by Libby Howard
One of his exes? I winced, wondering how many times Matt Poffenberger had been married. Sometimes people grew apart, or changed, or a partner did something unforgivable that shattered their marriage, but a pattern of that indicated poor judgment of character in my opinion. Although it was probably easy for me to be snobby about it since I’d truly had the until-death-do-we-part marriage. I thought of Judge Beck and Heather, about how their divorce seemed to be hurting them both equally. They were good people. I wasn’t sure what exactly had gone wrong in their marriage, but the end of it seemed so tragic. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge.
“Honestly, Mom’s probably happier that you have the sideboard than me,” he confessed. “I would have dented it, or left a wet glass on it and marred the finish, or something.”
Yikes. It seemed from what he said that it was just a favorite piece of furniture, and that Eleonore was sticking around to make sure I didn’t chop it up for firewood or paint it fluorescent pink or something. Hopefully she’d be reassured and vanish in the next day or two, but remembering the conversation with Daisy, I thought I should check further.
“How did your mom die?”
His face fell. “Cancer. She fought it for five years. I’m not sure my dad will ever get over it. She was a strong woman, cheerful and positive until the very end, but it was tough to watch her go through all those treatments and surgeries.”
My heart ached, and I couldn’t help but reach out and put my hand on top of his. “It’s hard when you lose someone you’ve loved for so long.”
He looked down at my hand and nodded. “She used to say that she wished she’d gone quick, like her mother had. Grandma had a stroke. No suffering, no treatments, no surgeries. She was completely fine, fixing sandwiches for lunch, then down she went. Mom said she’d complained her right hand felt funny just before the stroke, but she had arthritis, and didn’t think anything of it.”
I clenched my jaw for a moment to hold back tears. “That’s how my husband died. He’d been in an accident ten years prior, and had limited use of his legs and arms as well as a brain injury that affected his speech and thought process. I always wondered if I’d called the ambulance too late. Looking back, I think maybe he was having symptoms of the stroke all day, but I missed the signs.”
Matt turned his hand over, gripping mine in his. “I’m so sorry, Kay. When did your husband die?”
I steadied my breathing. “Four months ago.”
He stilled. I looked up and saw the expression in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I can’t claim to know what you’re going through, but I saw how my father grieved. Losing someone you’ve loved for so long is probably the most difficult thing in life.”
I sniffed and pulled my hand away with a wobbly smile. This isn’t how I wanted our coffee-not-a-date to go. Yes, Matt probably now realized that I wasn’t romantically interested, but I hadn’t meant to convey that by baring my soul and nearly crying.
“Anyway,” he continued softly. “I’m sure that Mom is thrilled someone has the sideboard that truly appreciates it. And now you can pass it down to your children.”
I almost blurted out that I didn’t have children, but I’d revealed enough acutely personal information to this man I’d just met. Besides, his words immediately conjured up an image of Madison and Henry. I wasn’t sure Madison would be interested, but Henry would certainly love inheriting the sideboard. Besides, it was his ten dollars that allowed me to have the winning bid.
“I read that your mom was Harlen Hansen’s daughter,” I said, trying to ease the conversation into a less emotion-heavy direction.
Matt grinned, leaning back in his chair once more, again balancing it on the two rear legs. “She was. He died before I was born, and Mom never had a bad word to say about anyone, but from what my father told me, Harlen Hansen was a real jerk.”
He’d been married to a nineteen-year-old at the age of fifty-four and suddenly a father. I could understand that he might not be parent of the year.
“He was just…cold. From what Dad said, he had very little to do with Mom or Grandma. He spent long hours in the store, lots of time with his buddies playing cards and drinking scotch, and he liked to golf. Other than sitting absolutely silent at dinner each night, he was hardly in the same room with his wife or daughter. Dad said it seemed like he never even spoke to them, and he thought that maybe Grandma was afraid of him, although no one ever accused him of laying a hand on her.” He chuckled. “Probably never laid a hand on her in the bedroom past their wedding night either, given that they only had the one child.”
That was shocking—not so much because Matt was indulging in vulgar speculation about his grandparents’ sex life, but because I’d seen pictures of Mabel. She’d been gorgeous, vivacious, and evidently on everyone’s guest list. “Why had he bothered to marry her?” I asked, indulging in some vulgar speculation of my own. “She was a stunning beauty at nineteen, and he was a fifty-four-year-old bachelor. Why get married at all if he wasn’t in love, or at the very least incredibly physically attracted to her?”
Matt shrugged. “Who knows? Sometimes people change once they’re married. Maybe he was wildly in love, but once the vows were said, he discovered Grandma wasn’t the woman he thought she was. Maybe she was a prude in the bedroom and he got tired of trying to light a fire on an iceberg. Or maybe Harlen was the sort of guy who just wanted a beautiful trophy wife that was coveted by all the other guys in town. Maybe he was gay and she was his beard.”
I could see any of those except for the second one. It had been the Roaring Twenties. Women and young people were starting to discover their power in the world, to assert themselves and take a stand. And that sometimes included sexuality. Maybe Mabel was a good girl who guarded her reputation and virginity carefully, but I doubt she would have been the type of woman who was an iceberg.
But who was I to judge? I’d come of age in the early seventies when women were demanding equal rights and the same opportunities as men. I’d been raised by two liberal and passionate parents, and I’d been brought up with their support behind me every step of the way. It had been easy for me to go to college, to protest against my government, to have sex with Eli before marriage, and demand that our physical relationship was satisfying for the both of us. Not that I’d ever had to demand that. Eli had been everything I’d ever wanted in a lover, and in a husband.
“Maybe Harlen really sucked in bed and Mabel cut him off,” I conjectured, thinking of how I would have reacted if I’d been in that situation.
Matt blinked in surprise, then burst out laughing. “Good point. And I wouldn’t blame her one bit. I just can’t imagine my grandmother getting it on, let alone being an enthusiastic partner. She lived with us since I was about ten until her death, and she was a stickler for propriety. That woman never missed a church service, insisted we say a prayer every night before dinner. She was always begging for God to forgive her of her sins. I always got the impression that she’d make a Puritan look like a loose woman, but she was probably different when she was young.”
“Did you ever see a picture of her back when she was nineteen, right before she got married?” Matthew shook his head, so I got out my phone and pulled up the picture, and showed it to him.
“Wow. She was beautiful, although I never really understood the skinny, adolescent-boy figure that was in fashion back then. The Twiggy fad just about made a monk out of me. I like a woman with curves.” He said the last with a sheepish grin.
“She had a twin,” I told him, wondering what had happened to Lucille. I hadn’t gone too far into my research, assuming that anything outside of Eleonore’s direct line wasn’t relevant.
“Really? I had no idea. She must have died young because neither Mom nor Grandma ever mentioned her.”
It happened. And if her twin’s death had been a particularly painful spot in Mabel’s heart, I could imagine she wouldn’t want to discuss her sister’s loss. Or perhaps they’d just grown apart, or had a terrible dis
agreement. Or maybe Lucille had married someone who hadn’t lived up to Harlen Hansen’s idea of proper society, and Mabel had been forbidden to see or speak with her sister again. I could imagine that would have put a huge wedge in their love life.
Although my imagination was probably concocting stories that had no basis in reality.
“Your father lived alone for quite a while after your mother’s death,” I said to shift the conversation back into the more recent past.
“Ten years. He’d still be in that house, but his health really declined the last few years. He needs a wheelchair and help with bathing and getting his meals, and he’s on oxygen now. I smuggle him in potato chips and cookies, but I refuse to bring him cartons of Marlboro Lights. The sale of the house and the proceeds from the auction should be enough to keep him in comfort for the rest of his life, but I’m don’t want to hasten that end, if you know what I mean.”
I did. But something about his statement puzzled me. “Your mother was the sole child of Harlen Hansen. She should have inherited a fortune. Did they lose the money—” I stopped abruptly, realizing that I was prying into what was absolutely none of my business. If they lost their fortune in the stock market, or squandered it gambling, or were the victims of an embezzlement, it wasn’t my place to ask.
“There was no money. I’m not sure why, but I don’t remember Grandma being particularly well off when she was living with us. In fact, I got the impression that Mom and Dad were supporting her. When she passed away, I think Dad was scraping together money for her funeral expenses. Maybe Harlen spent it all before he died, or the department store wasn’t doing as well as everyone thought.”
There was no mystery to be solved that I could tell, just a woman who’d really loved a family heirloom and had somehow attached her psychic energy and spirit to it after her death. Either she’d eventually vanish, or I’d need to get used to a second ghost in my house.
“Thanks, Matt,” I told him, rising from the metal folding chair. “I’ve really enjoyed the conversation and the coffee. Which was most definitely not too strong,” I announced loud enough for the other two guys to hear.
He stood as well. “I’m going to visit my dad tomorrow at Tranquil Meadows Nursing Home. I go over to have lunch with him every Tuesday. If you’d like to come along, I’m sure he’d enjoy the company. And you could ask him more questions about the sideboard and Mom.”
I hesitated. It was too weird to think that Matt would believe a visit to his elderly father in the nursing home was a date, so I took the offer as just a kind way of helping me research the history of an antique I’d just acquired, and possibly continuing a budding friendship.
“I work tomorrow,” I told him, “but I could swing over during my lunch hour.”
“That would be great. Dad loves having visitors. Just be there at eleven thirty and tell them you’re having lunch with me and Maurice Poffenberger.”
It sounded a whole lot more fun than eating a tuna sandwich at my desk and watching cat videos.
“I’ll be there. I’m looking forward to meeting your father, Matt.”
He walked me to the door, waving at a man who was just coming in. “I’m looking forward to it as well.”
Chapter 5
Tranquil Meadows Nursing Home was a sprawling one-story building on the outskirts of town. The parking lot was depressingly empty, and I was able to park close to the front, walking past a giant three-tier fountain, and in through the automatic double-wide glass doors. A young blonde woman in scrubs with dancing penguins on a turquoise background smiled at me, handing me the guest sign-in book. I let her know that I was here to have lunch with Maurice Poffenberger and his son Matthew, and the girl’s face lit up with a smile.
“Oh, we just love Maurice. He’s the sweetest man, and he will be thrilled to have two visitors.”
She came around the desk and led me down a hall toward where I assumed the cafeteria was. I noted that in spite of my fears, the nursing home did not smell of antiseptic cleaners or latex. Instead, it smelled like fresh baked cookies and apple cinnamon pie. Now this was the sort of place I hoped I ended up when I was unable to care for myself. It seemed less hospital-like and more like a friendly day-camp.
“He’s having a good day today,” she confided in me. “Sometimes he gets really confused and doesn’t know where he is and asks for his wife. Lots of days he thinks Darren, the RN that is assigned to him, is his son. But today he’s sharp as a tack.”
She threw open a set of double doors and the smell of chicken and French fries assailed my senses. Instead of the long tables of my high school, these were small round tables with various residents clustered around them. Many of them were in wheelchairs. A few of them had assistants sitting next to them, helping them cut food or even actually feeding them. It warmed my heart that even those who were unable to get a fork to their mouth were still brought to the dining area to enjoy a meal in a communal environment.
I spotted Matt, and told my blonde escort that I could take it from here. He waved at me as I crossed the dining area, then jumped up to pull out a chair on the other side of an elderly man with a tube of oxygen in his nose, and a plate of fried chicken and green beans in front of him.
“I ordered you the chicken,” Matt told me with a smile. “It’s actually really good. The ladies here bread it with cracker meal and fry it fresh. And the green beans are cooked in bacon grease.”
I remembered the hospital food that I’d eaten for months while Eli had been recuperating from the accident, and the cafeteria staff there had been insanely obsessed with healthy, low fat, low carb, low calorie, bland-as-sand food. Green beans cooked with bacon grease sounded heavenly.
As I sat, Matt scooted the chair under me. I turned and smiled at his father. “Hello, Mr. Poffenberger. I’m Kay Carrera. I bought your wife’s sideboard and your son invited me here so I could find out more about it. I hear your wife loved that piece of furniture very much.”
One of the assisted living staff came over at that moment, placing plates of chicken, French fries, and green beans in front of Matt and I, then turning to encourage the elder Mr. Poffenberger to eat before heading off. The food smelled heavenly, and I didn’t hesitate to dig in.
Maurice blinked down at his chicken a few moments before lifting his slightly confused gaze to me. “Carrera. You said your name was Kay Carrera? Are you related to that surgeon fella?”
It was like I’d been stabbed in the chest. “Eli Carrera. Yes. He was my husband.”
“Well, he is a darned good surgeon. Saved Ellie’s life that time she had that heart attack. I thought I was going to lose her. Love of my life, that woman. Is she coming to have lunch with us today?”
Matt took a bite of chicken. Although he smiled reassuringly at his father, I could see the grief in his eyes. “Not today, Dad. Not today.”
Maurice sighed, picking at his green beans. “Most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I went to high school with her. We’d moved into town my sophomore year, and I walked into algebra and saw this gorgeous girl with black hair and the most beautiful skin. She was wearing a plaid dress that showed off every bit of her amazing figure. I nearly failed that class because all I could do was stare at her. I was afraid to talk to her until a few years after graduation when I finally worked up the nerve to ask her out.”
“And you were twenty-two when you got married?”
He laughed. “I was twenty-two. She was twenty-four. My older woman. I’ve loved her from the moment I met her.”
This was so sweet. I was glad I’d come here to meet Mr. Poffenberger. His stories warmed my heart, and even Matt looked misty-eyed at the way his father talked about his mom.
“And she got the sideboard for a wedding gift? From her parents?”
Maurice frowned, looking momentarily confused. “Is that the inlaid buffet thing in the dining room? Her mom gave that to her. I think her mom’s sister had owned it. Or maybe her mother. Either way, it had been something Ellie loved from
her childhood and she cried when her mother gave it to her as a wedding gift. I swear if we had ended up homeless and living out of our car, she would have kept that thing. She said it had meant a lot to her mother, and that it meant a lot to her.” The man suddenly turned to me and tilted his head. “You’re Matt’s wife, right? It’s only fitting you should have it. Ellie wanted it to go to him and to his children.”
Matt and I exchanged an awkward glance. “No, Mr. Poffenberger. I’m not married to your son. But I do love the sideboard and I truly cherish it. I’ll love it just as much as your wife did.”
He nodded, eating a few of his green beans. “That’s good. And you can give it to your children.”
Again, I felt that knife stab in my heart, and I thought of Henry, loving the sideboard just as much as I did. I needed to take care of my will. Things like this needed to be settled. We ate in silence for a few moments while I thought of what I should will each of Judge Beck’s kids, what Daisy might like to have, and what Judge Beck might like to have.
“I wanted to enlist in World War II,” Maurice suddenly announced. “I was only eleven when it started, and I used to sit on the beach with my binoculars, trying to see if I could spy enemy planes or subs off the coast. I’d married by the time of the Korean War and couldn’t leave Ellie behind to serve. I was so proud when Matt joined the Air Force. He served in two wars, you know. Two. But of course you know that, as his wife and all.”
Awkward.
“Dad, Kay isn’t my wife, she’s a friend,” Matt tried to explain.
His father waved his fork in the air and scowled. “Don’t hide your light under a bushel, son. Vietnam. The Gulf War. And then all the work you do with those poor soldiers and police officers that can’t get what they seen out of their head. He’s a good man, Kay. You picked a good one, marrying my son here.”
“I truly appreciate his service.” I gave Matt a smile and he returned it. I noticed he seemed a bit red in the face at his father’s praise. Or maybe it was his father’s continued assertions that I was his wife.
