That promise was easily made.
. . .
The wrought-iron entrance gate to Shaker Ridge Cemetery stood open for Lizbeth Sebring the next morning. She drove her Tahoe onto the grounds and immediately let her gaze roll out to the southwest. The sky was blue with a thin cotton-candy layer that would melt as the day grew warmer. She was pleased to see no evidence of groundskeepers along the ridge. Although those groundskeepers meticulously maintained the cemetery, she preferred a wide measure of privacy during her visits.
An asphalt labyrinth curled through the cemetery’s gently rolling slopes. Lizbeth passed a pair of marble fountains, then steered the passenger-side tires off the narrow road. With the transmission in park, she swung her long, lean body off the driver’s seat. Quickly, she retrieved a short stool kept in the SUV’s cargo area.
Lizbeth didn’t know how others left behind after a death handled cemetery visits, but with her first visit to her husband’s grave, and with the many since, she talked to him. Today, Lizbeth owed Dan an explanation.
The Lizbeth who marched into her mother-in-law’s home the morning before possessed a newfound daring. Her springboard of strength over Arnett Sebring was made sweeter because that strength was a long time coming.
Arnett was accustomed to working every situation in life around to her way of thinking. Lizbeth wanted to change that. Arnett shouted a resounding no at the mention of weeklong counseling sessions in the West Virginia cabin. That refusal bolstered Lizbeth’s defenses. Not only would she remove Chad from within grandsitting range, she’d move him a thousand miles away.
In truth, she didn’t want to sever their relationship with Arnett. She honestly felt Arnett would benefit from counseling. Arnett’s life had been rocked in the last few years by the disintegration of her marriage and her son’s death. With Beebe’s wise words and a sincere effort on Arnett’s part, Lizbeth thought she and her mother-in-law could go forward together.
Reality was, Lizbeth knew Arnett too well. She didn’t want fluff from her. Arnett must exhibit concrete proof of sincerity. Agreeing to overlook the location and Callie’s presence to reap the benefits of counseling and the reward of her grandson were strides in the right direction.
Benefit and reward were precisely what Arnett refused.
After their bickering in Arnett’s living room, a resilient Lizbeth asserted herself once more. “Think about what I’ve said.”
Hands on hips and toe to toe with Lizbeth, Arnett snarled back. “There’s nothing to think about. I won’t do it. My mind’s made up.”
“No, it’s not.” Lizbeth, a head taller, loomed hawk-like over Arnett. “And you will think about it. I guarantee, you won’t be able to stop thinking about it.” Mentally, Lizbeth tossed a little dirt on that seed, then saw herself out.
So far, only silence grew. Consequently, the fluttering in her chest suggested impending failure.
Lizbeth set off behind a row of tombstones. Her steps through the grass were high and hurried. On this morning, she felt drawn to the cemetery, to Dan’s unique insight, his ability to strike harmony with his mother.
Coming around her husband’s upright grave marker to the chiseled side, Lizbeth kissed her hand, then placed it atop the arched width of marble. “Hi, sweetie, I’m here.”
She set the square stool down. The stone marking Dan’s grave faced Shaker Ridge with its view of evening sunsets. She lowered her slender figure to the seat and tossed a thick honey-brown curl off her shoulder before her crossed arms settled down on denim-clad thighs. The scene could have been plucked from her family room. It had been commonplace to see Lizbeth hunched on the footstool in front of Dan leaning forward from his favorite easy chair, four knees and hands in close quarters.
“Well, the last few days were not what I’d hoped, but I’ll get to that in a minute. I want you to know the quilts are gorgeous. Chad loves them. He recognized your clothing instantly. That made me so happy because he must always remember his daddy.” The sentiment caused her voice to falter while a multitude of memories snagged on the sharply etched letters of her husband’s name. She waited while the tightness in her throat eased. “As usual, Chad woke early today. Debbie said she’d take him for an hour, so I dropped him off.” She laughed. “He’s named all the fish in Deb and Pat’s aquarium.”
Just then, she heard a car door slam. Her privacy breached, she stretched her neck to look over the garden of stones. A familiar sports car was parked behind her SUV. “Oh lord, your brother’s here.”
She stood and watched Gary Sebring stomp her way. He owned a full head of dark hair and an untidy mustache. His open-collared dress shirt was tucked into belted khakis. Lizbeth took in the large belt buckle, mentally rolling her eyes. As intended, his cowboy boots added height. Most times, Lizbeth considered Gary a man of both short stature and enormous ego. This Thursday morning didn’t disappoint.
Still en route, Gary spoke. “A cabin? Really? A cabin in West Virginia with that MacCallum woman? That’s your idea. The cabin they cheated on Mom in.”
Image of Someone Else
Lizbeth glared at her brother-in-law. Gary Sebring drank coffee at Arnett’s house every morning before work. There, he got the latest news: world, national, local, and the Sebring-slant. Arnett worked the family like Gary’s jaws worked the gum he chewed: hard and fast. Neither was Lizbeth surprised by his unmasked fury: The same wrath flared in Arnett’s eyes the morning before. The acorn didn’t fall far from the mother tree.
“My idea was counseling,” Lizbeth said firmly. “And yes, the cabin works. It does two things, in fact. If Arnett agrees, it tells me she wants to achieve real change. It also gets her away from you.” She crossed her arms. “Too bad, though. For a week, you’ll have to get your morning coffee somewhere else, baby boy.”
“Baby boy! Away from me! At least I spend my mornings with people who are still alive.”
Lizbeth absorbed his hurtful intentions with an impassive face. Even as a child, anger kept her tears at bay. The ongoing situation with Gary and Arnett might dry up her tear ducts entirely. She scooped up her stool. “Gary,” she began, her tone said listen up, “I issued my ultimatum to Arnett after seeing her embarrassing display in that poor woman’s front yard. As I told her, I will not have an impressionable youngster around her kind of self-indulgent anger, witnessing her wailings and tantrums.”
“I think that’s a little strong.”
Her start for the car ground to a halt. “She was ready to strike that woman. Did she tell you that?” His expression said Arnett shared that morsel of information and he reveled in the telling. “If I hadn’t stopped her, you could be bailing her out of jail right now.”
“You’re still reeling from Dan’s death. You exaggerate things.”
They were moving again. She ignored the excuse he made for her. “If she’s unable to make this concession about a quilt—first and foremost, a treasure made of her son’s clothes—then I can only assume that her bad behavior will continue, that she’s either unwilling or unable to practice restraint.”
“I can see the sentiment of the quilts. I can. But why don’t you keep them. Let’s quiet this whole situation down. There’s no reason Chad should learn Mom objects to them.”
“Chad already knows.”
“What?” He jerked to a stop at the Miata’s bumper.
“Chad knows one of the quilts is a present for his grandmother. Chad understands presents. And Arnett needs to understand that I’m not backing down about the cabin. She needs to think for herself, by herself, without the Oldstone-Sebring clan around her. Thank God Dan could stay away for more than fifteen minutes.” She returned the stool to the Tahoe, then chose her next few words intentionally. She put a smile on them to taunt her br
other-in-law. “Her acceptance of the quilt will weigh heavily in my decision.”
He stowed the gum in his cheek. “What decision?”
“She told you about Florida, didn’t she?”
A moment passed while the moustache over his one visible lip twitched. “I didn’t believe you were serious.”
“Well, I am. Very.”
“That’s irrational.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, that’s a bad decision, Lizbeth. You’ve got to think.”
“I have family there. With one call, I’d have a job waiting. It would be good for Chad to live closer to his brother.”
She watched Gary’s face fall. Immediately, he was back on track. “Fine. Make your plans. Ruin Chad’s life. Because Mom’s not going to that cabin. That will never happen.”
Lizbeth’s mouth opened. Her ringing phone interrupted her response. She dug it out of her pocket and read Arnett’s name and home number on the display.
“Go ahead,” Gary said. “Answer. I’ll wait.”
The whole scene felt staged to Lizbeth. Her shoulders slumped under his contemptuous look and the heaping dose of defeat she felt coming. She mumbled into the phone.
“Lizbeth?” Arnett’s voice said.
“Yes.”
“It’s me. I, huh…” Arnett paused, then started again, stronger. “Well, I’ve given things a great deal of thought. You’re treating me shabbily, but you really leave me no choice. So…” A second ticked by. “I’ll go.”
“You will?” Elation rose in Lizbeth’s tone.
“Yes.”
“To the cabin?” Lizbeth eyeballed Gary. His jaw stopped mid-chew. Green gum fell stiffly to his tongue.
“Yes. That’s all I agree to at this point. Don’t read anything else into this.”
“I’m pleased, Arnett. I’ll be back in touch.”
Lizbeth lowered the phone. She used it to point to the knotted fists at the end of Gary’s poker-straight arms. “Wow. Didn’t see that one coming, did you?” she said mockingly.
. . .
Beebe Walker carried her dry cleaning high so the bag enclosing her gray suit didn’t drag the parking lot. Dow’s Dry Cleaner was the last stop on her list of errands. When Lizbeth’s call came in, Beebe activated her Bluetooth, then went back to fumbling with the hanger and the hook above the backseat’s window. From Lizbeth’s enthused tone, Beebe pictured her dancing a snappy jig.
“Arnett called fifteen minutes ago. She’s willing to go to the cabin.”
Beebe’s mouth fell open. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Beebe, yes. I can’t believe I talked her into it.”
Beebe pushed the trailing cellophane bag inside and closed the door. She thought it best to pat down the celebratory mood. “Lizbeth, I want you to listen to me. This week in West Virginia is going to represent a lot of hard work for all of us, you included. I’m not going to let you skate. I don’t see Arnett as the only one who needs an attitude adjustment.”
“Sure,” Lizbeth said too quickly. “I understand.”
“I hope you do. And have a little sympathy for both Arnett and Callie. That cabin means very different things to them.” Beebe settled herself behind the wheel. Nothing came back. “Are you listening to me?”
Beebe’s sharp tone jolted out an answer. “Yes, I’m listening.”
“Good. There’s no need to feel self-glorified. We won’t have pulled off any great coup by just getting them there. Be humble. Keep your clay feet on the ground.”
“But I’m justified in my actions,” Lizbeth said, arguing her side.
The tug Beebe gave her seatbelt halted midway. “Young lady, I’ll come down hard on you if you gloat or taunt Arnett in any way, and you know I’ve got the waistline to inflict some pain. Now, I need to talk to Callie. I’ll call you later.” The car gave her a bit of resistance, too, but on the third try, started.
Beebe was surprised when the call she placed to Callie went relatively well. She sensed no resentment or backsliding, so there was no need to throw her weight around. Callie seemed ready to prove her mettle and dodge a few of Arnett’s wild swings and speak for Jack.
Beebe slipped her front door key into the lock. She used the five-minute drive home to accept the sobering circumstances. In little more than a week, Beebe would journey back to her Michigan hometown, tackle a new job, and adapt to life with her father. Somehow before then, she must divert Lizbeth’s rumble down the disastrous road she’d chosen. Her threat to move south—even contemplation of such a move—was coming way too soon in the grieving process. Dan died just three short months before. Beebe was committed to diffusing Lizbeth’s churning anger toward her mother-in-law.
Twice, Beebe had been in Arnett’s company: first, in her office behind Swanson funeral home, then in Callie’s front yard. Both times, there’d been a show of theatrics and Arnett fled within minutes.
Beebe had a thought and checked her watch. Time crept past noon. Perhaps an impromptu visit to Arnett was in order. One on one, they could become better acquainted and build a foundation for the following week. And if Beebe went to her, that would preclude another rash exit on Arnett’s part.
She walked over to the couch where her dry cleaning lay. To the suit, she said, “Looks like it’s you and me and Arnett Sebring.”
After changing, Beebe made a beeline from the bedroom to her living room desk. She riffled through the center drawer and several untidy stacks of paperwork before coming up with the tri-folded pamphlet she wanted. The grief counselor would not go to Arnett’s empty-handed. She would welcome Arnett to the group. Standard practice. She’d hand her a pamphlet outlining the stages of grief. Standard practice. And she’d stand ready to be supportive, answer questions, or just listen. Standard practice.
Beebe couldn’t imagine Arnett immediately delving into the information contained in the pamphlet, but she hoped before the trip, Arnett would find a moment to read and absorb the facts presented. Today, Beebe wanted to touch lightly on the anger element, although it had not touched lightly on Lizbeth.
Fifteen minutes later, she stood on the wide, bricked landing at Arnett Sebring’s front door. Behind her, a walkway dissected the lawn. Before her, the door stood open. Beebe rang the bell. She peered through the screen mesh to a foyer and staircase beyond. Arnett stepped into the scene from the right, initially startled when she recognized her visitor.
“Well,” she said, coming over to stare through the screen, “I wondered what her next move would be.”
“May I come in?” Beebe asked when the door wasn’t unlatched.
Arms folded, Arnett leaned back on her heel and took more than a few seconds to consider her response. “You’re not carrying a quilt, so certainly. I want to hear what she’s sent you to say, anyway.” The door was pushed out. After Beebe was inside, Arnett added, “If you haven’t guessed, I’ve become exceedingly resentful of my daughter-in-law over the last few days.”
“I’m truly sorry that’s the case,” Beebe said. “And I’m not Lizbeth’s emissary. In fact, she doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Where have I heard that before?”
Arnett’s sarcastic tone confused Beebe. “I’m sorry?”
“Never mind,” Arnett said. “Go on.”
“Well, it’s just that with the trip ahead of us, I thought we should get better acquainted.”
Arnett assessed her again for a moment, then turned and strolled toward the spacious living room. Beebe followed. Their shoes tapped lightly on Pergo flooring. Beebe’s steps slowed as she crossed the threshold, her attention captured by the baby grand piano and its cushioned bench in the room’s southwest corner.
/> “Do you play?”
There was a regal air about Arnett now. Head high, shoulders rigid, she stood back-to-back with the couch. It was stretched across the middle of the room and faced a coffee table and fireplace. Matching side chairs straddled the table. “John played,” she said, one hand lay on the sofa’s silky fabric. “He was quite accomplished. Mother Sebring taught him.”
On the other side of the doorway, an interesting nook had been arranged in contrast with the rest of the room. A wide upholstered chair was angled in close quarters with a child’s hinged toy box. Within a youngster’s reach, a single book shelf hung on the wall. An array of storybooks lined the shelf. Beebe knew Grandmother Arnett came to life in that corner.
Beebe shifted her gaze. A long, cloth-covered table of framed photographs lured Beebe across the room’s wheat-colored Berber. The table crowded with generations of family members was positioned in front of the picture window draped with white sheers. Beebe guessed the collection exceeded four dozen. There was a mix of ornate and plain frames, everything from aged sepia photographs to vibrant color likenesses. She scanned the faces. Jack Sebring’s was missing. Beebe thought the man had certainly been excommunicated with supreme prejudice.
“This is fabulous,” Beebe said, her hand sweeping the display. “I can pick out Chad and Dan, of course.” They were central to the discussion she hoped to have with Arnett.
Silently, Arnett appeared at Beebe’s side, her focus absorbed by a candid snapshot: Father held son. They wore matching football jerseys. Their sandy hair was tousled, their cheeks rosy from exertion.
“Chad and Dan,” Arnett repeated. “Lizbeth seems to think that she’s the only one who suffers through every moment of every day.”
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