Silver Threads

by Bette Lee Crosby

  The third house they looked at was the one closest to the plant, a ten-minute drive at most. It was a large brick colonial with four bedrooms upstairs and two downstairs.

  “Plus there’s the maid’s quarters off the kitchen,” Emma Jean said.

  The kitchen was immaculate with a large stainless steel Sub-Zero refrigerator and an island that featured a built-in Jenn-Air grill.

  Brooke looked around then tugged on Drew’s sleeve. “This looks like a princess house, Daddy.”

  He smiled. “Yes, it does, but it’s way more room than we need.” He looked across to Emma Jean and added, “And twice as much as I want to spend.”

  They left the house and drove back to Emma Jean’s office where he’d parked the car. It was easy to see the disappointment in Drew’s face but almost impossible to know whether it was because of the houses that were unsuitable or the last one that was more than he could afford.

  By then it was late in the afternoon. Drew swung by the third realtor’s office and filled out the application with specifics as to what he was looking for.

  Crystal Mayer had only been in the real estate business for one year, but she had a knack for reading people. It was said that she could look into the face of a homebuyer and know exactly what the person was looking for.

  “I’ll bet you’ve been out looking at houses all day,” she said. Her voice was soft, velvety almost.

  Drew gave a weary nod. “Does it show?”

  She chuckled. “Sort of. Why don’t we sit here, have a cup of coffee and talk instead of running around town to look at more houses you probably won’t like?”

  “Sounds good,” Drew said.

  “Me too?” Brooke asked hopefully.

  “For little girls I suggest a drop of coffee with a whole lot of milk. How’s that?” She glanced at Drew looking for approval.

  He smiled and nodded.

  Crystal disappeared into the back room and returned with a bowl of water for the dog and three mugs. She set the water on the floor and handed Brooke the mug with milky pale coffee.

  As she settled back into her chair she said, “So, would you like to tell me a bit about yourself?”

  It had the sound of an invitation as opposed to a prod, and Drew felt comfortable with it. He began by telling bits and pieces of their life in Clarksburg then said they’d lost Brooke’s mama but gave none of the particulars. He also left out the story of Eddie Coggan. Some things were better pushed to the back of the closet and forgotten. He said with Jennifer gone he wanted to live somewhere fairly close to the plant because Brooke needed him.

  As they spoke she jotted notes on the tablet at the side of her desk. She wrote without looking down and never took her eyes from Drew. It was as if her hand operated independently of her mind and moved of its own accord. As she listened she began to visualize him in a three-bedroom Cape Cod, not small, but not too large either. White, probably, with blue shutters at the windows and flowerboxes filled with greenery. By the time he stood to leave she knew exactly what he needed.

  The problem was she didn’t have a property of that sort available.

  “I believe I know what you want,” she said. “Let me ask around, and I’ll call if I can come up with something. Is there a number where I can reach you?”

  “We’re staying at Memory House,” he said, “but it’s best if you call my cell.”

  After they left the office Drew drove back to Memory House. Realizing they’d shown up unexpected and the Doyles had been kind enough to give them a room, his thought was to take everyone out to dinner. It was early enough that the drive back to the highway restaurant wouldn’t matter.

  When they arrived back at the house Drew again stepped to the porch and rapped the brass knocker. Annie was back in the kitchen, so Oliver answered the door.

  “There’s no need to knock,” he said. “The door’s almost always open.”

  “Well, I thought since it’s your home and not really a bed and breakfast—”

  Oliver laughed. “Apparently you inspired Annie, because she’s decided to reopen the bed and breakfast.”

  Trailing behind Oliver, Drew asked, “Is that a good or bad thing?”

  Oliver turned with a smile. “Good. Doing things for other people makes Annie happy and when she’s happy, I’m happy.”

  The comment made Drew think of Jennifer.

  “I’ll bet she’s the type to give someone a gift for doing something as simple as watering her geraniums, right?” he said.

  “Absolutely.”

  When they got back to the kitchen the twins were already in their high chairs. Starr spotted Brooke and squealed, “Ook.”

  Brooke laughed. “It’s Brooke. Try it. Say buh, buh, buh…”

  “Buh, buh, buh,” Starr repeated.

  “Okay, now say Brooke.”

  “Ook.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The weekend came and went uneventfully. Drew and his daughter remained at Memory House, and Annie refused his offer to take everyone out to dinner.

  “It’s enough that Brooke is helping with the twins,” she said.

  Drew received three calls from Fred Wilcox going over things he thought he might have forgotten to tell him and another call from Brian Carson checking that they’d arrived safely and his meeting with Wilcox had gone well. Unfortunately, there were no calls from any of the realtors.

  Across the Pond

  Drew was still living at Memory House the Monday he took over management of the Southfield Printing plant. That week almost flew by as he settled into familiarizing himself with the nuances of the operation and the people working there. In what seemed little more than the blink of an eye Monday became Friday, and not just any Friday but the Friday before Labor Day.

  In five days the kids started back to school.

  He’d held off registering Brooke because the way things stood he wasn’t certain whether they’d be living in the Burnsville district or not. So far the only affordable houses he’d seen were in Langley or Dorchester. Frank Elgin had shown him a tiny apartment in downtown Burnsville, but it was a one-bedroom on the third floor of a stodgy-looking apartment building. Granted, it had an alcove that would accommodate a single bed, but Drew simply couldn’t imagine Brooke being happy in a place such as that.

  In the time they’d been at Memory House Brooke had once again become herself. She was slowly but surely turning back into the happy child she’d been before Jennifer was killed. Drew knew it was because of Annie and the twins. Brooke acted like a little mama to those babies, and Annie treated Brooke as one of her own. She was always right there, keeping one eye on the three kids while she went about her work. Yes, Brooke was happy here, but living at a bed and breakfast wasn’t something that could last forever.

  On Saturday morning Drew woke filled with resolve.

  “This weekend we have to find a place to live,” he told Brooke.

  “Why?” she asked. “I like it here.”

  “I know you do. But even though the Doyles have been nice enough to let us stay this long, we’ve got to move on. If we’re underfoot much longer they’ll—”

  Brooke thumped her hands on hips the way she’d seen Marta do.

  “I’m not underfoot,” she said with an air of indignation. “I’m babysitting!”

  It was all Drew could do not to laugh. “Well, Annie doesn’t need a live-in babysitter, so we still have to find a place of our own.”

  With that he turned and headed for the bathroom to shower and shave. When he returned to the bedroom, he saw there was a message on his cell phone. He half-expected it to be Brooke having one last word as she sometimes did, but when he checked his voicemail it was a message from Crystal Mayer. With all the new people he’d met that week it took a few seconds for him to place the name. He selected “Listen to message.”

  “Hi, Drew. This is Crystal Mayer from Corner Realty. I have a property I think you’ll like. It’s a two-year rental, probably with an option to buy, but you’ll have to act
fast because this one is gonna go like hotcakes. Don’t bother coming to the office. It’s closer if I pick you up at Memory House. Nine-thirty. Be ready and bring your checkbook. Bye.”

  After so many disappointments, Drew was almost afraid to believe this was the real thing. He replayed the message twice, each time listening for some telltale sign or secret message tucked between the words. There was nothing; just the friendly sound of Crystal’s voice.

  He thought back on the day he’d met with her. Unlike the other realtors, she’d not tried to shuttle them around town looking at everything from a pup tent to a penthouse. She said only that she’d call if she could find something right for him.

  Drew glanced at his watch then told Brooke to get ready. They’d be leaving in twenty minutes.

  At precisely nine-thirty Crystal pulled into the driveway and beeped the horn. Drew shoed Brooke out the door, and they climbed into the car. Crystal shot him a bright-eyed smile.

  “You’re going to love this,” she said. “Three bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, mint condition and…”

  She backed out of the driveway, drove half a block, then turned into the small street that circled around to the far side of the pond.

  “It’s right here in this neighborhood!”

  “A rental in this neighborhood?”

  “Yep!” She gave a self-satisfied nod. “A stroke of luck if I’ve ever seen one!”

  It was no more than five minutes before she turned into the driveway of a charming two-story Victorian with a large bay window in the front and a gingerbread trimmed wrap-around porch.

  Drew eyed the flowering azalea bushes and manicured lawn. “You sure this is a rental?”

  “With a two-year lease,” Crystal reminded him.

  He followed her up the walkway then stepped back as she rang the bell. Brooke stood behind him, craning her neck to see inside.

  The woman who opened the door was neither young nor old but was impeccably dressed. Crystal stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the woman.

  “Congratulations, Francine,” she said. “Gerald must be thrilled.”

  “Very much so,” Francine answered. “Although it’s only for two years, he’s all but certain it will become permanent.”

  Crystal turned back to Drew and explained. “Francine’s husband Gerald has been offered a teaching position at the Sorbonne.”

  Drew gave an appreciative nod.

  Turning back to Francine she said, “And this is the lovely family I told you about. Drew Bishop and his daughter, Brooke. Drew is the new plant manager over at Southfield.”

  After the round of introductions, Francine began to show them through the house. To the right of the foyer was a cozy study with bookcases lining one wall and a padded seat circling the bay window. Beyond the staircase leading to the upstairs bedrooms there was a living room on the right and dining room on the left.

  Before they started upstairs Francine excused herself, saying she had a thousand errands to run and was confident leaving them in Crystal’s capable hands. Brooke scrambled up the stairs ahead of everyone, and before they reached the top landing Drew heard her give a gasp of delight.

  “Daddy,” she called. “You’re not going to believe this!”

  Following the sound of her voice, they found her in the back bedroom with the French doors open to the Juliet balcony. She raised her arm and pointed almost directly across the pond.

  “That’s Memory House!” Looking up at Drew with her eyes sparkling she asked, “Can I have this room, Daddy? Please?”

  Although Drew knew in his heart he’d already decided, he said, “I haven’t rented the house yet.” Catching the crestfallen look on her face, he added, “But as soon as I do, yes, this can be your room.”

  A squeal of delight was followed by a very enthusiastic hug.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you a bazillion times!”

  Drew turned to Crystal.

  “I guess we officially like the house.” He mimicked a wince then asked. “What’s the rental?”

  “Not bad for this area. Fifteen-hundred unfurnished, Sixteen-hundred furnished. Two months’ security and a two-year lease.”

  Drew gave a thoughtful nod then turned to Brooke who was now pushing back and forth in an enameled rocking chair.

  “What do you think, this furniture or the furniture from back home?”

  “This!”

  Drew laughingly turned back to Crystal. “The young mistress says she would prefer the house furnished.”

  After they left the house, they walked out to the backyard and down the slope to the pond. Pulled up onto the grassy edge of the bank was a weathered canoe and paddle. Brooke saw it and grinned.

  “Does this come with the house?”

  “Do not even think about it,” Drew said. “You are not allowed near this pond unless I am with you. Is that understood?”

  The grin faded. “Yes, sir.”

  A Changing Life

  Two weeks later Francine and Gerald flew off to Paris, and Drew moved into 1220 Lakeside Drive. He had the moving company store the furniture they’d taken from the Clarksburg house and deliver the fifteen cartons of personal belongings to the Lakeside house.

  It took nearly a month before all the cartons were unpacked and the right place found for each small reminder of their past life. When most everything had been put away, Drew ordered a print of the photo he’d taken with his phone the weekend before Jennifer died. It was a snapshot of her and Brooke laughing at something he’d said. It was odd how he couldn’t remember what it was he’d said, but he could remember them laughing.

  It was a moment frozen in time, part of what was and would never again be. He’d looked at the picture a thousand times since that day. Now it would also be part of their new life. He slid the photograph into a simple silver frame and placed it on the mantle in the living room.

  Piece by piece father and daughter settled into their new life, and before Thanksgiving rolled around Drew had once again begun to enjoy getting up early and going off to work. He was never more than a phone call away from Brooke, but as weeks turned into months she seemed to find less and less of a need to call him. That was in part due to Hannah, the girlfriend she’d discovered two doors down. After a few weeks they were almost inseparable. Wherever one went, Drew knew, the other was close by.

  On the afternoons he found Brooke without Hannah, she was babysitting Annie’s twins. For most of that fall when the school bus stopped in front of Annie’s house, Brooke jumped off and hurried in calling for the toddlers. At the end of the day when Drew left the plant he’d pull into the drive at Memory House, beep his horn and wait for Brooke to run out and jump into the car. Then they’d go home together.

  As he and his daughter established themselves in this new life, Drew discovered he could hold on to the good memories and not buckle beneath the pain of losing Jennifer.

  ~ ~ ~

  Just as she’d planned, Annie hauled the old Memory House Bed and Breakfast sign up from the basement and planted it in the spot where it had stood for all those years before. Time had turned the bright white background to a soft yellow, but when the headlights of an oncoming car flickered across it the gold lettering still sparkled. Granted, this didn’t happen every time. It was as if the sign had a mind of its own and decided who was and who wasn’t worthy of discovering the magical house.

  Once Drew left others came. The first was Bertram Liebowitz, an elderly gentleman from New York traveling to Georgia to visit his dying sister. With a wiry gray beard and ill-fitting black suit, he was a sorrowful figure indeed. At first glimpse Annie knew his heart was weighted with thoughts of what he was about to lose. He was in need of a sympathetic ear, and she took time to be one.

  For two days he sat at the kitchen table drinking cups of dandelion tea and sharing stories of their childhood together. As Ethan and Starr toddled around the room, he mentioned that he and Penelope were also twins.

  “No one but another twin can un
derstand the bond that is shared,” he said grimly.

  Later in the afternoon when Starr climbed onto his lap and tugged at his beard, he found a bit of laughter in his soul and allowed it to break free.

  On the third day he left with a bittersweet smile. He’d come with nothing but sorrow in his heart and had somehow found the strength to replace a small part of it with gratitude for the years he and Penelope shared. As he climbed back into his car Annie handed him the snowdrop flower she’d potted for Penelope.

  “This plant brings hope and comfort,” she said. “The hope is for Penelope and the comfort for you.”

  He smiled, took the plant from her and placed it on the seat beside him. As he drove off Annie knew that what was destined to be would be, but he would now stand a bit stronger as he passed through the pain of it.

  After Bertram there was a widow from Kentucky traveling through on a trip to visit her new grandbaby. Bubbling over with enthusiasm, she said this was the first of what she hoped would be many. That woman stayed just one night, and when she left Annie noticed how the potpourri in the center hall had taken on the scent of baby powder.

  Two days later a thin girl with bones no bigger than that of a sparrow knocked at the door and asked how much a room for one night would cost.

  She had the look of a person who hadn’t eaten for days. The skinny jeans she wore hung loose about her thighs. Annie’s first impression was that she could be a child who’d run away from home, but it turned out not to be so.

  Fearing the girl had little if any money in her pocket Annie replied, “This is a guest house. Travelers are welcome to stay here for free.”

  The girl stood there with a look of astonishment on her face. “No kidding?”

  Annie nodded, invited her in and said she was just in time for supper.