by Dianne Dixon
Matt, who’d been sleeping in the study since Ali’s attack, appeared in the bedroom doorway, worried. “It’s the middle of the night. Who was that?”
Ali slowly shook her head. She couldn’t remember the woman’s name. Couldn’t remember anything except the incomprehensible story the woman had just told her.
“What’s going on?” Matt asked.
Ali looked up at him. Dazed. “Ava’s dead.”
Morgan
After the man on the porch had told Morgan, “We can take him right now if that helps,” and Morgan had said, “Okay,” there had been a moment of indecision before Morgan rapidly added, “I’m sorry. There’s a new plan. Things have changed.”
Now, four months later, Morgan was contentedly curled up on her sofa with the dog lying beside her. She was on the phone with Sam, telling him, “That’s when I felt everything about me go in a different direction.”
“In the beginning, why do you think you were so afraid of keeping the dog?” Sam asked.
“I’m not sure. It seemed like such a huge change. The idea of taking care of somebody else was scary. Like I’d have to become a completely different person.”
“Change is never easy,” Sam said. “And, as much as you always resented being the one who was taken care of, you probably sensed what hard work it was to be the person doing the caretaking.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve often talked about your sister having the easier life…because she’s the strong one. When the dog followed you home, asking to be dependent on you, you knew it would change everything. You’d have to step up and be the leader. You understood the responsibilities it would bring. The same ones that were on your sister when you made it her duty to take care of you.”
“Maybe,” Morgan said. “All I know is that I’m glad he’s here.” The dog had nestled in, warm and so close that Morgan could feel the comforting beat of his heart.
“What did you name him?”
“He followed me home from a Ralph’s supermarket and…” Morgan smiled. “The truth is, he kind of looks like a Ralph. And that’s what I named him. Ralph.”
There was a soft chuckle from Sam, followed by a brief silence and a change of mood. “So deciding to keep Ralph was the tipping point?”
“Yeah. That’s when I had the courage to step up and be different. But I’d known for a long time that I needed to change, and what made me realize it was something that happened between me and Ali.”
Morgan took a deep, trembling breath. “Just before Christmas, on the night Ali moved into her new house, her friend Ava was there with her baby. When Ava told me how close she and Ali were, like sisters, I hated it. I felt like I’d been erased from Ali’s life. I don’t think I’ve ever been so sacred or angry. By the time I got upstairs, I was totally out of control.” Morgan’s voice went quiet with shame. “The minute I saw Ali, I knew something was wrong. She didn’t want to explain it, and I was so caught up in needing her to pay attention to me, I didn’t take the time to find out what was going on with her.”
Tears filled Morgan’s eyes as she said, “A few minutes later, something happened that made me furious, and I told my sister I hoped whatever was wrong with her was really terrible…and I knew in my bones that it was.”
“What made you so angry?”
“I came into the room expecting Ali to put aside her own problems and focus on mine. When she didn’t, it made me mad. I screamed at her that she was a selfish bitch. Matt was the one who threw me out of the room, but I was furious with Ali…for being a traitor. The way I saw it, I was the victim. She owed it to me to defend me, do something, not just stand by while I got tossed out into the hallway. So to punish her, hurt her, I told my sister I hoped whatever was wrong with her was something terrible.”
Humiliated by the memory, Morgan closed her eyes. “As I was screeching my car out of Ali’s driveway, I remembered what I saw when I first came into her room…the haunted look in her eyes…how pale and shattered she was. And I caught a glimpse of my face in the rearview mirror. I looked like a bitter, selfish witch. I was everything I didn’t want to be. I wanted to be kind and generous. I wanted to go back into that house and take care of my sister. And I didn’t have a clue how to do it… I didn’t even know how to take care of myself. The one thing I knew for sure was that I needed to change. The problem was that I didn’t know where to begin.
“When Ralph came along, it gave me a place to start.” Morgan wiped away a tear. “But the change had been waiting to happen ever since that moment in Ali’s driveway when I realized how much I loved her, and how much I’d let her down because I’d spent my life refusing to grow up. That night at her new house when she was so broken and vulnerable…without even realizing it, Ali changed my life.”
“And what about Ali?” Sam asked. “What about the revenge you used to say you wanted?”
“Sometimes I still wonder if a moment of payback would close out my old story with Ali and make it easier to start a new one.” Morgan had a little stab of heartache as she said, “But it’s too late now. Ali’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“It’s been six months and I haven’t heard a word from my sister.”
Sam’s voice was soft with compassion. “Why don’t you call her?”
Morgan wiped away a tear. “I think I’ve finally crossed the line with Ali. She doesn’t want me anymore.”
There was a benevolent silence. Then Sam said, “You’re wrong. In the time that we’ve been friends, I’ve gotten to understand who you are. Underneath all your frustration and insecurity, you’re someone quite special. Your sister knows that.”
Morgan shook her head, disagreeing. “I’m different with you than I am with her, Sam. Ever since I was born, right from the start, I’ve been invading Ali’s life…like a hermit crab grabbing somebody else’s shell…just moving into it without asking and living there. Maybe she’s glad to finally be rid of me.”
“Tell me about your new shell,” Sam said. “The home you’re building for yourself.”
Morgan’s spirits immediately lifted. Her house had been transformed; she loved it now.
“It’s pretty,” she told Sam. “And that’s because of you. Do you remember the conversation we had when I moved in here?”
“Yes. You told me the place was ugly and dingy, and how discontent it made you.”
Morgan gave an embarrassed laugh. “I was expecting you to sympathize with me…but you said, ‘If it’s ugly, make it beautiful. You’re a curator at an art museum. You understand color and form and proportion. You can use what you know to work magic.’”
“Was I right?” Sam sounded pleased.
“Yes. It surprised the heck out of me. You were unbelievably right.”
“How did you get it done?”
Morgan pulled Ralph close and grinned. “A lot of the credit goes to Ralph. On the weekends, I started taking him to the park to play. And on our way there, we’d pass this little store, a place I wouldn’t even have noticed if Ralph hadn’t dragged me in. It turns out that the owner keeps a dish of dog treats in the doorway. Once Ralph and I were inside, I discovered the shop has a back room with really cheap, really great secondhand furniture. It’s where I got most of the things for the house.”
Morgan leaned forward, her eyes dancing. “When you said it, I didn’t believe it. But it turned out to be true. Sam, I do have a flair for decorating.”
“Tell me what you’ve done.” Sam sounded eager, interested.
Morgan looked around her home, excited about what she’d accomplished. “I outfitted the living room with a great-looking slipcovered sofa and a matching chair, and pine tables that I decorated with stacks of books and magazines. Then I found some really nice throw rugs and scattered them on the floor. And for a pop of color, I added a display of flowering plants, in quirky containers, that I tuck
ed into a corner.
“And for the bedroom, I found an old four-poster bed and layered it with a down-filled comforter and oversize pillows. On either side of the bed are two wooden chests, where I have photos of me and Ali, along with my knitting projects and a pair of mini speakers.” Morgan paused and chuckled. “Sam, I think I must’ve caught the music bug from you. Ralph and I have music playing day and night.”
“What’s on your playlist?”
“Right now it’s Billie Holiday and Yo-Yo Ma. And Charlie Haden.”
“That’s wonderful!”
Morgan was truly happy. Happy being connected to Sam. And happy to have Ralph—delighting in loving him.
Looking around the room, Morgan was thrilled. She’d started with something bleak and empty and had made it warm and welcoming.
“Sounds like much has changed,” Sam said.
“Almost everything,” Morgan agreed. “And, Sam…I even have someone I’m dating.”
• • •
His name was Ben Tennoff. He was a cousin of one of Morgan’s coworkers at the Pasadena museum where she had recently started working. The woman had set Morgan up with Ben because he was single and thirty and wanted to get married.
Tonight would be Morgan’s third date with Ben, and the memory of their first date was making her smile…
The minute she opened the door, Ben Tennoff handed her a bouquet of flowers. Peach-colored lilies that were absolutely beautiful.
Taking the flowers with one hand, Morgan already had her other hand on her face. And then felt silly—realizing she was trying to hide cuts that weren’t even there anymore.
With a sweet smile, Ben reached out to her, moving her hand away from her face. “You’re pretty,” he told her. “Just the way I imagined you’d be.”
Morgan had never met a man like Ben Tennoff. A man so effortlessly compassionate.
He was nice looking, but a long way from knockout gorgeous. Ben was medium height. His face was round. He was wearing glasses, and his modest, side-parted haircut made him look like a guy who collected comic books and ate Sunday dinner with his mother.
Morgan saw intelligence and playfulness in his eyes. “I’m Morgan,” she told him. “I’m glad to meet you.”
She was hoping that Ben was as decent as he seemed.
And he was.
They had dinner in a South Pasadena restaurant called Shiro. Feasting on crisp-skinned, perfectly fried catfish accompanied by a light soy sauce and topped with mounds of fresh cilantro.
All through the meal, Morgan and Ben talked…nonstop. Ben was one of the most genuinely charming people Morgan had ever encountered.
He was a high-school history teacher who loved animals and was interested in learning about opera. And he told wonderfully funny stories about his students and some of the blunders he made when he first started teaching.
The way Ben looked at Morgan—the way he touched her arm each time he leaned toward her—made her feel interesting and pretty.
After dinner, Ben took Morgan to his favorite bookstore—Vroman’s, on Colorado Boulevard in Pasadena. He introduced her to a friend of his who worked there, a chatty girl named Clio who complimented Morgan on her dress and told her what a great guy Ben was.
On their way out, Ben bought Morgan a book about the early days of South Pasadena, which contained a grainy photo of her duplex when it was home to a young flapper who became a famous poet.
And at the end of their date, while Ben walked Morgan to her door, he kissed her hand and told her, “You’re lovely.”
Morgan was too happy to speak, or breathe. She understood Ben Tennoff meant what he’d just said. And she was thrilled.
It had been the perfect first date—from the moment she’d opened the door.
And here she was again, opening her door to Ben—for their third date. He was holding a large canvas tote and a giant bag of popcorn. His eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I hope you enjoy surprises.”
Being playful and lighthearted wasn’t something Morgan had much experience with before meeting Ben. She was starting to like it. “What’s in the tote bag?”
Ben gave her a slightly bashful kiss on the cheek. “Remember you told me you’d never seen Sideways?”
Morgan nodded. “And you told me I’d missed out on a really funny movie about love and wine.”
“Well, I think a girl as great as you should never have to miss out on anything.” Ben walked into the living room, put the tote and the bag of popcorn on the coffee table, and quickly unpacked the tote’s contents. “So I rented Sideways… That’s what’s on this DVD. And then I made a trip to the Cineplex to buy this empty popcorn tub and this pair of concession-stand drink cups.” He looked at Morgan and winked. “Since this is your first time viewing the film, I wanted to provide you with the complete moviegoing experience.”
Morgan was realizing all the wonderful ways in which her life had changed. Thinking how nice it was to have a boyfriend. And how beautiful her house was. And how well she was doing at her new job. And how, in taking care of Ralph, she had found laugh-out-loud happiness.
Ben piled a mountain of popcorn into the empty Cineplex tub and filled the concession-stand drink cups with an excellent merlot, telling her, “Sit down. Get comfortable. There’s just one more thing I have to do.”
And Morgan watched Ben write her name on the side of one of the cups, drawing a heart around it.
• • •
When Ben was leaving—after they’d shared the movie and the popcorn and the wine—he told Morgan, “I’m happy we found each other. I like you a lot.”
“I like you,” Morgan said. “Very much.”
Ben leaned in toward her, smelling clean, like freshly laundered linen, his kiss warm and caring.
His car was parked in front of her duplex. While Morgan watched him walk down the path that led to the curb, she was thinking what a truly terrific guy Ben was.
But then she noticed that he was a little pigeon-toed and had the slightest amount of fat around his middle.
Morgan closed the door more quickly than she’d intended, before Ben had even gotten to his car.
He’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met… I really like being with him. But it bothers me that he’s not better looking and more sophisticated. More like Ali’s kind of man.
Having this thought made Morgan ashamed of herself.
A lot had changed in her life, but not everything.
There were places in her that were still painfully unresolved.
Ali
“The apartment is exactly like she left it.” The woman saying this was named Marcie.
The space Marcie and Ali were in was small. A miniscule living room and galley kitchen. At one end of the living room, the entry to a bedroom and bathroom. A standard, low-rent, cookie-cutter layout. And it was taking Ali’s breath away. This was a place that could have belonged only to Ava.
Two of the living room walls were lime green; the third was sunflower yellow. The window shutters and the woodwork were meticulously enameled in white. And on the fourth wall, filling it completely, was a vibrantly colored, hand-painted mural. A dreamscape. A rain forest with sweet-faced monkeys in jewel-studded masks tumbling and dancing while birds feathered in the colors of the rainbow swooped above their heads.
“Isn’t that the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen?” The question came from Marcie, the person who had called Ali with the news of Ava’s death. Marcie was the neighbor Ava told Ali about, the landlady from Kansas.
“It’s…” Ali was searching for the right words. She couldn’t find anything that even came close to what she was thinking. She eventually settled for “It’s wonderful.”
Marcie’s tone was hushed, reverent. “Ava painted it when she was pregnant. While she was waiting for Sofie.”
Ali gave a tense nod. Ma
rcie cleared her throat. It was obvious they were both feeling awkward.
“I’ve never been here before,” Ali said.
“Well, Ava didn’t ever have company over, like most people do. She was real private. But real friendly, too. I loved it when she’d come down to my place to visit.” Marcie looked around the room, lost in thought. “After I first rented this unit to her, I never was in here again until she…until she passed away.”
Marcie had already given Ali the facts of what had happened. Ava was on the stairs, going up to her apartment after leaving the laundry room. “A blood clot,” Marcie had said. “And in a split second her life was over.”
Ava and Ali had truly loved each other, had known each other’s hearts. And Ali instinctively understood what Ava had experienced at the moment of her death, when the blood clot hit. The jolt of surprise at death coming so suddenly, and so soon. The rush of love for life and for Sofie. The fervent prayer that Sofie would be safe, cared for. And then a sense of peace. A sense of going home, surrounded by angels.
Ava was gone—and Ali missed her with every fiber of her being.
Ali’s heart had been aching during Ava’s cremation, and when her ashes were scattered in the walled garden behind the restaurant. Right up until the end, Ava had remained intensely private. There had been no funeral, no fuss. No one there but Ali and Matt. It was what Ava had requested in the handwritten will found in the drawer of her bedside table, tucked away with her green card and Sofie’s birth certificate.
“So. How’s Sofie?” Marcie was straightening a seat cushion on a nearby chair. “Is she good?”
She’s more than good, Ali thought. She’s a little bit of heaven. She has the same spirit, the same magic that Ava had.
“Everybody who meets Sofie falls in love with her,” Ali told Marcie. “The restaurant staff’s crazy about her. And all the suppliers—the linen delivery, the produce people—they all want to spend time making her laugh and singing to her. And there’s this old man who always wears a starched white shirt and a plaid bow tie. He has a bookstore across the alley from the restaurant, and he closes his shop at noon, every day, just so he can come for an hour to hold Sofie on his lap and tell her about cows that jump over the moon and little lambs with fleece as white as snow.” Ali sighed. There were too many emotions. They were too complicated.
