by Jill G. Hall
“Sorry, Big Foot, but I can’t seem to get the time away. Let’s save our time and energy for Italy.”
She still planned to go even though she didn’t know where she’d get the money. “But that’s a few months from now. I miss you.”
“I know. Miss you too. I promise to come out sometime before then.”
Anne thought maybe he really wasn’t very interested in her after all.
“It will all come together when it’s meant to. Let’s finish these up. I want to deliver them before dinnertime.”
Paul walked in without his cane. It must have been one of his good days. “Any telephone calls, telegrams, special-delivery letters?” Lucky yelped and ran over to him.
“Nope. What’s new at the club, dear?” Sylvia asked.
He kissed her cheek. “Won ten bucks.” Sylvia ran her hands along her arms. Paul picked up the blue pashmina from the back of the sofa and draped it over her. “There you go.”
Sylvia patted his hand. “Thank you, dear.”
Anne could feel the love between them. Lucky continued to nip at Paul’s heels. The old man climbed down onto the carpet and let the dog lick his face and even his ears.
Sylvia paused her knitting needles. “Paul! That’s disgusting.” He ignored her. “Please!”
“It’s good for my arthritis.”
“You don’t have arthritis on your face. And in front of company.”
“But I’m not just company any more.” Anne laughed and tried to concentrate on her knitting.
Paul made his way to a chair, and Lucky settled at his feet. “Speaking of that, we have a proposition for you.”
Anne looked up.
“How would you like to move in with us?” Paul pulled Lucky into his lap.
“You mean here at Bay Breeze?”
“No, the zoo,” Paul chuckled.
Sylvia touched Anne’s arm. “You could convert the attic into a studio. Aren’t lofts the thing for artists? There’s plenty of light up there.”
What Anne wouldn’t give to see Mrs. Ladenheim’s face if she gave notice. “That’s a generous offer. Let me think about it. How much would the rent be?”
“Rent? My lands!” Sylvia smiled. “No rent. We’ll pay you.”
“For what!”
Paul rubbed Lucky’s back. “George will still be here, but you can help take care of us youngsters too.”
“Please say you’ll stay with us. We could really use the help. My pep’s not what it used to be.” Sylvia crooked her elbow and coughed into it.
Anne set her knitting on the coffee table, hugged Sylvia, then hopped up and hugged Paul too. “You are both so sweet. How about this? I’ll come and help out but won’t move in.” She realized how much she really liked her small apartment and independence.
“Sounds like a plan.” Sylvia cast off her knitting. “Okay. That’s it for me.”
“Just a sec. I’m almost done too.” Anne sat back down and finished up. She counted the assortment of colorful jewel-toned caps as she placed them into a shopping bag. “Fifteen.”
“How marvelous! That’s almost twice as many as last year. Thanks to you.”
“Let’s deliver these puppies!” Anne stood and helped Sylvia to her feet.
Lucky barked, and they all laughed.
“Bundle up; it’s nippy out there,” Paul warned. He sat shotgun next to George with the “girls” both in the back as usual.
When they pulled up at the shelter, Anne hopped out from the car and put her hand out for Sylvia. So that they could finish the hats, pizzas had been delivered.
“Not tonight, dear. You go on in alone.” She seemed to be short of breath.
Anne looked at her with concern. “I’ll be back out in a few minutes.” She ran into the building with the hats and emptied them on a table.
“These are beautiful!”
“I want a blue one.”
The women attacked the pile with glee. Anne smiled, then scanned the room with a frown. “Where’s Mata?”
“Haven’t seen her tonight.” One of the women pulled a pink cap down over her head.
As Anne climbed back in the Lincoln, she removed a special hat she had designed from the bag and asked, “Can we drive down California Street?”
George nodded and turned the car around, cruised up and over Knob Hill, and headed down the crest, Anne checking every doorway. Soon she spotted Mata, curled up for the night. “Stop here.”
“Hi, Missy.” The homeless woman scowled at her. “Haven’t seen you around much.”
“Been busy. I brought you something.” Anne held her breath and showed Mata the hat. Anne had used twisted gold yarn and added a few extra inches to make it more turban-like. For the pièce de résistance, she had sewn on sequins.
Mata stared at it for a moment, took off the old one, tossed it aside, and tugged on the new. She grinned and posed her head to the light of a streetlamp. “I do look like Garbo. Don’t I?”
“Of course.” Anne jumped back in the Lincoln filled with a sense of accomplishment. “I’ve been trying to get her to take off that filthy old thing for months now.”
“And you did it!” Sylvia patted her hand. “You have a real affinity for helping others.”
Anne smiled. “Because I’m learning from the best.”
57
Tell me more.” Sylvia smiled from underneath the canopy as she lounged on her bed.
“When I got out of the Jaguar, Mr. Duchamp tossed a five on the ground with a smirk and told me to pick it up, as usual. I almost did, but instead, I thought of my affirmations: I am proud, I am confident. I am brave.” Anne, in her work uniform, demonstrated. “I stood tall, looked him straight in the eyes, and said, ‘Get it yourself.’”
“What did he do?”
“He just stared at me. Then I repeated louder, ‘Get it yourself.’ This time, his face turned red, he jumped in the car, and he drove off. Howard picked up the bill for me and said, ‘You go girl.’”
“I’m so proud of you.” Sylvia, with her floral caftan loose around her thin body, got up and patted Anne’s shoulder.
“I’ve never felt so empowered in all my life.”
“Next you’ll need to confront Mr. Block.”
“I don’t think I can ever do that.”
“Yes, you can.”
“You seem so together. I’m sure you never had any bad habits or obstacles to overcome.”
“That’s what you think. Come. I have something to show you.” Sylvia opened her closet door and revealed the safe behind it. She dialed the combination, pulled out a box, and handed it to Anne.
Lifting the lid, Anne’s eyes widened. “Vintage jewelry!”
Sylvia nodded. “They’re vintage now, but when I bought them, they were new.”
Anne fingered the shiny pieces. “I’ve never seen so much gorgeous stuff!”
“I have four more cases here too.”
“There must be at least a million dollars worth.” Anne gaped at the stacked boxes.
“Probably more.”
“But you don’t even wear much jewelry, except your wedding band and pearls.”
“I have my secrets.” Sylvia winked.
Anne carried the box out of the closet and sat on the edge of the bed.
“In my youth, I shopped at Tiffany’s almost every day.”
“You’re kidding!” Anne looked over at her.
“I was what you’d now call a shopaholic.” Sylvia put an elbow to her mouth and coughed.
“No way.”
“Paul, my guardian then, wanted me to stick to a budget.” Sylvia giggled and sat next to Anne on the bed. “I never could. He tried so hard not to get upset with me.”
“But you don’t seem like the type.” Anne fingered a shiny butterfly brooch.
“You do have that snowflake pin.”
“That’s true.” Anne nodded. “What helped you stop?”
“I killed a man and ran off to the desert.”
“Oh, su
re.” Anne rolled her eyes with a laugh.
Sylvia pursed her lips as if to tell her more but then nodded. “Actually, I did go to the desert. There I learned the truth,” she said with a whisper.
“What is it?”
She paused with a wistful look in her eyes. “It’s bright stars on a clear night, sharing what you have with the community, and time with the ones you love.”
“Sounds about right.” Anne tilted her head.
“And you are one of those I love.” Sylvia hugged her and held on for a moment.
Since meeting Anne a few months ago, they had grown so close. She had been proud to teach her young friend how to knit, cook, play Scrabble, train Lucky (not with much success), and sing lyrics to Elvis Presley songs. Also, over the short period, she had tried to instill as much confidence in her as possible.
“I love you too. And I’m grateful for all you and Paul have done for me.” Both had tears in their eyes.
“You’re the one who has done so much for us. You’ve kept things humming: planning meals, making appointments, etc.”
“I’ve been happy to do it.”
“And it does our hearts good to have you with us. Still happy in your apartment, or are you ready to move in?”
“I’m good. The gallery has even sold another one of my pieces, but thanks anyway.”
Sylvia started to cough and couldn’t stop.
Anne frowned, poured a glass of water from the nightstand, and handed it to her. “You okay?”
Sylvia took a sip and nodded. “Just a little frog in my throat.”
Anne’s cell phone buzzed. “I’ve got to get to the hotel.”
“Off you go then.”
Anne kissed Sylvia on the cheek and walked out the door. Worn out, she rested back on a pillow for a few moments, then returned the box and locked the safe. She looked around the stuffed closet. Whatever possessed her to buy all this junk anyway? It was time to clean out the years of accumulation. Others shouldn’t have to do it after she was gone. Her knees cracked as she lowered herself onto a rug. At least fifty pairs of shoes were stacked beneath the clothes.
She reached far in back and pulled out a pair of pale pink pumps. How did she ever wear such high heels, let alone dance in them? She had worn these ages ago to the Valentine’s dance at the club, the night she met Ricardo. Her life would have been so different if she had never met that scoundrel. She shook her head and tossed the heels in a box destined for the Goodwill.
Between some shoes, a red scarf had tangled, and she tugged it out. Somewhere there were mittens and a hat that went with it. She had knit a matching set for Paul the Christmas after she returned from her “adventure.”
The red wool now soft under her fingers, she thought about that trip up to his mountain cabin. Sylvia’s memory now was as crisp as the weather had been that holiday night. Despite the icy air, they chose to sit outside on the porch swing to view the stars. This time, she paid attention to the constellations he pointed out to her. The ground had been covered in white, and snow weighed down the pine branches next to the frozen pond.
Paul cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’re here with me safe and sound.”
“At least for now.”
“I’m relieved they haven’t tried to question you again during the holidays.” Paul reached for her hand. Betty Lou had been right. He was a good man. Sylvia wondered for the hundredth time what it would be like to kiss him. Would it be like kissing Ricardo? At least Paul didn’t have a mustache or a five-o’clock shadow to prick her. He probably wouldn’t dart his tongue in and out like a snake as Ricardo had done either.
Paul put his arm around her, and she snuggled in close. It felt comfortable and right to be with him. But when would he ever kiss her?
At that moment, he leaned over and put his lips on hers. He tasted of the hot toddies they had sipped earlier. A heat spread throughout her body and she kissed him back, a different kind of feeling than with Ricardo, not scary at all but still exciting. Paul pulled back and said the three magic words: “I love you.”
It was about time. “I love you, too.”
“You do?”
“Of course!” She laughed.
He kissed her again, this time long and slow. She crushed up against him and never wanted to let go.
“Marry me?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said, and then they kissed again.
A month later, they had a simple wedding at Bay Breeze. A judge presided with Ella, Milo, and Lucy as witnesses. Sylvia wore an ivory-colored suit and carried a gardenia bouquet. When she came down the stairs, she knew by the look on Paul’s face that the long journey had been worth it.
Now she picked up a pair of cowboy boots and smiled. She had bought them almost fifty years ago in Flagstaff. She pulled a hanky from her pocket and wiped the sand off until the leather shone, and she thought of that long-ago trip riding the train, stroking Lucy’s back, pawning the jewelry, driving the T-Bird and trailer, camping, the flash flood, and Betty Lou. That dear woman—if it hadn’t been for her, Sylvia would certainly have perished. It had been ages since their last road trip to visit her. The trading post had closed, the hogan and trailer had been abandoned, and all the animals were gone.
Sylvia pushed herself up and in stocking feet stepped into the boots. They felt floppy. Her feet must have shrunk over the years. She gazed at herself in the full-length mirror and giggled to see how funny she looked in the caftan and boots. Hands out, she sashayed into the bedroom, singing with an Elvis lilt:
A wise woman said
that I was no fool.
Sylvia danced around the hardwood floor.
“What are you doing?” Paul asked, leaning on his cane in the doorway, a grin on his face.
She traveled toward him and raised the volume of her voice:
Like the ocean waves
crashing to the sea
darling our love shows
you’re the one for me.
She started to cough.
“Take it easy.” Paul scuffled forward and took her elbow. “You know what the doctor said.”
Singing again, Sylvia stepped away and waltzed around the room once more:
We were meant to be.
Paul blinked his eyes and chuckled.
Sylvia laughed too. But then a cough overpowered her, and she collapsed into a chair.
“You okay, darling?” He reached for her.
She nodded even though the raspy hack continued, and her eyes welled with tears. Paul poured cough syrup from the night-stand and carried it to her without spilling a drop. She swallowed the cherry liquid, grimaced at the too-sweet taste, and tried to catch her breath. Paul frowned with concern and put his hand on her back. “Come, dear, lie down.” He guided her to the bed. They leaned on each other for support. “It’s time for your nap anyway.”
She knew she would fall asleep soon—there was enough codeine in the medicine to soothe her feisty spirit. That was why she didn’t like to take it. Paul slid the boots off her feet and dropped them to the floor.
“Hold me awhile.” She patted the bed beside her.
He climbed onto the bed and cuddled her close, tucking his hand into hers. She dug her thumb into his palm. In her young fantasies, she had never imagined a life as fulfilled as this. Soon her eyes fluttered closed as she drifted off to sleep, grateful for his love.
58
Foggy afternoon shadows crossed the library’s hardwood floors, and a bright light shone onto the collage that hung over the desk. The room had recently been restored to its previous chaos. This had been the saddest week of Anne’s life.
“I still can’t believe she is really gone.” Paul’s eyes watered as he hobbled over and collapsed into his chair, setting the cane beside it. He seemed to have become frailer in the past few days.
“Neither can I.” Anne touched his shoulder and sat across from him.
The service had been lovely, with a sprinkling of the ashes at his lake cabin. The first ti
me Anne came to Bay Breeze, she sat in this same chair. “It’s you!” she had said when Sylvia had come toward her. She now could hear her mentor’s voice filled with compliments and pep talks. Even though they’d only known each other for a few months, they had loved each other unconditionally. But it was all over now.
In her mind, she relived over and over that awful afternoon: The house quiet, with Paul and George playing cards at the club and Lucky asleep curled up on the floor beside the hospital bed that had been cranked up to keep Sylvia’s cough at bay. Anne turned the worn pages, reading Frost poems aloud to Sylvia, who mouthed the words from memory. Earlier her sentences had ricocheted from one reminiscent topic to another as her pale skin glistened. Anne paused for a sip of water and listened to Sylvia’s rattled breathing.
She seemed to have nodded off, but then she opened her eyes. “Let’s just chat awhile.”
Anne set the book on the side table and fluffed her friend’s pillows. She started to hack again, a deep sound that echoed off the library walls. Anne poured another dose of cough syrup and waited patiently for it to take effect.
“That’s better.” Sylvia gazed over at her. “You’re so precious.”
Anne smiled at her. “Why didn’t you and Paul ever have any children?”
“God had other plans for me. But for many years, I thought it was for punishment.”
“Punishment for what?”
Sylvia swallowed a few times, caught her breath then began, “Remember when I told you I had killed a man?”
Anne nodded with a smile.
“Well, I wasn’t joking.”
Anne’s hand flew to her chest. “What do you mean?”
“Brace yourself: this might be hard for you to hear.” Sylvia reached for Anne’s hand. “When I was twenty-one, I became engaged to a villain. I thought he loved me, but he only loved himself.” She breathed in and out a few times. “He hurt me not only emotionally but also physically. One night, he tormented me. I couldn’t help it, and I . . . I shot him.”
“No!”
“Yes. That’s when I went on my little ‘adventure.’” Sylvia nodded toward the collage. “The police suspected me but never had enough evidence to prosecute. Paul’s the only one who has ever known. I’ve held it in all these years.”
