by Judy Duarte
“Actually, the toilet in the back is leaking. I think it needs a new valve or something. Are you any good at plumbing?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said before heading to the back of the store.
When he was out of sight, and after she counted out Barbara’s change, Suzette leaned forward and whispered, “Chuck’s a really nice guy. You wouldn’t know it, but just three or four years ago he used to be homeless. He was also an alcoholic with a bad liver, from what I heard. But thanks to the folks at the soup kitchen, he turned his life around. Now he lives in a small trailer on the church grounds, and a lot of the merchants in the area try to keep him busy with odd jobs.”
Barbara merely nodded, still dealing with the uneasy fact that her mother had been frequenting the soup kitchen rather than asking her for help.
While Chuck lifted the ceramic lid to the toilet tank and checked the valves and fittings for a leak, he overheard Suzette talking about him, about the life he used to live, about the problem he’d once had.
He probably ought to be embarrassed by the man he once was, but he was so happy with the man he’d become that it no longer mattered.
As he reached into the water-filled tank and tightened a loose valve, he thought back twenty years to the day it had all started.
Chuck and his wife had left their young son with a sitter, then driven to the mountains to go skiing with friends. They’d had a blast, then stayed for a late dinner and had a couple of drinks. Their friends decided to spend the night and encouraged them to do the same, but Chuck had to work the next day.
“Come on, baby,” Marianne had said. “Let’s just get a motel room and head home early in the morning. The sitter won’t mind. I’ll just give her a call.”
“I’m fine,” he’d insisted. “I want to get home tonight.”
But he hadn’t been all right. He might not have been legally drunk, but he’d dozed off behind the wheel, and the car had run off the road and slammed into a tree.
Marianne had suffered internal injuries and needed surgery upon arrival at the hospital, while Chuck ended up with a concussion, a nasty cut on his head, and multiple fractures in both legs.
The pain had been excruciating, but the guilt had been worse. Still, he might have gotten through it all just fine had the surgeons not opened up Marianne, found inoperable cancer, and given her just weeks to live.
Her last days on earth had been a nightmare he’d tried his best to forget.
After she died, the doctor quit prescribing the heavy-duty narcotics, claiming Chuck was becoming dependent. So he’d turned to alcohol to numb his pain and still the haunting memories of Marianne’s heartbreaking deathbed confession.
The booze had worked—at least, that’s what he’d told himself over the years. It’s what he’d told his son, too, when Brandon had cried and accused him of drinking too much, when he’d told him that he needed to get a job and go to work each day like other dads.
But the boy hadn’t bought Chuck’s lame excuses, and when he was seventeen, he graduated from high school, snagged a scholarship to some big, impressive university—Chuck couldn’t even remember which one.
How was that for being a Loser Dad?
Either way, he hadn’t seen his son since, which was too bad. He’d give anything to talk to Brandon now, to apologize and try to make amends, but he wasn’t sure how to find him, let alone approach him. Maybe he’d still be an embarrassment.
Chuck hadn’t had a drink in nearly a year, and he had a place of his own now—no more living on the streets. But even though he’d turned his life around and was truly content for the first time he could remember, he supposed he wasn’t someone Brandon could be proud of.
Most of the people who were his friends these days wouldn’t have wanted to have anything to do with the old Chuck. But he wasn’t the same guy he once was, and they knew it.
He’d gotten the ultimate second chance. And just as Suzette had said, he’d had those folks down at the soup kitchen to thank for it all. They’d given him more than a handout. They’d given him friendship, too. And they’d shared their faith.
It was just as if some giant heavenly lightbulb had come on, and he’d never been the same again.
Chuck just wished he could have met Pastor Craig and the folks who ran the soup kitchen years ago so he wouldn’t have had to beat himself up for so long.
There was one guy in particular who’d had the most impact on him, a homeless man named Jesse. One day, while they were eating meat loaf and baked potatoes, the two sat together. Jesse had zeroed in on Chuck, peeling away the dirt and the phony smiles. He’d known things that Chuck had never shared with anyone before, things that had hurt too bad to deal with sober. Not the actual details, but he’d pegged all the feelings, all the internal struggles that had caused Chuck to turn to the bottle in the first place.
It was almost as if the guy had been psychic, although he hadn’t come out and revealed anything specific—past, present, or future. He just sort of knew the root of the problem.
After that, Pastor Craig had gotten a hold of Chuck, telling him about how much God loved him, how Jesus had died for him. And now Chuck was a new creation, a new man.
Too bad he hadn’t come to grips with all of that years ago. Maybe then Brandon wouldn’t have bailed out on him.
“Call the boy,” Jesse had said, encouraging Chuck to reach out first. “He’s in the phone book.”
“Maybe someday,” he’d replied, afraid to admit that he hadn’t been brave enough to make that call. To risk facing his son and learning that his best foot forward wasn’t anywhere good enough.
“Your life is nearly over,” Jesse had said. “And what do you have to show for it?”
He didn’t have squat, if you counted earthly possessions. But for the first time in forever, he had his self-respect and the assurance that everything was going to be okay—one way or another.
The day before Jesse left Fairbrook, he’d brought up the subject again. “You’re about to check out of this world, Chuck. You don’t have much time left for reunions.”
At first, Chuck had thought the homeless man was just blowing smoke. After all, they were all on a wacky roller-coaster ride through life. But Chuck had been having a pain in his gut that wouldn’t go away, and he’d stopped by the free clinic a few weeks back.
“I figure it’s my liver,” he’d told the doctor. “I haven’t taken very good care of myself.”
“Your liver isn’t the problem,” the doctor had said. “I’m afraid you have cancer.”
Several tests later, Chuck had been given the news. He had six months—tops.
A lot of guys might have been shook up. But Chuck knew where he was going. And he’d been redeemed. He was more certain of that than the notion that the sun would rise tomorrow morning.
Well, that it would come up for those who were still riding the roller coaster.
It was weird, Chuck thought, as he replaced the toilet tank lid and washed his hands in the sink. He’d kind of like to have an impact on lives while he was still here, just like Jesse had done.
But his roller-coaster car was slowing to a halt, and he wasn’t sure how much time he had left to ride.
After turning down Sugar Plum Lane, Barbara pulled behind a white pickup filled with landscaping tools and parked in front of the old house. She shut off her engine, but didn’t get out of the car right away. Instead, she checked out the yard—the lawn and the shrubbery—noting that the gardeners were making some headway, but they had a long way to go before the grounds looked the way they should, the way she remembered.
A young Hispanic man—one of the gardeners, she assumed—was talking to a petite blonde on the porch of the old house. The woman must be the tenant, but Barbara didn’t see any reason to introduce herself. She’d rather their contact be through the property management company.
So she reached for the bud vase she’d placed in the cup holder so it wouldn’t tip over on the drive to Sugar Pl
um Lane, climbed from the car, and strode along the walkway to Maria’s door with the pink roses in hand. She hoped they would give her mother a lift and provide some color for her bedroom.
When she reached the stoop, she rang the bell. Moments later, Maria’s oldest son answered.
“Come on in,” he said. “I’ll tell my mom you’re here.”
“Thank you.” Barbara had no more than stepped inside when she spotted her mother seated on a beige sofa near the fireplace. Her hair, which appeared to have been freshly shampooed and colored with the steel-gray rinse she’d always favored, had been curled and combed. And she wore a splash of pink lipstick as if she’d been waiting for company.
A whisper of guilt blew through Barbara, and she wondered if her mother had been sitting like that last Tuesday, waiting for her to show up. But under the circumstances, she’d had no other choice but to postpone the visit.
Barbara made her way toward the elderly woman who appeared to be stooped, even while seated. “Hello, Mother.”
Her mom seemed to be more focused on the gnarled, liver-spotted hands in her lap than on her visitor or even the talk show playing on the television.
“How are you doing today?” Barbara asked.
Ellie glanced up, her faded blue eyes lacking the spark they’d once had. “I’m okay.”
Her once-white sweater had yellowed with age, and her pale green blouse was worn. The stitching was coming apart along the collar.
“Next week,” Barbara said, “when I stop by, I’ll bring a couple of new outfits for you to wear. Won’t that be nice?”
Ellie merely looked at her.
Barbara would purchase something bright and cheery, something stylish.
Maria entered the living room, followed by two little girls. The dark-haired child was her daughter; the blonde had to be a friend or neighbor.
At the sound of children’s voices, Ellie looked up and smiled. She motioned for the little blonde. “Come over here, Angel. Let me get a look at you.”
Not surprising, the child froze in her tracks and glanced at her friend.
“It’s all right,” Maria’s daughter said, nudging the girl forward. “You can talk to her. She’s nice. She’s just old.”
The blonde took a shy step forward, and as she neared the elderly woman, Ellie reached for her hand and gave it a little pat. Then she looked at Barbara, her tired blue eyes lighting up as though she’d broken free of the Alzheimer’s disease that had trapped her essence. “She’s beautiful, Barbie. I knew she would be.”
The poor little girl appeared to be ready to bolt, so Barbara stepped in to defuse the situation. “She is beautiful.” Barbara removed the child’s hand from her mother’s grip. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The child opened her mouth, but Ellie was the one who answered, her voice stronger than it had been in a long time. “It’s Angel.”
The blonde shook her head, her pigtails swishing from side to side. “No, it’s not. I’m Callie.”
As the child drew back to where her friend stood, Maria furrowed her brow and mouthed, “Who’s Angel?”
Barbara shrugged. It wasn’t a name she recognized, but her mother became so confused these days that it could have been any combination of personas from the past. It could even have been someone from a television show.
Who knew what was going on upstairs with her mother?
“Angel looks a lot like you did as a little girl,” Ellie said, as if she’d suddenly recognized her daughter after all. Still, her words made no sense.
“My hair was brown,” Barbara said. “Like Daddy’s. Remember, Mom?”
Her mother brightened. “Harold! Of course I remember.” She turned to Maria, hope springing in her eyes and voice. “Has the mailman come yet? I’m sure there will be a letter today.”
“He’s already been here,” Maria said. “I’m afraid there wasn’t any mail, Ellie.”
Barbara wasn’t sure why Maria played along with the old woman. It was best to tell her the truth, to make her accept reality.
As Callie and Sara left the room, Barbara turned to Maria and asked, “How’s she been doing?”
“Yesterday was all right, but it’s been a rough morning.”
“What happened?”
“I came downstairs to tell her breakfast was ready, but she wasn’t in her bed. I sent the kids out in the backyard to look for her while I went out front. I found her in the middle of the street.”
“Why? What was she doing? Going home?”
“She said she was looking for Harold, that he was coming by to take her to the beach for a picnic and a day in the sun.”
Barbara clucked her tongue and blew out a sigh. She wasn’t sure why Joey—and Maria, too—insisted upon keeping Mother at home when she was so clearly ready for the safety an Alzheimer’s care center would provide. She’d have to talk to Joey about this later and insist that it was time to move her.
“Are you going to be here a few minutes?” Maria asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“I need to walk Callie home. Would you mind keeping an eye on things? I won’t be long.”
“Of course not.” Barbara glanced at her wristwatch. “I’ll be here for at least a half hour. In fact, if you have an errand to run or need a break, I can stay for forty-five minutes or so.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No, it’s silly for us both to be here.”
“Captain is in the backyard,” Maria added. She didn’t have to explain. She wanted Barbara to look out for him, too. But he was no trouble. He, at least, seemed to have all of his faculties and wasn’t prone to wander.
“No problem,” Barbara said. She appreciated what Maria was doing, even though she paid her for her mother’s board and care. She sympathized with her, too. There had to be an easier way to earn extra money while working from home.
As Maria trailed after the girls, Barbara took a seat next to her mother on the sofa.
“She’s a sweet little thing,” Ellie said.
“Who?”
“Angel.”
“I’m not sure I know who Angel is, Mother.”
“The child my daughter gave away.”
Barbara cringed at the reminder of both the mistake she’d made and the solution she’d come up with to correct it.
For more than forty years, her mother had been upset about the decision to put the baby up for adoption and had never failed to remind Barbara, one way or another. It had created untold stress on their relationship. But at least Ellie had never revealed the secret to a living soul.
But what would Barbara do if it all came out now?
It was definitely time to insist her mother be put in a home.
Chapter 8
Maria seemed like a nice person and a good mother, but Amy was still a little uneasy about letting Callie go with someone new for the first time. So when the doorbell rang, suggesting that Maria had brought Callie home, she placed the last of the books she’d been packing into a box and hurried to the door.
Maria, who stood with her youngest boy and the two girls on the stoop, held a plate covered in plastic wrap.
“Look what we brought for you, Mommy!” Callie’s beaming smile announced that she’d had fun while she’d been gone. “They’re tortillas. And they’re really yummy with butter and sugar on them.”
“They look delicious,” Amy said, taking the plate her neighbor handed to her.
Maria chuckled. “They might not be round, but I can assure you they taste good.”
“Thanks for letting Callie help.”
“It was a pleasure. She’s a sweet little girl. It’s going to be nice having you two live next door.”
Amy forced a smile, yet didn’t respond. She’d eventually tell Maria what she was doing, but probably not until after she’d packed all of Ellie’s things and was ready to give up possession of the house and forfeit the six months’ rent.
“Mommy,” Callie said. “Will you put on the movie now? Sara’
s little brother wants to watch Cars. Okay?”
“Of course.” Amy turned to Maria. “Do you have time for tea? I’m ready for a break from packing.”
Maria seemed to give it some thought before saying, “Sure, I’ve got a few minutes.”
“Good. Then we’ll make it a quick cup.”
Amy set up the movie for the kids, and after they were seated and glued to the screen, she led Maria to the kitchen, where she put on a teakettle of water and took two china cups from the cupboard.
Next she opened the pantry in search of the tin of Earl Grey she’d brought from home. But when she noticed the Kitty Delight behind a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup, her hands stilled. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Did Ellie have a cat?”
“She used to have an old gray tabby named Pretty Boy, but he died around Christmas time. And just before she began to…fail, she sort of adopted a stray that used to hang out in the neighborhood.”
“Is it still around?” Maybe Amy should leave some food and water out for it.
“No, I haven’t seen it.”
“Did her family take it?”
“No, they wouldn’t have done that. Her grandson’s wife had an allergy to pet dander, which is why she kept dragging her feet about moving in with them. She hated to give up her cat. And her daughter…well, Barbara isn’t the animal-lover type. I have no idea why the cat took off, but we live next to a canyon, and the coyotes are sometimes a problem.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yes, it was. Both Pretty Boy and the stray provided company for Ellie in the evenings. She didn’t get many visitors.”
“How sad.”
“I think so, too.”
“Didn’t her family come by to see her?”
“Her grandson stopped by regularly, but he was pretty busy, so it wasn’t all that often. And her daughter is involved with several different charity organizations. Still, you’d think that…” Maria paused.
“Think what?”
Maria shrugged. “I’m sorry. That was unfair of me. It’s just that Ellie was a wonderful neighbor. And she was a good friend to my aunt.”
