was the most normal thing in the world. I suppose having his picture in the paper was normal, to him. “It will all blow over in a day or two,” he said. “Then we can have some privacy again.”
“Privacy? In Kensington?” I shook my head. “This place is gossip central, you know that.”
“I guess I should have said privacy in the larger world. I’m serious, Wendy. It’s just a slow news week. There will be a few stories in the paper then they’ll forget all about us.” He turned into the driveway at the house. “Of course, if we get married, it’ll be big news again and then we’ll just fade away.”
“Married?” I grabbed the plastic bag and my purse. “You’re crazy, Bell.”
“I take it that’s a ‘no’,” he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
“If that’s a proposal, then yes, it’s a no.” I opened the car door. “Don’t forget to call Dibs about tonight. See you later.”
“Wendy.”
I hesitated. “What?”
“I’m serious.”
I stared into his eyes. “So am I.” I left, slamming the door behind me, not sure if I was angry, sad, or a combination of the two. I dashed into the house and walked down the hall to the living room, my erratic emotions bouncing like the bag slapping against my leg.
What right did Bell have to come back into my life? Where was he when my brother died? When my father died? He was off gallivanting around the world, earning millions.
Millions which he did share with my mother by paying off her mortgage and probably helping her financially in other ways. I had to be fair. Maybe he did help Mom because he felt bad that he hadn’t been around when Dad died or maybe he had some other motive.
It couldn’t be love for me, I was pretty darn certain about that. It was ridiculous to think that Bell would still love me after all these years. I had read all the stories in the newspapers about him and various women. Most of them were models or actresses, women who were accustomed to the kind of jet-set life he led.
I sank onto the couch next to Athos, who dozed in his favorite spot. All kinds of crazy emotions were boiling around inside me. I resented Bell coming back into my life. I was grateful for the money he was giving me and I was pissed off that I was grateful. I didn’t want to love anybody. I was happily single. I didn’t want to live on a farm in Kensington. I had a perfectly good condo, I had friends, I had a life somewhere else.
I patted the cat, who purred happily. “It’s silly,” I muttered. “Bell can’t be lonely. He can’t love me.”
Athos stretched, but he had no answers for me. “Things will work out or they won’t,” I muttered, opening the bag and pulling out the bundle of papers and the overstuffed envelopes.
One fat envelope contained a stack of savings bonds, most in small denominations. I would need to tally those and see what they were worth. The other big envelope had a copy of Mom’s will, a copy of Dad’s will, copies of their Living Wills as well as a copy of my will which I had given to Mom years ago. I set it aside, making a mental note to update my own will. Mom had been my beneficiary, but now that she was gone, I’d need to decide on someone else.
I stared into the dark TV. I would have some real money to leave now that Bell was assigning the rights to the app to me. Who would I leave my estate to? I considered my options. I had no close living relatives. My brothers were dead and now both parents were dead.
I was an orphan.
It was odd to phrase it like that, but it was true. I was alone in the world. Oh, I had cousins and I had friends, but I had no true connection to anyone.
Except Bell, if I chose it.
I considered that thought for a long moment. Bell must have felt like this most of his life. His father was absent and Bell was more mature than his mother had ever been. As soon as he could, he left and it sounded like he and his mother parted ways without a backward look.
Peter, too, had an absent father but he and his mother had a different relationship. In many ways, Peter was the grown-up and Sylvia was the teenager because she was far more concerned about social status than he was. Sylvia always wanted to be part of the In Crowd in Kensington, such as it was, while Peter didn’t seem to care. I remember a few times when he called her when we were out late. He always said it was so she wouldn’t bug him when he got home, but I think he knew she might worry.
Or maybe he was checking up on her. The thought sprang into my head when I remembered how she loved to party, going to every function at the Country Club and oftentimes chairing the committee that ran the events. Memberships were relatively inexpensive, but still a stretch for a woman living on alimony. Peter worked after school and once told me that he felt like he never had a childhood because he had to be the grown-up after his father left.
No wonder Peter and Bell gravitated toward my parents, who were always there, always willing to listen, always willing to have kids underfoot. My mother checked each kid’s report card, my father listened and gave advice when a boy had a crush on a girl, and both of them instilled in all of us a sense of right and wrong that persisted to this day.
Well, they tried to instill that sense. If Bell was right, they failed with Peter. I set the legal documents to one side and picked up the stack of papers. It was about an inch thick and was rolled up from being bound by a rubber band. I re-rolled it in the opposite direction and it lay relatively flat on my lap.
More legal documents. Dad’s discharge papers from the Army. The paid-off mortgage on the house, the realty papers from when they purchased the house, birth certificates for us kids, death certificates, social security paperwork—more forms, more paper to prove someone had lived, someone had died.
I put it aside with the wills and opened the flatter envelope. A small key fell out and bounced between two couch cushions. I retrieved it and some cookie crumbs. It was an odd little key on a neck chain, like a replica of a big skeleton key, with an oversized flat acorn at the top, making it easy to grasp.
I pulled out a letter.
Wendy Darling—
I smiled at my pet name, the one that Bell had used in his app and the nickname my parents used since I could remember.
Wendy Darling, I lied to you. It’s time you know the truth.
The papers rightfully belong to you. I kept them secret, at first because I wanted to protect you. Then, later, I think I wanted to protect myself because I kept them secret.
Does a day or a week or a month less matter? I don’t know any more. The key is to my treasure chest. Now, finally, you can have it.
Your Aunt Jane knows some details. I asked her to share them with you if you ask. See her when you can and she’ll help fill in the holes.
I love you and all that we did was done to spare you pain. I don’t know if I did that—or did I only postpone it?
Love,
Mother
The “treasure chest” was a wooden box, about a foot long and six inches wide and high. It was a replica of a classic “hope chest,” like the big cedar chest that
held our blankets in the downstairs bedroom. Mom’s treasure chest sat on her dresser and when I was a little girl, I could play with it and the costume jewelry inside.
Then, later, she got a lock for it and I never saw it opened again. I asked her about it once, when Dad died and she was getting ready for the funeral. “I lost the key,” she said.
“I could probably open it for you,” I said, looking at the cheap lock. “Dad has some metal snips in the garage. I’ll bet I could—”
“If I wanted it open, I would have had your father do it. It’s fine as is.” She pulled out a handkerchief from the drawer and handed it to me. “Here. I’m sure you’ll need this today.”
Her brusque answer surprised me, but we were both grieving and I didn’t think any more about it. We had a funeral to get through and then I went back to college. And a couple of years later there was another funeral for my brother and then another for my other brother who died overseas. The treasure chest sat on her dresser, unopened, and I forgot all about it—until today.
I went into the downstairs bedroom where Mom and Dad had slept for years. The small chest was on the dresser, as always. The key fit the padlock and when I inserted the key, the lock turned easily, as though it waited all those years for me.
The little box was full of folded papers. On top was the newspaper clipping.
Local Boy Dies in Tragic Accident
I pulled out the papers and began to read.
Chapter 7
Two hours later, I faced my Aunt Jane across the miniscule kitchen table in her apartment, one of many in the assisted living tri-story building on the east side of town. Her living quarters consisted of a tiny galley kitchen with the table wedged into one corner, an equally small living room, and a generously sized bedroom with attached bathroom. It was small but pleasant with a view of the flower gardens outside and the leafy trees being watered by the steady rain that continued to fall.
Jane’s husband died shortly after they were married. She had lived in Chicago most of her adult life, returning to Kensington fifteen years earlier to retire and be near Mom, her younger sister. The two ladies had a very active social life until Mom’s illness hospitalized her earlier in the year. They golfed up until a few years ago, played in several different bridge clubs, and volunteered their time at many civic events. If Jane ever missed her life as an executive secretary to the head of a big corporation, she never mentioned it.