by Candis Terry
“Why not?” Kate asked. “I did. And I don’t miss it.”
“Ever? Your job was like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.”
“Have you seen my husband?” Kate grinned. “There’s not a movie star, or Tiffany’s Blue Box, or magnum of Dom Pérignon that can hold a candle to him.”
“Good morning, girls.” Their dad came into the kitchen in his old bathrobe and brown scuff house shoes. Beneath his robe he wore an old pair of sweatpants and a white T-shirt. What few gray hairs he had remaining stood up like he’d stuck his finger in a toaster.
“Morning, Daddy.” Kelly gave him a kiss on the cheek, happy for the interruption of an awkward conversation. She poured steaming java into their mugs, and they all stood there looking at each other expectantly.
“Are you sure you want to do this today?” Kelly asked.
“We’ve got plenty of time,” Kate added.
Their father sipped his coffee and shook his head. “One more day won’t make it any easier.”
Several reflective moments later they all walked into the bedroom he shared with their mother for three and a half decades.
The walls were a faded shade of mint, while the furniture was a Mediterranean set with the bulky design of the early seventies. A yellow chenille bedspread covered the queen-sized bed, and on the dresser sat a collection of frames with faded photos of the family in days gone by. Like the interior of the Buick, the room hinted of the scent of vanilla. Their mother had been no Martha Stewart, but she’d definitely given Betty Crocker a run for her money.
Kelly felt a lump lodge in her throat as her dad began to pull out drawers and opened the closet.
“You two sit down,” he said, setting a drawer on top of the bedspread. “I want you to look through this together. Your mother never instructed me on what to give to who, so I want you to make the decision for her. And no fighting.”
“Why would we fight?” Kate asked.
Their father’s shoulders lifted beneath his robe. “Families do weird things when someone dies. Kind of like in a divorce where people will fight over a single plate.”
“No fighting.” Kelly looked at Kate and held up her hand, little finger extended. “Pinky swear.” She and her sister locked fingers and their father gave them a wistful smile.
Inside the drawer were boxes and boxes of costume jewelry. A string of simulated pearls. A butterfly pin with inlaid rhinestones of pink and green. A pair of chandelier earrings in the shape of a champagne glass.
“Gosh,” Kelly said, admiring a Black Hills gold bracelet, “I remember when Mom used to let us play dress-up with this stuff. I can’t believe she kept it all.”
Their dad pulled down several shoe boxes from the shelf in the closet. “Remember, some of this needs to go to Dean, too. But mostly your mom wanted to keep it for the granddaughters you kids would someday give us.”
Granddaughters? Holy cow. Kelly could hardly get a date, and her mom had been thinking about grandkids? She looked up at Kate, who had gone all misty-eyed over a silver charm bracelet.
“Do you mind if I keep this?” Kate asked quietly, rubbing her finger over a charm in the shape of a baby carriage. “Mom once let me wear this to the Fourth of July dance. That was the night I knew I was in love with Matt.”
“What do you mean you knew you were in love with him? You walked out of his life for ten years.”
“Girls.” Their dad used his warning tone.
“It’s okay. Kel’s right.” Kate set the charm bracelet down with a sigh. “I was in love with him. But I was even more in love with this big idea I had running around in my head. That something better was out there. That someone needed me more. That he could never give me exactly what I wanted.”
Their dad patted Kate on the back. “You just had some growing up to do, honey. And so did Matt. But look where it got you.”
Kate laughed, and her smile was so genuine Kelly couldn’t help but be just a little envious.
“Yeah.”
“You look really happy, Kate,” Kelly said.
“I am. I really am.” She grabbed the charm bracelet. “I am so taking this.”
Kelly wondered if she’d ever find that kind of contentment. “So much for being civilized about going through Mom’s things.”
“If you girls aren’t ready to do this,” Dad said, “We can put it off for another day.”
“Oooh.” Kate held up a pink crystal Victorian-style necklace. “This would go great with some of the gowns in Cindi’s Attic,” she said in reference to the charity-prom gown shop she’d created. “Can I have this, too?”
“Sure.” Kelly didn’t mind. She could always borrow. Besides, there were a few pieces she wanted, so she’d save all her bargaining power.
“We can get this done today, Dad,” Kate continued. “Working so many hours at the Shack, it’s hard to know when we’ll get another chance to go through it all.”
“I agree.” Kelly placed her hand over the top of her father’s when a sad expression fell over his weathered face. “What is it, Dad?”
“Just thinking about the Shack.” He inhaled a large breath. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you both. For a while.”
“Dad?” Horrible ideas flashed through Kelly’s head. “Are you okay?”
He reached out, clasped both her and Kate’s hands in his own and held them tight. “I think I’ve decided to retire. Or at least semi-retire, and I want to know your thoughts.”
Kelly’s gut tightened. Had it not been for the utter sadness and despair in her father’s eyes, she might have panicked.
“What are you talking about?” Kate’s brows shot up her forehead. “You can’t retire. You’re still young. You love that place.”
“I loved it,” he said. “When your mother was at my side. But every day when I walk in there, I look for her. And every day I realize she’s never coming back. It’s like going through that awful morning all over again.”
Hot tears slid down Kelly’s cheeks. She should never have gone back to Chicago after her mother’s death and left her father alone. He was suffering. Heartbroken.
And then she wondered why her mother hadn’t visited their father the way she’d visited her three children.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy.” Kelly wrapped her arms around his warm neck. She pressed her face against his morning stubble.
His arms came up around both her and her sister, and soon they were all crying.
“I just can’t bring myself to go on without her,” he said, his voice clogged with tears. “Maybe if I don’t have to go to the Shack every day, it will help me heal.”
Kelly rubbed her hand across his strong back, admiring him for the passion in which he’d loved their mother. Even if their mother hadn’t been perfect to her children, she’d been everything to him.
In that moment, Kelly recognized the one thing she’d been missing in her life. The one thing she’d tried to ignore. The one thing her brother and sister had both found.
She needed someone of her very own to love.
Saturday afternoon sunshine washed the fields of corn and alfalfa with warmth and beckoned James to stay outside and play. To discover a new hiking trail. Or take his ATV to his favorite swimming spot. But for him, weekends were filled with chores and obligations. After he completed his tasks, he’d often treat himself by going out to Matt and Kate’s place and dropping a line in the lake. If he was lucky, he’d bring in dinner. If not, he’d just enjoy an ice-cold beer and some downtime. Today did not hold that promise. Today he had responsibilities.
He cruised through the old neighborhood, scrutinizing every rotting wood plank and layer of ill-repair in sight. Ancient oaks on either side of the road grew together like a cathedral ceiling above the pothole-marred street. Sun-dried lawns spread out like a patchwork quilt in various shades of green and gold.
The poor side of town.
That’s what those in his community labeled this area. As he wound his way to his destination, a sense of l
onging knocked against his heart. Even with all the disrepair and obvious state of impoverishment, to him this was home.
He turned the truck into the gravel driveway of the white bungalow in which he’d grown up. He cut the engine and pulled the keys from the ignition as guilt swept over him. Paint chipped off the house in huge flakes and lay like snow in the dried-up flower beds. A crack spread like a spiderweb in a side window. And several shingles were missing from the roof. The house needed some love. More than he’d been able to spare.
A long sigh blew from his lips as he stepped down from the truck and strolled past a patch of dandelions that bordered the walkway. He opened the front screen door and stepped inside the living room—a homey mishmash of white lace doilies, faded needlepoint, and outdated floral prints. Everything appeared worn, but neatly kept.
“Mom?” He trailed his fingers along the side table, and he swept up the mail as he walked through the room.
“We’re in here, James,” Mrs. Moore, his mother’s caregiver called out.
The scent of warm bread hung in moist clouds above his head as he walked into the sunny yellow-and-white kitchen. His mother sat at the table with a cup of what smelled like orange spice tea in front of her.
“There you are.” He tossed his ball cap on a nearby chair and bent toward his mother’s wheelchair to give her a hug. Her arms were thin and shaky, but she managed to get them up to hug him back. “How are you ladies today?”
“Better . . . now,” his mother said with her stilted pattern of speech. “Better.”
“She’s been waiting for you.” Mrs. Moore set a bowl of apples and grapes in the center of the table. “Even got up early, had a shower, and let me do her hair.”
“It looks beautiful.” He brushed his mother’s cheek with a kiss and placed on the table in front of her the bright bouquet of daisies and zinnias he’d brought. “These are for you.” He gave his mother a smile. “Although they pale in comparison.”
She gave him a small laugh and a jerky little pat on the arm. “You’re a good . . . son.”
“I’ll bet you say that to all us boys.”
The smile on the mobile side of her face fell. “How’s . . . Alex?” she asked.
He pulled up a kitchen chair, reached forward, and brushed her wavy brown hair away from her face. Despite her severe health issues, his mother was still an attractive woman. And he knew her heart broke whenever she thought of her rebellious son and her lack of ability to be able to set him straight.
James had once been the hell-raising son. Until the day he’d learned his lesson the hard way. And no matter how horribly he’d treated her, his mother had been right there to help him heal—body and soul. He owed her everything. Since the stroke that had partially paralyzed her speech and movements, he’d made sure she was well taken care of. He paid for her private caregiver, and he paid for her to be able to stay in her own home. The only thing money couldn’t buy was her good health. Some days it overwhelmed him, made him question his ability to take care of everybody, do the right thing. On the job he had all the answers. If he didn’t, all he needed to do was look in the book. Real life didn’t offer such a handy-dandy guide.
“Alex is doing better,” he lied, giving her hand a little squeeze. “It’s just going to take time.”
Her brown eyes, so much like his own, filled with tears. “So . . . sorry.”
James clasped her hands between his own and held them against his heart. “It’s not your fault, Mom. He’s going to be just fine. And when he pulls his head out of his . . . rear end, he’s going to be right here, hugging you, and begging for your forgiveness.”
She slipped a hand away and caressed her fingers down his cheek. “Like . . . you.”
“Yeah, Mom. Like me.” Hopefully without the near-death experience.
Several days passed before Kelly realized she’d barely left the house. Together with her dad and Kate they’d sorted out her mother’s worldly possessions into piles for each of her children and items to be donated. Amazingly, she and Kate had hardly disagreed until they came to their mother’s wedding band. They both wanted it. For several minutes each tried to convince the other why it would be better off in their possession. In the end, Kelly suggested it stay with the man who’d placed it on their mother’s finger as he’d vowed to love and cherish her all the days of his life. So they threaded it onto a gold chain and gave it to their dad to wear around his neck. The circle hung right over his heart, and both she and Kate realized that if it couldn’t be with its rightful owner, at least it had found the perfect home.
The thought did not evade Kelly that when you passed away, everything in your life resorted to being a yard-sale item. How depressing was that? She thought of all the nice furniture and artsy elements that decorated her Chicago condo and she realized that if anything was to happen to her, they’d probably all just be auctioned off for a buck or two.
The only thing that truly lasted was memories.
As she carried yet another box of her mother’s worn overalls through the living room to the stack near the door, she took a look around. For years she, Kate, and Dean had tried to buy their parents a new house, or furniture. The pieces Kelly found scattered strategically around the room looked like museum pieces. Still, their parents had been content and repeatedly refused their offers of something bigger, better, newer. Nostalgia draped over her like a fuzzy blanket. There was nothing fancy about this home, but it had always been filled with warmth. And love. Kelly realized that now.
She wondered if all that warmth and all those memories haunted her dad each time he looked at something—a pillow her mother had crocheted. A silk floral piece she’d arranged. Maybe her father needed an escape from the memories at home, too. Kate had done that with the bakery. Last year when her father had gone hunting, she’d completely redecorated the Shack from floor to ceiling. She’d made the focal point of the bakery a large photo of their parents on their opening day.
Could too many memories be a bad thing?
Kelly decided to propose the idea to her father of redecorating the house, too. If he wanted no part of it, she’d leave it alone. If he wanted to move forward, she’d do everything in her power to give him what he needed. Paint. Furniture. Whatever it took. They only thing she couldn’t do was take away his pain.
From the back pocket of her shorts, her phone chimed. She tapped the screen and saw a new text message from Daniel.
You ignoring me? Jury selection being moved up a week. Need you back asap.
Kelly hit delete and shoved the phone back into her pocket. She’d need to respond eventually. But not today. Today she was dedicated to life in Deer Lick. To helping her dad. And to finding her hidden talent.
She looked down at the box in her arms, opened the lid, and looked inside. Her mother’s overalls. There were at least twenty pairs. She reached inside and touched the soft fabric. An idea sprang into her head. Instead of putting the box in the donate pile, she carried the heavy carton into her room and set it down by the closet. Maybe she could finally put her seventh-grade home-ec sewing skills to good use. She’d make quilts—for her dad, Kate, Dean, and herself using their mother’s old overalls and the quilting fabric in the backseat of the Buick.
Now all she needed was a sewing machine.
That would make her smile.
She could be productive and meet James’s challenge at the same time. Brilliant, if she did say so herself.
Before she lost the enthusiasm, she reached beside the bed and grabbed her purse off the floor. At the foot of the bed lay the Carhartt jacket James had lent her the night of their date. She thought of how openly he’d shared the most difficult moments in his life. She thought of his warmth. His sincerity. The way he made her melt by just a smile or a touch. The way he challenged her to step outside her comfort zone and make life a little more adventurous.
Maybe she’d return the jacket to him on her way into town. Surely Kate would have his address. Kelly wouldn’t think about
how desperate she might look just popping up on his doorstep.
Nope.
Not going to think about that at all.
Before she changed her mind, she grabbed the jacket and headed toward the Buick. She pushed the keys in the ignition and was off toward We Heart Quilts, the little shop that sold anything quilt-related. Surely they’d have sewing machines.
By the time she rolled into town, the scent of the Sugar Shack wafted through the car window, and Kelly stopped by to sneak a warm sugar cookie. Then she dropped by to say hello to Mr. Crosby at the Once Again Bookstore and grab a new romance to read. A little further down the street she ducked inside We Heart Quilts. Marge Tucker, the owner of the quilt store, had been about to close up for the night. Lucky for Kelly she heard cha-ching and helped Kelly pick out a new machine.
With her new Singer, a romance novel, and James Harley’s address in hand, Kelly finally headed out just as the sun dropped behind the mountaintops. She’d barely turned off Main Street before the radio station turned to static and Tom Jones began to sing.
“Oh, no.” Kelly reached for the knob to turn off the radio. The glow in the backseat was quicker.
“Trying to get rid of me?” Her mother’s tone possessed a twist of amusement.
Kelly glanced up at the rearview mirror, knowing the effort would be futile because her mother’s reflection no longer existed. “Is that possible?”
“Weren’t you always the obedient daughter?”
“Yes. And I’m trying to break that habit.”
“Well, good for you.” The glow brightened. “Going someplace special?”
“You writing a book?”
Her mother laughed. “By god, I like this sassy side. When did all this take place?”
Kelly turned the Buick onto Railroad Ave. “It’s all a façade. I’m really just trying to talk myself out of thinking I’m completely insane for talking back to my dead mother who could do god-knows-what to me from beyond.”
“I’m not going to do anything to you, honey. I’m here to help you.”
“Help me what? Be fitted for a straightjacket?”
