The letter closed with a single sentence saying that the request for a Delayed Certificate of Birth would be held in abeyance until such time as proof of announcement was received.
With her knees about to give way and her heart feeling as though it would explode inside her chest, Angela lowered herself onto a chair. As she read through the letter a second time, her eyes filled with tears, and the words became blurred. A tear splashed on the paper, and when she brushed it away, the clerk’s signature smudged.
“This is not fair,” she sobbed. “It’s not fair. We’re Lara’s parents. We’re the only family she’s ever known. What justice is there in some clerk who knows nothing of our daughter determining whether or not she should be granted a birth certificate? For God’s sake, Lara’s my sister’s child! Why would a parent lie about something like that?”
For a long while Angela remained in the chair, feeling defeated, empty of hope, and fearful of what lay ahead. Yes, Lara would need a birth certificate for a number of things—a driver’s license, college, marriage—but those were in the future. Right now she was only fourteen, and they had to weigh the risk of Murphy seeing the announcement and coming to claim his daughter against her need for a birth certificate.
Angela thought back to the day Vicki had come to live with them and remembered how she’d claimed Murphy was abusive.
Like Daddy.
Once that thought surfaced, Angela could not rid herself of it.
That evening, in the privacy of their bedroom, Angela told Kenny about the letter.
“We know nothing about Murphy,” she said. “He or someone who knows him might still be living in the area, and if they see the announcement . . .” The remainder of her words trailed off because the thought was simply too overwhelming.
Kenny stood there and listened, his face tilted toward the floor, his right hand cradling his chin, one finger pressed to his lips. He waited until after she’d reminded him that Vicki claimed Murphy was an abuser.
“We don’t honestly know if that’s true,” he said. “Your sister said a lot of things that leave room for doubt—”
Looking petrified, Angela gasped. “But are you willing to risk it?”
After a moment of hesitation Kenny shook his head. “No, I’m not. In four years Lara will be eighteen, and at that point she’ll be able to determine her own fate.”
He suggested they wait and revisit the issue after Lara’s eighteenth birthday, and that’s how they left it. Angela folded the letter back inside the envelope, tucked it away in the same drawer as Vicki’s letter, and they never spoke of it again.
THE SMALL ROOM
The morning after Mama Dixon died, Rachel closed the door to her room. The room was full of memories, many of them good, but mingled in with the good ones were images of those terrible days before she’d gone to the hospital, and that was something Rachel was not ready to deal with.
In the days following the funeral, she had little time to grieve. She rose early in the morning to brew coffee and set out plates of food for the visitors who streamed in and out of the house. Friends who had known Helen as far back as grade school came to pay their respects. They brought casseroles and cakes or baskets of homemade cookies, then they sat and talked of how they would miss Helen. The twins stayed home from school, and George left the management of the store to Brad Grover.
Rachel busied herself from dawn to dark: greeting guests, hanging coats, serving cups of coffee or glasses of sherry, moving about the room listening to tales of Helen’s youth and offering sympathy to those who pressed their hand to hers and shed a tear.
Sadie Jenkins came every day, but unlike the others she didn’t sob or bemoan how much she would miss Helen. Instead, she went from room to room gathering the unwashed cups, refilling platters of cookies, and, on occasion, ushering out guests who overstayed their welcome. Late one evening, when the others were gone and the twins tucked in their beds, Sadie sat at the kitchen table with George and Rachel.
“If I can do anything to help . . . ,” she said.
“There’s nothing,” George replied, his voice not quavering, his expression one of resilience and determination.
Rachel looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’d like it if you could come by for coffee once in a while. Mama Dixon and I always had coffee together in the morning.”
Sadie nodded.
Nothing more was said that night, but after everyone else had gone back to their regular routines of work and school, Sadie started stopping by. She’d come once a week, usually on a Tuesday or Wednesday, arriving after George left for the store and the twins climbed onto the school bus. She’d sit across from Rachel at the kitchen table, and they’d talk; sometimes it was just chitchat, but other times they’d reminisce about Mama Dixon, the good times they’d had and the sorrow of losing her.
It was on just such a morning that Sadie said, “Helen and I were best friends from before she married George’s daddy. I was the maid of honor at her wedding, and she was the same at mine.”
The picture of a young Mama Dixon dressed in a frothy bridesmaid dress came to mind, and Rachel smiled. “You must miss her terribly.”
“Oh, I do. But when you get to be my age you’ve only got so many years left, and you can’t afford to waste them on tears. When thoughts of Helen start crowding my head, I look up and tell her to save me a seat at the table ’cause I’ll be there soon enough, then I switch over to thinking of all the fun we’ll have when we’re together again.”
“I wish I could see it that way. For me, losing Mama Dixon is like losing Emily all over again.”
Sadie pushed her coffee aside and leaned in. “Why, those things are not at all the same! Emmy was a baby, taken before you had your fair share of time with her. A mama has the right to expect to spend a lifetime with her baby, so I can understand your misery over Emmy. But Helen . . . Well now, that’s a whole different story.”
“How so?”
“You had a lot of years with Helen. She was a woman whose time had come.”
“That seems rather harsh—”
“It’s not harsh at all! It’s the way of life. Kids can’t expect their parents to outlive them. The good Lord calling Helen home when He did was the natural order of things.”
Rachel gave an almost imperceptible shrug, indicating she didn’t necessarily agree with Sadie. “I don’t think—”
“Think what you want,” Sadie said. “I’m just telling you what I know Helen herself would say: get on with your life and stop wasting the time you’ve got.”
A few minutes later Sadie suggested Rachel had better hurry up and get dressed if she was to make it to the library on time.
Mama Dixon’s room remained closed off all winter and through the sweltering months of July and August, but that September George said he’d like to set up an office at the house.
“It would enable me to do most of my paperwork after dinner or on Sunday instead of staying late at the store.”
Rachel smiled at the thought of having him home earlier. “The upstairs bedroom at the end of the hall would be perfect.”
“I’d rather have the small sitting room down here.”
“That’s Mama’s room!”
“Was,” George corrected. “It was Mama’s room, but now it’s a small room that no one’s using.”
“All the same. Why can’t you take one of the upstairs rooms? They’re bigger and—”
“Because they’re upstairs. When I’m working, I don’t want to hear the kids playing music or talking on the phone with their friends.”
“I’ll tell them to be quiet.”
“That’s ridiculous. Kids are kids. They shouldn’t have to be quiet. All I need is enough space for a desk and file cabinet. That small sitting room is perfect.”
Rachel’s shoulders drooped. “I haven’t cleaned it out yet.”
“Take your time. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow.”
Rachel knew that even so, it was imminent. She
would have to face up to what she’d been avoiding for the past seven months.
A week went by before she even peeked in the door, and when she finally did she regretted it immediately. Although the blinds were drawn, and there was nothing more than a sliver of sun lighting the room, she saw Mama Dixon sitting on the daybed, her face as pale and lifeless as it had been that last day. Rachel backed away, slammed the door shut, and stood there in the hallway, her forehead leaned against the wall and tears clouding her eyes.
She remained there for several minutes, remembering how for more than two years she’d kept Emily’s room exactly as it was the night she was taken. She’d kept it as a shrine, a shrine dedicated to the misery of loss. Thousands upon thousands of hours she’d sat in the rocker looking across at the empty crib, and it had changed nothing. Mama Dixon, with sage advice and kind words, had helped her to move ahead, but even then Rachel had had to turn to George and ask him to carry off the crib. She couldn’t find the courage to let go back then; could she find it now?
Rachel turned toward the door a second time, eased it open, and stood there. As the memories of Mama Dixon flooded her mind she felt her resolve waning.
“I don’t know if I can do this alone . . .” Her words were whisper thin, her eyes again becoming watery.
Of course you can! a voice answered.
Rachel turned with a start. She expected to see Mama Dixon standing there but found herself alone.
“You’re still here with me, aren’t you?” she asked.
The voice remained silent, but by then Rachel was certain she knew the answer.
That morning Rachel emptied out the closet and the drawers. She lovingly folded Mama Dixon’s dresses, slacks, and shirts into the shopping bags she would send off to Goodwill. After the clothes were packed, she filled a box with shoes and handbags and after that another carton with throw pillows, the yellow curtains, and the daybed coverlet.
When the room was cleared of everything else, she disassembled the dressing table and placed the pieces atop the mattress of the daybed. She then called for the Goodwill truck to come and take everything.
When George arrived home that evening, the small room was bare to the walls.
The only things Rachel kept were Mama Dixon’s favorite apron and the small TV that she’d given to Hope so she and her friends could watch American Bandstand in her room. That evening when Rachel prepared supper, she was wearing the apron. What was once Mama Dixon’s favorite had now become hers.
It didn’t happen that same day, but little by little the painful memory of Mama Dixon as she was at the end began to fade. After a desk and file cabinet were moved in, Rachel started to see the room as George’s space. One day without giving it thought, she told Hope to empty the wastebasket in her daddy’s office. The words seemed to linger in the air for a few moments after she’d said them, and she smiled. Although it had been a painful process, she had taken another step forward and was still standing.
A NEW DIRECTION
Hesterville, 1987
Two years after George had converted Mama Dixon’s room into his office, Rachel got a frantic phone call from Marilyn Byrd, one of the gals in the Hesterville Women’s League.
“I hate to impose on you this way,” she said, “but I’m desperate.”
Given the sound of Marilyn’s voice, Rachel envisioned the worst. “What’s wrong?”
“With the kids off to college, I’ve been using the upstairs bedrooms as bed-and-breakfast rentals. My cousin Norma Jean showed up unexpectedly, and I’ve got a rental coming in tomorrow.”
“I don’t see how—”
“With those extra bedrooms you’ve got, I thought maybe this once you could help me out and take one of my rentals.”
“Have a stranger stay here at the house?”
“She’s not exactly a stranger. Cynde Louis has stayed with me once before. She’s a businesswoman who came from the referral agency.”
Several moments passed. The word no was perched on the tip of Rachel’s tongue when Marilyn spoke again.
“Please . . . ,” she begged. “I’m desperate. I can’t toss Norma Jean out on the street, and my reputation with the referral agency will be ruined if I don’t come up with something for Cynde.”
Rachel gave a sigh of resignation. “Okay, I’ll do it. But you’re going to have to give me a rundown on what’s expected.”
Marilyn went over everything step by step, and to Rachel it seemed little more than having company. Of course, she would provide breakfast as she would for any guest, and having the room freshened up was no problem. It was something she’d been planning to do anyway.
Cynde Louis arrived shortly after four on Tuesday afternoon. She looked to be a few years older than Rachel herself but younger by far than Mama Dixon. Rachel took to her right away, and when George arrived home from the store he found the two women sitting on the front porch sipping lemonade.
After introductions were made, Rachel said, “Cynde’s from Atlanta; I was telling her about the year we were there for the hardware convention. What was the name of that restaurant we liked so much?”
“The Palm,” George said, and minutes later Cynde was telling of how she’d had the best steak she’d ever tasted at that very same restaurant. One word led to another, and before long Rachel asked Cynde if she’d like to join the family for dinner.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” she said. “Especially after you were nice enough to take me in on such short notice.”
“You’re no bother at all; in fact, we love having you.”
Rachel gave a smile, and it was as genuine as any George had ever seen. In less than three hours, Cynde had gone from being a bed-and-breakfast responsibility to pleasurable company.
The next morning, long after the kids left for school and George hurried off to the store, Cynde lingered at the breakfast table chatting with Rachel. They talked of the new restaurants that had come to Atlanta, how Cynde had trained to be an insurance adjuster, and what it was like to be traveling five days a week.
“The money’s good, but I don’t love the travel,” Cynde said. “That’s why I stay at a bed-and-breakfast whenever I have the chance. It feels more like home.”
Rachel confessed this was the very first time she’d actually hosted a bed-and-breakfast guest. “I might never have done it were it not for Marilyn asking me to help out.”
“You should definitely continue,” Cynde said. “You’re a natural when it comes to making a guest feel at home.”
When Cynde left two days later, Rachel stood on the front porch and waved goodbye. By then she was certain this was something she would do again and again.
That summer Rachel registered the Homestead Bed and Breakfast with the same agency Marilyn used, and in September she ordered a shingle to be hung beside the walkway that read WELCOME TO THE HOMESTEAD BED AND BREAKFAST. By then Bruno’s muzzle had turned gray, and he was content to lie on the front porch and be petted by newcomers. His services as a guard dog were no longer necessary. He had done his job and done it well.
MOVING AHEAD
Fairlawn, January 1989
After twenty years of working for the telephone company, Kenny McAlister finally got the promotion he’d been waiting for. He would be based in Daytona and become the managing director for all of northeast Florida. The job paid half again what he was making, and the company was going to foot the bill for relocation expenses.
That evening when he broke the big news at the dinner table, he did not get the reaction he expected.
“Moving to Daytona!” Lara exclaimed. “When my graduation’s only six months away?” She pushed back her plate and grew tearful. “Are you deliberately trying to ruin my life?”
Angela tried to calm her, saying things such as “Don’t worry, we’ll work this out,” and “It’s not nearly as bad as it seems,” but Lara stomped off to call her cadre of best friends and tell them the devastating news.
Angela waited until she was gone
and then voiced her opinion. “I’m not too crazy about the idea either,” she said solemnly. “All our friends are here. Our home is here. Vicki is buried here. How can we just pack up and leave everything that’s dear to us?”
Kenny reached across the table and touched his hand to hers. “Don’t you think I’ve considered all that? Yes, it means a big upheaval right now, but it’s only temporary. Once we’re settled, our life will be even better than it is here.”
“I’m not unhappy with what we’ve got—”
“I know you’re not,” he said and squeezed her hand. “But this promotion means a lot more money, which will come in pretty handy with Lara wanting to go to college. She’s already applied to the University of Florida, and if we’re living in Daytona, she’d qualify for in-state tuition.”
“What if she doesn’t get accepted? Or decides she’d rather go to Kentucky?”
“With Lara’s grades, I think she’ll be accepted most anywhere she applies, and as for her deciding to go elsewhere, we’ll deal with that if we have to.”
Angela sat there with a look of despondency tugging at her face. “I really don’t want to leave here,” she finally said, “and I’m certain Lara doesn’t want to either. She wants to graduate with her friends. It’s something she’s been looking forward to . . .”
“I realize that, and I’m willing to compromise.” Kenny suggested he would go ahead and make the move to Daytona, leaving Angela and Lara to stay in Fairlawn until after graduation.
She gave a half-hearted nod of acceptance, knowing it was the only workable solution.
Before the month was out, Lara received a letter of acceptance from the University of Florida, and as it turned out, her friends were thrilled with the thought of having someone to visit in the Sunshine State.
“Daytona is right on the beach,” Kelly May said. “We can do a first-semester break at your folks’ house.”
Carrie Kendall agreed, adding that Daytona was a killer place for spring break. “I heard Brian Fitzpatrick is planning to go there with his friends from the football team.”
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