Dearest Dorothy, Help! I've Lost Myself!

by Charlene Baumbich

  Doc and Eugene chuckled, as did Dorothy, who did so not because the line struck her funny, but because these too old duffers just tickled her being so tickled with themselves. They each turned and headed toward their destinations. Doc opened his driver’s door, then looked over his car roof at Dorothy, who was approaching the sidewalk. “Dorothy,” he yelped, “would you like a ride? I know you’ve only got a few blocks to go, but it’s getting a little chilly out here. I’d be happy to give a gal a ride in my old chariot!”

  “You know, Doc, I think I’ll just take you up on that. Those few blocks were feeling mighty far away to me this morning. I’m going to go straight home and take a nap. This way I can start it sooner!” Besides, Dorothy thought if anybody had aged as well as Paul Newman, it was Doc Streator. It filled her with a sudden delight to know that at her age, she still noticed things like that.

  Jessica picked up her little gooseneck craft scissors and snipped off the thin, green cotton yarn next to the knot near her last crocheted stitch. She held the bookmark up and inspected her handiwork. “Perfect! Sometimes I amaze myself,” she said, pleased with her ability to have duplicated the bookmark Jessie won at the last Hookers’ bunco meeting. She checked the wall clock. “And in no more than fifteen minutes! I could easily make a dozen of these, honey, just using tidbits of yarn and little pockets of time like this over the next couple weeks.” She determined she’d make a few more in Christmas colors and tack on a sequin or a couple of dangling beads, just to dress them up.

  Then a new idea struck her. “That’s it! Rather than this being the bookmark itself,” she said, fingering her handiwork, “this will be the pretty part that stays outside of the book! I’ll make them uniquely my own design by adding a long crocheted strand that goes inside the book for the page marker, and attach a bauble to the end that will dangle out the bottom of the book, anchoring it all in place! Maybe use some of my fancy buttons I’ve collected! Won’t that be perfect, Paul?” She turned to show Paul her creation, only to find him sound asleep in his lounge chair, legs stretched out on the ottoman, his book open on his lap.

  “Poor thing,” she whispered, removing the craft items from her lap, setting them on the end table and quietly turning off the reading light that was shining in her husband’s face. He awakened when she went to pick up the book. “Hey! I’m reading!” he said. Jessica thought it was just like a man to never admit he’d nodded off, same as when she’d tried to change the TV channel during one of his snoozes, which, she had to admit, weren’t very often. Nonetheless, if she ever intentionally wanted to wake him up, turning off the television would be the way to do it. She just had to be ready to hear “Hey, I’m watching that!” Right.

  “I’m sorry I woke you up; I should have just left well enough alone,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You hardly ever get to take a nap, honey. It’s a rare day when Sarah Sue stays down this long after church too; she must have worn herself out in the nursery! Why don’t you go on in the bedroom and stretch out while you have the chance. That way I won’t bother you.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not very good company today, am I?”

  “You’re perfect company. I’m as happy as a little clam playing with my crafts anyway.”

  Paul decided her nap idea sounded like a good one and departed to the bedroom, which left her blissfully alone to try her new inspiration. She retrieved her button box and another clear plastic shoebox that housed her sequins and beads. She’d long ago learned that she entered another time zone—seemingly not of this world—when her mind was lost to the art of creation. She was quite satisfied with no television or radio emitting noise in the background when visiting the wherever zone; her own happy humming was enough.

  Each year when fall approached, waves of Must do crafts! washed over her. Christmas would be here before she knew it, and she adored making Christmas gifts for everyone—not to mention that hand-crafting also helped the budget, especially since she always seemed to find the supplies she needed from the crafters’ corner in the Now and Again Resale store in Yorkville. But first came the arts and craft fair for the Pumpkin Festival, which is why she was intent on whipping up the bookmarks.

  The last couple of years, she’d had her own booth filled with everything from crocheted goodies to painted woodwork to clay beads. She’d made enough money to do nearly all of their Christmas shopping, which was, admittedly, not that much, but just the same, she’d felt proud and satisfied. This year, what with her new baby girl and motel business picking up, she decided she realistically only had time to make a few items, so she’d put them in a separate bin and let another crafter sell them at his or her booth, giving them a small commission for the kindness. Better than nothing, and every little penny helped. Besides, now that she and Paul were on the Centennial Plus 30 committee, she’d have other things to think about, plan for and create too. She hoped she hadn’t stretched herself too thin. But the thought of getting to decorate the platform also gave her a rush of creative energy, which was a nice departure from diapers and bed sheets—although she figured there’d be plenty of sheets and towels and hotel rooms to clean if folks’ relatives came to town for the Pumpkin Festival the way they usually did, some viewing it as more of a homecoming festivity than anything else. Who knew how many guests to expect, since the weekend had now grown into an official celebration of another color and word was just getting out. No matter what, though, it pleased both her and Paul to gather themselves up for a rare evening out, even if it was just for a committee meeting.

  She attached the long tail to the bookmark and matched a button with two beads as the perfect complement. Humming “Joy to the World,” she tested the new product design in the book Paul had been reading. “Perfect! Wait until I show this to Katie!”

  Katie. Her heart lost some of its merriness as she considered how much she’d missed her friend. Since Katie had neither phoned nor returned two messages she’d left, Jessica could only conclude that she’d let Katie down and that Katie was pulling away from her. She was sure she’d disappointed her when she’d chosen to stay at Dorothy’s and eat dessert rather than ride home with Katie after bunco last week. She kept picturing the back of Katie’s SUV barreling down the road without her as she stood in the street waving. What kind of a person opts for dessert rather than spending time with a new friend, the friend who even brought me to the Hookers’ meeting?

  Intruding into her regretful thoughts, Sarah Sue began making noises that she was refreshed and ready for her own kind of play, which didn’t include crochet hooks with which to gouge herself, and buttons and beads to swallow. Jessica gathered up her things, stored them back in the cabinet and removed her imaginary artist’s hat. Then she donned her dairy-cow face. It was time to nurse her baby.

  “Is that you, Dorothy? It’s me, Katie. You sound . . . tired. Are you feeling well?”

  “You caught me, kiddo. You caught me sleeping in the middle of the day,” she said, as if to clarify her own thought.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were a napper. I’ll phone you another time.”

  “Don’t be silly. And don’t you dare hang up. I am surely glad to hear from you. In fact, I was going to give you a call tomorrow. It’s been too long since we’ve had a chance to catch up.” And oh, child, what a catch-up it will be. “I’m not usually a napper; it’s just that by the time church was over today, then I chatted with Pastor for a spell before cleaning up the altar . . . I guess this crazy changing weather, that can’t seem to make up its mind what it wants to do, is tickling my hibernating mode. Are you back from Chicago then?”

  “We’re on our way back as we speak.”

  “Goodness. You mean to tell me you’re not even in town? You sound so clear. Technology is amazing. You’re not talking on your phone while you’re driving, are you? That scares me to death when I hear of people doing that.”

  “No. I sure am not. Josh is driving.” (She decided not to mention that driving and talking on her phone wer
e a common practice for her.) “It’s nice to just be able to sit here and relax for a change. And while he’s whisking us home, we discovered we were both thinking about you. Have you had lunch yet?”

  “No, I haven’t.” Dorothy could hear Josh in the background saying something about chicken.

  “Yes, I know, Joshua,” Katie said, her hand over the mouthpiece but doing a bad job of muffling her voice.

  “Josh and I would like to treat you today. We thought we’d pick up a bucket of chicken when we come through Hethrow, then swing by and get you. Bring you out to the farm with us for lunch. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds perfect! How long do you think before you get here?”

  Katie looked at her watch. “I’d say about an hour. Can you wait that long to eat?”

  “Sure can.” I could wait a very long time, I’m sure; but God has other plans to unfold, and it seems He’s kicked them into high gear.

  “We’ll be at your door before you know it. Anything I need to know?”

  “WHAT?” Dorothy could not believe her ears.

  “Any special requests, like all white or dark meat, or certain side dishes?”

  Oh, for goodness sake! “Whatever you set before me is what I’ll eat since I like it all.”

  “Anything for Sheba?” she heard Josh holler.

  “A back seat to stand in and an open window to hang her head out of on the way to the farm,” Dorothy said, giving her answer to Katie. “Even though it’s cool, it’ll be the best treat she’s had since we moved! As a matter of fact, if I can get Josh to pedal down a little, even with his mother in the car, it’ll be the best gift for both of us!” Although I’m sure in no hurry to get to the toughest part: that which needs to be revealed.

  “Just a minute! I’ll be right there!” Dorothy was in the bathroom when Katie and Josh knocked on the door. She was brushing her teeth, both in and outside of her mouth. Since she’d been awakened by the phone, she’d been praying in her prayer-chair by her bed, flipping through her bible, using the concordance to look up verses about courage. When she’d glanced at the clock, she couldn’t believe how quickly an hour had flown by. She’d kicked it into high gear to ready herself before they arrived. Not that she had that much to do more important than prayer, but her mouth tasted like yuck (afternoon nap), in which case her breath probably wasn’t any better. She knew the message was going to be bad enough without it being delivered on the foul winds of dragon-mouth.

  Katie stood waiting on Dorothy’s tiny front porch once again admiring the mailbox Jessica had hand-painted for Dorothy as a housewarming gift. Multicolored flowers, green stems, house numbers . . . all surrounded by a grapevine wreath. Jessica is so gifted! Katie would be contacting her tonight, she decided, to express how much she’d missed her. Apologize for the gap in their connection.

  The mailbox was cheerful, just like Dorothy. She traced her finger over the green stems that ran down into the house numbers. This was the first time she’d ever noticed Jessica had also painted Dorothy’s name in tiny purple cursive beneath the house numbers. The first letter of each part of her name was in a different color of paint: D (red), J (blue), W (green), with the tiniest of flower buds accentuating the tips of the letters.

  “What are you doing in there, Dorothy? Hiding?” Josh’s booming voice startled Katie and her body jerked. “Joshua! Lower your voice!” Josh loved teasing his feisty older friend, who knew how to dish it right back. In fact, more often than not, she was the instigator of warm kidding. “We know you’re in there,” he continued in a softer voice. “And we’ve got chi-cken,” he said all sing-songy.

  “Oh!” Katie exclaimed, this time startling Joshua. “Dorothy’s initials! DJW. DW.”

  “What?” Josh asked his mom, who repeated the initials.

  Dorothy, donning her old pink backpack in which she’d hastily stuffed her handbag, a jacket and a few extra cookies from May Belle, had her left hand on the doorknob inside her house when she heard Katie say, “Dorothy’s initials! DJW. DW.”

  “Well, duh, Mom. What did you think her initials were, since her name is Dorothy Jean Wetstra?”

  Dorothy slowly opened the door, heart in her mouth. Josh stepped in and grabbed her in a big bear hug, his feet over the threshold, door open behind him. Dorothy returned the hug, peering over his shoulder right at Katie, whose eyes revealed her suspicions. Dorothy patted Josh on the back and released him. He snatched up Sheba and moved inside the house, sitting down on the couch with her as she licked his entire face in a happy welcome. Dorothy moved out onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind her. She hugged Katie, and, still holding her somewhat stiffened body, very quietly said, “Yes. I am the Core Four DW. We need to talk, honey. Alone. Tomorrow, when Josh is in school. I have much to tell you, child. But for now, let’s try to enjoy our chicken.”

  14

  On Monday morning, Josh asked one of the guys to point out Deborah Arnold to him. He could hardly believe his good fortune—that is once he got over his embarrassment. “What are you, Josh, blind? She’s been right next to you several times a day since school started!” Indeed, her locker was right next to his.

  Twice already they’d been at their lockers together, but he hadn’t found the gumption to speak. Now he was determined. His eyes flashed alternately between staring at her coming down the hall and the numbers on his combination lock. He wondered how anyone this drop-dead beautiful could have possibly been described by Kevin as “last year’s news.” From what he could tell by the daily attention he’d noticed her garner, from males and females alike, she hadn’t lost an ounce of her popularity since being elected last year’s prom queen. The only thing he had never noticed before had been her name.

  He waited until she began to twirl the numbers on her lock. “Deborah! How’s it going?” he asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact, as though he had talked to her every day of his life.

  “It’s going,” she said, looking rather surprised he’d addressed her. “I think I just bombed a test, though. Honestly,” she said, rearranging a few items, “I studied for hours, but when I saw the questions, I wondered if I’d even been reading the right textbooks.” She retrieved a lipstick from her pocket and her head disappeared when she swung the door to an angle that enabled her to get close to her magnetic mirror. She was still pursing her lips together when she peaked back around the door.

  “How’s it going with you? Josh, isn’t it?”

  “Yup. Josh Kinney.” Hm. How does she know my name? And nice lips! He briefly meditated on the rosy slickness of them he held in the forefront of his mind while she turned back to whatever she was doing inside of her locker. “Glad to officially meet you, Deborah.” He held out his hand to shake, then noticed both of hers were already filled with the books she’d just retrieved—while he’d been thinking about her lips. He swiftly crammed his hand into his pocket as though it had just been busted running away from home. “Sorry. Which way are you going?” She nodded her head the same direction he was about to head. “Here. Let me carry those for you,” he said, reaching for her stack. But at that same instant, she turned to hip-check her locker closed and he knocked the books out of her hands. The entire pile crashed to the floor in a state of disarray, papers flying out of them this way and that. “Oh, I’m sorry! What a klutz. Here, let me get those.” He bent over—same as she—and they bonked heads.

  “Owwww! Watch it!” Deborah had heard through the grapevine that Josh wasn’t exactly an athletic genius, even though he sat with the jocks. Now she was more inclined to believe what she’d heard, even though she’d always been the type to see for herself before believing any secondhand information. No matter, though, he was a cutie.

  Josh was now afraid to move. He sucked air in through his gritted teeth, lips parted and drawn back in a gesture of embarrassment. She thought his sheepish demeanor endearing. She shook her head and busted out laughing. “I’ve got it: you keep standing still. Don’t move, aside from holding out your hands like
so.” She held her arms straight down in front of her, palms up, lacing her fingers together. “I’ll pick up the books and papers and deposit them, then you can carry them to my next class, if you’ve got time. It’s the least you can do to repay me for my pain and suffering,” she said, beginning the stacking process. About halfway through, she looked at him and said, “And how’d that sound? I’d like to be a lawyer one day.” Her smile was warm and kind and oh, so rosy, and soon her stacking task was complete.

  “I’d say you’ll win every case,” with that beautiful smile. “You convinced me with your brief opening and closing argument! No trial necessary.” They began down the hall until she stopped in front of her class door, which was, as luck would have it again, right next to his. She retrieved the pile and gave him a quick thanks. “And call me Deb, okay? I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again,” she said over her shoulder as she disappeared through the doorway.

  That wasn’t the way it was supposed to go, you doofus. He’d had every intention of casually chatting with her as they stood by their lockers, then inviting her to the Pumpkin Festival dance before he lost his nerve. Why did it all sound so easy when I was talking to Dorothy yesterday?

  Yesterday. Now there was an adventure that took an odd turn. It’s like everything was fine between me and mom, and then we picked up Dorothy. He shuffled into his classroom and sat down at his desk, opening his math book to the spot where he’d tucked in his homework papers. Although his brief conversation with Dorothy about Shelby and Kevin had produced the excellent idea of him inviting Deborah . . . Deb . . . and then asking Kevin if he wanted to double—assuming of course, that Deb accepted his invitation—the opportunity for that conversation had only come about after his mom seemed to mentally check out. Nearly as soon as they’d arrived at the farm—a journey during which his mother barely spoke a word—his mom said she’d developed a splitting headache and excused herself to go upstairs, announcing to both of them that Josh would have to take Dorothy home later. It was like one minute she was all perky and chatty, and the next she’d gone mute.