Midnight in Brussels

by Rebecca Randolph Buckley

  “I sure did. Everybody’s talking about it around here.” She thought she should at least be cordial in order to get a fat tip. “So where are you from?”

  “Cupertino.”

  “Is that up north? I don’t know much about California.”

  “Yes, up north, close to San Jose. Where do you hail from, honey?”

  “Arkansas. But I lived in Nevada for a few years before comin’ out here. So what’s your name?”

  “My name’s Richard, Amanda. Richard Miller.”

  She wore a name tag so he had the advantage of knowing her name before she knew his.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller.”

  “Call me Richard.”

  “Okay, I will. Well, I got to go now. Got to set up them tables over there for tomorrow’s lunch. Your dinner should be ready in a minute.” She walked away feeling she’d done her friendly part, but she was uneasy because she felt him watching her while she worked.

  Frenchie followed her into the kitchen. “Richard’s a wealthy cattle rancher from up north, Amanda, a really nice guy. I think he likes you, sweetie. Be good to him.”

  “I am being good to him, Frenchie. But I hope he’s not coming on to me, because if he is, I’ll have to tell him to mind his own dang business. I ain’t into hooking up with some ol’ man. No man, as a matter of fact. I’m still married.”

  Frenchie chuckled. She was always amused at Amanda’s manner of speech. Both she and her sister Paula had a unique way of putting things - a far cry from her own French manner. “But, you must have an open mind, ma chère.”

  “My mind’s open alright, it’s just that I don’t particularly want another man in it taking up all the space.” Amanda turned to add garnish to the plate as she gave a moment’s thought about the eligible rancher sitting at one of her tables with a shit-eatin’ grin that made her nervous.

  As handsome as he was and as much as she was wondering if his pecker looked like Arlie’s, she shut him out of her mind as she picked up the steak plate and grabbed the bread and left the kitchen.

  Chapter 5

  On Monday Amanda walked down the long driveway to the mailbox as usual. Paula and Drake Livingston had built on ten acres along the Kern River outside of town. But then Bakersfield is more of a city than a town with its population of 340,000. A city that is surrounded by oil fields, ranches and farms, a city made up of blue and white collar workers, medical professionals, college faculties and students, a growing corporate element, migrant farm workers, and sad to say … the homeless and unemployed.

  The Livingstons were proud of their 7,000 square-foot home with barns, garages and sheds to accommodate Drake’s trucking business - a fabulous spread. It was a far cry from the log cabins of their youth in Arkansas.

  But for Amanda there was far too much activity there. She had become accustomed to being a recluse while living in the Nevada desert, and then again, maybe she’d been one all along, maybe even in Arkansas while growing up.

  She had spent many hours alone at her grandmother’s cabin in the woods outside Mountain Home where she was born and raised. Her sister Paula was older and had her own friends and habits, so she wasn’t there most of the time. Maybe Amanda subconsciously preferred to be alone. She remembered reading somewhere, “You are where or what you’re supposed to be, otherwise you’d be somewhere or somebody else.” Maybe she was supposed to have lived her first twenty-three years as a hermit.

  Arlie and Amanda had gone to school together in the small Arkansas town and had been girlfriend and boyfriend by the time they were both thirteen, and they quit school and got married when they were sixteen. Amanda had never worked because Arlie didn’t want her to work. She’d learned how to make her own clothes from her mother who had been a seamstress, so that helped pass the time. She’d buy used clothing from Goodwill or the Salvation Army, and there were always the castoffs from the people in the trailer park in the bins by the convenience store. She used some of the recycled clothing to recreate and design garments for herself – sundresses, aprons, skirts and blouses, and sometimes shirts for Arlie.

  She had always thought she could take in sewing or do ironing if she had to, but going for a job outside the home wasn’t a choice for her. Arlie said he’d always take care of her and he did ‘til he fell off the face of the earth in spite of his promise. In that first six months after he’d disappeared, daily she swayed back and forth from feeling totally distraught and depressed to feeling spitfire angry at him for leaving her in such a predicament. But now things were different, that was all behind her.

  She opened the oversized mailbox that her brother-in-law Drake had set in a square river-rock column that he had built. The box was full and she lifted out the stack of mail, clumps at a time to sift through, hoping the check from Johnny would be there.

  “It came! It’s here!” She screamed with glee, and ran towards the house with her arms full, dropping mail, stooping to pick it up, dropping more mail, stooping again, and then running.

  Now she would find an apartment of her own in town near KC’s. That’s what she wanted more than anything. She’d thought of nothing else in the past few weeks. It was time for her to be on her own, to be alone again. Only this time she was looking forward to it, she needed it.

  Maybe she could buy a car now, too, if she could find a cheap one. She’d been putting money into a savings account, but didn’t want to touch that. Her sister told her if she started withdrawing from a savings account it would become too easy and she’d most likely end up drawing it all out before she knew it. So she was very strict with herself. That was money for Europe, and now she had more to add to it because there would be a lot left over even after finding an apartment and buying a car, she figured.

  The cashier’s check was for $9,000. She’d never seen that much money in her entire life. It was in her pocket and it was all hers! She wondered where Johnny had gotten that much. Then her thoughts went to Arlie and the rumors of his gambling. She didn’t want to think about it, but maybe Arlie had been a gambler after all, and maybe Johnny gambled. They were close friends, so they probably did it together. She shook the thoughts of Arlie and Johnny from her mind. All she cared about was the money and what she was going to do with it. Arlie was hardly a wisp of a thought now.

  “Paula, Paula! It’s here! The money’s here!” The screen door slammed behind her as she ran into the family room where Paula was watching Oprah. “All of it! Nine thousand dollars! Let’s go find me a place to live, okay?”

  Chapter 6

  A week later Amanda spent the first night in her own place and it felt like heaven - a one-bedroom apartment in a courtyard surrounded by eight other units, the shingled exteriors resembling English cottages set around a lawn and flower garden. She fell in love with it the moment she saw the For Rent sign, and it was within walking distance of KC’s. Perfect.

  The foundation of her particular unit was a bit off-kilter, though. It leaned a tad to the left. She dropped a spool of thread and it rolled down to the northwest corner of the living room, which she found amusing, and it was barely noticeable.

  She furnished the cottage with pieces she had found at thrift stores and used furniture stores and had put up lace curtains she bought at Kmart to cover the paper roller-shades that came with the place. She was as happy as she could be. Finally a home of her own to decorate as she wished and no one to tell her she couldn’t.

  Paula had wanted to buy new furniture for her, but Amanda wouldn’t have it. Paula did insist on buying her a new queen-sized bed, though. Wouldn’t take no for an answer, told her it was an early birthday present, and had it delivered the first day she moved in.

  One evening on her day off from work, Amanda sat on one of the two matching bar stools at her high, white, wrought-iron café table that doubled as a cutting-board island in her kitchen. She’d found a new round cutting board that exactly fit the top of the table. As she sat in her cozy kitchen, she gazed into her charming living room. She sipped on a gl
ass of wine and felt as if she was in another world, her very own cozy cocoon - all safe and happy.

  She loved her beautiful furnishings - the overstuffed yellow-floral-blue-striped love seat, the bamboo cocktail table in front of it, the rattan chair with a lavender seat cushion, oriental framed prints on the wall next to the gold-framed mirror over the fireplace. Although they weren’t exactly new and were slightly worn, they were new to her.

  She had a knack for decorating that could make meager and inexpensive décor look expensive and appealing. At one time she’d even thought of going to school to become an interior decorator. That was back in Arkansas before she quit high school and married Arlie. She’d flipped through an Architectural Digest at the drug store and couldn’t believe how some people lived - the extravagant furniture and artwork they had in their homes. She read the stories about the designers and their lifestyles. It had overwhelmed her and made her wish for her own palatial home. She hadn’t thought about those times until lately, when she and Paula were going from store to store, shopping for furnishings for Paula’s new house, and now for her own little home.

  “I love my cottage!” she exclaimed aloud and began laughing. “I do love my little cottage, I do.” She poured another glass of wine for herself and then began eating her salad. “I love my cottage.”

  Chapter 7

  A month had passed since Amanda had moved into her quaint cottage—as she continually referred to it. The exterior walls were covered with grey, weathered redwood shingles from the foundation to the roofline, and the steep roof was covered with slate shingles - just like she’d seen in one of the travel magazines.

  Her landlord had given her permission to plant climbing pink and yellow roses around the lattice work on the front stoop, and ivy along the street side of the building. Although it was co-joined to two other cottages to the right of it, it felt like a detached unit to Amanda. She had a front and back door with shingled porch covers and stoops, a lawn, and windows on three sides. The west side of her place bordered the sidewalk that ran along the street, the front faced north onto the courtyard, across from the units looking back at her.

  She’d added bargain accessories in her three cozy rooms that she’d found at vintage, used, and antique stores in Bakersfield. She spent hours browsing and finding items she wanted that appeared to cost more than what they did.

  Paula couldn’t believe how dazzling the small one-bedroom haven had become. “It’s incredible, what you’ve done here,” she said as she came through the door held open by Amanda. “Oh, look at that!” She went over to the mantle and touched a lacquered porcelain orange and white Chinese dog. “Where the hell did you find this?”

  “At that place over there on Eighteenth Street. You know, where we got the love seat. Are y’all hungry yet? I’ve made us some sandwiches.”

  “You know me, I’m always hungry. This baby eats as much as I do.”

  “Okay, I’ve set it all up for us.” She walked towards the tiny kitchen as Paula waddled behind her.

  “You sit over there.”

  “Oh, hon! This is so pretty. Flowers in a vase. And look at these plates. They’re new, ain’t they?”

  “Look on the back; they’re genuine bone China from England. Found them at the Ross store.”

  “I just can’t get over the change in you in just this short time.” Paula picked up half a sandwich from her plate. “I mean, you have a job, and Frenchie says you’re really good at it. She loves you, too, you know. Says you remind her of herself when she was young and stupid about men. Ain’t that funny? I don’t see Frenchie as ever being stupid about anything. I wish I had one-tenth of her clothes and jewelry, she’s a dang fashion plate, ain’t she?”

  Amanda’s face brightened. “One of these days I’m going to make her a pretty dress.”

  "Now that would be downright nice of you to do, Amanda. Anyway, like I was sayin’, here you’ve got this place to live in with all these pretty things. It just blows my mind how you’ve adjusted.” She bit into the sandwich and kept talking as she chewed. “I don’t think I could pick up and start all over again like you did if something happened to Drake and I lost everything. I couldn’t do it. I’d just die. I know I would.” She reached for her wine glass. “Let’s make a toast to your new life.”

  Amanda happily reached for her glass.

  “To women all over the world: may they be as happy and as lucky as we two Conroy sisters are, Amanda.”

  “Well—”

  “No, I mean it. What more could you want, Amanda? You’ve got everything you need. Well, maybe a car would be nice, but that’ll come next.”

  “I was just going to say, I’ve been looking at cars.”

  “Now, hon ... I wasn’t supposed to tell you this, but Drake is going to give you a car for your birthday. So don’t y’all go out and get into any debt. Just wait till your birthday.”

  “I don’t want Drake to buy me a car, Paula. I’ll buy my own. I’ve been saving my money. It won’t take me much longer to get the money with what I got for the trailer and all. I make pretty good tips.”

  “Now, you know how Drake is when he sets his mind to something, there ain’t nobody gonna change it. And you know we got tons of money, what are sisters for if not to help each other when we can? So you just put that money in your travel fund. How much have you saved up for that trip you want to take?”

  “Well, with the money that’s left from the sale of the trailer and what I’ve saved from paychecks and tips, I’ve got a little over $6000 for the trip and $600 in my car fund.”

  “Well I’ll be damned! That’s nearly $7000, girl! How much do you figure you’re gonna need for that trip anyway?”

  “I’m figuring on about $10,000.”

  “Whew! That’s a lot of money, girl! I don’t how you do it. Figuring out all that stuff. But then you’ve always been good with numbers.” Paula continued with a mouthful of sandwich. “I sure couldn’t do all that figuring.”

  Amanda placed another half sandwich on Paula’s plate. “Well, I figure if I take that much, I can stay longer if I want. I’ve been reading up on Belgium at the library, the costs and everything. And I got on the computer last time I was there and found the Bruges website. There’s a lace-making school there, Paula. They give classes that last a week for beginners.”

  “You’re thinking about taking a lace-making class?”

  “Yes, I am. It’s fascinatin’ how they make those intricate designs. Here, let me show you some pictures.”

  Amanda went to a book case and pulled out a book on lace making. “I got this here book at Goodwill, it has everything in it. I figure I can just take a basic class and see if I like it or not first, or if I can even do it. There aren’t many lace-makers out there anymore.” She handed the book to Paula. “They’re even offering free classes to school children so the art won’t die. Bruges was one of the first originators of lace.”

  She went back into the living room and picked up a throw pillow from the sofa. “I’d like to learn how to do tapestry, too. Look at this here.”

  Paula took the pillow and felt it, unzipped the cover and looked on the back side of the tapestry. “I would imagine you wouldn’t have to go all the way to Belgium to learn how to make lace and weave tapestry, if that’s all you want.”

  “But it’s not all I want. Here, let me show you this magazine I bought yesterday. It’s all about Belgium, a travel magazine.” She went to the table in front of the love seat and picked up one of the travel issues that were stacked high on it. “Look at this.” She opened to a pictorial spread of Bruges.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Paula exclaimed. “Will you look at them waterways right up against the buildings? These pictures look like paintings, don’t they? Something you’d see in a museum.”

  “That’s the main reason I’m going. It looks so beautiful and peaceful. And all the streets are cobbled - you know, made of stones, like in medieval times. Did you know that’s what cobbled meant?”


  Paula frowned. “No I didn’t. You’re sure learnin’ a bunch of stuff these days.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that.” She giggled. “Actually most of the architecture there is medieval. It says that right here. I looked up ‘medieval’ and found out what it means. It means the same as the Middle Ages. Did you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t. I thought middle ages was when people get to their fifties and sixties. I sure didn’t think it had anything to do with that … that medieval stuff.” Paula gulped some water.

  “Well, it says it was a period of time way back between the fifth and the fifteenth centuries. Can you believe that? Here we’re living in the twenty-first century and a century is made up of a hundred years.”

  “You are so smart, Amanda. I had no idea you knew so much about the big ol’ world out there.”

  Amanda shrugged. “I do a lot of reading about it in my spare time. Makin’ up for lost time, I guess. Quittin’ school early probably wasn’t the best thing for me to do. I’m teachin’myself better English, too. ” She picked up a sandwich. But anyway, so that means medieval times began sixteen centuries ago. That’s sixteen hundred years! Can you imagine that? It just boggles my mind” She took a bite. “And Bruges has buildings and streets that go back all the way to that time. You know, sometimes I feel like I’ve already been there, it seems so familiar to me; I’m drawn to it. Have you read anything about past lives, Paula? I’m reading all about that, too.”

  Paula stared at her younger sister in wonderment.

  Chapter 8

  It was nearly ten p.m. Saturday night before the Christmas holiday. KC’s Steakhouse was all decked out with colorful decorations and the waitresses were wearing blinking Christmas pins and wore holly and mistletoe in their hair. Amanda had made a circular crown of holly and was wearing it. No mistletoe. Her hair was curled and pulled up to make a nest for the holly on top of her head.