The Christmas Clock and A Song For My Mother: A Kat Martin Duo

by Kat Martin

  At a few minutes before one, she pulled up in front of the house on Maple Street. Driving a Volvo station wagon, Doris Culver pulled in right behind her. Syl watched her climb out of her car, thinking the woman looked exactly the way Syl remembered but thinner and paler, her gray-blond hair a little wispier.

  “Welcome back,” Mrs. Culver said handing her the key. “I hope you like the place all right.”

  Syl smiled. “It’ll be all mine. That’s a first for me—which means I’m sure to like it.”

  Mrs. Culver insisted she call her Doris and also insisted on helping carry Syl’s belongings up to her newly acquired quarters above the garage.

  “You can do whatever you want with it,” Doris said as they climbed the stairs. “Make it feel like it’s your own.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have any pets, do you?”

  She had never had a pet. Why did it suddenly seem as if she had missed something? “I’m afraid not.”

  One of Doris's blond eyebrows went up. “Well, small animals are okay, if you decide to get one”

  Syl smiled, liking the notion. “Maybe I will.” Doris started back down the stairs to her house, a gray wood-framed home built in the thirties, then stopped and turned.

  “Tomorrow's Sunday. I go to the Presbyterian Church over on Elm. Maybe you'd like to come with me?”

  Syl hadn't been to church since she had left Dreyerville. Why not, she thought. She was making a new beginning. Maybe starting back to church was a good idea.

  “Thank you, I'd like that very much.”

  “Service starts at eleven.”

  Syl just nodded. Already her life was changing. Or perhaps it was only changing back.

  A shiver ran through her. When she had left Dreyerville, she'd been engaged to Joe Dixon. Four years ago, Mary had written to tell her that Joe had moved back to town. Syl knew he had spent the previous three years in prison. She also knew that she was the cause.

  Her stomach tightened. Sooner or later, she was bound to run into him. She had no idea what he might say to her or what she might say to him but maybe facing Joe was part of the reason she had come back.

  At least their meeting wouldn't be today and, with luck, probably not tomorrow since Joe wasn't much of a churchgoer or at least he hadn't been back then.

  With her car unloaded, she closed the apartment door behind her and turned to survey her domain: living room, kitchen with eating area, two bedrooms, and a bath, more than enough room for her. The place was furnished, which was good because she had been living with her aunt and didn't own much except for her clothes and a few treasured personal possessions.

  When she had first arrived in Chicago, she had stayed with Aunt Bess because she needed her aunt's help and support. Two years ago, the tables had turned and it was Bess who needed her. She had suffered a debilitating stroke; then six months ago, the woman who'd been far more a mother than Syl's own, had died at the age of fifty-two.

  That was when Syl began thinking of home, imagining what it might be like to return. Then Mary had phoned and now she was here.

  Doris usually went to church by herself. Each week she asked Floyd to go with her but there was always something more important he had to do.

  They used to go together each week but over the years, Floyd accompanied her less and less. Today, she left him working, boring a hole in the front of one of the little wooden birdhouses he built out in his shop behind the house. Floyd sold them down at Barnett's Feed and Seed, the local mercantile, and a couple of other places in town, more to feel useful in his retirement than for the extra income he earned.

  Dressed in her favorite pink linen suit, Doris waited at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the apartment she had rented to Sylvia Winters and a few minutes later, the girl came hurrying down the steps. She was smaller than Doris, about five feet four, and pretty, with short, honey-brown hair that curled softly around her face and light green eyes.

  “I hope I'm not late.”

  “I'm a little early. Are you ready?”

  “I sure am.”

  They got into Doris's station wagon and drove over to the Presbyterian Church. It was humid, the sun heating the air and dampness seeping into Doris's clothes. A small crowd gathered near the door, forming a circle around the minister, the Reverend Thomas Gains, who stood on the steps of the white wooden building with its tall white steeple. Lottie parked the car and she and Sylvia walked over to join the group.

  “Good morning, Doris,” Reverend Gains welcomed her. “I see you've brought a friend.”

  “I'm Sylvia Winters. I just moved back to town.” Sylvia held out a slim hand and the reverend shook it.

  “It's nice to meet you. I hope we'll see you often.”

  He turned back to Doris. “How is Floyd?” The minister always asked this question and it always embarrassed her.

  “He's fine. Had a bit of a headache this morning. I'll give him your regards.”

  “Please do.”

  She thought of Floyd at work in his dusty shop and cast a glance at Sylvia as they made their way inside the church.

  Mondays were always busy. Joe Dixon wiped his hands on an old grease rag and tossed it up on the shelf. All three bays at Murdock's Auto Repair were full of cars and there were several more waiting outside. Murdock's was the best garage for miles around and people lined up for service.

  Joe smiled at the thought. Being a mechanic was a dirty, greasy, noisy job and he loved every minute of it. Since he'd been a sophomore in high school, he had dabbled with cars. In his senior year, he had run across an old ’66 Chevy Super Sport headed for the junkyard, bought it for a song, and overhauled it with his dad’s help, turning it into the big red muscle car it was back in its day.

  He’d worked two jobs that summer to pay for the parts he needed, most of which came from the junk yard meant to be the car’s final resting spot.

  That success had pointed him toward a career in auto mechanics. He had known even then he wanted to own his own shop and now, at twenty-nine, he was finally on the way to making it happen. In the four years since his return to Dreyerville, he had become half owner of Murdock’s garage. He would own the whole business by the time Bumper Murdock was ready to retire.

  The phone rang and Joe walked over and picked up the receiver. It was Mrs. Murphy, one of his customers.

  “Joe, I can’t get my car started,” she said. “I think the battery is dead. I’m supposed to be at choir practice in half an hour. What should I do?”

  “I’ve got to finish checking the oil for a guy in the waiting room, then I’ll come on over. I’ll give you a ride to church and then take care of your car.”

  A sigh of relief whispered over the phone. “Thanks, Joe.”

  He smiled. “See you in a couple of minutes.” Hurrying toward the sporty little yellow convertible that belonged to Jim Higgins, one of the male nurses at the hospital, he checked the oil and added a quart.

  “How much do I owe you?” Jim asked.

  “Just the price of the oil.”

  “Great. Thanks, Joe.”

  “Glad to help.”

  Thinking of Mrs. Murphy as he strode toward his truck, he glanced around the shop. If things had been different, he would already have owned the business. He wouldn't have wasted three years of his life in the state penitentiary.

  Or in fairness, maybe he would have wound up there, anyway. He'd been a hothead back then, as good with his fists as he was with his hands when he worked on a car.

  Still, it was Syl's disappearance that had set events in motion.

  A muscle clenched in his jaw. Sylvia Winters, the woman he had loved, had nearly destroyed his life.

  It was Monday. Lottie knew because the repair shop called to remind her of her appointment. After making sure Teddy fastened his seatbelt, Lottie backed the car into the alley behind the house. It was a 1984 Mercury Topaz that Chester had purchased two years before he died. She didn't drive it much, only to the docto
r's office or to King's Supermarket or, as today, to the repair shop.

  Chester had always taken the car to Murdock's Auto Repair on Main at the edge of town so she went there, too. A nice young man named Joe Dixon did most of the work there now and he seemed to be honest, never overcharging, always finishing the work on schedule.

  Lottie couldn't remember for sure if she had called Joe on Friday or another day in the week but this morning, she had found the note she had placed beneath the red plastic magnet on her refrigerator, reminding her of her ten o'clock appointment to have the oil changed. It was summer vacation, so Teddy was home from school and Lottie was enjoying his company.

  Still, the confused state she often found herself in was occurring more and more often and she didn't like the idea of Teddy seeing her that way. Concentrating on the road, Lottie saw the repair shop on the right-hand side, signaled, and pulled into a parking space in front of the building.

  Joe Dixon spotted the faded blue metallic Mercury at the same time Bumper Murdock called out the news.

  “Mrs. Sparks is here.” Bumper checked off the appointment on his clipboard. “Which bay do you want her in?”

  Joe waved to the little white-haired woman barely visible behind the wheel of her car. He had been taking care of Lottie Sparks's auto for years. The Merc was in tip-top condition. It was its owner who had started to fade.

  “The middle bay is good,” Joe said waiting while Bumper gave directions for Lottie to line up the car and drive it onto the lift. Her grandson was with her, Joe saw, remembering that school was out for the summer. The little boy must be seven or eight, dark hair, dark eyes, cute little guy, smart as a whip. Joe had always loved children, boys or girls, it didn't really matter.

  Being a stone's throw from thirty, he had imagined himself married by now and raising a passel of kids. Instead, he was single, a loner who rarely dated or even went out. Joe frowned as memories of Syl and himself began to pour in. He shoved them back into a corner and went over to speak to Lottie

  He was working on the Mercury twenty minutes later, Lottie in the waiting room sipping a cup of coffee when little Teddy wandered into the service area. The kid's neck swiveled around as he took in the grease guns, tool boards, tire changers, and air guns. His brown eyes fixed on Bumper, who was working on a Toyota, the left rear wheel jacked into the air while Bumper used the air gun to remove the nuts from the wheel.

  The kid stood unmoving, transfixed by the loud buzzing sounds and how easily the wheel came off. Bumper rolled the tire over to the changer and Teddy's gaze moved off in another direction.

  “What kinda car is that?” He pointed toward Joe's prize possession, a black and white '64 Thunderbird convertible, a big four-seater with long, sleek fins. Joe only drove it once in a while but he had really enjoyed fixing it up.

  “That's a T-bird, son. They don't make 'em like that anymore.”

  “Can I see inside?”

  Joe flicked a glance at Lottie, who seemed content where she sat on the brown vinyl sofa in the waiting room and tilted his head toward the car. “Sure, why not?”

  Teddy grinned and raced over. One of his eye teeth was missing, though his front two had come in, a sign that the boy was growing up.

  “You get a quarter from the tooth fairy for that?” Joe asked.

  Teddy looked up at him. “She came for these two.” He pointed at his two front teeth. “I got fifty cents. Gramma said the fairy would come for this one but she didn't. I guess she forgot.”

  More likely, the tooth fairy being Lottie Sparks had forgotten about it. Joe had noticed that the old woman was becoming more and more forgetful.

  He opened the driver's side door of the T-bird and motioned for Teddy to climb in behind the wheel.

  “Wow, this is great.” The kid was too small to see out but he sat there grinning, leaning back in the red leather seat.

  “Yeah, pretty great.” Joe reached down and ruffled the little boy's hair. “You like cars, Teddy?”

  “I love 'em. I'm gonna have a really fast car when I grow up.”

  Joe laughed. He could remember thinking that same thing. His second car had been a hot '82 Camaro with a custom grill and a four-speed manual transmission. Little Teddy would have loved it.

  Joe smiled at the memory and helped the boy climb down from the car. “We're just about done with the Merc. Tell your grandmother it'll only be a few more minutes.”

  Teddy didn't move. “I was thinking... I been raking up leaves for Mrs. Culver—the lady in the house next door to ours and I'm weeding for Mr. Stillwater across the street. Do you think you might have some work I could do?”

  Joe shook his head. "Sorry, kid. A garage isn't a good place for someone your age. Too much heavy equipment. Too many ways you might get hurt.”

  The boy's face fell. He gazed around the shop like it was Disneyland and he couldn't get a ticket to get in “I need to make some money so I can buy my gramma a present.”

  “Yeah? What kind of present?”

  “A clock. She loves it. She always stops to look at it when we go to town. I'm saving up so I can buy it for her for Christmas.”

  Joe thought of the woman in the other room. From what Bumper had told him, Lottie Sparks was all the family the little boy had. Mother dead. No father. No man at all in the family.

  Teddy was studying the engine Joe was working on in the corner. Joe knew it was stupid but all of a sudden, there he was, opening his mouth, probably letting himself in for trouble.

  “I’ll tell you what. You go ask your grandmother. If it's all right with her, you can work a couple of hours a day cleaning up around here.”

  Teddy grinned, flashing the hole where his tooth should have been. He turned and raced off toward the waiting room and a few minutes later, Lottie Sparks walked in.

  “Teddy says you want to hire him.”

  “I know this isn't the best place for a kid to work, Mrs. Sparks, but I promise not to let him come in here where we keep the heavy equipment, not unless I'm with him.”

  “It isn't good for a boy to be around an old woman all the time. He could use a man's guidance. You just make sure he doesn't get hurt.”

  “I'll keep a real close eye on him, Mrs. Sparks.”

  “He can ride his bike down here. It's only a few blocks. Long as he goes the back way, there won't be any traffic.”

  “That sounds good. If he wants, he can start tomorrow afternoon.”

  Teddy was grinning again. “What time, Mr. Dixon?”

  “How about ten till noon? And it’s Joe, not Mr. Dixon. And that guy over there, that’s Bumper.”

  “Bumper?” Teddy turned toward the stout man walking toward them. Bumper was almost twice Joe’s age, looking forward to an early retirement. At five feet nine, he was five inches shorter than Joe and built like a fireplug. “That’s a funny name,” Teddy said.

  “They started calling him that when he was a kid,” Joe explained. He and Bumper’s son, Charlie, were best friends, had been since they were freshmen at Dreyerville High.

  “Because he liked cars?” Teddy asked.

  Because, according to Charlie, he was pudgy as a kid and always running into things. But Joe just said, “Yeah, Bumper’s a top mechanic.”

  Teddy looked up at Bumper with awe but made no comment. The man beneath the grease-stained overalls was still a little chunky but not like the old days, at least according to Charlie.

  The Merc was finished. Joe backed the car out of the garage and waited while Mrs. Sparks and Teddy climbed in.

  As he watched them drive away, he thought of all the problems a kid Teddy's age could cause, how much time watching the boy would take, and marveled at the crazy things he sometimes got himself into.

  3

  Lottie had an appointment with Dr. Davis at three o’clock the following Monday. She hadn't remembered the time or even that she was supposed to go but she had written it down on a piece of paper and laid it on the kitchen counter.

  Lottie thought
of her car, newly serviced and parked in the garage behind her house. It was a bit of a drive to the doctor’s office and she had gotten a little confused driving back the last time. She must have made the appointment for Monday because Monday was one of Doris Culver’s days off. Doris was a good friend and a very good neighbor.

  Though Lottie hadn't told her about the Alzheimer's yet, she had mentioned her advancing years, her reluctance to drive, and that she was thinking of selling her car. Doris had volunteered to drive her anyplace she needed to go and Lottie had taken her up on it.

  Teddy was at work at his summer job at Murdock's Auto Repair, so she didn't have to worry about him. She climbed into Doris's car and the station wagon pulled away from the curb.

  A few minutes later, they were on their way to Dr. Davis's office on Franklin Street not far down the block from the entrance to Community Hospital. The streets of Dreyerville were lined on both sides with sycamore trees so old they grew together over the road, forming a rich, green canopy. This warm August afternoon, the sun shone down through the branches, dappling the hood of the car.

  “Why don't you go ahead and get out,” Doris said, “and I'll go find a parking spot.” Wearing tan slacks and a beige blouse, Doris always dressed conservatively, pulling her hair back into a bun, never wearing too much makeup. She had never been particularly pretty, not even when she was a girl but now in her fifties, there was a pinched quality to her features, a tired look around her mouth.

  Doris's disappointment in life seemed to show in her face, Lottie thought. Except when she was at the bakery. There she looked more like the young, hopeful girl that she had once been.

  Lottie cracked open the door. “I really appreciate this, Doris. I don't think I'll be in there very long.” The office sign sat next to the door, helpfully pointing the way. Lottie walked in that direction.

  The receptionist smiled and pulled out her chart and a few minutes later, Lottie was headed for the nurses' station. With the arthritis in her hip, she couldn't walk as fast as she used to, so it took her a while to make her way down the long, narrow corridor.