Beads of Doubt

by Barbara Burnett Smith

  Even sitting in the counselor’s office, looking at the calming blue painting on the wall, the words didn’t help. Oh, some part of me knew that she was right, and I still know it’s true, but there’s a difference. With someone who’s terminally ill, death seems more prominent. Every day it’s in your face and in your heart. Every day you’re looking for that piece of magic that will stop the disease. There are also those days that you just don’t believe it’s true. Mostly though, you know it is, and your heart feels as if it’s going to break with the fear.

  I thought about Andrew Lynch, so young and still dead. Unexpectedly. Sometimes life made no sense at all.

  “Does he read yet?” Tess asked.

  “Cliffie? Well, he’s only five, but he has mastered reading in two languages. We’re working on several others.”

  She smiled and we went on to talk about my kids.

  I have two. Will is twenty-nine and a marketing whiz for some techno-geek company. He’s also single and a workaholic. My daughter, Katie, is thirty-one, married, and going through a snippy phase. Since she is the mother of my three adorable grandchildren—twins Cliffie and Shelby, five, and Gabrielle, three—I try to humor her. Or appease her.

  Tess doesn’t have children, just two ex-husbands and a marvelous Airedale terrier named Rafferty. “How is Raff doing?” I asked.

  “Wonderful. He’s just a great guy.”

  A nurse came in, interrupting the conversation as they do. She was wearing scrubs in orange and gold with some kind of tropical print on the top. “I need to get some vitals.” She checked the IV bag.

  I stood up and noticed that the bed on the other side of the curtain was empty. “Hey, Tess, did you know there’s no one over there?” I asked.

  “The woman just left a couple of hours ago. It’s nice, isn’t it?”

  “Very. Can Tess move over there?” I asked the nurse. “It’s a lot brighter and cheerier.”

  The nurse nodded. “No problem. We can do that right after I finish this, but I’ll have to get someone else in here to help. We’re not allowed to move patients alone.”

  Tess looked up at me. “You’re still changing the world—”

  “One bed at a time,” I finished. She smiled.

  While they went on with the hospital routine, I stepped into the patient bathroom in the corner of the room. There was a toilet, a sink with a mirror over it, a box of rubber gloves on the wall, and a string hanging from a switch near the toilet. It was marked Emergency.

  The bathroom was overly bright and smelled funny. Actually, I think every inch of every hospital smells funny, so I stay out of them as much as possible. I took my time going to the bathroom, then washed my hands and ran my fingers through my blondish hair. I needed a brush. My purse was outside, so I opened the door to find that I was blocked in by a bed. They were moving Tess over.

  I reclosed the door and looked around. Actually, this bathroom was not nearly as clean as I thought it ought to be. The top of the chair rail was dingy, and there was some kind of greenish stain on the wall above the toilet. It didn’t bear thinking about, but I could clean it. Tears welled in my eyes. If only it was so easy to clean the cancer out of Tess’s system . . .

  Sometimes the only thing you can do is keep yourself busy—do something constructive. I couldn’t do anything about the cancer, but I could at least give Tess a clean bathroom. I slipped on a couple of the plastic gloves, grabbed some paper towels, and squirted them with antibacterial soap. Then I went to work.

  First I cleaned the mirror, then the sink, then around the toilet. Finally I tackled that chair rail. I was only halfway done when there was pounding on the door.

  “Are you all right?” someone demanded.

  “Open the door!” another said.

  “Who’s in there?” a third voice yelled.

  Good lord! I jumped and threw the paper towels in the trash.

  “I’m in here,” I said.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Of course!” I said. “I’m fine.”

  “Open the door. Now.”

  I ripped off the gloves and trashed them as well. Who knew it was illegal to clean the bathroom?

  I opened the door to find three nurses staring at me. “What?” I asked.

  One of them pointed to the string and the emergency switch. “You must have hit that,” she said.

  “Oh.”

  “You need to turn it off,” another added.

  I flipped the switch and tried to look calm. “I’m so sorry.”

  As they walked away, one of them stopped to add over her shoulder, “Oh, and the bathrooms are only for patient use.”

  I straightened my slacks, and stepped out into the hospital room to find Tess in her new spot only a few feet from the window. She was smiling. “Leave it to you,” she said, “to make even this place exciting.”

  An hour later the sun was going down, and I had coaxed Tess into eating a little of the food off her tray. Most of the time we’d sat in silence, but I knew she was glad not to be alone. I thought her color looked better, but I wasn’t sure if that was because I was getting used to it or because the transfusion was working.

  When she finally drifted off to sleep, I went outside on a patio to make a quick cell-phone call. I didn’t want to break any more rules, and this place seemed to have a lot of them.

  I’d forgotten that I had turned off my cell earlier, so when I turned it back on, I was surprised to find that I had missed five calls. That worried me. I never have more than one or two messages. I flipped through the recent calls. There were three from the Manse, one unknown, and one from Lauren.

  I hit the button to call the Manse. I could only hope that the abundance of people trying to get a hold of me didn’t mean that something had happened to my mother.

  “Let her be all right,” I whispered, listening to the distant ringing.

  It was Beth who answered. “Hello? Camden Manse.”

  “Beth, it’s me. Is everything okay? My mother—”

  “She’s fine, but there are a few other things you need to take care of.”

  “Me? What? What’s up?”

  “Well, let’s see. First, Sergeant Granger is on his way over. He got loose a little early and he’ll be here at seven forty-five.”

  “No, problem,” I said, looking at my watch. It was seven thirty. “I can be there in ten minutes. Just give him some food and tell him to wait.”

  “Great. But you forgot one more little thing, too,” she said.

  I wracked my brain and then I remembered. “If you’re talking about Lauren, I meant to call and tell you she was coming. You let her stay, didn’t you?”

  “Of course. No, Lauren is all taken care of, and she told me she has some information for you,” Beth said. “But that’s not what you forgot. I’m talking about your date.”

  “My date—” And then I remembered. I had a date with Nate Wright.

  A half hour ago.

  Nine

  The parking lot was empty, and the Bead Tea had ended its first day. The only sign of its existence was the big teal and white tent. The guard waved as I started toward the house.

  “Hey, Charles,” I said.

  “Good evening.”

  “Do you need anything to eat or drink?” I asked.

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

  And that’s when it occurred to me that Charles might have information about the murder that I could use to appease my mother and Aunt Miranda. I wasn’t feeling exactly guilty about not going by the police station, and I wasn’t feeling exactly good about it either. God knows I didn’t owe Houston any favors, but there were other people involved. I always wonder if other families have the same convoluted standards that mine does. For the sake of everyone I know, I certainly hope not, but I’ll bet they do.

  “Charles,” I said, moving closer so I didn’t have to shout. “Did Sergeant Granger talk to you today?”

  “About the murder? My manager called me at home and w
oke me up to meet with the sergeant.”

  “Sitting here, you have a pretty good view of the parking lot.”

  “Well, not the whole thing, but I can see through that split in the bushes.” He gestured and I turned to look.

  I could see the light pole rising up above the hedge, and I could see the Dumpster, or a corner of it, beyond the fence. “I guess everyone’s doing their part. My cousin has been at the police station for hours giving information to the officers. Houston Webber. Do you know him?”

  “I know who he is.” Charles grinned. “He has a horse that he runs at Retama Park, Rebecca’s Cinder Sage. That horse never loses.”

  I presumed by the grin that Charles often bets on the horse, but I didn’t ask for clarification. “I’ll remember that,” I said. “Charles, did they give you a range of times when Andrew Lynch could have been murdered?”

  “They asked about some times, and when I saw people leaving.”

  Aha. Now I was getting somewhere. “What times did they ask about?”

  Even before he spoke, his sorrowful look told me I wasn’t going to get the information I wanted. “I’m sorry, Miss Camden, they asked me not to discuss my interview with anyone.”

  “Oh, of course,” I said. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t anyone, but I didn’t. “Well, thanks anyway.” I finished with a wave. I didn’t offer him any additional snacks since he wasn’t cooperating with me.

  Through the kitchen window I could see the breakfast table, with several people gathered around it. There was my mother, Beth, Lauren, my brother Stephen, and Nate Wright. Seems I was missing a party.

  If Charles hadn’t been guarding the tent I think I’d have backed up and done some primping, but it was too late for that. As they say, plunge ahead anyway, so I did.

  “That looks good,” I said as I entered. In the center of the table was a big pot of tortilla soup. “Nate, I’m so sorry I forgot our plans.”

  He stood up as I came in. I expected his devil-may-care smile, but instead I saw concern. “Beth said you were at the hospital with a friend. How is she doing? How are you?”

  “She’s having a lot of tests, so that’s the first step.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “A little worn, but that could be age more than the day.”

  “Never,” he said, pulling out a chair for me. “Your mother was thinking of making soup for herself and we all pitched in.” I noticed that around the soup pot were smaller bowls that held all the fixin’s, such as sliced avocados, grated cheese, tortilla chips, fresh chopped tomatoes, and sour cream.

  “It’s wonderful,” Beth said. “You’ll be glad you aren’t going out to dinner.”

  My brother was tsking at me. “You know, if you carried a Blackberry or an Axim, you wouldn’t forget appointments. You could set an alarm to remind you—”

  “If I had one of those,” I said, putting my purse on the counter and taking a chair beside Nate, “I’d spend my life trying to figure out how to make it work.” My arm brushed against Nate’s, and the electricity was so strong I expected to see an arc of light between us.

  Stephen already had his Axim out. “Look, I’ll show you. It’s so simple, even you can figure it out.”

  “Why, thank you, Stephen.” I rolled my eyes and caught Nate grinning in my direction. It made me think of my first date and how Stephen had done the same kind of thing then. At the time I’d been mortified, and Stephen had been totally unaware of what he’d done. Kind of an innocent Brad Pitt. Always adorable, never quite on this planet. “You can show me the blueberry another time.”

  “It’s a Blackberry, only I have an Axim.”

  “Stephen, let her eat,” Beth said, handing me a bowl. “She looks tired.”

  I ladled soup into it. While I added a small dollop of sour cream and a few chips, my mother patted Nate’s arm, then said to me, “Kitzi, I want to know why you haven’t introduced me to your Mr. Wright before this.”

  I’m sure I stuttered before I remembered that Wright was Nate’s last name and my mother wasn’t assuming things about our relationship.

  “Uh, he’s, he hasn’t been around much.”

  “So I understand, but we’ve enjoyed him so much. And how in the world could you have forgotten a date with him?” She smiled up at Nate. “Our family is partial to charming men, and missing a date with one isn’t something usual.”

  “I was a little early,” Nate explained. “I refuse to think I’m that forgettable.”

  My mother laughed with delight, and said, “I assure you, even at my age I would never forget you. A handsome man who can also cook is rare.”

  “It’s nice that you appreciate my cooking talent. I just call it assembling and heating.”

  Stephen was still playing with his handheld computer, Lauren was eating, seemingly stunned by the flirtation between my mother and Nate, while Beth was openly enjoying every second of it.

  “I don’t cook at all anymore,” my mother said. “I tell people the kitchen just came with the house.”

  Nate smiled. “You know what Katherine Cebrian said. ‘I don’t even butter my bread. I consider that cooking.’ But I think she was an extreme case.”

  Mother patted Nate’s arm again. “And you’re erudite as well. Kitzi, you really have to treat Mr. Wright better in the future.”

  “I promise I will,” I said.

  She nodded. “Good. Now, just to prove that I’m not as pampered as Katherine Cebrian, I am going to contribute something to this meal. I think ice cream is called for. If Kitzi doesn’t have some up here, I do have some in my freezer.”

  Nate gave her a crooked smile. “I knew you were the kind of woman who could lead me astray.”

  “You can stand a little ice cream,” she said, eyeing him.

  Beth laughed and even Lauren appeared to be enjoying the flirtation at this point. I wanted to smile, but I had a sudden vision of Tess, twenty years younger than my mother, alone in a dark hospital room.

  The soup suddenly wasn’t very tasty.

  The doorbell rang and I jumped up. “I’ll get it.”

  “No, I will,” Beth said. “It’s Sergeant Granger.”

  Stephen put his handheld away, stood up, and headed toward the back door. “I’d better go.”

  “Stephen,” I said, “wait just a minute. I’ll walk you out.” I turned to Nate and said, “I’ll be right back. Don’t let my mother carry you off anywhere.”

  Once outside Stephen’s steps grew longer, like he was trying to get away from me.

  “Slow down,” I said.

  “Kitz, I need to go. I’m meeting Debby.”

  “What?! Why in the world—” Which was not a very polite question to be forming, since Debby is his ex-wife and the mother of his one child, my niece, the adorable Lily. “Is Lily okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure. She’s fine. She misses not seeing me so much. You know.” He had his hands in his pockets like a kid.

  “I can understand that Lily misses you, but that doesn’t explain why you’re meeting Debby.”

  He sounded belligerent. “I guess I should just tell you—I’m trying to get us back together. Debby and me.”

  “Oh.” I nodded, trying to look interested rather than appalled. “I’m a little surprised. I mean, your divorce has only been final, what, a year? It took forever; I’d think you’d want to enjoy your freedom.” Besides, Debby was never going to be happy with Stephen, at least not until he won a big lottery or fell into a gold mine.

  When they’d gotten married, Debby was thrilled to be Mrs. Stephen Camden. At the time Stephen was a wealthy man. However, once she and Stephen had emptied his trust fund and she’d realized no one was going to refill it, she became a very unhappy woman. An uncle on my mother’s side took Stephen in on some real estate investments. Those had kept them going for a while, but then Uncle Jack retired. Then they borrowed money from everyone in the family, and at some point I refused to loan them any more. While that annoyed them b
oth, I think they assumed they could change my mind. I didn’t, and worse, at least in their eyes, I wouldn’t listen to their whining. I thought it was perfectly obvious that both of them needed to get real jobs and cut back on their spending. Debby thought it made more sense for me, or my mother, to keep them.

  Debby had perfectly good reasons for thinking we should “help them out”; at least they were good reasons for her.

  First, she saw our funds as “family” money. She’s from the what’s-mine-is-mine-and-what’s-yours-is-also-mine school of thought. She also said that Lily wouldn’t have to go to day care if we supported them. I countered that if just one of them would get a full-time job the other could stay home with Lily. Debby said that the job market was tight, she’d been blackballed by some former employer, and Stephen was holding out for a management position. Neither of them seemed to grasp that an employer didn’t just give you a job—you actually had to work.

  More than once Debby and I had exchanged some rather pointed words.

  Stephen shrugged his shoulders at my comment about his freedom and continued to look toward the driveway. “I’ve had my freedom, now I want us to get remarried.” He turned back to me just long enough to say, “And, Kitzi, I may have to borrow some money from you. I can’t explain, but it’s important. I’ll pay you back.”

  Right. “Why do you need money?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Stephen,” I said, trying my best not to sound exasperated. “This whole thing makes no sense to me.”

  “We have a complicated relationship.”

  Maybe they did, but I didn’t see how since I was pretty sure that Debby was simpleminded. “Stephen, can we have a talk about this before you go off and do something rash? Say, next week? You come over and I’ll fix your favorite shepherd’s pie, and—”