by Patti Berg
“So Heath and I aren’t needed? We’re heading off for a family outing with the kids on Saturday.”
“Oh, heavens no. Go out and have fun. I certainly would, if I were you.”
“Can I come along?” James asked. “Fern’s insisting we clean the garage before it accumulates too much junk, and cleaning garages isn’t my idea of having fun.”
“Well, whatever you both do,” Elena chimed in, “you’d better think of this as your last weekend of freedom. With the walk just a couple of weeks away, not to mention everything we have to do for Paint the Town Purple, you’re going to be busy, with not a minute to even think about having fun.”
Going to Izzy’s ballet lesson that Thursday afternoon was a more-than-fun distraction for Elena. It was a necessity, considering the angst that had consumed her life. Besides that, she couldn’t miss out on watching her little princess pirouette and show off her arabesque, jeté, and plié.
Of course, a quick meeting with two of the hospital board members to give them an update on the walk had made her five minutes late.
Pulling her SUV to a stop along the curb in front of Irena Kozinsky’s stately home in an upscale Deerford neighborhood, she spotted two familiar cars: Sarah’s, as usual, but Rafael’s van was there too. Was her son turning a new leaf, deciding that ballet might be more interesting than he’d imagined? It was one thing for him to watch Izzy dance around the house, but quite another to sit through one of her lessons.
Elena couldn’t help but smile. He was certainly making his mother proud.
Grabbing her purse from the passenger seat, Elena rushed out of the car, up the walkway, through the entry that was well lit by a glistening crystal chandelier, and finally into Irena’s studio, where the music of Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty played throughout the room, telling the story of royal celebrations in a magnificent castle, the battle of good vs. evil, and the triumphant victory of everlasting love.
It was all so beautiful, with Irena, in a black leotard rather than her usual flowing caftan, already instructing her eight little students, all girls, each one dressed in pink leotards and ballet slippers, their hair bound in buns on top of their heads. Izzy’s thick black hair was woven with tiny pink and white silk flowers, handcrafted by Sarah, who was completely in her element here, watching her daughter and looking so picture-perfect and petite, as if she, too, could put on a tutu and easily float about the room.
Elena tiptoed quietly across the hardwood floor and took an empty chair next to Rafael. Dressed in jeans and a navy blue hooded sweatshirt, he sat transfixed, his arms folded across his knees, leaning forward to watch his little girl.
“She’s good, isn’t she?” he whispered to Elena, his dark brown eyes sparkling in amazement.
“She’s pretty special,” Elena said. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she danced professionally someday.”
At the very moment when Rafael leaned back and put an arm comfortably around Sarah’s shoulders, Izzy caught sight of Elena, waved, lost her balance, and tripped, but it was just one moment of distraction, and she immediately got back into step, pirouetting perfectly—or it looked perfect to Elena.
There were other mothers there and another grandmother, women Elena had met before, and they sat almost motionless, caught up in the music and dance.
“Ah, my lovelies,” Irena said, pirouetting around the room, giving her pupils—they were always her little girls, her little lovelies—the opportunity to see what their dancing could look like with a lot of practice and love for ballet. “You will make beautiful Auroras one day. She was always one of my favorite roles to dance and the costumes”—she sighed—“you will love the costumes. So, so beautiful…like you.”
Irena smiled, clapped her hands. “But to be a great ballerina and dance one of the greatest roles in the history of ballet, you must be strong and athletic; your technique must be pure. Watch me always. Observe each movement.” She pirouetted again. “Follow me, girls. Do as I do.”
They weren’t at all in time with the music, but Elena let her imagination soar, as three little girls followed their teacher for thirty-five more minutes, giving it their all, never complaining, getting right back up if they fell down.
As they were winding down for the session, Elena at last leaned back, and for the first time, she noticed that Sarah’s hand was clasped in Rafael’s. He was whispering in her ear, something Elena couldn’t hear; but each touch, each smile, each movement toward each other was tender. They might not yet know it, but Rafael and Sarah were perfect together; and sweet little Izzy, the light of all their lives, completed the picture.
These were scenes Elena prayed she’d grow old watching. With God’s grace, she would.
It was Fern’s idea to play a few oldies but goodies as they worked in the garage Saturday afternoon, wrapped in sweatshirts to keep the chill of late autumn from seeping through to their bones. James thought it might be more appropriate if Sam Cooke was blasting out of the CD player, but Fern was in more of a mellow mood. Sam Cooke gave way to Rosemary Clooney and Frank Sinatra; and she was in her element, rummaging through boxes and humming along as Frank sang about an ant trying to move a rubber tree plant.
As much as working in the garage had put a damper on a weekend that could have been full of fun, James knew it was high time they cleaned out the place and got the workbench in order, with tools hanging in their proper place, rather than lumped together in boxes with odds and ends.
“Here, let me help you with that.” Fern crossed the garage, heading toward James and the workbench. “I know this isn’t my domain, but I do know how to organize and—”
Fern’s legs wobbled and then gave out completely just as she reached him. She grabbed onto his arm, the only thing that kept her from going down. She looked into James’s eyes, a touch of fear radiating between them.
James swept her up into his arms as he’d done so many times and held her close, his heart beating rapidly as he tried to still his nerves. He was thankful Gideon and Nelson hadn’t seen, not when they were digging through boxes and were oblivious to their mom and dad.
“Are you all right?” James asked softly.
Fern smiled and nodded. “Please don’t give me a hard time. But maybe, just maybe, I’ve overdone it a bit today.”
He carried her to a garden chair and set her down, taking off his sweatshirt and putting it over her legs to warm her up.
“Maybe you’ve overdone it for a couple of weeks now.” He held up a hand when she tried to protest. “I know you want to go full steam ahead. But please, honey, couldn’t you slow down a bit? If not for yourself, then for me?”
“I can’t.”
“You can. Please,” he whispered, as a baseball glove went flying from the jumble of boxes Gideon and Nelson were digging through.
He thought for a moment that she might protest again; but she caressed his cheek instead, holding her soft, warm palm against his face. “I thought I was Superwoman. Totally invincible. But maybe I’m not.”
“I was never in love with Superwoman or Wonder Woman or any other invincible female. Just you—and I want you to stick around.”
“Maybe that was the wake-up call I needed. Just a reminder that I should be listening to doctor’s orders—and yours. Take it slowly.”
He smiled and kissed her, letting go of the fear he’d felt when she’d collapsed in his arms. He loved her so much. Losing her wasn’t an option.
Behind him, James heard something tumble, and he twisted around, fear jolting through him again. Had one of the boys fallen?
“It’s only a box, Dad,” Nelson said. “Man it’s a mess back here.”
Fern squeezed his hand. “Go back to work. I’ll be fine”—she smiled—“just watching you.”
James frowned and allowed a slow grin to cross his face. “For some reason this new scenario—me work, you watch—doesn’t seem quite fair.”
“You’re the one who’s been telling me to take it easy. I’m just following ord
ers.”
“For the first time ever,” James mumbled, laughing as an old, flat football sailed from out of nowhere and landed on the junk pile that was growing fast.
“Oh, wow, I think I found something cool,” Nelson said, from where he was wedged between two stacks of boxes in the corner of the garage.
“Whatever it is,” Fern added, “if it’s been hidden and not the least bit missed since we moved in here a year ago, it’s probably something we don’t need.”
“I think it’s some crummy old sign we had hanging up in the tree house,” Nelson said, yanking on whatever it was.
“Not that ridiculous green frog with the crossed eyes that you just had to have?” Gideon asked, trying to help his brother extricate his find. “The one with the tongue catching a bug that said ‘Welcome to Our Pad’?”
A nearly invisible Nelson shouted back, “That’s the one.”
At long last, Nelson jerked the frog sign out of its hiding place and showed it off to his mom and dad.
“I remember that,” Fern said. “I think you were just three or four when we found it at a craft fair.”
“And you wanted it so badly that you cried when we said no,” James added, “so we sneaked back to get it and wrapped it up for you for Christmas.”
“I don’t remember any of that,” Nelson said, “and I really can’t believe I ever liked it. It’s…ugly.”
“Then put it on the pile of stuff we’re taking to the thrift store,” Fern told him. “Somebody else’s kid might fall in love with it.”
Nelson walked toward the get-rid-of-it pile but stopped halfway there. “I was just thinking. What if we gave this to Evan? It looks kind of like some of the burned stuff I shoveled out of the garden center.”
“Great idea,” James said. “But don’t be surprised if he and Maureen don’t want it. Like you said, it’s ugly.”
Nelson propped it up next to his bicycle and took a long gulp from his can of soda. “By the way, speaking of great ideas,” he said, plopping down in a garden chair next to his mom, “I came up with a plan for my science project. Actually, it was Allie’s idea.”
“That’s your radio friend from Australia?” Fern asked.
Nelson nodded. “I told her about your MS, and we’ve talked about it a few times, and she suggested I do my project on the disease.”
“What kind of project could you possibly do on MS?” Fern asked. “Not that I think it’s a bad idea; it just seems totally out of the norm.”
“Not really,” Nelson argued. “As soon as Allie mentioned it, I remembered some of the research I did on MS, and I think I could do a project on the molecular responses of myelin-reactive T cells to antibodies.”
“Whoa!” Fern held up a hand. “Don’t get all technical on me. I may be living with MS, but that doesn’t mean I know all the scientific stuff.”
“It sounds like a great idea,” James stated, “but how would you begin a project like that?”
“I thought I could talk to Dr. Chopra, read everything I can about the scientific findings on MS on the Internet, and hopefully talk to some MS research scientists.”
James nodded thoughtfully. Nelson never ceased to amaze him, and he couldn’t be more proud of what he wanted to accomplish. “I know you want to win a blue ribbon this year. Do you think this could do it?”
“Yeah. I’ve got it all planned out. It’s going to be this really cool 3-D model showing what happens to the nerve lining when someone’s attacked by MS. Allie’s going to help me brainstorm. In fact, she might have e-mailed me, and I’ve been so busy in here, I haven’t checked for a couple of hours.”
“Then go check,” Fern said, shooing Nelson off. His mind was long gone anyway, off into the world of science and geekish Australian girls. They’d get no more work out of him today.
“Mind if I go too?” Gideon grinned. “I don’t have a science project, but Jenni said she’d help me with the recommendation letters I want to send to our legislators.”
“You’re still thinking Annapolis?” James asked, hoping his son would go the army route of West Point.
“I’ve decided to apply to Annapolis and West Point. Maybe even the Air Force Academy.” Gideon grinned as he backed out of the garage. “They can fight over me—and may the best academy win.”
“I think your plans to clean up the garage have gone belly-up,” James said to Fern, when both sons were long gone, “which means twenty years from now it’s going to be as cluttered with junk as the attic was in our old house.”
His pretty wife surprised him when she shrugged. “I thought I’d mind. But you know what? I really don’t. A lot of this stuff might be junk, but there are a lot of memories associated with all our collections. Who would have thought eleven or twelve years after we bought that ridiculous frog sign that we’d be laughing about it today? Twenty years from now I want to be laughing about a lot of other memories too.”
“So this means we can quit working out here? Maybe do something fun?”
“Do you have something in mind?”
James nodded, walking across the garage and pulling Fern up and into his arms. “How about dinner and a movie? It’s not quite the same as a Bulls game, but it’ll just be the two of us.”
“Sounds like a plan. In fact, it sounds like the best plan I’ve heard all week.”
Chapter Nineteen
ARE WE GETTING CLOSE?” HOWIE SHOUTED FROM the backseat of their fairly new three-row van. It was big enough for the family, and it would hold a new addition too, Candace thought, if she and Heath decided to try for a little one of their own.
“Another ten minutes or so,” Heath answered, glancing at Howie and Brooke in the rearview mirror.
“Are there more funky dress stores on that list Elena gave you, or just regular thrift shops?” Brooke asked. Surprisingly, she’d had the time of her life already today. There wasn’t any hint at all of the girl who just a week ago had balked at making this trip…so far, anyway.
Candace had to admit she’d enjoyed shopping with Brooke, being dragged around Reminiscence, trying on 1960s pillbox hats and 1950s prom dresses with skirts that stuck nearly straight out with layer upon layer of starched tulle.
This trip hadn’t been about clothes. It had been to find a piece of furniture or two that Heath and Candace could say belonged to both of them. It was also about having fun, and they were.
Candace twisted around in the front passenger seat. “I know you loved Reminiscence, even when we insisted you look at something besides clothes and jewelry, but Elena told me Salvaged Estates is pretty cool. That the woman who owns it is a bit eccentric, and that we’ll have a great time there.”
“I hope it’s as cool as Elena says. I mean really, Mom, how many vases and pictures can one person look at?”
“I was kind of thinking the same thing,” Heath said, laughing as he turned down a side street in a rather rundown suburban area outside of Chicago. “All those vases kind of turn me off too. You see one, you’ve seen a million. But I kind of see this trip as an adventure. We don’t have to buy a thing. We just have to have a good time.”
“Like going to Disneyland?” Howie asked. “Or to the museum to see Sue the T. rex?”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “Yeah, kind of like that, Howie.”
Of course, when they stopped in front of Salvaged Estates and climbed out of the car, Candace couldn’t help but wonder if Elena had given her the wrong address.
“It looks like a haunted house,” Brooke said. “I hope it’s not full of cobwebs and spiders.”
“Boo!” Howie howled, tickling his sister. Brooke merely rolled her eyes again and marched up the creaking wooden steps ahead of everyone else, but she stood aside when she reached the top, to let Heath go in first.
Heath placed a hand on the tarnished brass doorknob that looked at least a hundred years old. “How come the guy always has to be the brave one?”
Candace linked her arm through his. “Because you’re the biggest and stro
ngest and, to be perfectly honest, most men like to pretend they’re fearless.” Candace grinned at her husband. “You are fearless, aren’t you?”
Heath flexed his muscles like a circus strong man, wiggled his brows, and then turned the knob and stepped inside, holding the door open wide while the rest of the family stepped in.
“Oh, wow!”
Candace couldn’t agree more with Brooke’s exclamation when they were greeted by a shiny suit of armor that had to be at least five and a half feet tall, and a moose head hanging on the opposite wall, its antlers and big brown eyes aimed straight at the armor, as if the two were about to go into battle. Watching the action were a tall Mickey Mouse telephone, a Wonder Woman cookie jar, and a Pluto stuffed animal, all perched on a top shelf.
“Wonder if there’s any rhyme or reason to this place?” Heath asked, as the entryway opened up to a large room filled to the brim with odds and ends, a little bit of everything imaginable.
“And I wonder if we’re the only ones here,” Candace said, “or if the owners are hiding, ready to jump out at us when we least expect it.”
“I would never do that.”
An elderly woman popped out from behind an elaborately carved cherry wood buffet that Candace was definitely going to have to look at. It was probably way too expensive, but it would look so nice somewhere in her antique-festooned home. The woman—who couldn’t have been much over five feet tall, had long black hair, and looked as if she might be a member of the Addams Family—walked toward Candace, using a cane for balance.
“Is there something I can help you find? I noticed you gawking at my suit of armor. Although it isn’t original, it is an authentic reproduction, almost an exact replica of one worn by Charles I of Spain back in the sixteenth century. And…it’s priced quite reasonably at only eight thousand dollars.”
Howie tugged on Candace’s hand. “Can we buy it, Mommy?”
“Oh, I don’t think so, sweetheart. It’s a wonderful piece, but it’s far too expensive,” Candace told her son, then faced the proprietor. “Actually, we’re just browsing.”