Scrap Everything

by Leslie Gould

  Rebekah caught her arm. “Elise, don’t worry about it.”

  “How can I not?” Elise started toward the house. “It’s all I think about.”

  Elise parallel parked her car in front of the Scrap Shack. She had ridden Sky around the pasture that morning without any problems, but as she rode, she decided she couldn’t take advantage of Rebekah’s hospitality with her horses and ignore her the rest of the time. So here she was at the store for Midnight Madness.

  The six o’clock news came on the radio. “Three U.S. soldiers died in separate bombings in Iraq today.” Elise gripped the steering wheel and tried to swallow. The panic stuck in her throat. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She would check the BBC after Midnight Madness to get an idea of where the bombings were. The chances that one of the three was Ted were nearly nil. She knew that. Still, every time a report came across the news, she fought her fear.

  She had told Ted last night never to bring up her being tested again. Not on the phone. Not by e-mail. Not to the boys. She knew that his intentions were good, driven by his desire to see Pepper healed, but he was making her life miserable. He had apologized. He seemed to finally understand.

  She turned off the ignition. The husband of their neighbor in Georgia had been killed in the first days of the Iraq War. When the chaplain’s car had parked in the shared driveway between the two houses, Elise had called Ted to the window. They’d waited. She half expected a scream or a wail, the house to shake, the street to split in two, or at least the neighborhood to tremble. Something. Tarry’s life had just been blown to pieces. After the chaplain had left, Elise and Ted had knocked on the door. Tarry stood in her entryway, squeezing her two-year-old son. They played with the baby while she made phone calls. Ted went to the store and picked up milk and cereal. Elise washed the dishes and did a load of laundry. A month later Tarry moved to Sacramento, where her parents lived.

  Where would Elise move? She wouldn’t want to move anywhere without Ted. She wouldn’t want to stay in Forest Falls. She wouldn’t want to move to Seattle. She wouldn’t want to be, without Ted.

  She grabbed her box of Mark’s photos and the scrapbook off the passenger seat. She had finally finished the sorting. Tonight she would begin grouping the photos.

  Sandi slid her cutter through a piece of lavender paper. “John and I went into Salem last night. We saw The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.”

  “Was it good?” Elise settled into her chair. It would be nice if John would take the boys to a movie, and that would have been the perfect movie.

  “Loved it.”

  “So what’s going on between you and John?” Elise opened the box of photos nonchalantly.

  “We’re just friends.” Sandi shrugged. “I’ll be honest, though. I like John—a lot.”

  Elise smiled.

  “But he wants to give things time. It hasn’t been that long since Maude died, and he wants to be sensitive to Ted’s grief. You know, all of that.” She sighed. “All the things I taught in my grief class.” Sandi positioned the lavender paper on a page. “I’m fine with that. I can wait. I’ve learned not to put my hope in other people.”

  “What do you mean?” Elise sifted through the photos.

  “They always let you down.”

  “So you have to put your hope in God, right?” Elise hoped she didn’t sound cynical. It just sounded like such a cliché.

  Sandi nodded.

  “And then you can blame him if the kids don’t turn out and your marriage fails.” Elise laughed. Or your husband goes far away— No, wait, she could blame Ted for that. Unless he was dead. She pulled out a handful of photos.

  “Elise.” Sandi leaned back. “Are you okay?”

  Elise pressed her fingertips against her temple. She’d said too much. Now Sandi would tell John, and John would tell Ted. “I’m just stressed.”

  Sandi took a deep breath. “My husband was a pharmacy rep; he traveled all the time. I pretty much ran the farm and worked part-time. We didn’t have kids, and I was still stressed when he was gone.”

  Elise stared straight ahead.

  “I know.” Sandi sighed. “It’s not the same as having a husband in Iraq.”

  Elise touched Sandi’s arm. “And then your husband died.”

  Sandi nodded. “And then I realized what stress was.” She pointed at Elise’s scrapbook. “When are you going to get started on that?”

  “Tonight. Well I was going to start grouping the photos tonight, but they’re sort of out of order again. I think one of the boys was snooping—probably Michael.” Elise pulled out the first three photos of newborn Mark.

  Pepper and Ainsley clambered up the stairs. “Look, Mom!” Pepper held up a cell phone. “Ainsley has a camera phone, and we just took a picture of a raccoon.”

  Rebekah smiled. “Cool, sweet pea.”

  “It wasn’t as scary close up as I thought.”

  Rebekah took the phone. “Well, don’t make a habit of getting too close. They can be pretty mean.”

  Elise bent over her photos. She could just imagine the pictures Ainsley could take with a camera phone.

  Rebekah handed the phone to Ainsley and then stopped at Elise’s table. “Pepper said that Mark’s birthday is next week,” Rebekah said.

  “I was going to talk with you about that. He wants to go to Seattle, but Michael doesn’t want to go. Could Michael stay at your place?” Elise’s other choice was to ask John. She knew Michael would rather stay with Reid, even though Elise hated to ask.

  “Sure, anytime.”

  “Remember when we went to Seattle, Mom”—Pepper gave the phone back to Ainsley—“and Reid got sick outside the fish market?”

  Rebekah nodded. “And he hasn’t eaten fish since.” She turned to Elise. “When are you leaving?”

  “Thursday at noon, which means Mark will miss two days with the horses.”

  “No problem.” Rebekah smiled. “Reid can take a turn.”

  “Make Michael help.”

  “Where are you going?” Sandi sat down with a brownie in her hand.

  “Seattle. For Mark’s birthday.” Elise looked at her photos as she spoke.

  “What are you going to do?” Sandi asked.

  “Go to a couple of bookstores. Take Mark to the music museum. Maybe go by the aquarium and the market.”

  “And look at houses?” Sandi held her brownie in midair.

  “Why would you look at houses?” Pepper pulled up a chair next to her mom’s. Rebekah put her arm around Pepper and whispered something in her ear.

  Elise shook her head. “I won’t have time.” She would pick up fliers, though. She glanced at her watch: 6:45. She wanted to go home and check the BBC.

  Rebekah scooted the scraps of paper into the recycling box. It was 11:50. Everyone had gone home but Sandi.

  “John’s afraid that Elise is going to move to Seattle.” Sandi wedged her scrapbook into her tote.

  “While Ted is in Iraq?” Rebekah dropped the box against the wall. “No, I think she wants to move next summer.”

  “He thinks she’ll find a house while he’s gone.” Sandi zipped the side pocket over her cutter.

  “That doesn’t sound like Elise.”

  “She’s not exactly happy here.”

  “What would make her happier?” Rebekah folded a chair.

  “Who knows?” Sandi wheeled her tote to the top of the stairs.

  Rebekah folded another chair and headed to the closet. “I don’t think that she feels safe here.”

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “I think she feels judged.”

  Sandi folded a chair. “Rebekah, what are you talking about?”

  “I think she felt like she never measured up to Maude’s expectations. Now John keeps making negative comments about Mark.”

  “And tons of positive comments about Michael.”

  “The positive never outweighs the negative.” Rebekah headed to the closet with two more chairs.

  “M
ark is a handful.”

  “Elise is doing her best.”

  “She babies him.”

  “So she’s not a perfect mom. Let’s indict her.” Rebekah flipped the table on its side. “She moves here to make Ted happy, he gets orders to go to Germany, and then he volunteers to go to Iraq. It can’t be easy for her.”

  “Military spouses deal with this every day.”

  “And now she feels pressured to get tested to see if she’s a match for Pepper.” Rebekah folded the table legs.

  “Is she going to get tested?” Sandi plopped down on the couch.

  “I don’t want her to. She’s not available to donate a kidney.”

  “John would help.”

  “Like he has so far?” Rebekah pulled the table to the wall.

  “He’s trying.”

  Rebekah collapsed on the couch beside Sandi. “Here you are helping me out, and I’m wagging my tongue—about a family that’s none of my business.”

  “No. It is your business; you care about them.”

  Rebekah stood. Sandi was right. She did care about Elise, and it had nothing to do with her blood type. “I’ll be honest. I didn’t like Elise at first. She seemed pretentious and needy. But I’ve grown to appreciate her, to really like her.”

  Sandi sat forward, her hands on her knees. “I hope they don’t move. I’d like to give her a chance, but you’re right. I guess I wouldn’t blame Elise if they did.”

  A bus parked in front of the shop. Rebekah hurried to the window. She had heard of busloads of quilters traveling from state to state to visit fabric stores. Wouldn’t it be great if a busload of scrappers had found the Scrap Shack?

  Women began to file off the bus. Retired women. Then a man, more women, and a couple more men. A group headed through the door. “Hi,” the first one called out. “We’re with a senior group from Portland. We’re on a field trip.”

  “Welcome to Forest Falls.” Rebekah smiled her cheeriest smile. “There’s coffee upstairs. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

  A white-haired man approached, looking for a forest-green album. He’d grown up in Idaho and wanted to start a heritage album. Rebekah showed him her Italian leather line that included a masculine-looking dark green book. The man thumbed through it as the shop phone rang.

  It was the school secretary. Rebekah turned toward the wall, afraid that Pepper was not doing well.

  “Hey, Reid isn’t in fifth period. You didn’t check him out, so I thought I’d call.”

  “He should be there.”

  “Michael is absent this period too.”

  The nice man with the green album stood at the counter.

  “Thanks. I’ll get right on it.” She didn’t want to close the shop. She rang up the elderly man’s choice and told him that Mark Twain had scrapbooked. The man laughed. She called Sandi’s cell as soon as the man turned away. No answer. A woman approached the counter with a handful of travel stickers and explained that the group went on a field trip once a month and this was the first time they had visited Forest Falls. Rebekah rang up her merchandise and then dialed John’s number. Sandi wasn’t there. Rebekah reminded John that Elise was in Seattle and then rattled off the story.

  “I’ll go check the park.” John hung up quickly. Thank goodness he wasn’t one to chat. Twenty-two customers and an hour later the last of the group left the shop. Rebekah wanted to high-five herself. If only a senior group stopped by the shop every day, even once a week. She had offered to teach a class to them if they came back.

  She dialed John’s home number again. No answer. He was the man without a cell; she would have to wait. As she hurried upstairs to retrieve the empty coffee carafe, the door buzzed. She hurried to the railing as John walked into the shop with the two boys slinking behind him.

  “I found them at Ted’s.” John wore his leather jacket and black work boots.

  Rebekah bounded down the stairs. “Reid.”

  “It was my fault.” Michael stepped around his grandfather. “Lunch was really nasty. They had these vegetarian sticks that they try to pass as fish, which made us both sick—me because I like fish and Reid because he doesn’t. Anyway, I suggested nachos at my house.”

  “You’re not supposed to go home for lunch.” Rebekah clutched the carafe with both hands. Elise made her boys lunches every morning; Reid told her that at least three times a week.

  “I know we’re not supposed to go home. That’s why it’s my fault. I suggested it.”

  “And then we got on the computer.” Reid hung his head.

  “And then they hid when they heard my key in the lock.” John crossed his arms.

  “How did you know they were there?”

  “The two plates on the table. I knew Elise would never leave dirty dishes in her house.”

  Rebekah stifled a giggle; she’d left a kitchen full of dirty dishes just this morning. “John, could you take them back to school? Make them apologize to their teachers and see what punishment the principal has for them.”

  John nodded.

  “Please don’t call my mom.” Michael put his arm on Rebekah’s shoulder. “She’s already stressed.”

  “We’ll see.” Rebekah put the carafe on the counter.

  Why had she been vague with Michael? Of course she was going to call Elise. She headed to the storeroom, dialing Elise’s number.

  “Is everything all right?” Elise asked.

  “Just fine. Where are you?”

  “Olympia.”

  “I just wanted to update you on a little expedition Michael and Reid came up with today.” Rebekah sat down on a box of paper. “They decided to have lunch at your house and skipped fifth and sixth period.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  Rebekah could hear Mark laugh. Rebekah continued. “John found them and took them back to school and made them apologize to everyone. They got detention and missed practice, and they probably won’t start in Tuesday’s game.”

  Mark laughed louder.

  “Hold on a second. I’m taking you off speaker.” Elise paused. “I’m sorry—sorry about Michael.”

  “I think it was a good lesson for them.”

  “Was John furious?”

  “He did surprisingly well. I think it was a good lesson for him too.” Rebekah smiled. Michael wasn’t perfect after all.

  “Thanks, Rebekah.”

  Rebekah stood. “I miss you, girl.”

  “Thanks.” Elise’s voice relaxed just a little. She hesitated and then said, “I miss you too.”

  What’s going on?” Mark turned his sleepy head toward Elise. “Traffic.”

  “Where are we?” he yawned.

  “Just north of Tacoma.”

  “What are you listening to?”

  “Classical.”

  Mark scowled and closed his eyes for a moment. “I can’t stand it. It’s sucky music—old-lady music.” He shifted his body away from her, hunkering toward the door.

  Elise slammed on the brakes. The Toyota wagon ahead of her swerved onto the shoulder. She slammed harder, barely avoiding the corner of the car’s bumper.

  “Mom, are you trying to kill me?” He shifted in his seat.

  She took out the CD. He turned his face toward her and smiled. She switched the radio on for the traffic report. “Northbound traffic is bumper to bumper from the Tacoma Dome into downtown Seattle due to an accident north of the Convention Center exit. Now for the news. Ten U.S. soldiers were killed in a roadside bombing in Iraq.”

  The cords in Elise’s neck tightened as she switched off the radio. “What do you want to listen to, honey?”

  “Nothing.” He pulled his hood over his head and turned toward the door.

  Two hours later they checked into the Alexis Hotel.

  “This is a chick hotel.” Mark walked ahead of Elise through the lobby, scanning the potted plants, overstuffed chairs, and ornate molding. They usually stayed in military lodging.

  “Would you like to dine this evening at the
Library Bistro?” the clerk asked.

  “Mom.” Mark rolled his eyes. “I’d rather get pizza.”

  “The Library Bistro sounds great.” Elise took her Gold Card from the clerk and tucked it back into her wallet. “We’ll get pizza tomorrow,” she whispered to Mark.

  “How did you find a chick hotel with a library restaurant?” Mark stomped toward the elevator. Thirty minutes later he sat in the faux reptile-skin booth with his arms crossed. “What are we doing tonight?”

  “We’ll go to the bookstore where I used to work, where your dad and I met, and then we’ll walk along the waterfront.”

  “Not another bookstore.” He tipped his head to the shelves that lined the walls of the restaurant, shelves filled with books.

  “The fish and chips are supposed to be really good here.” Elise put her menu down.

  “I hate fish, remember?”

  “You do?” She picked up the camera and took his photo.

  Mark scowled. “Hello. Michael likes fish. I’m Mark. I hate it.”

  It began to rain as they walked into the bookstore. Elise breathed in the closed-up smell of the stacks of books mixed with the aroma of coffee from the café. The old wood floors creaked under their feet.

  “Is there a chair where I can sit?” Mark asked.

  “Come with me.” Elise headed for the poetry section.

  Mark slumped against a bookcase. “I’ll wait here.”

  She stood where she and Ted first met, but it wasn’t the poetry section anymore, it was the technical books section. She wandered to the fiction section and then found her way to poetry and to Yeats and pulled his collected works off the shelf. She read “When You Are Old” quietly and slowly: “Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled and paced upon the mountains overhead.” She could move the boys to Seattle without Ted.

  No.

  That wasn’t what she wanted for her family. What did she want? What did she want for herself? A house in an old Seattle neighborhood. She used to think she wanted to own a bookstore, but that was out of the question with big chains all over the city now. A Barnes & Noble or a Borders could be found in nearly every neighborhood. Maybe she could work at one. She winced. She put Yeats back on the shelf. She missed Ted. She wanted nothing more than to grow old with him.