A Year of Extraordinary Moments (A Magnolia Grove Novel)

by Bette Lee Crosby

  And, on that first day while Alice’s eyes still flickered open from time to time, he said the things she’d not allowed him to say before.

  “You know how much I love you,” he whispered. “I think you’ve known it all along, Alice. How could you not? There were times when I’d sit across the table from you, sipping a cup of coffee, and all the while imagining how sweet it would be if the two of us were married. Why, I’d have married you in a heartbeat if Joe hadn’t gotten there first. A thousand times I started to say something—but you wouldn’t hear of it.”

  The words grew wobbly in Charlie’s throat, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He brushed it away with the back of his hand and gave a heavy sigh.

  “We wasted a lot of years, Alice. Years we should’ve spent sleeping in the same bed and waking up together. You were loyal to Joe, even though he wasn’t deserving of it.” The sound of regret was there, threaded through his thoughts, clinging to all the words that, for too long, had gone unspoken.

  That second night, the nurse never came to remind him of the hour or shoo him from the room. Long after the lights were dimmed and the sound of footsteps gone from the hallway, he remained by her side.

  In the wee hours of the morning, Alice’s eyelids fluttered open, and, ever so softly, she brushed the tip of her index finger across Charlie’s thumb.

  He stood, leaned over the bed, and gently kissed her cheek. “You’re awake, aren’t you?”

  Her finger moved again.

  With his face inches from hers, he whispered, “I love you, Alice. I’ve always loved you. I’m never going to stop loving you.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted in an almost imperceptible movement. A smile. One so small, Charlie could have easily missed it, but he didn’t. It was the sign he’d waited for all those years, her way of telling him she felt as he did.

  Moments later, her eyes closed, and her breathing became labored. Charlie stood beside the bed, her hand cradled in his. He’d said a part of what he had to say, but there was so much more. Years and years of stored-up feelings and missed opportunities. As the minutes ticked by, Alice’s heart slowed, and the green line on the monitor stretched out longer and longer between the spikes that counted heartbeats. For the past few days, it had beeped in a steady cadence; now it came in erratic spurts. Three fast beeps, a long monotonous hum, then a smaller pulse. A flurry of footsteps came from the hall, and the room was suddenly filled with people—a doctor, two nurses, an aide who did nothing but move him aside.

  “You may want to step out into the hall for a few minutes,” she said.

  Charlie didn’t. He had been there for Alice all those years, and he was determined to stay until she no longer had need of him. He moved to the foot of the bed and stood with his hand on the sheet covering her feet.

  Before the sun crossed the horizon, she was gone.

  52

  Saying Goodbye

  The day Alice died, Dominic drank himself into a stupor. It began the night before when he’d felt a sense of the inevitable hovering over him like a black storm cloud. He’d left Murphy’s early and driven past the hospital, but when he turned onto Bellingham Street, he’d lost his courage. He wanted to see her, but not as she was. To see her in such a state was the same as seeing her dead, and he couldn’t deal with that. On the way home, he stopped at the liquor store, bought a bottle of bourbon, and carried it back to the house.

  When the call came, it felt like the last nail in his coffin. He’d stood there with his stomach heaving and his hands trembling as he listened to Dr. Willoughby tell how she’d gone peacefully and not suffered. Moments after he hung up the telephone, he threw up in the kitchen sink.

  Afterward, he poured three shots into a juice glass, carried it into the living room, then sat on the sofa and cried. “I miss you, Grandma,” he sobbed. “Sure, I’m hurt that you went behind my back and started visiting Lucas, but I ain’t mad at you. I accept you got your reasons, but if you’d given me half a chance, we could’ve talked it out. I’m blood, Grandma. You said it yourself, I’m blood. So why? Why’d you, of all people, turn your back on me, too?”

  When the juice glass was empty, he went back to the kitchen and refilled it. All afternoon, he raged about the unfairness of life and swore that given more time, he would have straightened out the mess he’d made.

  The bottle was more than half empty when the doorbell rang.

  “Go away!” he yelled.

  The bell chimed again and then again. Dominic ignored it and downed a long swallow of bourbon.

  A short while later, a key clicked in the lock, and the door swung open. Charlie walked in with a McDonald’s bag. He set it on the coffee table and dropped down on the sofa.

  For almost five minutes, they sat side by side, neither of them speaking.

  Charlie leaned back, rested his head against the cushion, and looked up at the ceiling. His legs were stretched out, his body as limp as that of a man who’d gone without sleep for a week.

  Dominic remained hunched over with his right hand curled into the fist he kept smacking against his left palm, the bourbon bottle now at his feet. Twice he gave an exasperated huff, hoping the uninvited guest would leave.

  When it became apparent Charlie wasn’t going anywhere, Dominic asked, “What are you doing here, Charlie?”

  “Your grandma said I was to look in on you, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  “I don’t need anyone to look in on me. Just get out of here and leave me alone.”

  “Alice said you’d say that. She knew you’d take it hard and told me I needed to be there for you.”

  Dominic bent over and lowered his face into his palms. “Look, Charlie, I can deal with this myself. I don’t need you hanging around to tell me Grandma was a good person.”

  “Alice was a good person. She was the kind of woman who found good in everybody.”

  Dropping his hands into his lap, Dominic raised his head and turned. “Almost everybody.”

  “No, everybody. Even you.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Yeah, I found it pretty hard to believe, too, but it’s what she said.”

  Again there was silence.

  “What exactly did she say?” Dominic finally asked.

  “That you were born with the goodness of the great-grandpa you were named for, but it had been stifled by circumstance. ‘Give him time,’ she used to say, ‘and he’ll live up to his name.’”

  Dominic shrugged and said nothing.

  Alice had known this moment was coming, and she’d prepared for it. The afternoon Charlie took her to the lawyer’s office, she’d handed him an envelope.

  “I’m going to need you to take care of my final arrangements,” she’d said.

  At the time, Charlie had asked if maybe she wouldn’t want Dominic to do it, but she shook her head.

  “He’s going to have more to deal with than he can handle.”

  The envelope contained a paid-in-full receipt from the Spenser Funeral Parlor and instructions indicating there was to be a single day of viewing with burial the next morning. In death, she would lie next to Joe, the man she’d married some fifty years ago.

  In Dominic’s eyes, his grandmother was a simple woman, someone who crocheted doilies, drank tea, and attended church socials. He never imagined her friends would not only fill the funeral home parlor but also spill out onto the parking lot. One by one, they came to him with teary eyes and tales of how she’d been there in their hour of need, or of how she’d babysat their children or brought casseroles when they were sick.

  People he couldn’t even place put their arms around him and hugged him close, whispering, “If you need anything, anything at all . . .”

  The viewing was to be from seven o’clock until nine, but before the first hour ended, Ignatius Spenser whispered to his wife that she was to keep the doors open until the last person had the chance to come through to pay their respects.

  Beverly Carter wasn’t from Magnolia
Grove; she was from Brewster, which was seventy miles to the north. Although she’d spoken to Alice only once, she’d read about the funeral and driven over. It was 8:40 when she pulled into the funeral home driveway, but with having to circle the lot three times in search of a space, it was five of nine when she finally got in line. From the moment she stepped out of the car in a red skirt short enough to cause a scandal, you knew she was different from the other mourners.

  With her heels click-clacking across the parking lot, she took her place in line. As luck would have it, the woman in front of her was wearing a hat that made it difficult to see past. Concerned she might not make it inside before the doors closed, Beverly inched up alongside the woman, stood on her tiptoes, and craned her neck, trying to get a better look. Just then the crowd moved forward, and Beverly fell sideways into Emma Huggins.

  Emma pushed her off and frowned. “Whatever are you doing?”

  “Sorry,” Beverly said. “I was just trying to see if the DeLuca grandson is here.”

  “Of course he is,” Emma huffed indignantly. “He’s the only family Alice had!”

  Beverly smiled. “Oh, good. I was worried.”

  “Good? That he’s the only—”

  “Of course that’s not good!” Beverly jumped in. “I meant good that he was able to be here for the services.”

  Emma gave a muffled harrumph and turned away as the line moved forward.

  It was almost ten when Beverly finally got to speak to Dominic. She stepped forward and said, “Sorry for your loss,” then leaned in and whispered, “Call me,” as she pushed her business card into his hand.

  He glanced at the card, then slid it into his pocket.

  The funeral unnerved Dominic. For the past week, it had been one piece of bad news after another. First it was that thing with the private investigator. Then he discovered Grandma, the one person he thought he could trust, was cozying up to Tracy; then he’d learned Tracy was engaged to some other guy. The backbreaker came the day before the funeral. He’d called the gas station to say he wouldn’t be coming to work for a week or two, and Ed Farley had fired him. Told him not to bother coming in ever again.

  “Don’t expect a reference, either,” Farley said. “Because with your grandma gone, I don’t owe you anything. If someone calls here asking about you, I’ll tell them the truth that you’re a liar and a thief!”

  For three nights preceding the funeral, Dominic had been unable to sleep, and he hadn’t eaten anything more than a McDonald’s hamburger and a few fries. The refrigerator was full of casseroles, cakes, and fruit platters, but he couldn’t bear the thought of sitting at that table alone. Yeah, he’d eaten alone hundreds of times back in Philly, but it wasn’t funeral food. It was pizza or Chinese takeout, food that didn’t have a bundle of grief attached to it. To make matters worse, Charlie, who was sitting in the front pew right next to Dominic, sniffled and dabbed a handkerchief to his eyes the whole time Pastor James was speaking.

  After what seemed an eternity, the service ended, but when Dominic stood and turned to go, he spotted Tracy and Lucas with a guy who had to be the fiancé. He lifted Lucas into his arms; then as they left the church, he wrapped his arm around Tracy’s waist.

  The sight of the three of them snuggled up together was like a slap in the face. Dominic imagined them going from the church to a restaurant where they’d celebrate Lucas inheriting his great-grandma’s farm.

  Once that picture settled in Dominic’s mind, he couldn’t rid himself of it.

  Later, as he stood at the graveside, he searched the crowd, looking for Tracy, but she wasn’t there. Neither was the fiancé. A bunch of other mourners were circled around the gaping hole in the ground. They cared about his grandma but not about him. Dominic was alone, more alone than he’d ever been in his life. He’d hoped perhaps somehow, some way, his mama would get word of Alice’s death and be standing there at the graveside to comfort him. She wasn’t. The sorry truth was that nobody gave a crap about him. He had no one and nothing to look forward to, except a bunch of leftover casseroles.

  Pastor James bowed his head and read from Ecclesiastes. “All go to one place; all are of the dust, and all return to dust again.”

  As Dominic stood there listening, he thought back on the previous night and remembered how Tracy had not been among those who’d come to share his grief. She was not one of those who’d whispered, “If you need anything . . .” She was somewhere else, with someone else.

  When Pastor James said the final “amen,” Dominic was lost in thought.

  Charlie stepped forward and laid a single rose on Alice’s casket, then stepped back and nudged Dominic to do the same.

  Afterward, as they walked away, Charlie asked, “Would you like to come over to my place for a bite to eat? A few of Alice’s close friends will be there.”

  Dominic shook his head and walked on. By then, he’d already decided that before a week was out, he’d be gone from Magnolia Grove. There was nothing here for him, not even the money he’d hoped to get for the farm.

  53

  A Changed Outlook

  Dominic was glad he would soon be leaving the smell of sorrow, dirt, and flowers behind. He was sick of strangers asking if he needed anything; the only thing he needed was another bottle of bourbon to get him through the next few days. Then he’d be gone.

  He climbed into his grandma’s Chrysler and drove to the liquor store. When he pulled his wallet from his pocket, Beverly Carter’s card fell out. He read it again. Beverly S. Carter, Sales Agent, Community Real Estate. She wasn’t one of Alice’s Magnolia Grove friends; she was from Brewster.

  What would a real estate agent from Brewster want to talk to me about?

  After he’d paid for the bottle and carried it back to the car, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Beverly’s number.

  She answered on the first ring. Dominic was going to ask what she wanted to talk to him about, but he didn’t have a chance. As soon as he mentioned his name, her voice turned honeysuckle sweet.

  “I am so very happy you called,” she cooed. “I was hoping I could get to you before the others did.”

  “What others?”

  “Why, the other real estate agents, of course. I can assure you that even if you do talk to someone else, no one will get you a better deal than what I can offer.”

  “A better deal on what?”

  “You’re teasing me, aren’t you? Surely you know that farmland of your granny’s is worth a pretty penny.”

  Dominic was too stunned to speak.

  “Come on now, don’t play hard to get. I’ve got a developer who’s already offered three hundred, but if I push I know I can get him up to three-fifty.”

  With his mind racing, Dominic remained silent.

  Beverly gave a feathery sigh. “Well, if you’re determined to play hardball, there’s a possibility I could push him to four hundred thousand. But I’m only going to do that if you’re willing to give me an exclusive listing agreement.”

  Dominic couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Four hundred thousand?

  This was a whole new ball game. He wasn’t going to stand around and let Tracy get her hands on something worth four hundred thousand dollars when it rightfully belonged to him. He needed time to figure things out, get a lawyer, and get squared away before anyone else could find out what the place was really worth. “I need time to think about it,” he said. “You know, with the funeral being today and me grieving my grandma as I am . . .”

  “I understand,” Beverly said in that same honeysuckled voice. “All I’m asking is for you not to talk to another agent until I can firm up an offer, okay?”

  Dominic promised that before he entertained any other offers, he’d call.

  He pressed “End,” then sat in the car laughing aloud. Four hundred thousand was more money than he’d earn in a lifetime of working in bars. With that much money, he wouldn’t need to worry about having a job. He could go wherever he pleased and live like a king. He e
nvisioned the balance in his checkbook with all those beautiful zeros squeezed together on a single line.

  He was thinking about what kind of car he’d like when he remembered the very real possibility that his grandma had left the farm to the kid. She’d been going over there for visits; Tracy admitted it. What else had gone on?

  Had there been a discussion of how much the place was actually worth? Had Tracy lifted her hand and sworn she’d take care of the farm just as Daddy DeLuca had done? The new fiancé—was he part of the scheme?

  The more Dominic thought about it, the angrier he got. On the drive home, he decided there was no way in hell he would let the kid have the farm now that he knew it was worth that kind of money.

  Charlie said Alice saw the good in everybody, even him. Did she see enough goodness to believe he deserved to inherit the farm? Maybe she thought if she left it to him, he’d settle down and take such a responsibility seriously. But then again, maybe not.

  The bottom line was that he didn’t know what his grandma’s final decision had been, and he couldn’t afford to chance it. There had to be a way to make certain he got what was rightfully his. All he had to do was find it.

  That night, Dominic sat on the sofa drinking bourbon long into the night. A thousand different images ran through his mind. At times he could see himself a wealthy man; other times he imagined himself a beggar standing on the street corner as Tracy and her boyfriend drove by in their fancy new car. Images such as that caused a fiery rage to burn inside him.

  In the wee hours of the morning, he decided he would find a lawyer, one who could guarantee he’d get what was coming to him.

  When he woke, tired and bleary-eyed, Dominic brewed himself a pot of strong coffee, then sat at the kitchen table flipping through the yellow pages. He started with Gordon, Smith, and Keller, the law firm housed in the same building as the Magnolia Grove Bank.

  “There’s a lot of money at stake, and I’ve got to know if your firm is the best for me,” he told the receptionist.