The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society

by Darien Gee

  “I wanted to drop this off for Bettie,” she says, holding up the casserole. “I didn’t know where her friend lives so I hope it’s okay that I’m leaving it here.” She follows Isabel into the kitchen and gives a start when she sees Bettie at the table as well, also wearing a face mask.

  “Hello!” Bettie says, her voice also tight. “Look! We got these new rejuvenating masks at the drugstore. My skin already feels like butter!” She carefully touches the dried clay on her cheekbones. “Of course we might need a chisel to get this off my face. Isabel, do you have a chisel?”

  “I’ll look for one,” Isabel says as she bends over the sink, splashing water on her face. When she looks up, the mask is gone and her face is glowing. “Wow, you’re right,” she marvels, using her fingers to press into her cheekbones. “Just like butter.” She scrunches up her face and Max giggles.

  Ava pushes him forward but Max steps back, shy. “The flowers and cookies are for you,” Ava says to Isabel. “From Max.” She’s still not sure what to expect, but Isabel hasn’t kicked them out yet so she ventures, “And me. To thank you for picking him up. It … it meant a lot to us—me—that you did that.”

  Isabel gives her a long look as she pulls a headband from her hair. “Yeah, well … I was completely caught off guard. You should have asked first.”

  “Would you have said yes?” Ava asks.

  Isabel thinks about this. “Probably not. But still you shouldn’t have done it.”

  “I know,” Ava says. And then she adds quietly, “But like I said, you were the only person that I could trust.”

  Isabel looks flummoxed. “I still don’t get it. You’d think I’d be the last person on your list.”

  Ava gives a small shrug. “But you’re not.” And it’s the truth.

  Isabel just sighs and takes the casserole from Ava, then bends down to accept the cookies and flowers from Max. She smiles at him. “Are those for me? To remind me of our fun adventure last week?”

  He nods and holds everything out. “Auntie Isabel,” he says, then buries his face again in Ava’s legs, embarrassed again. Isabel smiles but straightens up, quickly turning her back on them as she places the food on the table.

  “Time to get your mask off,” she says briskly to Bettie, and Ava sees Isabel do a quick dab at the corner of her eye. “Eula will be here in ten minutes to pick you up and take you home.”

  “My home?” Bettie asks, her voice hopeful.

  “No, her home. You’re staying with her and Buddy, remember?” Isabel wets a washcloth with warm water and begins to moisten the clay on Bettie’s face.

  “Oh, right.” Bettie’s face contorts as she remembers. She sighs. “It was nice of them to offer me a place to stay, but I miss the ol’ neighborhood.”

  “You’re only two blocks away, Bettie.”

  Bettie ignores her. “And it’s so noisy over there,” she complains. “Buddy snores like a freight train, it keeps me up nights. Have you ever lived with someone who snores?”

  “Yes,” both Isabel and Ava say. There’s an embarrassed pause as this sinks in. Isabel turns beet red as she begins to wipe Bettie’s face with rapt attention. Ava is horrified.

  “I mean …” she starts to say. “That is …”

  “Oh, forget it,” Isabel says with a flick of the washcloth. She lets out a breath. “I mean, it’s not as if I hadn’t figured that part out.” She gives a slight nod in Max’s direction. “Exhibit A.”

  Bettie is still chattering, oblivious. “And Eula, well, I love her but let’s face it: She has gas like nobody’s business.” Bettie tilts her head back so Isabel can wipe under her neck. “I appreciate the charity but I have to say that I can’t wait until I can move back home.”

  Ava and Isabel exchange a look. When Ava drove up she saw the skeleton of a house that remained next door. There is nothing for Bettie to move back to. She watches as Isabel rinses the washcloth and wipes Bettie’s face again.

  Ava reaches into her purse and brings out a muslin bag. There’s a pleasant tinkle as she gives the bag a shake. “Bettie, look what I brought. I finished those bottle-cap embellishments we talked about.” Ava opens the bag and pours the bottle caps onto the table, more than fifty in all. Bettie gasps in delight and even Isabel leans forward, entranced. Ava can’t help but feel proud.

  “Wow,” says Isabel, picking one up. The awe in her voice makes Ava smile. “What are these?”

  “I make bottle-cap jewelry in my spare time,” Ava says. “I’ve sold a few pieces at Avalon Gifts ’N More and a few other boutique gift shops. Bettie asked if there was a way she could incorporate them into different scrapbooking layouts and I came up with these.” She holds one up, a burst of oranges and yellows. “I’m calling them scrap caps. They’re recycled bottle caps, but each one has a different word or image inside. I’ve added small beads in some and glitter in others. They’re fun embellishments you can put on a page or in a handmade card. I also have blank ones so you can put a one-inch round picture in, too.”

  “These are wonderful!” Bettie exclaims, running her hands through them. “What are they for?”

  “They’re for your scrapbooking club,” Ava says again. “You asked me to make them?”

  Bettie gasps. “You make these? They’re wonderful! What are they for?”

  “For your …” Ava’s voice trails off. She looks at Isabel, who confirms her silent question with a nod.

  Bettie is looking at Ava with curious interest. “Have we met?” she asks. “Bettie Shelton, founder and president of the Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society. You should come to one of our meetings sometime!” She leans forward conspiratorially, “It’s fifteen dollars a month and that includes the monthly scrap pack, but you can come as my guest and I’ll give you one for free.” She puts a finger to her lips and smiles. “But don’t tell anyone!”

  “I won’t,” Ava assures her. She reaches forward and plucks a bright pink bottle cap and hands it to Bettie. “You should keep this one. I was thinking of you when I made it.”

  “Memories,” Bettie reads. “Oh, that’s nice. Look, Isabel!”

  Isabel nods. “Nice,” she says. She holds up the square of washcloth. “I’m going to go put this in the washing machine. Ava, do you want to help me?” Isabel jerks her head in the direction of the laundry room and gives Ava a look that she can’t quite decipher.

  Ava sees that Max has climbed into the chair next to Bettie and is running his hands through the bottle caps with her. Their laughter makes her smile. “Um, sure.”

  In the laundry room, Isabel tosses the washcloth into the sink. “Just so you know,” she says. “Bettie has vascular dementia.”

  Ava feels her breath catch. “Oh, no.”

  “Dr. Richard diagnosed her a year ago. She’s known for a while but she hasn’t told anyone—he said she was determined to keep it private.”

  Ava remembers Nana, her father’s mother. She recalls the vacant looks, the eyes focusing elsewhere as if seeing something in the far distance, visible only to her. There’s a lump in her throat as she tells Isabel, “My grandmother had Alzheimer’s. She couldn’t live alone. She died in a long-term-care facility. I always wanted to do more to help her, but my parents wouldn’t let me.”

  “Bettie supposedly has long-term-care insurance, but everything was destroyed in the fire so I don’t know who the provider is. I have no idea what she had or what might be missing. I’m sure we can eventually figure it out, but it’ll take time.” Isabel runs her hand along an empty shelf, inspects it for dust. “And I’m moving soon. I have an interested buyer in the house, and there’s nothing left for me here.”

  Ava feels the color drain from her face. “Leave? But you can’t … you can’t …”

  “Oh, no,” Isabel sighs as Ava furiously tries to blink back tears. “No waterworks, please.”

  “I’m sorry.” Ava sniffs. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting …” Her nose starts running and she wipes it with the back of her hand. Pull it together, she tells
herself. Don’t let this be Isabel’s last image of you, crying next to a stack of towels.

  But then Isabel reaches for a large box sitting on top of the dryer. “This is for you. Well, Max mostly. It’s some things of Bill’s I thought you should have.” She pushes the box toward Ava.

  Ava sniffs again as she looks inside. It’s a random assortment of things, but Ava feels her heart catch in her throat. Bill’s old yearbooks, a cufflink, some sweaters, a paper he’d written in dental school. There’s an antique razor and brush with mother-of-pearl handles.

  “Bill loved that set,” Isabel tells her. “It used to be his father’s but we had it stored up in the attic. I know Max has a ways to go, but in case, when he’s older …”

  Ava throws her arms around Isabel and starts crying in earnest. It’s all so wonderful, and there’s so much of it, things that she knows Max will treasure forever. “Thank you, Isabel!”

  She feels Isabel stiffen at her touch, but she’s not pulling away, either. Ava feels a mechanical patting on her back.

  “Okay, okay,” Isabel says awkwardly, and Ava is surprised to hear a catch in her voice, too. “I’ll probably have a few more boxes later. I have some albums somewhere with Bill’s baby pictures—they look a lot alike.”

  “They do?” Ava releases her and steps back, wipes her eyes again. She’s a mess. “Really?”

  “Let’s just say you can tell they’re father and son. Without a doubt.” Instead of looking angry or uncomfortable, Isabel looks sad. “Anyway, this whole scrapbooking thing with Bettie, and the fire … I want Max to know his dad. You too.” Isabel looks at her. “There’s a lot about Bill that you probably never got a chance to know. Good things. Funny things. You’ll find some of it here.” She touches the box.

  “But …” Ava looks through the box again, sees Bill’s graduation certificates, letters from his parents, golf balls, music CDs, an expired passport. Small and personal mementos that she knows they’ll treasure. “Don’t you want any of this?”

  Isabel shakes her head. “I have all the memories I need, including those I wish I didn’t.” She gives a small shrug. “But Max doesn’t have even that.”

  Ava lifts a paperweight from the box. It’s a glass penguin with a silly expression on his face, and it makes her smile. “So will you be moving far away?” The thought of Isabel leaving is almost unbearable, but Ava doesn’t know what else she can say.

  Isabel shrugs. “I have no idea. I’ll be staying with Yvonne as soon as the house sells, until I figure out what to do next.” Isabel nods at the paperweight. “That’s classic Bill. The occasional random kooky thing. He loved that penguin. I almost can’t believe he left it behind, but I don’t think that was what was on his mind when he left.”

  Ava’s voice is a whisper. “Thank you,” she says again.

  Isabel starts to head back to the house, then hesitates at the door. She turns to face Ava. “The scrapbooking meeting is this Thursday at the tea salon. Bettie has her good days and her bad days, but either way I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you were there.”

  Ava nods. “We’ll be there. If that’s okay with you.”

  Isabel doesn’t say anything, just gives a small, silent nod before returning to the kitchen.

  Whatever unseen embargo had been on Yvonne is now lifted. It’s been less than two weeks since the incident at Hugh’s house, but news has a way of traveling fast in a small town. Yvonne’s days are packed again and her client list has swelled. She’s scheduling jobs out over the next month, unable to fit everyone in at once. She’s even received a résumé from another plumber new to town, a young guy still figuring out the ropes. He’s interested in apprenticing with Yvonne until he can get his feet on the ground. Yvonne’s never considered this, always content to work on her own, but if things continue like this some help might be nice.

  One of her clients made a comment that she should teach classes. Nothing too hard, the woman had quickly added, but a basic introductory class.

  “A do-it-yourself class,” her client had said. “It’s empowering to know that we can do it ourselves. And we’re women, to boot!”

  Yvonne likes the idea, and maybe in the new year she’ll look into it. She knows that there’s a lot of talk right now because she stood up to the Hillshire bullies, but she knows it might have gone differently if she hadn’t been involved with Hugh. Maybe she would have filed a complaint or written a letter to the editor of the Gazette. A weak, most likely ineffective means to get her point across, to save her business. There was a chance that by the time everything got addressed and resolved, she’d be on her way to the next town, hoping it wouldn’t happen again.

  No, under the circumstances she’d acted just right. She didn’t back down. The charges were dropped, though Yvonne doesn’t know if it was Sergeant Overby or Hugh’s influence over Joan Hill. Sergeant Overby, most likely. Hugh’s not likely to stick his neck out for anyone, least of all Yvonne.

  Yvonne wrinkles her nose as she drops her keys into the small bowl by her door. Talk about a coward. She can’t believe she was so taken by him, and maybe that was the problem. She was so enamored by the possibilities that she couldn’t see him for what he was. She saw only what she wanted to see—someone who might be able to step into her heart and be a part of her life.

  Yvonne strips out of her work clothes and tosses them into the laundry, then goes to take a shower. When she emerges, fresh and clean, she walks to her jewelry box, drops her rings and earrings inside. She pauses when she sees the silver turquoise hearts resting on their sides, patient. Yvonne touches them, feels a rush of emotion.

  Sam.

  She never bothered to look for him, and she only heard about his marriage when Claire, her other sister, had called five years ago with the news that she was pregnant. It had been a subtle bomb, dropped at the precise moment when Yvonne thought that things might have changed enough for her to go home for Claire’s baby shower.

  “They were here visiting Sam’s father,” Claire reported, delighting in Yvonne’s stunned silence.

  Yvonne knew then that the call really wasn’t an invitation to the shower, but an opportunity to make sure that Yvonne knew her family was always watching, always ready, for any chance to show her who was in charge. They would always be one step ahead of her, quashing any chance of Yvonne’s happiness.

  Yvonne picks up the earrings, twirls the posts between her fingers. “Good luck charms” was what Sam had called them. The turquoise was a symbol of friendship. Yvonne was wearing them on her wedding day, a day where she suddenly found herself without a fiancé, without a friend. Hardly the good luck charms he’d promise they’d be.

  But it did get her out of the Tate family dynamic once and for all. Even if she goes back now, it’ll be on different terms, not because she knows her family’s agenda better, but because she knows herself better. Yvonne gets to call her life her own, which is more than she can say for her mother or sisters, both of whom married men who are now working for her father. In a way, Yvonne was set free.

  Yvonne unscrews the back posts and carefully slips the turquoise hearts into her ears, one at a time. She tucks her wet hair behind her ears and gazes at herself in the mirror, then smiles at the woman smiling back.

  “Sweetheart, I think you’re being hasty,” Madeline is saying. “And under the circumstances, leaving probably isn’t such a good idea right now.”

  “I’ll be back,” Connie says. She can’t look Madeline in the eye so she pretends to be absorbed in folding a sweater and then adding it to the pile. “I think some space would be good for me, that’s all. Suddenly this town feels too small. Everyone’s looking at me funny, like I’m a criminal or a hoodlum or something.”

  “I can understand that,” Madeline says. “Except that you’re not packing for a small trip, Connie. You’re packing everything.” She gestures to the empty drawers in the dresser, the dangling hangers in the armoire.

  “I feel better if everything’s with me,” Connie s
ays. “Old habits die hard.”

  “But …” Madeline’s eyes look sad.

  “And I don’t want you to worry about everything that’s happened with Serena. I mean, Daffodil.” Connie begins to clear the shelves, stacking her journals in a box. She sees her black scrapbooking album, the one adorned with lace and graffiti, the silver tags still new, the pages still empty. She decides to leave it. “I’m going to take care of it.”

  “Connie, do you honestly think I care about that? Things will get sorted out one way or another, of that I am certain.” Madeline perches on Connie’s bed, anxious. “I know everything must be so distressing right now. Are you sure you don’t want to talk? Or maybe I can find someone neutral for you to talk to …”

  “A therapist?” Connie shakes her head. She’s had her fair share of them and she’s done. “No, I’m all right, Madeline. I just need a little time away. And I don’t want to be here when they have the scrapbooking meeting this week—I’ll feel like a sideshow freak. You know everybody will be looking. There’s already a drop in business because I’m here.”

  “That’s not true …” Madeline begins to say, but then her voice trails off.

  Connie wishes she could tell Madeline the truth, that she is leaving and that she isn’t coming back. That she has taken all of her savings out of her bank account, savings that have grown substantially over the years, and that a check is already on its way to Rayna Doherty to pay for all the damages to the farm and some, even though it’s not Connie’s fault. She doesn’t want it to end up in Madeline’s lap and she wants to make sure Serena’s taken care of. Her baby, too.

  Madeline might be sad at first, but she won’t miss Connie for long. Connie has already called Hannah, saying only that she’d be grateful if Hannah could help out for a while. She and Madeline will establish a new rhythm in the kitchen, and they’ll be able to talk about music and art and all the fancy things that Connie knows little about. It’ll work out better for everyone if she’s gone.