by Darien Gee
“The walls are gone,” Bettie murmurs. She looks up at a large hole through the roof that the firemen had to cut as they were putting out the fire. It’s a cool but clear October day, the smell of smoke still lingering in the air. Bettie gazes up at the sky until Isabel gently tugs on her arm.
Bettie’s home insurer came and walked Isabel and Bettie through what would need to be done. An inventory, first and foremost. But, he told them, it could be six to nine months before anything would be settled. They’ll cover a hotel, but Bettie can’t be alone. Several people have volunteered to take Bettie in but after what happened with the McGuires, Isabel is wary. Dr. Richard told her it would be stressful for Bettie to move from house to house, so Isabel is going to let Bettie stay with her until she can figure out what to do next.
Isabel feels something under her foot and bends down to pick up a rhinestone buckle buried in the ashes. “Look,” she says to Bettie. She blows on it gently then rubs it with her finger. There are two rows of glittering rhinestones encircling the buckle. It’s flecked with soot but otherwise in perfect condition.
“I was looking for that,” Bettie says. “I haven’t seen that since 1979. I used to wear it with my scarves.” She holds it in her hand, then slips it into her pocket.
They find other small things—a few pieces from Bettie’s silver collection, a spotted rooster porcelain pill box, a glass Pyrex measuring cup. Everything else seems to have disintegrated, only leaving a shell of a house, blackened appliances, piles of unrecognizable cinder everywhere.
“Well,” Bettie says, straightening up and looking around. “Well.” Her eyes are blinking away tears.
There are bits of clothing, dishes, and furniture that were tossed onto the lawn by firemen doing what they could to save Bettie’s things, but so much of it is stained by smoke and fire. Still, Isabel and Bettie’s neighbors have agreed to try to save whatever they can and let Bettie decide later what to keep and what to let go.
As the fire chief escorts them out of the charred remains, Isabel sees a familiar procession. It’s the children from the neighborhood pulling their red Radio Flyer wagons, accompanied by their parents. Wooden boxes are stacked in each wagon.
“We made these with some of the leftover boards from the clubhouse,” the red-haired boy says, pointing. “They’re sifting boxes, to help you find things. They have a mesh bottom so dirt and stuff can fall through and you can see if there’s anything you want to keep. It’s like panning for gold!” He gives them a toothy grin and Isabel wants to hug him.
“I’m Lauren Eammons,” a woman says to Bettie, giving her a kind smile. She touches her son’s shoulders. “And this is Jacob. We live down the street, Bettie, and have been your neighbors for the past six years.”
Bettie stares at them for a moment and then points at Jacob accusingly. “Hey, I know you,” she says. “You busted my window!”
“That was two years ago,” he protests, shrinking behind his mother. “I’m better now. I even pitch for my Little League team.” His chin juts out.
“Have I seen any of your games?” Bettie asks. She squints, trying to remember.
“I don’t know.”
“Then that makes two of us,” Bettie says. She taps the side of her head comically, making Jacob grin. “I’ll come to the next one,” she promises him. “I gotta work on squeezing more memories into the old noodle.”
As Jacob and Bettie talk baseball, Lauren Eammons turns to Isabel.
“We already have several garages filled with donated items for Bettie,” she tells Isabel. “Come by anytime to see if there’s anything she’d like.”
“I know she’d appreciate that,” Isabel says. “Thank you, Lauren.”
Lauren glances over to Isabel’s house, at the for sale sign. “We’ll sure miss you in the neighborhood, Isabel. I heard you sold your house.”
Isabel looks at her in surprise. “Not officially, but it looks like it’ll be going through. How did you know?”
Lauren smiles. “Bettie. She told Gennifer Kelly who told Leigh Brewer who …”
Isabel nods. “Yep, got it. That sounds about right.”
“Well, I’d better get back to work.” Lauren smiles again and gives Isabel’s arm a squeeze of support, of friendship. Isabel feels a tickle in her nose, like she’s about to sneeze, or cry.
Their whole neighborhood is out, dressed in jeans and boots, and for the first time Isabel feels truly sad at the thought of leaving. These same people had reached out to her when Bill died, but she’d been too closed off to pay attention, to say yes and accept any help. She hasn’t bothered to participate in any of the neighborhood block parties or send over a casserole when someone was sick. Even when Bill was alive Isabel was reticent to participate.
But now as she watches the fathers and mothers coordinate their children, talking to the firemen who are raking through the debris and making sure no more smoldering embers remain, she wishes she had made more of an effort to get to know these people. There are small groups dotted across Bettie’s lawn, the sifting boxes between them, paper masks covering their mouths and noses as small clouds of dust rise and fall. A man stands over one of the sifting boxes, then crouches on his knees to lift something from the ashes. He’s talking to a teenager, also masked. They look familiar somehow, and when the man pulls off his mask and gives Isabel a wave, she sees it’s Ian Braemer and his son, Jeremy.
After a few more minutes it’s clear that there’s nothing more they can do. They carefully make their way back out of the house and meet up with Chief Garza.
“I can’t even remember what I had in that house,” Bettie tells them. She looks displaced, a little lost. “But I don’t know if it’s because of the dementia, or just me. What do you think, Abe?”
Chief Garza puts an arm around Bettie’s shoulders. “I think the things that matter most will make themselves known,” he assures her. “Until then, take it one day at a time.”
As Bettie and Isabel cross the yard to Isabel’s house, Isabel sees a car parked against the curb. As before, Dan Frazier is standing outside the house while his fiancée, Nina, is sitting the car, looking at something on her cellphone.
Isabel wants to kick herself. She had completely forgotten that they would be coming today and realizes that she hadn’t even called to tell them about the fire.
“What happened?” Dan Frazier meets her halfway as she crosses the lawn. “Was anybody hurt?”
Isabel shakes her head. “Luckily, no. This is Bettie Shelton, my neighbor … I mean, your future neighbor. Bettie, this is Dan Frazier.” Isabel turns to stare at Bettie’s house. “We don’t know yet if she’ll be staying, if she’ll rebuild or what will happen. We’re still trying to sort everything out, so she’s staying with me for the time being.”
Bettie doesn’t say anything, just gapes at Dan, looking a bit star-struck as if he were someone famous.
“I should have called you,” Isabel continues apologetically, but Dan shakes his head.
“No, that’s all right,” he says. “You obviously have your hands full. I’m glad you’re all right,” he tells Bettie.
Bettie has a goofy look on her face. “Oh, Phil,” she says, and giggles.
Isabel and Dan exchange a look. “Uh, I put the new porch in,” Isabel says quickly. “It looks nice. And you can walk through the house again if you like …”
“My name is Dan,” Dan repeats politely, not seeing Isabel cut her eyes at him. “Dan Frazier. And that’s my fiancée, Nina—”
“What?!” Bettie suddenly looks cross. “Stop it, Phil. That’s not funny.” She scowls in Nina’s direction.
“Bettie.” Isabel places her hand on Bettie’s arm. “They’re interested in buying my house.”
Bettie turns to look at her. “You’re selling my house?”
“No, not your house. My house.” Isabel points to her house.
“You want to sell my house?” Bettie says again, louder this time. Her voice has taken on a slightly hysterical pe
al, and a few heads turn their way.
Nina rolls down the window and calls out to Dan. “The Internet says it’s ten to twenty percent, depending on the damage.” Dan shakes his head, but Nina is insistent and holds up her phone, pointing to the display. “Sometimes up to thirty,” she tells him. Her lips pucker.
Dan says, “Not now, Nina.”
“Is everything okay?” Isabel asks, confused.
Dan sighs. “Sorry, Isabel. But when we drove up and saw what happened, Nina started doing some research on her cellphone and apparently house values typically drop after a fire in the neighborhood. But don’t worry,” he quickly adds, “I’m not looking to take advantage of the situation or anything. We still like the house.”
“Dan …” Nina calls out again. Isabel is suddenly tempted to march back to the car and roll the window up herself.
Bettie clutches the front of Dan’s shirt. “We need to talk about the baby, Phil.” Her voice is low, urgent.
“What?” Dan looks startled.
“I’ve been trying to reach you.” Bettie reaches out and grabs his hand, then brings it to her cheek and starts crying.
Isabel doesn’t know what to do. Chief Garza is frowning as Dan looks at Isabel, bewildered. Bettie’s face is streaked with tears.
“I think we made a mistake,” she tells Dan, her eyes wild. “I can keep her by myself. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
“Come now, Bettie,” Chief Garza is saying, trying to disentangle Dan from her grasp. “Why don’t we go inside for a bit?”
“Abe, Abe, you remember, don’t you?” Bettie pleads. “Phil just forgot. But you remember, right?”
Chief Garza puts an arm around Bettie and steers her into the house. Isabel gives Dan an apologetic look as she hurries after them.
Once inside, Bettie bursts into tears. “Oh Phil,” she sobs. Her eyes are red and her nose is running.
“How about a nap?” Isabel suggests. “Want to lie down for a bit?”
“I don’t want to lie down,” Bettie says, but she lets Isabel lead her to her bedroom. “Isabel, did I make a mistake?”
Isabel takes off Bettie’s boots and slips her legs under the blankets. “A mistake about what?”
Bettie gazes up at the ceiling. “I shouldn’t have let Phil give her away,” she says sadly.
“Shhh,” Isabel says, and a second later, Bettie’s asleep.
Downstairs, Chief Garza is standing in the kitchen. He starts pacing, restless. “I called Imogene, my wife. She’ll be here in a bit to sit with Bettie.”
Isabel falls heavily into a chair. “She must be hallucinating,” she says, not sure what this could mean. Is Bettie going crazy?
“Isabel.” Chief Garza pulls out a chair as well. “Now, I don’t know much. But I think you should know what I know. It happened a long time ago.”
“What?” Isabel asks.
Chief Garza sighs. “Phil Frazier was a buddy of mine. No relation to this young fellow—I think the last name must have triggered something in Bettie. An old memory.”
“What kind of memory?” Isabel asks.
“I knew Phil in my army days, and sometimes he’d come to Avalon for a visit. For a short time, he and Bettie had something going on.”
“Really?” Isabel can’t picture what Bettie must have looked like when she was younger.
“We’d double date, me and Imogene, Phil and Bettie. Phil lived in Chicago but he liked the pace of Avalon—used to say he’d move here someday. I think that was Bettie’s hope—it was certainly mine, he was a good friend—but it never happened. And then Phil stopped coming to Avalon altogether. It was kind of out of the blue, but he said he was busy with work and I didn’t push him on it—we were all just starting out.
“I found out a couple months later that he got married. I was annoyed that he didn’t tell me until after the fact—I didn’t even get an invite to his wedding. I was about to propose to Imogene, you see, and I was going to ask Phil to be my best man, to stand up for me. So to not even know about his wedding was kind of a blow.”
He clears his throat. “Shortly after Bettie went on a trip somewhere. Imogene told me, and I didn’t think much of it. I figured she was visiting family or something. She was gone about six months.”
Isabel waits for more, but it doesn’t come. Chief Garza is staring at his hands. “Where did she go?” she finally asks.
“Imogene can probably give you the details, but it was some place north of here. I think …” He looks unhappy. “I think it was a place for unwed mothers.”
“Unwed mothers.” Isabel stares at him as it dawns on her. “Bettie had a child?”
“I don’t know what happened. Part of me didn’t want to know, I guess, and Imogene has been good at keeping Bettie’s confidence. But when I put it all together, it’s obvious.”
“Bettie had Phil’s child,” Isabel says slowly. Chief Garza gives a small nod.
“Yes, that’s what I think.”
“But where’s the baby?” Isabel asks. “Bettie never said anything. What happened to the baby?”
“I have no idea,” he says.
His wife, Imogene, bursts through the front door and finds them in the kitchen. “Where is she?” Imogene demands, and Isabel points to the second bedroom down the hall.
“She’s sleeping …” Isabel starts to say, but Imogene has already disappeared.
“I have to get back outside,” Chief Garza says. He pushes himself up from the table, drained. “I guess I kind of knew all along what had happened but didn’t want to think about it.” He exits, still shaking his head.
Isabel slips into Bettie’s room. Imogene is sitting in a chair next to the bed, watching her friend sleep, her eyes sad.
“Poor Bettie,” Imogene is murmuring.
“Imogene, what happened? Was there a baby?”
“A baby girl,” Imogene confirms softly. “Bettie gave her up for adoption. Has regretted it ever since.”
“But why?”
“Why?” Imogene’s face pinks with indignation. “He was two-timing her. Two-timing both of them, I guess. But he made his choice, and it wasn’t Bettie. He told her it would be better for everyone if she gave the baby up, and Bettie didn’t want to bring any unhappiness to anyone. She didn’t expect it to affect her as much as it did. By the time she wanted to change her mind, it was too late.”
“Why didn’t she get an …” Isabel’s voice trails off.
“We didn’t do that back then,” Imogene says, giving Isabel a sharp glance. “But even if she could have, Bettie wouldn’t. She wanted to give that child a chance. She just didn’t count on missing it so. It was a closed adoption, meaning that she wouldn’t have any way of knowing where the baby was after it was placed for adoption. That was standard, too, at the time.” She pats her friend’s hand and pulls up the covers, tucking her in. “We haven’t talked about it for years.”
“But there are ways now,” Isabel tells her, her mind racing. “You can sign up for registries, get blood tests …”
“Oh, Isabel, you young people think everything is so easy now.” Imogene’s voice is an annoyed hush. “Bettie isn’t about to ruin somebody’s life. She made her decision, and that was that.”
Bettie stirs, but doesn’t wake.
“I’ll stay with her,” Imogene says. “And I’ve spoken with Abe. We’d like to have Bettie come live with us. I can have the guest room set up by this weekend.”
Isabel feels her chest tighten. She hovers by the door. “Thank you, Imogene, but I’m still looking at several options for her. I’d rather not change things until we know for sure what’s going to happen—”
“I took care of my mother when she had Alzheimer’s, Isabel. I know what it’s like to care for someone with this condition. Do you?” Imogene looks at her pointedly.
“Well, no, but …”
“It’s a lot of work,” Imogene says briskly. “I’ll have to hire a care-giver to help, but we should be able to manage fine. I
know she has some savings and insurance.”
“Okay, but …”
“Isabel, you’ve been absolutely wonderful to Bettie these past few days. But that’s all it is—a few days. Bettie needs a long-term-care plan. You’re still young, you have a job, you might want to settle down again. It’s very hard to do any of those things if you also have to care for someone like Bettie. Abe works but I’m retired, and frankly I could use the company. Nobody keeps me on my toes like Bettie.” Imogene looks back at her friend affectionately. Bettie’s snoring delicately now, the worry lines no longer creasing her forehead.
Isabel quickly ducks out of the room, not trusting herself to say anything in Imogene’s company.
In the kitchen she feels herself bubbling over with indignation. Imogene doesn’t know her, doesn’t know what Isabel can or cannot do. Even in the short few days Bettie has been here, they’ve developed an easy rhythm that’s not perfectly seamless, but it works. Isabel knows from her talks with Dr. Richard that this could change at any moment, but for now Bettie is comfortable here. Why would they want to change that?
Angrily, she punches in the numbers for Yvonne’s cell. She’s steaming. When Yvonne picks up the phone, Isabel starts talking right away, her voice low so Imogene can’t hear her.
“Hold on,” Yvonne says when Isabel finally pauses to catch a breath. “Isabel, hold on. Nothing’s happened yet, so take it easy.”
“You take it easy,” Isabel retorts. Then she feels foolish, like a six-year-old. “Sorry. But she assumed I wouldn’t be able to take care of Bettie, you know? She doesn’t even know me! I mean, we’ve gotten along great these past few days. She knows this house better than her own!”
“But Isabel, how can you take care of Bettie? You’re about to sell your house—you said they’re paying cash so if you go through with it, your house could close within a month. And then what?”
“She could stay with us,” Isabel says, her mind racing. “At your house. I’ll take care of everything, Yvonne. I know what she likes, what she’s familiar with …”
Yvonne interrupts her. “Isabel, I like Bettie, you know I do. But my house definitely isn’t set up for someone with dementia. I have a lot of stairs, the hallways are narrow …”
