1 Carpe Bead'em

by Tonya Kappes

  Knowing I made these with my own hands makes my entire body smile. I can’t recall a time I’ve been this happy. Maybe when my parents were alive, but over the past few months I’ve learned not to dwell on the past. In fact, I’ve learned that the past can cripple our future.

  Even though my friends aren’t here and they are going in different directions, I know in my heart we will always be together and they are truly happy for me. I look at each one of these bracelets and feel so much gratitude.

  Just think if I hadn’t taken the chance I did, I wouldn’t be here now. Embrace life, my dad would say. I’m beginning to understand.

  “Thank you.” A faint whisper crosses my lips as my chest lifts in a light breath. I can feel it. I know my parents can hear me.

  “Excuse me?” Eloise leans closer. “Did you say something, dear?”

  My one-sided conversation with my parents was obviously louder than a whisper.

  “Oh, I was just sending up a little gratitude.” I smile, looking up, imagining my parents smiling down on me.

  “You know, young people don’t do that enough nowadays.” She peers over her glasses and touches a few of my bracelets. “You must’ve had a good upbringing.”

  “My parents died when I was young.” I tell her.

  An image of Aunt Grace pops into my head on the day she picked me up from school in a full-length mink coat. Half the fur was gone and it was ninety degrees and humid. I became the butt of all the jokes. After that, I was so embarrassed that I never ever had a friend over, and I was only in eighth grade.

  If Eloise had only known I grew up in the seediest part of the city with cockroaches sharing my bed, that I wore secondhand clothes and that I never knew where my next meal was coming from.

  “I didn’t say parents.” Eloise takes my hand in her hands, “You had a good upbringing. You just don’t know it yet.”

  Slipping my hand out of hers, a little anger boils in my soul. My Beadnicks contract doesn’t involve therapy.

  “Not to be disrespectful,” I tell her, “but my crazy aunt and uncle raised me.”

  Eloise howls, and I look around to find some of the patrons staring.

  “Honey, don’t you know the old saying? ‘Families are like fudge, mostly sweet, with a few nuts.’ That’s what makes the world go round.”

  I nod at Eloise’s comment. She looks like she’s never had a problematic day in her life. Sure, her wrinkles and gray hair make her look like she has wisdom, but she doesn’t know my life. She doesn’t know the years of studying I did by a naked light just so I could get a state college scholarship in order to get the heck out of Cincinnati. With my good study habits and grades, I landed myself a full ride and far enough away from home where no one knows me.

  “Well, Eloise, I’m heading back to Chicago in a couple weeks. I don’t anticipate you’ll need anything by then.” I scribble Natalie’s number on the back of a business card. “Natalie will be in every couple weeks to restock sold merchandise. Or, you can call her before, if you need to. Call me if you have any business questions like the invoices.”

  Eloise shakes my hand. “I believe your bracelets are going to be a big seller here. I’m looking forward to doing business with you, Hallie.”

  Chapter Fifty

  The house is silent, at least until Henry breaks the stillness with his yipping.

  I check the window and spot the mailman walking away. Eager to see what’s in store— maybe an offer from Saks or O magazine—I rush to see what he left behind.

  The mailbox hanging on the front porch holds a piece of paper I have been fearing for thirty days. The Chase credit card return label speaks volumes without opening it.

  “Oh, Henry.” I hold the bill in a vise grip.

  I promised myself I wouldn’t let this bead thing get me in debt. The few bracelets sold here and there through Dee and a prime real estate on the counter in a local hospital gift shop isn’t near enough to pay the three-thousand-dollar Chase bill.

  I remember my dad preaching to my mom, “If we can’t afford to pay cash, we can’t afford it.” That’s exactly what happened to Aunt Grace. She put everything on credit cards and, with no money to back her up, she lost it all.

  All the gurus always say, “You can break the cycle, starting with you.” I’m going to break the debt cycle and make something of myself. Right now, I promise myself. I knew the day I signed the Chase agreement that I shouldn’t have. Even if the zero percent did catch my attention, I knew it then and I know it now.

  Even Henry’s kisses don’t make me feel any better. I have three weeks until my minimum payment is due. Sure I can pay the low minimum payment of twenty dollars, but it will take years for me to pay it off.

  Off for the weekend and with all my beading caught up, I might as well put the bill aside and start packing. At least that’s something to look forward to.

  I pull the boxes out of the hall closet I had stuffed in there ten weeks ago—and there it stares at me. Each perfect piece begging me to pick it up and smash it up against the fireplace. Aunt Grace’s china.

  I sit on the floor, cross-legged, facing the stacked china, running my fingers along the rim of the petite coffee cup. It’s tempting. I read about a place where angry people can go in a padded room and throw china at the walls to vent their anger.

  Why not? I tell myself. It might feel good.

  I pick up the cup thinking about all the anger that lies deep within my bones: my parent’s death, living with Aunt Grace, not having friends in high school, studying my youth away in order to make a future for me.

  Of course I can’t smash it. I picture Bo’s face and pick it up again. I remember the cockroaches, pink Henry, bricks, gambling money, that flag pole with the bald eagle on top, sawed-off doors, Saks, O Magazine, Chase!

  I grip the cup over my head ready to fling it for a taste of feeling free. I clinch my jaws and tears trickle like a dripping faucet down my face.

  “Why me God?” I grip the cup with both hands and scream up to the ceiling.

  “Why?” I scream at the top of my lungs. “A person can only take so much. I am tired. Tired of saying it can be worse. Tired of looking for the bright side.”

  For me this is worse.

  I can’t. I can’t throw it. With my shoulders slump and the tiny coffee cup in my hands, I start to laugh. Laugh harder than I have in weeks. It reminds me of a crazy person. I laugh more. I imagine myself as Aunt Grace’s biological daughter. It makes sense in a way. I sure seem to have gotten the crazies from her.

  I hold the coffee cup towards Henry, who is cowering under the table, scared from my rant. “Maybe two sips.” I shove the cup closer to him. “Can’t drink much coffee out of this.”

  I pretend to take a couple sips with my pinky sticking up in the air.

  It’s then that I notice the label on the bottom. Royal Doulton England. A crowned lion sits on top a crown with Royal Doulton England printed under it. I examine every piece. All twelve place settings, gravy bowls, platter, the whole nine yards. All in immaculate shape. There’s no way Aunt Grace would’ve been able to afford real china.

  I have to admit, it’s cute china and with my curiosity up, I Google Royal Doulton.

  Antique? Circa 1910? I comb through the Google entries on the screen. Could Aunt Grace’s china possibly be worth something?

  “Please, God, let there be three thousand dollars here,” I whisper.

  I jump up and pack the china in an empty boxes.

  “Henry, I’ll be right back.” I grab the box and slam the door behind me.

  Driving I recall a few pawn shops around. I park and go in the one I’ve passed many times. But never been a patron.

  The gentleman looks up from behind the counter to acknowledge my existence.

  “Can I help you find something?” He stares back down at his paper.

  “I have some china and I want to know how much you think it’s worth.” I hand him the tiny coffee cup, hoping he may see something I d
on’t.

  “You’re in luck. We have an antique dealer who looks at all this stuff. He’s here now.” He disappears behind a dingy blue curtain.

  I look around the darkly lit room. There are at least five security cameras hanging from the wooden rafters. I get the heebie-jeebies being in this part of the town at this time of day. I wish I would’ve told someone I’m down here just in case me or my china doesn’t get to see the light of day again.

  The counterman re-emerges with another man. “How many pieces do you have?” the other man asks me.

  “I have all twelve place settings plus the extras.” I’m getting the feeling that he is a little interested in what I have.

  “All good condition like this cup?” He holds it closer to the light.

  “As far as I can tell. I have it all with me if you want to see it.” I point towards the door with my keys still in hand.

  The antique dealer follows me out to the car, making two trips to retrieve the boxes. On the second trip, he points to the yellow bag of silver. “Is that yours?”

  He picks up the carved spoon. There is excitement in his eyes.

  “Oh yeah, that. Why?” I pull out the bag and dump the contents in the trunk.

  “Interested in selling it?”

  I don’t answer, I start stuffing it in the boxes. With the china and the silver, I follow him back into the pawnshop. I bet I can get fifty dollars out of him.

  Anticipation build as I watch him carefully place each piece on the empty table. He looks them over, one at a time, writing on a piece of paper. Then the two men whisper in a way that makes me uncomfortable.

  “Here’s the deal.” He takes the magnifying glasses off his head and lay them on the counter. “Royal Doulton,” he taps the bottom of the tiny cup, “started in 1815 and to make a long story short became Britain’s leading china maker. What you have here is worth about ten thousand dollars.”

  My mouth drops, but no sound comes out. I have to steady myself against the counter. “Did I hear you correctly?”

  “If you heard ten thousand dollars, you heard me correctly.” He picks up the knife.

  I look around. I’m either on Punk’d or Antiques Road Show. “This is a joke. Right?”

  He laughs and then points to the silver. “This is a very rare Sheffield sterling silver set circa 1894 worth four thousand dollars.”

  As if in slow motion, I watch him puts the knife next to the spoon. “I’ll give you fourteen thousand dollars for all of it.”

  My lungs compress. I can’t breathe. There is no way Aunt Grace knows she gave me thousands of dollars of china.

  I fiddle around my bag for my phone and motion to the antique dealer to hold on.

  “Hello?” Aunt Grace sounds tired. I can hear her shallow breathing as she tries to take in air.

  “Aunt Grace?” I question if it’s even her. “Are you okay?” I momentarily forget about the china and become increasingly frightened.

  My first instinct is to go and look at her to make sure she is still wearing a wig, ruby red lipstick and stroking her fox. I need to know she’s still my crazy Aunt Grace.

  “Hallie, it’s so good to hear your voice,” Aunt Grace’s says. “I’m fine. All this humidity loves to get in my lungs.” She assures me nothing is wrong. Though I still have an uneasy feeling she isn’t telling me the truth.

  “Aunt Grace, you know the china and the silver ware you gave me.” I get to the point. “Do you know how much that is worth?”

  “Yes.” The line is silent. “I guess you either need money or want to get rid of it. Either way, I know we couldn’t offer you the life you deserved, but I gave you the best life I could. I am proud of you, Hallie.” Aunt Grace sounds the sanest I’ve ever heard her.

  I wipe the tear from my cheek. I don’t know what to say. I can’t let her down. “I need the money.” I whisper in embarrassment.

  “How much do you need?” She questions.

  “Three thousand dollars.” Shame begins to fill my soul. My insides slowly begin to tear away from my body. I realize she’s done the best she could for me and the way I’ve treated her over the years is ungrateful and evil.

  “Wait, Hallie,” she pleads. “Don’t sell it.”

  I checked the LCD screen on my phone. Aunt Grace’s call has been dropped. I don’t know what it is about her voice, but it makes me believe her. It’s the least I can do. The credit card minimum payment isn’t due for three weeks. I don’t have to do this now.

  I thank the gentlemen for their time, pack my china and silver back in the box, and speed back to Hyde Park to begin my real packing.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  There he sits, on the stoop and still not giving eye contact. “Your aunt’s upstairs.” Uncle Jimmy doesn’t even scoot over to let me through.

  This time, I slowly walk up the stairs, smiling at the smells of urine, the scatter of bugs and the loud noises coming off the street that would’ve annoyed me a couple weeks ago.

  The apartment number is still crooked hanging on by a thumbtack and the wood still shows the history of the cockroaches that once lived here.

  I tap on the door. “Aunt Grace?”

  She opens the door teary-eyed. “I’ve dreaded this day since the day you showed up.” She grabs me and hugs me tighter than she ever has. I embrace her just as I did my mother many years ago.

  “Are you okay?” I hold her at arm’s length to gain a better look. She’s pale, maybe not feeling well.

  “Fine. Allergies, small headache.” She smiles her gummy smile. “I am ninety-two years young.” She laughs.

  “You know, this isn’t the last time I’ll be here. I’m still going to visit once every six weeks like I always have.” I see the sadness in her eyes. “Maybe once a month.” I can do that, especially now since I have business dealing here.

  “Come in?” She knows I’m going to decline. “I know you want to get back to that big-city life.”

  She reaches inside the door and hands me a doll. It isn’t any doll. It is a true child like baby doll. She—I think it’s a she—stands as tall as my waist. Her hair is shaved and only the hair plugs are visible.

  “I found it in the dumpster and thought about you immediately.” She smiles. “She can keep you company on your way home.”

  “I have Henry, Aunt Grace and I don’t have any more room.” It looks like the bride of Chucky. I see the disappointment in her eyes. “You know, I can put Henry in the back seat.”

  Her chin tilts up, showing me a toothless smile I’m going miss. I realize I need her more than she needs me. She’s all I have.

  Uncle Jimmy’s back is facing me as I walk back down the steps. He still doesn’t flinch stepping over him again. “Excuse me, Uncle Jimmy.”

  His hat is blocking his line of vision. I want to smile and tell him bye, but he is the same old Jimmy. I turn one last time to look back at the old apartment building. I don’t know when or if I will ever be back here. I have an uneasy feeling I’ve never had before.

  Uncle Jimmy stands up with dampened eyes.

  “Hallie?” His voice is frail and soft. “I know I’ve been a bear of a relative, but your Aunt Grace has always loved you. These past few months have brought out a happiness and joy she hasn’t had in years.” He begins to weep. “I may not be smart or rich, but I do know when to say thank you.”

  I walk over to him, but he pushes me away. “No need for all that.”

  He sits back down on the stoop. He doesn’t want a response, he only wants to say thank you in his own way. Of all the crazy things he did this summer, this one ranks as the most memorable.

  Week Eleven

  Bead CRAZY!

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  With a swift clap, my lights came on. I jump to look at the clock. Two in the morning! No need to look at the caller ID.

  “Hello, Aunt Grace.” I lay down with the crook of my elbow shielding the light from my eyes. Of course, now that I’m about to leave, she’s going to start calling
in the middle of the night, again.

  “Hallie?” Uncle Jimmy’s voice sounds shaky and unclear.

  “Uncle Jimmy?” Like a spring, I jump to my feet and clap. “What’s wrong?” I can tell by the pause it isn’t a good sign. Panic starts to take over. “Uncle Jimmy?”

  “It’s your Aunt.” I’m sure I hear a tear hit the phone. “We’re at University Hospital. I think it’s her heart.”

  “I’ll be right there.” I hang up, dress in record time, and run to my car.

  My foggy mind matches the September foggy streets of Cincinnati, leaving me driving slower than normal and making me panic more. All the what-ifs are running in my head.

  What if it’s a heart attack? All of our family has died of heart related issues, expect my parents. What if she dies? She can’t die. She’s all I’ve got. My panic turns to sadness. Sadness for her. Sadness for Uncle Jimmy. Sadness for me.

  The red emergency room sign looks pink in the fog, making it hard to read. I park in the closest parking spot, grab my bag and run as fast as I can, almost smacking into the sliding glass doors.

  Uncle Jimmy sits next to her holding her lifeless hand. He looks up at me. It’s the look of a scared old man. His eyes are red around the edges from worry, from crying.

  “She got up to get a drink and fell.” He puts her hand to his lips. “I keep saying her name and she never responds.” He breaks down, laying his head on the edge of her bed.

  I walk over and rub my hand along her forehead and through her fine hair. If she has to be in this position, I know she would want her hair to look good. She looks gray. Her face is sunken and more drawn without her teeth.

  The tube sticking out of her mouth is pumping her chest up and down, making it seem she is breathing on her own. Her bones protrude through her skin.