The phone rang again.
“Hello?” I said as I wiped the tears from my eyes.
“Vonnie, now I know something’s wrong. You are crying.”
“Fred and I had a fight.”
“Over David Harris? Then Fred knows?”
“Knows what, dear?”
“That David’s coming to live in Summit View. He told you, right?”
I sat down hard and shook my head no. But I said, “Yes. When did he tell you?”
“In an email yesterday morning.”
“Okay.”
“Vonnie? You don’t sound good. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I’ll be waiting, dear.”
I didn’t hear Donna’s knock. When she found me, I was sitting on the floor next to my cedar chest, holding baby Joe-Joe tight.
“Vonnie! Don’t you have a smoke alarm? Smoke was pouring from your oven. I’m afraid your lunch is—” She knelt down beside me. “Aw, Vonnie, here, give me the doll.” She gently tugged it from my grasp and laid the baby on the foot of the bed.
That’s when I finally looked at her. She was wearing her favorite black sweats instead of her deputy’s uniform. “You must be off today,” I murmured.
She looked worried. “Do you want me to call Fred?”
I shook my head no as she stood up and got a couple of tissues from the dresser and handed them to me. She sat back on the floor next to me just as if we always sat on the floor of my bedroom. “What happened?”
At first I couldn’t speak. I managed to whisper, “Fred saw my letter to Joe.”
Donna looked around. “What letter?”
I pulled it from my apron pocket. As Donna read it, her face blanched. “Oh my” was all she said before looking back at me. “I take it Fred didn’t handle it well.”
I squeezed my eyes tight against the memory of the expression of betrayal on his face. “How could he? I hurt him.”
Donna placed her arm around me, and I leaned into her, dabbing my eyes with a tissue.
“I loved Joe.”
“I know.”
“I love Fred too.”
“Of course.” Donna turned to face me. “But Vonnie, why did you keep the letter?”
At last I said, “I’ve kept them all. How could I throw them away? They don’t just represent an old fling, Donna. They represent a man’s life.”
“There are others?”
“In the chest.”
Donna lifted the chest’s lid. The old box sat on top of the blankets, betraying its contents as letters jutted at odd angles from the closed lid. She opened it and stared. “Did Fred see these too?”
“No, thank God.”
“May I?”
I nodded as Donna opened an envelope and read one of Joe’s letters to me. Her eyes wide, she looked up, wanting to ask a question she couldn’t voice.
I twisted my wedding band once around my finger. “I know what you’re thinking, Donna. But Joe and I were husband and wife. We were in love.”
She nodded and put the letters back into the box before placing my time capsule into the chest. She turned to me. “I guess I just never … I mean, I know you had a son together, but it’s difficult to … Here, let me help you up.”
I leaned over to push off on the chest, and I saw the fallen letter under the bed. As I reached to retrieve it I noticed it felt thinner than the others. When I got to my feet, I saw that the handwritten scrawl on the envelope addressed to “My daughter Vonnie” was nothing like my mother’s neat penmanship.
I carefully unfolded the note …
My Daughter,
My heart is broken. Your mother called and tell me Joe’s baby is dead. I call the nurse, and she say, “The baby is lost.”
Such terrible news.
I come to your bedside, but your mother told me to go home. How could I leave you? I wait till your mother found me outside your room. She so very angry. She say I not wanted. She say you go back to Colorado and that I not to write or call you. She say for me to bring your suitcase to hospital. She say you leave tonight on the airplane and that I not say good-bye.
My heart is heavy. Joe is gone. The baby is gone. Soon you too are gone. Today, I pack your suitcase. I send your letters and Joe’s letters in the pockets of your coat. Maybe your mother never find them.
Vonnie, please come home. I miss you with my whole heart. Love,
Your Maria
Beneath the closing, I read, “Vonnie, please come home to us. We miss you. Your sister, Nina.”
I covered my eyes with my hand. I was suddenly transported to another place and time, to Maria’s tiny white clapboard home in L.A. Though my own mother had sent me packing at the news that I not only married a Mexican American but also that I carried his child, Joe’s mother, Maria Jewel, had swung wide her doors.
“You are my Joe’s wife. Now you are my daughter,” she’d said.
Joe’s little sister, Nina, who was all of ten, became a special friend to me, helping me learn to cook the Mexican dishes. I helped her with her spelling words, and she joined me on long walks in the nearby park.
One sunny Saturday morning, as we perched on the swing set, enjoying the breeze we made as we rocked to and fro, she asked me, “Vonnie, why did you fall in love with Joe?”
I kicked up my feet and glided for a moment. When I stopped I turned to her. “He fell in love with me first. When I saw the love in his eyes, how could I help but fall in love with him? I mean, who could resist those big brown eyes of his?”
Nina giggled and pushed off in her swing, long black braids soaring behind her. She called back over her shoulder, “Did you know about our family?”
I stopped and watched her sail through the air. When she returned to earth, she dragged her well-worn Keds on the ground so that she came to a full stop. I turned to her. “Not at first, Nina, but when he told me, I fell in love all over again—with all of you.”
Nina pushed her too-long bangs from her eyes. “And we are in love with you, especially Mama.”
It was true. Maria and I had instantly bonded. Our deepening friendship somehow connected us to Joe. She spent hours telling me about his childhood and the happier times before Joe’s father was killed in a terrible car crash with a drunk driver.
I, in turn, described how Joe and I had met in the school cafeteria, our long walks at sunset overlooking the mountains, and our Boulder wedding. I told her of the happiness of my childhood growing up in the Colorado Rockies.
I can picture her now, tiny and plump, sitting at her kitchen table as she stuffed her chilies with cheese. She was dressed in a purple housedress with her soft black curls pulled into a ponytail. “You are such a brave girl to ski down a mountain. No wonder my Joe married you. You will be a good mama to the children.”
I laughed. “I should teach you, Maria! Then we could ski down the mountain together with sticks tied to our feet.”
“What ideas you have!” Maria said, waving her hand as if to brush away the mental image I’d created.
“Hey, don’t forget me! I’ll tie sticks to my feet too!” Nina said.
We laughed at the thought of the three of us tumbling down a snowy mountain. But our laughter turned to sad smiles when I added, “Of course, Nina. We’ll bring you, the baby, and Joe too.”
Our eyes met in silence as we thought of our dear Joe, so far away from home.
I’d tried to be brave. I said, “The time will pass quickly. Maybe we’ll all spend next Christmas in Colorado.”
One day, when we were dicing onions and peppers in Maria’s yellow kitchen bright with geraniums, she said, “Vonnie, how glad I am you are Joe’s wife. We miss him while he is in Vietnam, but he left us you.” She patted my belly with her brown hand and smiled at me. “And soon the baby.”
Had it really been over three and a half decades since that moment in time? I sat on the edge of the chest and covered my face with my hands. “Maria, Nina!” I sobbed, suddenly homesick for L.A.
Donna took
the letter and read it. She looked at me. “From Joseph’s mother and sister?”
I nodded.
“Did you ever call them?”
“No. I wanted to, and I think I would have if I had found this note. But Mother convinced me it would be too hard for them to hear my voice. It would make them miss Joe all that much more.”
“Where is Maria now?” Donna asked.
“If she’s still living, I suppose she’s in L.A.”
“Do you have her old number?”
I stood and walked out of the bedroom to the kitchen. I noticed that Donna had put my blackened hamburger casserole in the sink and opened a window. I reached into the desk drawer and pulled out my ancient address book stuffed with yellowed papers. I uncoiled the rubber bands that held it together and flipped to the J.
“Jayne … Jacob … Jerrod … Jewel. There it is.”
Donna picked up the phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m calling the number. Unless they’ve moved, it should be the same as long as we dial the area code. Don’t you think it’s about time Maria knows her grandson is alive?”
“Surely, Maria is no longer there—”
Donna interrupted. “Hello? Maria Jewel, please … To whom am I speaking? … Nina Gonzales? … Maria’s daughter?”
Donna put her hand over the receiver and looked at me and smiled. “We found her.” She took her hand off the receiver. “Yes, well, actually, I’m calling for a friend. Vonnie … Yes, Joe’s wife. Do you want to talk to her?”
As I shook my head no, Donna extended the phone toward me. “Vonnie, it’s Nina. I’m afraid the past wants to speak to the present.”
I pulled up a kitchen chair and put the phone to my ear. “Nina? Is that really you?”
She sounded as if she were in the next room. I could hear the sound of children in the background. “Vonnie? I can’t believe it. Why didn’t you call before today?”
“I wanted to, so many times. But after so much time had gone by, I figured I was forgotten.”
“Forgotten? No, Vonnie, Mama talked about you often. She’d say, ‘Nina, I pray especially hard today. Maybe today will be the day Vonnie calls.’”
A gasp escaped from my lips. “I … I don’t know what to say.”
“Say that you will come back, Vonnie.”
“To L.A?”
“Mama is in the hospital. I just came home to get a few things before going back. She needs to see you.”
“Nina, what happened?”
“It’s her heart. After all these years, her broken heart has finally caught up with her. The doctors say she may not live through the week.”
“Oh no!”
“Vonnie, please. It would mean so much to Mama … We need you.”
“I … I won’t come alone.”
“Yes, bring your family. We’d like to meet your husband and the kids. Of course, I’m assuming you married again.”
“Nina. The baby—”
“I know … If only Joe’s baby could have lived. That would have been such a comfort.”
“But …” I lowered my voice. “But he did live.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “What are you talking about, Vonnie?”
“Nina, that’s the reason I called. I’ve only learned the truth myself. Joe’s baby is alive.” I started to weep. “Nina, did you hear? All this time. Joe’s baby is alive!”
7
Young Girl, Get outta My Mind
Clay had just finished a second cup of coffee with his High Country burger when Eleana Bertrill came in for her shift at the café. She was young—too young for Clay—but she smiled at him every afternoon as though she wasn’t fully aware of their age difference.
Clay figured her to be no more than nineteen or twenty. She’d grown up in Summit View; he’d gone to school with her parents way back when. Though they were older than him, he remembered them well, and he wondered how they might feel if they knew how their little girl liked to flirt with the regulars at Higher Grounds.
As soon as she spotted him she winked, then reached for the green bib apron Sally had her employees wear. Each one had a white-stitched view of the Summit View mountains on the top left corner with the name of the café arched above them.
“Hi, Clay,” she said, walking past the knotty pine tables and chairs already filled with customers. “Can I get you another cup of coffee?” She dipped her head into the hole of the apron, then pulled the waist strings behind her back and began tying them into a bow.
Clay shook his head. “Nah, I think I’m good to go.”
“Have you tried the caramel lattes we just starting making?” She licked her lips. “They’re out of this world dee-lish.”
He shook his head. “I’m not really a latte kinda guy.”
Eleana looked out the window where his perfect viewpoint of the town lay on the other side. “It sure is gray out there. Bet we’ll see a lot of snow soon. Me, personally, I can’t wait. Good skiing weather, right?”
“Well, I’m not a skiing kinda guy either,” he said.
As best Clay could tell, she looked genuinely disappointed. “Eleana,” Sally called out. “That’s not your station.”
Eleana beamed a look of innocence, then winked at Clay once more. “I’ll see you around,” she said.
Clay nodded, then twisted his body a bit to watch her walk back toward the extensive glass counters filled with Sally’s delectable goodies. When he returned to his usual position, he caught the tail end of Donna’s Bronco as it passed by.
He jumped up so fast his chair toppled to the floor and landed with a crash. He reached for his black leather jacket—folded and tossed over the chair next to him—stepping over the fallen chair and skipping to keep from tripping. He knew he looked foolish, but he didn’t care. If he hurried, he could catch her.
He cussed himself all the way out to his old blue jeep parked in a nearby parking lot. If he hadn’t been checking out the view on Eleana, he would have easily been able to catch Donna.
It was her day off … which meant it was a good time to check up on her. He slid into his jeep and spun out of the parking lot, turning left to follow Donna’s trail. It took him a few minutes—with the amount of pedestrians Summit View had, it didn’t pay to speed—but he finally saw her as she made a left turn.
He flipped his signal, then slowed down. Wherever she was going, he didn’t want her catching him in his chase.
Minutes later he saw her pulling into the Westbrook neighborhood. He rolled to a stop, waited an appropriate amount of time, then continued on, parking a few houses down.
He had a plan. When she came out, he’d ease out into the street, feign shock at seeing her, and ask her to join him for a cup of coffee or a slice of Sally’s blueberry cheesecake. He’d tell her he had some things to talk over with her. She’d bite for that, and he knew it.
In spite of the cold in the air, he felt himself beginning to sweat. What gossip would he use for bait?
He jumped when his cell phone vibrated in his shirt pocket. He reached for it, saw that it was his editor, then flipped open its top. “Whitefield,” he said.
“Clay … drop whatever you’re doing and get to the office. I’ve got a story I want you to follow up on, and I need you to do it pronto.”
Clay gazed through the windshield at the Bronco parked ahead of him. “Can’t you get someone else?”
“Who would you suggest? You’re it, Whitefield. I’ll give you ten minutes to get here or you’re fired.”
Clay slammed his cell phone shut. Donna would have to wait till another time.
8
Sticky Situation
“Good morning. Chris Lowe’s office. This is Goldie, how may I help you?” I took a deep breath and repeated myself, this time putting the emphasis away from the word good and more on help. After all, this was a law office. For the caller it may not be a good day at all. “Good morning. Chris Lowe’s office. This is Gold
ie, how may I help you?” And then once more for good measure, again changing emphasis. “Good morning. Chris Lowe’s office. This is Goldie, how may I help you?”
After nearly a month of working for Chris Lowe, attorney at law, today was the day I’d be left alone to answer the phones without Chris’s daughter’s help. I had practiced all evening the night before. I even blurted out my little spiel during dinner.
“What’d you say?” my daughter, Olivia, asked from her end of the dining room table.
Her husband, Tony, looked up from his plate of baked chicken casserole. His eyes held merriment. “I think she just answered the phone at Mr. Lowe’s office.”
I frowned. “I’m sorry. Tomorrow I answer the phones for the first time alone.” I raked my fingers through the curls of red hair that seemed to be graying by the minute.
“Mom, they’re just phones. You’ve been answering phones since you were a child.” She arched a brow. “I think you can handle this.”
I shook my head at the very thought of finally being alone at the administrative desk of Chris’s law practice. Jenna Lowe was going out of town with her mother, Carrie, as they prepared for Jenna’s departure to college in a month and a half. “I may have been answering the phone since I was a child, but this is the first time in many a year that I’ve done so professionally.” I reached for my mug of hot tea and took a sip. It had turned tepid in the time since I’d placed it on the table. “I just want to do a good job. Jenna answers ‘Chris Lowe’s office,’ but I want to do something a little more … professional. After all, Jenna is his daughter. She could answer with peanut butter in her mouth, and he wouldn’t complain. Me? I’m a charity case.” I set the mug down and picked up my fork, mainly for something to do. I’d hardly touched a bite of food since we sat down for dinner.
“You are most certainly not a charity case, Mom.”
I nodded my head as though I agreed with her, but truth be told, I am. A month ago I’d walked into his office hoping for advice concerning my recent separation from my husband, Jack. “Coach Dippel” to the students at the high school and “Dad” to my daughter … and even more importantly, “Grandpa Jack” to our grandson, Brook. My shoulders slumped at the thought of it all.
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