by EJ Valson
I popped out of bed easily – refreshed – and put on some Saturday clothes. After trotting downstairs, I found Violet upside down on the couch watching television, and John reading the paper in the kitchen.
“Afternoon,” he greeted, smirking.
I raised an eyebrow at him playfully and shuffled over to see the coffee pot clock. Eleven thirty. Nice. No wonder I felt so rested.
“Someone called for you this morning. Her number is on the counter over there.” And with that, he stuck his nose back into his paper.
I placed one hand on each of my own shoulders and stuck my elbows into the air in another deep stretch as I meandered over to the other counter. There was a name and number scratched in John’s tiny handwriting on the top of our message tablet. Miss Dane, followed by a number and a smiley face. I hmphh-ed quietly and wondered what she could possibly want on a Saturday.
“Morning Vy,” I hollered into the living room as I grabbed the receiver from its base and dialed the number. It took her until the second ring of my phone call to chime back, “Morning Mommy!”
“Hello, Erin.” Freaky, I thought. I would have just said hello.
“Good morning, Miss Dane,” I answered. She kind of reminded me of a stalker, and I giggled internally. Something quirky about this lady.
“I was wondering if you were free this afternoon. Any time would be suitable for me.”
“Sure,” I answered. Though in my head I’d said “Sure, stalker.”
“I’d like to get to know you a little better, and was thinking we could go for coffee somewhere, if you don’t mind.”
“Well, certainly.” Although her approach seemed a little awkward, I was always up for making another new friend at the school. “How about an hour from now?”
“Sounds wonderful, there is a café near the library. Do you know it?”
“Yes, I do. My husband and I go there sometimes. Their outdoor section is lovely. I look forward to seeing you.”
“Indeed, goodbye.” And the line went dead.
“Honey…” I called to John, still holding the phone up to my ear. “Can you watch Violet for a little while for me? This lady at school wants me to meet her for coffee in an hour.”
“Sure, hon. We’ll probably be lounging around all day. Feels like a good solid Saturday to me.”
I looked into the living room at Violet on the couch—spread out with a pillow from her bed, with an empty cereal bowl on the coffee table in front of her. She was now belly down, had one arm draped over the side of the couch almost touching the floor, and she looked like the epitome of childhood. She didn’t have a care in the world besides the show she was watching. After eating some eggs and throwing on the best outfit I could come up with (it was laundry day, after all) I kissed my family goodbye and headed out for coffee.
Pulling up to the picturesque little shop, I noticed Miss Dane at an outdoor table. Of course she had beaten me here. I should have left earlier; it would have looked more professional for me to have arrived first. Maybe this wasn’t a professional meeting, though. Maybe Charlotte had talked her into befriending me. That would be like her. Trying to play “match-maker” . . . friendship style.
I pulled into a space and tried to guess which car belonged to the little woman I was about to have coffee with. Was it the Lexus? Probably. Or maybe the Jeep. I smiled, pushing my sunglasses into my hair, picturing the fragile woman off-roading in the rugged Jeep Wrangler.
Miss Dane waved at me from her bistro table, and I gestured back cheerfully as I went inside to get a drink. It was unseasonably cool out, for an Oklahoma summer day, so I opted for my favorite hot latte. Of course, it was always unseasonable in Oklahoma. Every day quite as unpredictable as the next.
As I joined my co-worker, she rose from her seat, the way men do when a woman joins the table. Well, the way chivalrous men do. She sat when I took my seat, and smiled in silence. I took a nervous sip of my latte and smiled back, not quite sure what to make of her.
“Miss Dane.” I held out my hand in greeting and she shook it with a dainty grasp. Her eyes were merry behind her large glasses, with frames that were almost too big for her face. She reminded me of a librarian.
“Azura, please,” she corrected.
“Azura? That’s . . . a beautiful name.” Fitting, I thought, that the strange little lady would have a strange name to match. She grinned and looked down at the table.
“My parents were hippies,” she countered – a hint of discomfiture in her expression. “My middle name is Jasmyn.”
“Azura Jasmyn Dane.” I giggled warmly as I let the name roll of my tongue. “It’s interesting, and lovely. Much more interesting than Erin.”
During our coffee date we chatted about seemingly nothing, not even really touching that often on school-related subjects. There were several awkward silences, which I eased by sipping my ever-cooling coffee, but most of the encounter was quite enjoyable.
Once I got used to her quirky mannerisms and dry sense of humor, I found myself fully enjoying Azura’s company. She was comforting, and her presence felt almost motherly. Something about her felt like she had a lifetime of experiences and information to share with me, and this was just the beginning.
Sunday morning, I finally checked my email. Normally it was a daily task for me, but I hadn’t remembered sitting down to the computer for days. I had one message from Charlotte. The same kind of deeply compassionate, friendly emails we’ve had over the last five years while we were so far apart. One from Claire, letting me know that she was having a garage sale next weekend and hoped I would come keep her company. Apparently she lived just down the street from us, which I was unaware of. And one generic email from the increasingly interesting Azura Dane, thanking me for meeting up with her.
The following week, she seemed to be everywhere I was. Watching me interact with the children and adults. She rarely spoke to me, though. It looked as though she was just being observant. It was in my nature to be pretty observant, which is probably why I noticed her watching me, and it sort of comforted me that I was being studied. I liked that she had an interest in my character and how I was adapting in these crazy new surroundings. Truth be told, it weirded me out quite often, to have her staring at me so much, but I tried to ignore her. I had already decided that I liked her.
She would frequently be tucked into a corner, examining me. Or leaned against the cafeteria wall, trying to be invisible. She would sometimes make small talk with other teachers near me on the playground, nodding occasionally and gesturing in my direction every so often when she thought I wasn’t watching.
It made me periodically self-conscious, but by Friday I had convinced myself that her looming was harmless . . . albeit a little creepy.
NINE
Another week went by quickly, and Saturday finally rolled around again. I wasn’t quite sure how I had managed to get a whole week under my belt at work, but I’d done it. I came home drained every day, physically and mentally, and put every remaining ounce of energy into dinner and bedtime. I also managed to get to work every day on time, and actually out the door with no real trouble from Violet. We seemed to have a system going now: I would wake her up each morning at just the right time so that she could eat, get dressed, and brush her teeth without being overly rushed. Then we would arrive to school about ten minutes earlier than the first bell, which allowed us to talk quietly for a little while until she went to the playground.
That extra ten minutes with her in the morning really saved my heart a lot of aching the first few weeks into school; I felt a little more comfortable each day allowing her to play with her friends without me. And she, in turn, seemed to be more anxious to see them each day. Things definitely felt like they were starting to get doable.
Even though every day was a little easier, I had been looking forward to Saturday morning since Tuesday afternoon. And although I felt early in the week like I could sleep for a month and still not be rested, I only managed to snooze until eight thir
ty this morning. Quite disappointing. I would have to try and make up for that later with a good nap, just to get a head start on sleep for next week. Something told me, however, that I would be missing sleep for years to come.
After breakfast, John and Violet busied themselves with a coloring book. John was notorious for becoming engulfed in coloring, while Violet scribbled her own masterpieces next to him. I took advantage of their distraction and stole out onto the front porch with a cup of coffee.
I tried to avoid looking across the street at all costs. Elizabeth had been purposely avoiding contact with me for days, and when we passed each other in the halls she smiled forcefully and picked up her pace.
I watched car after car pass our house, and wondered why the traffic had suddenly picked up. Then it hit me—Claire’s garage sale. I had forgotten all about it! I looked down the street and quickly figured out which house belonged to my newest friend. There was a meager selection of used goods spread artfully across a driveway and lawn, and a small horde of people meandering around in it. I ran inside and put on my tennis shoes.
“I’m going to run down the street for a minute,” I yelled as I tied my laces. “Claire’s having a garage sale today.”
John and Violet waved silently, noses deep in their projects.
I picked up my coffee mug and set off down the street, thinking how strange it was that I hadn’t known where she lived until now. I really was a hermit, I supposed. Well, not very neighborly at least.
Claire waved frantically when she saw me coming down the walk, and I smiled back at her. She was so easy to like. As I came up on her house, I noticed that the group of garage sale shoppers was abnormally large for such a paltry assortment of goods. I walked slowly up her drive, trying to find something I couldn’t live without, and finally took the lawn chair next to Claire.
“I’m so glad you came,” she beamed.
“And I’m so sorry I’m late,” I answered. “I just got up.”
“Nice day for a garage sale, huh?” She asked lazily. She was right, the weather was breezy and perfect.
“Yep. And you’ve got quite a turnout.”
“Sure do. I hope we sell a lot. I need the money to buy the kids new school clothes. They’ve outgrown just about everything since last year.”
I had not yet met Claire’s children, but it was my understanding that she had two young ones that attended our school. I was so busy lately that I didn’t really notice anything that wasn’t right in front of me.
Claire went on to tell me that her husband, who worked almost every Saturday, was a mechanic. He made very little money, and worked very, very hard. They lived paycheck to paycheck, and used things like garage sales to make extra money when they needed it. She also told me that she liked to knit scarves and make homemade applesauce in the winter for extra income and Christmas money. I deeply admired her for that.
As we talked, I continued to notice the droves of people bobbing in and out of her yard. Every one of them purchased at least one thing, and every one of them stopped to talk to Claire before they left. We probably would have talked about a lot more than her husband if we weren’t constantly interrupted by people wanting to chat with her.
The women shoppers all picked over her belongings carefully, choosing something “for someone else” if they couldn’t find something for themselves. And when they spoke to her, they did so in a manner almost as if they were speaking to a celebrity. They looked star-struck, and giddy. I supposed it was her sheer beauty that caused them to behave that way, because I noticed the women fidgeting with themselves whenever they spoke. They would straighten their blouse, or paw at their hair. Like they were nervous to be around someone so lovely. I completely understood, and waited patiently.
Claire’s physical beauty was something so powerful, yet so modest, that it was simply unexplainable. I adored her so much that I had eventually stopped comparing myself to her. I was simply set on hating her . . . lovingly.
If I could look like she did this morning – tousled hair falling easily to her shoulders, obviously straight from the shower, no makeup, skin glowing in the Saturday morning light – John would be in awe of me all the time. Just like these passers-by were now.
The men, though, were the most entertaining customers by far. They would each pick out some obscure item from Claire’s hodgepodge of belongings, like a pair of old shoes “for their wife” or an old children’s video tape, and then stand for ages just staring at her. They weren’t really coming on to her, but they all looked like shy schoolboys trying to ask her to the prom. They would play with their keys or fiddle with their purchase with blushing cheeks. It was quite amusing, and Claire handled it all very well. I would have been embarrassed to have strangers staring at me like that and trying to find reasons just to linger around my old junk.
By eleven, she had sold nearly everything and made just over a hundred dollars. She was beaming as we scooted the empty tables back into the garage, going on about how thankful she was to be able to buy her children some new clothes. I found myself wanting to linger as well, but eventually excused myself and headed back toward my house. She was just so pure and sweet; wholly impossible not to like.
Two houses from my own, I stopped mid-stride. I had been humming as I walked, which I also stopped. I wasn’t sure why it startled me, but it did at first. There was a sandy-colored Jeep Wrangler parked in my driveway. I racked my brain for someone I knew that drove one, and came up empty-handed.
I picked up my pace again and tried to remember where I had seen that vehicle before. It only took a few moments to remember, I had seen it last weekend at the coffee shop. I chuckled to myself. It was Azura Dane’s car. How funny. The rest of the journey up the walk, I entertained myself by imagining her off-roading in it. Imagining her doing anything besides sitting quietly behind a desk was quite comical.
When I came in through the kitchen door, though, I found something even more unexpectedly funny. The tiny little librarian was sitting at our table, with John on one side and Violet at the other. Both of them were staring at her like they were about to be in trouble.
Azura’s hands were folded and resting on the table top, and Violet and John were sitting with their hands in their laps. I had to really try to suppress a giggle, remembering that I sometimes felt like I was being scolded when I was around her. All three of them looked up when I came in, and I wondered just how long they had all been sitting there in silence, waiting for me to return.
“Morning,” I smiled comfortably.
“Good morning,” Azura answered, tipping her head down briefly. John and Violet both just looked at me and smiled half-heartedly.
“You guys can scoot if you want,” I offered, motioning to the living room. With one synchronized move, Violet and John were out of their seats and headed out of the room, staring at me inquisitively once they were behind Miss Dane. I grinned again and nodded, so they left.
After placing my empty coffee mug in the sink, I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and slid into a chair across from my visitor. I wondered if her visits would be weekly for very long, I would sure like to have the whole weekend to myself soon.
“You have a lovely family, Erin,” Azura commented. When we were by ourselves, she only seemed odd. John and Violet, however, actually looked nervous to be around her.
Maybe she’s just not good at first impressions, I thought.
“Thank you, I think so too.” I took a swig of my water, hoping she would get to the point of her visit. I was really hoping for a bath this afternoon; something completely unnecessary, but ridiculously relaxing to go along with the peaceful, lazy day I had already started. “What can I do for you?” I added when she hadn’t said anything. Azura adjusted her large glasses and shifted her weight in her seat. She cleared her throat and looked me over, which she seemed to be doing a lot of lately.
“Please excuse me, Erin. I do apologize for dropping in unannounced. My personal schedule has been quite altered lately
.” She poked a thin finger into her impossibly tight bun and scratched. The little movement seemed a bit out of place for her. It was almost as if she had just realized that her uptight hair-do was uncomfortably snug. Her eyes moved—rather edgily, as if she hadn’t been getting enough sleep—down to the table as she scratched another section of her head. Her cell phone rang quietly in her pocket, and she pulled it out quickly. I expected her to answer it, but she glanced at it briefly and silenced it.
