A Storied Life

by Leigh Kramer

  A Storied Life

  Leigh Kramer

  LEK Publishing

  Contents

  Untitled

  Untitled

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Acknowledgments

  Author Bio

  A Storied Life

  * * *

  Leigh Kramer

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, or events used in this book are a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. However, the Chicago White Sox are indeed the best baseball team.

  * * *

  A Storied Life

  Copyright © 2018 by Leigh Kramer

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without explicit written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotation used in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover design by Okay Creations

  www.okaycreations.com

  Made in the United States of America

  Paperback ISBN: 9781717355416

  Ebook ISBN: 9781370112661

  For Tracy Eckert.

  Friends who believe in us are to be praised.

  Prologue

  I don't notice the gleam of the mahogany or the pattern of the grain. It's not like me to bypass unexpected beauty, but I'm not certain I see anything at all. The room hums with life as I go through the motions; it is hard to remember how old I am.

  There's a lull and I take it. No one looks at me as I collapse into a folding chair; I might as well not be here. My mind certainly isn't. It refuses to stay tethered to the present. I am a jumble and let myself drift for a moment.

  I was fourteen the last time I saw this place. I spent the night of Homecoming at my father's wake.

  Dad died on an ordinary day. We never notice the moments before our lives drastically change, do we? I was a freshman in high school, just starting to feel as though it might work out. I had made new friends and figured out my classes. It was the middle of October, the trees streaked with gold and amber. The air was crisp and thoughts of family were far from my mind.

  That day I was more concerned about my prospects for the Homecoming Dance. Brad Grath shared three classes with me and I had hoped he would soon notice what a wonderful Homecoming date I would be. With the dance mere days away, I didn't know what my chances were. But I stayed optimistic, the way lovestruck teenagers often are.

  I was oblivious to the world around me. From the moment the secretary interrupted Biology class, to seeing Aunt Elaine in the principal's office, I floated on the promise of young love. I'm still struck by the contrast of those dreamy minutes leading up to words never taken back. What child ever thinks their parent will die?

  Somehow life went on as always. Only years later did I wonder whether we'd missed a sign, something that might have prepared us for the shock.

  It's twenty years later. I stare at the coffin before me as I'm transported to another ordinary day. I search and second-guess myself. My mind had been cluttered by the early morning and the contents of my to-do list. I didn't know to assign meaning to the number of red lights or the car that cut me off.

  I'm helpless and flailing. What comes next? Though I know it won't bring her back, I continue to comb my memory. Maybe this time I will understand the difference between before and after. Maybe this time I will know what I could have done, what we all could have done differently.

  Chapter One

  I sensed the dark even with my eyes closed. I screwed my eyes shut tighter, irritated. It was too early to be awake. Was it the neighbors again? No, they were out of town. A rooster escaped from a farm? Highly unlikely. The squeal of bus brakes? Possible, but it would have stopped by now. My mind struggled to identify the source of my discontent from the comforts of bed. Finally, it connected.

  The blare of the alarm clock made itself known. My hand began the task of untangling itself from the sheets. One eye inched open, aimed toward the clock. It was only six in the morning. If I could just hit the snooze button, I might be able to put this behind me; I wasn't ready for the day to begin. Finally free of covers, the noise mercifully stopped.

  I must have set it wrong.

  Just as I had given myself permission to go back to sleep, remembrance bolted through. Gram called a family meeting. While I've never been a morning person, no one in the Frasier family ignored matriarchal summons. Not even through an alarm clock.

  With this in mind, I stumbled from bed and rushed past the details. Ever since college, I’ve been a well-oiled machine once awake, or at least upright. A shower, getting dressed, and fine-tuning hair and make-up were all accomplished in thirty minutes or less—anything to preserve precious minutes of sleep.

  I rinsed shampoo on autopilot. More time asleep made me happy, and a regular routine meant my thoughts could roam elsewhere. This usually led to daydreaming about painting or a great love affair. Today, however, my mind busily plotted the coming sequence of events.

  As I stepped out of the shower, I reviewed when I would need to leave my apartment in order to be on time. The drive from Oak Park to Geneva could be as fast as forty minutes or as long as...well, it was better not to think about it. I then considered how soon I'd have to leave Gram's to get to work. Had she mentioned why we were getting together? I paused to consider this, eyeing my reflection in the mirror. The circles under my eyes seemed more pronounced this morning. I practiced my happy face, which eased the pallor of my beige skin. It would have to do.

  I snapped back into routine. If I hadn't remembered needing to get up early, I wouldn’t remember the rest of Gram's phone conversation. Since I didn't know what the meeting was about, there was no way to predict how long it would last, though most of the family would need to leave for work sooner than I needed to be at the gallery.

  Applied mascara, added earrings. My hands never stopped, nor did my racing thoughts. In retrospect, I should have paid more attention, not to the minutiae of my morning routine, but certainly to consider what this family meeting was all about.

  As 6:30 drew closer, I upped my speed even more. Hair dried, or at least dried enough. It would end up doing what it wanted regardless. I wavered before my closet. April weather could change on a dime and I tended to run cold. Layers were the name of the game, culminating with one of my favorite cardigans. It wouldn’t hurt to dress cozy if I was starting the day off with family. I considered my reflection in the mirror once more. Not too shabby.

  Purse in hand, I glanced at the clock, then ran out the door. I hurried down the steps, then halted before my car. My foggy mind registered the lack of Irish Breakfast tea in my hand. Dammit. No morning was complete without tea. I wavered with keys in hand, debating whether to risk a traffic jam in favor of my most blessed morning routine. Fear of Gram’s wrath over a late arrival won out. Tea would have to wait.

  The Frasier family was known for last-minute family meetings; I had lost track of h
ow many times I'd had to reschedule other plans for them. My great-grandfather decided long ago whether we worked at the family-owned bank or not, every family member played a role in its operation as share-holders.

  Now that I thought about it, Gram had glossed over the purpose of this particular meeting when we'd spoken on the phone last night. I'd been so busy mentally rearranging my day to make it work, I overlooked her omission.

  The familiar drive to Gram's house started smoothly. I was still on time, judging from the clock on my dashboard. This boded well for when I'd need to leave. This was my frame of mind: wake up, get ready, drive, go to the meeting, get to work. I couldn't think beyond that.

  Traffic increased a bit after I left the highway until I reached Beech Street. There was a parking spot close to the house, an unusual coup. It paid to be on time for any family get together. I didn't stop to see who else had arrived. I grabbed my purse and hesitated, then fished a notebook out from my work bag. If this was a meeting related to the bank, I would need to write down all the numbers and phrases that went over my head. Despite hailing from bankers, I was not a mathematician. I didn't know if this explained why I was drawn to the arts, but it was why I had hired an accountant for the gallery from the start.

  Finally there, it was time to deliver a pep talk. You love your family, I reminded myself. The whole lot could be a bit much this early in the morning. Or any time of day. My grandparents had raised their five children in Geneva and most everyone had stayed in the Chicago-area. Pop died many years ago but Gram carried on, rallying her family around her. Some had ventured elsewhere but eventually we all returned closer to home. Because of this, any family gathering could contain upwards of thirty people—and this was before we started adding great-aunts, great-uncles, and third cousins, twice removed.

  However, family meetings were solely for Edgar Frasier’s clan. With this firmly in mind, I considered my relatives and who to avoid. Who would give me a guilt trip for missing their child's latest piano recital? Who would passive-aggressively ask about my dating life?

  You love them, I reminded myself once more, but didn't move away from my car.

  I needed no such reminder about my grandmother. My parents had bought a house just a few down from my grandparents while I was growing up. My brothers and I invariably went to their house after school, always in the hope that Gram would have fresh-baked cookies. We were rarely disappointed. Mom might have made cookies, too, but Gram's always tasted better. Since Mom loved us as much as Gram did, I could only assume Gram used more butter, not love, when she was baking.

  I finally started toward the house. It had appeared enormous when I was young but now seemed perfectly suited for a family raising five children. I looked at the crisp green lawn and could almost hear the old games of tag, hide and seek, and teddy bear tea party. I smiled, loosening any anxiety about this gathering, and opened the front door, ready for squeals of “Olivia!”

  Uncle Jeff nabbed me first with a quick hug, then relinquished me to the next relative.

  “Liv,” Aunt Elaine exclaimed, as I made my way through the foyer. “I didn't know you were coming. I haven't seen you in a month!”

  My mood continued to improve as I laughed and hugged her. “It wasn't my fault this time. How was your cruise?”

  Elaine, my favorite aunt, was my godmother and had always played a big role in my life. When Dad died, Elaine not only came to my school to deliver the news but stayed at our house while Mom tried to figure out life without him. I marveled at how she’d pulled us through that time without neglecting her own family.

  We chatted for a few moments, catching up. I could hear others in the back of the house but I wasn't in a rush. It's best to ease into Gram's house, and the conversation with Elaine worked. Tension drained from my shoulders. So far, so good. Mom walked through the living room. She did a double take, then waved hello and continued on her way through the house.

  Elaine and I meandered our way back, as she impressed the importance of a cruise experience upon me. There's a movie that says otherwise but I've often thought Elaine came up with the original Bucket List idea. She's only fifty years old but decided long ago she didn't want to miss out on anything.

  I reached the great room, crammed with assorted couches and white people, and searched for Gram in the crowd. My morning-compromised brain noted fewer people than usual. In fact, there were only people over a certain age. As in, I didn't see any of my cousins or my brothers. Had I misunderstood my grandmother’s summons?

  I spied Gram perched in her chair and hurried over to greet her. Gram's face lit up when she saw me. She quickly took my hand and patted it before pulling me down for a hug and a kiss. She didn't seem surprised to see me, the way a few relatives had.

  “Am I supposed to be here, Gram?” I squirmed, as if a spotlight was on me. The granddaughter who screwed up once again. Why didn't I pay more attention on the phone?

  “Oh, Olivia Jane, of course you are!” Gram was the only one who got away with using my full name. I've tried telling her she hasn't lived in North Carolina in a long time, in an attempt to disabuse her of the Southern “two first name” tradition but I will always remain Olivia Jane in her eyes.

  “So the cousins are all just late? What about Ian and Scott?” My brothers must have been invited.

  “No, you're the only grandchild invited this time.” Before I could process this or ask more questions, she let go of my hand and directed me to take a seat.

  I waved to another aunt and found a spot on a couch in the back of the room, stunned and confused. I didn't feel awake enough to be the center of everyone's attention. There usually wasn’t much for me to say at family meetings.

  Except I couldn't figure out why I was the only grandchild there.

  This was unprecedented. Family meetings didn't always include the grandchildren but I couldn't remember a meeting with only one grandchild included. What was different about this time?

  I didn't like being singled out. My heart beat faster and my palms felt damp.

  Was this some kind of intervention?

  I froze, as a thought arose unbidden. Surely not.

  I flicked it away. No one knew about that and that's how it would stay.

  There had to be another reason. As the family's black sheep, it could be any number of things, but no recent shortcomings came to mind.

  My eyes widened as I realized what the morning was really about. Of all the things my family hated about my life, my singleness was at the top of the list. A dating intervention. They were going to force me to try online dating.

  Not if I could help it. I started to sweat. The conversation buzzed around me but I didn't notice. My heart thudded away, rhythmic in its distress. When it comes to fight or flight, flight was my option of choice. I needed to get out, but I couldn't escape without notice, especially if the meeting was about me. What if I suddenly received an important phone call? That could work.

  If I texted a friend to call me, then I could make some excuse up and get out. I mulled over this brilliant plan until I realized I'd left my cell phone in my purse. In the foyer.

  The room closed in and I struggled to take a breath. I could not afford to have a panic attack right now. I tugged at the collar of my shirt. My cozy layers of clothing taunted me and I leaned back into the couch to shrug off my cardigan instead of standing up to make the task easier. I didn't want to attract any more attention. Even so, Uncle Marcus eyed me with disdain as he yelled at someone on his Blackberry. No matter how much technology evolved, he’d never give up his first love. He paced back and forth, the way he did whenever someone was in trouble. I was grateful I wasn’t on the other end of the phone.

  How could I escape a family meeting potentially about me? If my cousins were here, I'd have enough people coverage to slip out undetected. At the same time, if they were here, I'd know my family hadn't been discussing me behind my back. At least not any more than usual.

  I tried to remember what my therap
ist told me about panic attacks. Recenter my mind. Breathe slowly. Remember your surroundings are the same as they were before. Know this too shall pass. As I focused on my breathing, my heart rate steadied, as did my mind.

  I took another deep breath and accepted my fate. If they wanted to berate my marriageless status, I couldn't stop them. I wasn't above walking out if they wouldn't accept “it's none of your business” for an answer.

  All this internal drama occurred while my family was none the wiser. I looked around the room at the clusters and cliques. There sat Gram, above the fray, taking everything in. She was smiling at something, a joke perhaps. Her forehead was furrowed slightly.

  I'd seen Gram a week ago for our usual brunch and bake session. All these years and Gram still had new recipes to teach me. Her kitchen was my second home, a respite. No matter what else was on my mind, I could put it aside over tea, coffee cake, and Gram's fresh perspective. This last visit had stayed light. I was unusually preoccupied with perfecting the hollandaise sauce, not ready for a second opinion about the thoughts roiling through my mind. Gram, bless her heart, hadn't blinked an eye at my evasiveness. Which, now that I thought about it, wasn't normal either.

  Maybe Gram had secrets of her own. No one would ever dare describe Gram as dull; she was forever planning the next charity event, dreaming up a project, or preparing for some exotic adventure. I hoped someday I'd be just like her.