“You didn’t wake me.” Lizbeth took a seat on the opposing couch. “I’m usually up several times in the night. At home, I would check on Chad, wander the house, then lie back down for another few hours.”
“You’re fortunate to have Chad.”
“I agree, but a full night’s sleep would be appreciated, too.” Lizbeth studied Callie. “Have you slept at all since we arrived?”
“Very little. I didn’t think I would. That’s why I brought the sacks of clothes.” She gestured toward the kitchen table. Lizbeth looked over to the tabletop cluttered with folded fabric, patchwork squares, scissors, and a pincushion. “That’s my routine at home. If I can’t sleep, I get up and work a while. When I’m ready to try sleep again, I usually read first, but I’d like the DVD to work.” Callie looked at the frozen image on the television. “Jack wanted to record this vacation. He promised me I’d be glad I had it, but I couldn’t bring myself to watch it after he died. I knew seeing him, remembering how much we enjoyed each other’s company, would only worsen my suffering. So it sat. Then last April, on my birthday, I started missing Jack, and I lost it. That night, the memories flooded back. Everything reminded me of Jack. I cried until I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want that kind of grief back. I had to fight. I thought about the DVD and Jack’s promise. He saved me that night.” She fingered the remote. “I’d forgotten he called me Dingdong. Watch, it’s coming up.”
Scenes progressed until John was behind the camera. His robust voice said, “For all you viewers out in TV land, guess where Dingdong is?”
Lizbeth laughed. His camera lens was trained on a string of four port-a-lets set on a barren patch of ground. Callie exited the third stall. Smiling broadly, she shook her head, realizing she was the butt of a potty-humor joke. “Look at her,” he continued. “She is so happy.” Lizbeth heard the love in his softly spoken words.
Callie stopped the video there. “If I watch the DVD at bedtime, I think it makes me dream about Jack.”
Lizbeth, in the light of the television screen, felt herself recoil.
“What’s wrong?” Callie dropped her feet to the floor. “What did I say?”
Lizbeth used shaky fingers to comb strands of hair off her forehead. They ran through beads of perspiration. “I have nightmares almost every night,” she said.
Those words summoned Callie. In two steps, she sat on the cushion beside Lizbeth, a sympathetic arm around her shoulders.
“They’re always the same. Trees crash to the ground. Angry lightning flashes,” Lizbeth said, seeing the events play out in her mind. “I race toward the scene. Dan is there, but I can’t get to him. There’s always an ear-shattering crack of thunder that wakes me up. I sit straight up in bed, soaked with sweat, just like I’d been out in the storm. I stare at Dan’s side of the bed, trying to catch my breath, then I run to Chad’s room.”
Callie picked up the storyline without hesitation. “And he’s always there. Safe and sleeping. Jack loved that little guy. When he learned his cancer was terminal, he told me how he would especially miss watching Chad grow up.” She gave Lizbeth a squeeze, then leaned toward the coffee table for the tissue box that sat there.
After Lizbeth dried her eyes and nose, she looked down at the quilt Callie haphazardly threw over their laps. It wasn’t Dan’s as she initially thought. Carefully, she straightened the folds. The quilt was constructed from her father-in-law’s clothing, and quite cleverly. Many of the six-inch patches were embroidered emblems representing golf courses around the country.
“It occurs to me,” Lizbeth said, “I haven’t thanked you for my quilts. I hope you don’t feel I don’t appreciate them; I do.” She looked at Dan’s quilt spread across the entryway table. “It just seems like accepting the quilt would symbolize the perfect concession for Arnett.” Of course, Lizbeth knew Callie was fully aware of the all-encompassing complexities: Dan’s clothes, Lizbeth’s gift, Callie’s hand-stitching, that connection to John. They were all sewn into it. If Arnett could just trust that in time, the anger and grief would pass, then the quilt would become a treasured keepsake.
“I think I’ll try to get a few hours. You should, too.” Getting up, Callie went back to her couch. She laid the quilt over her. Inspired, Lizbeth went for Dan’s quilt and curled under it on the second couch. The women smiled at each other, then with the remote, Callie doused the television’s light.
Life Dreams
Lizbeth’s thankfully dreamless sleep was interrupted when Beebe shook her awake. Beebe patted down a wide yawn and announced she’d take everyone to breakfast. “Snap it up, girls. Let’s get ourselves in and out of the bathrooms in short order. We’re goin’ to town!” She pushed her generous hips into rotating motion while she shook a soulful finger toward the ceiling.
Forty-five minutes later, they were belted into Callie’s Santa Fe. She managed an end-around move that got the SUV’s front bumper edged toward the road. A car the size of a tank, old and spinach green, whizzed by with a long, vicious blare from the horn. Its occupants were an older couple. The driver, a woman, seemed to speed up in her downhill flight. Callie swore when the woman swerved toward the SUV. An opposite reaction made more sense if the woman thought Callie intended to pull onto the road. Seated behind Callie, Lizbeth gave her the all-clear from up above, and they set out.
In addition to breakfast, Lizbeth wanted an internet connection to see the photos her brother, Patrick, posted of Chad on Facebook. From the Country Kitchen restaurant, they piled back into the SUV and headed toward the heart of Baron. They caught a green light at the depot. Lucius’s truck was not in the lot, but the town itself showed activity. It was Monday morning, and Baron was open for business.
The library sat two blocks down on Armament, just past a hole-in-the-wall diner and a storefront housing the Blue Ridge Credit Union. Callie swung into a narrow lot besides the red-bricked building and angled into a parking space. The building had a Colonial feel with its long, white-shuttered windows. Lizbeth led the way up the front steps and through the double-door entry. Ranks of shelved books occupied the left side of the main room. They zigzagged through a reading area, past study tables and the circulation desk to a computer alcove.
The ladies crowded in behind Lizbeth’s chair. With familiar ease, Lizbeth accessed Patrick’s page. Photos of Chad were artfully arranged. Beebe and Callie pointed and commented on each. Lizbeth’s favorite photo depicted Chad cross-legged on the floor, facing the TV, his back to the camera, Nemo on the screen.
Of another photo, Arnett said, “That could be Dan. Just like his father, Chad was born with his thumb in his mouth.”
That fact was mentioned for Beebe and Callie’s benefit. Lizbeth was well aware of the remarkable similarities between father and son. Patrick’s photo captured Chad curled into a couch pillow, half asleep, sucking his thumb, a curly lock twisted around his small fingers.
Lizbeth felt a hand on her shoulder. “Wait,” Arnett said, “I thought Chad gave up sucking his thumb.”
“He’s relapsed since he lost his daddy. I haven’t pushed him to break the habit again.”
When Beebe spoke Arnett’s name in a low, concerned tone, Lizbeth turned and saw Arnett moving toward the door. Her slumped shoulders and shuffling gait seemed to tell a story of loss and suffering, unbearable and weighty. Beebe, ever ready on a whim to counsel the grieving, hurried to catch her. Lizbeth felt true sorrow for Arnett, even responsible for a share of it. Lizbeth put a high price on this peace summit. Her compassionate thoughts were short-lived.
Callie followed Beebe and Arnett out a moment later. Lizbeth wondered if Beebe still planned to ride with Callie to fill a grocery order at a place called Godfrey’s. Lizbeth signed off the computer, then scooted outside. She looked around. None of the ladies were present. She wanted to
call home, but read a text first. Patrick wrote that, as predicted, he was called into the office. Starting Wednesday, his vacation request would kick in, then he’d devote all his time to Chad until her return. Lizbeth gravitated to a grassy strip next to the parking lot. She sat at a picnic table under a shady elm and called Patrick’s house. Debbie answered.
She surprised Lizbeth by saying Chad, always a ball of morning energy, was still in bed at nine-thirty. Surprise drifted to wariness when Debbie told her Arnett called the afternoon before. Chad’s feelings were hurt. He waited up, expecting a call from his mother that didn’t come. That resulted in difficulty getting him to sleep.
While Debbie carried the phone to Chad’s room, Lizbeth was up and pacing. How had Arnett managed a call home? Had she found a square foot of ground where cell phone reception leaked into the mountain range? And how Arnett-like the call was; both in completing it, then keeping silent afterwards. She used and upset Chad, and by extension, Patrick and Debbie. Lizbeth could foretell Arnett’s argument: Chad needs to know Grandma loves him. If he begged and pouted for Arnett to grandsit him, then what could Lizbeth possibly do?
All hostile thoughts involving her mother-in-law cooled when Lizbeth heard her son’s waking moans. She pictured his accompanying frown, knew his right thumb would bear a red mark, the imprint of his lower teeth. His left fist would scrub his eye, then both hands would reach for the phone. He gave her a sleepy hello.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she cooed.
. . .
Lucius started up the library steps when he saw Lizbeth crossing the parking lot, carrying her phone, her expression tight. He jogged around the wrought-iron banister and back to the sidewalk. It was indeed his good fortune to finally find the fourth of these women alone. Lizbeth was about to receive his warm and sticky comfort for the soul.
They were ten feet apart when she saw him. “Come on.” He smiled, hand on hip. “Give them up. I just saw Callie and Beebe. Callie told me you’ve got pictures of that beautiful child. Let me see.”
Lucius gathered this information while Callie was stopped for the light at Armament and Carmody. At the time, he was watering the pansies planted around the depot’s sign. She yelled Lizbeth’s location out the SUV’s window.
He took Lizbeth’s elbow, and they strolled back the way he came. It pleased him that she showed a slim line of teeth. The tension in her pretty face released. She manipulated her phone, showing him two digital snapshots. He gushed over her adorable son and was photographically introduced to his aunt and uncle. Lizbeth used the term scrunch to describe the extra-tight hug Chad bestowed upon Debbie. Likewise, in the second photo, Chad’s short arms were flung around Patrick. The adults were a good-looking couple, Debbie’s features darker than her husband’s.
“He’s a lovin’ on them, isn’t he? You and your brother favor one another, but I don’t see a speck of you in Chad.”
“Oh, he’s his daddy one-hundred percent.”
“I find that comforting for you: reminders of Dan alive in Chad. It makes the most of a difficult situation.” Softly, he said, “Something to treasure.”
She gave him an emotional nod.
“And your other son, Geoff. How’s he doing?”
“Back at school.” Her voice was steady. “He went early this year to help with freshman orientation. I hated to see him go, but it was best. He needed the busy atmosphere, and his friends. He calls more frequently.”
“He’s worried about his mom.”
“Some, I suppose. We’ve always had a connection, he and I.”
“And I believe you always will.”
They reached the intersection across from the old train station. Lizbeth seemed to understand the depot was their eventual destination although he hadn’t said as much. They stepped out into the crosswalk far enough to see past a car parked at the curb, just in case they could jump the light. Lizbeth, walking and talking and looking at Lucius, didn’t see the car coming up behind her.
Lucius made a quick calculation. His heart dropped into his stomach. The driver of the oncoming green sedan was cutting the corner much sharper than necessary. The sedan’s path would pick Lizbeth off. He lunged for her in the crosswalk, grabbing her arm and yanking her back. She stumbled as he pulled her to him, and the car sped past.
“That’s the same car!” Lizbeth said, breathless. Their gazes followed the sedan up Carmody.
Still rattled, Lucius hauled Lizbeth back to complete safety on the sidewalk, his mind tripping over the same horrible thought Lizbeth put into words.
“I’m a single parent. What if I’d been killed? My sons would be orphans.” After the introspective moment, she waved a finger under his nose. “That car nearly creamed Callie’s at the end of Heatherwood’s driveway this morning.”
Hearing that caused Lucius to snap other facts into place. “The O’Malleys own a car like that,” he said. “They’re Heatherwood’s neighbors. Their place isn’t visible from the road. I saw Arnett talking with them up the street when I went looking for you.” A light shone brightly inside his skull. “That explains it.”
Lizbeth tucked hair behind her ear. “Explains what?”
“Where Arnett’s walk really took her yesterday.”
Lizbeth was right behind Lucius connecting the dots. “She was next door, talking trash to Callie’s neighbors about me. Probably Callie, too.” She stared after the sedan again. “Old people using their cars as weapons,” she complained.
“I heard that, missy,” a cross voice said.
Lucius and Lizbeth spun to see Sylvia Boyle barreling toward them.
“I was right back there.” Sylvia stretched out her arm and set a saggy bicep swaying. She pointed toward a dark spot in the park. “I saw you two walk against the light. Now don’t go blaming Timothy.”
Rocking back on his heels, Lucius said, “Eleanor was driving.”
That reined Sylvia in. “Really.” She gave her head a discouraged shake. “He’s broken or lost his glasses again.”
“Now that you mention it, I did see Eleanor and Tim standing out front of Doc Quinn’s place.”
“It’ll take a week to get them replaced.”
Lizbeth got them back on track. “Eleanor’s got a lead foot,” she charged.
Sylvia straightened. “But she can see fine, missy. And she’s a senior. Keep that in mind.” Lucius knew Sylvia. She was offended by Lizbeth’s “old people” comment. She took a step to leave, then stopped. “And sometimes their cars are the only weapons they’ve got.” With that, she stomped off.
Lucius and Lizbeth looked at each other, their eyes bright with controlled laughter. Only when the appropriate walk signal beckoned did they cross the street.
“What were we talking about? Oh, the O’Malleys—” Lucius said. “Actually, Arnett might not have just been talking trash to Eleanor and Timothy.” Lucius peered over at Lizbeth’s quizzical expression. “We had a moment together yesterday, and I told her the O’Malleys own a landline.”
Lizbeth laid a manicured hand on Lucius’s forearm, slowing their step over the curb. “That’s how she called my brother’s house when we hadn’t come to town. She talked with Chad yesterday. I couldn’t figure out how. No doubt she made contact with Stella and Gary, too. The sneak!”
Lucius inquired into the relationship those two played and was informed they were Arnett’s sister-in-law and son.
Lucius gave her his best smile. “Lovely. Truly a family affair,” he said. “And speaking of lovely, your alabaster skin in Florida? Come on?”
The two of them arrived at the train platform in the depot’s side yard. They sat on the planked walkway with their backs to the street and dipped their f
eet into the void over the tracks. Beyond the tracks, an overgrown arborvitae hedge provided privacy. The constant breeze passing lightly under the narrow, angled roof flirted with her hair.
“You think simple vanity would keep me from going to Florida? There’s product I can use, Lucius. And if Arnett doesn’t come around, then I’ll tell her I’ve got to go.”
“You’re making a choice,” Lucius said, not buying her story. “And I have to wonder if your decision isn’t driven more by an overwhelming desire to punish Arnett, rather than a conscious judgment that life for you and Chad would be better lived in Florida.”
They entered healthy-debate mode; accusation nor anger were participants. “My decision is driven by an undeniable calling to follow a dream Dan and I conceived a long time ago. Since his death, I think about it more and more. I don’t see Arnett coming around to my terms. And honestly, I don’t plan to give an inch on my demands.”
“No negotiation?”
“None.”
“For a dream.”
“A dream that should have been reality. Haven’t you ever had a dream, Lucius? Not a vision for the completed depot. A life dream. A dream that tapped you on the shoulder one day and said, ‘Fill your life up with this. This is worthwhile. Do this with the love of your life and be happy forever.’ For Dan and I, that happened just after college.”
“What prevented it?”
“Mother’s privilege prevented it.”
Wild Raspberries Page 16