by Grace Greene
She remembered it mostly as a strange but peaceful time.
Now she was an adult, and it was time to sleep. The night was half along already. She last checked the clock at three a.m. and must have fallen asleep shortly thereafter. Considering the day and everything that had happened with the dog and Barbara’s neighbor, Sandra wasn’t surprised Trent visited her dreams.
He didn’t look like Trent, but rather he appeared as a yellow grizzly. The golden yellow fur coat glowed, and as he rose to his hind legs, the thick fur moved in the wind. He waved his paws, displaying long, curved claws, and growled and threatened. He wouldn’t hurt her, Sandra knew, at least not with a punch or a slap, but she cowered anyway, knowing he’d shred her intellect and ego into bloody strips one word, one patronizing smirk, at a time.
She was glad to wake up that morning. To see the glimmer of dawn was a blessing, a rescue. She didn’t attempt to go back to sleep because the bear might still be wandering in the neighborhood of that sleeping state.
The day stretched long and empty ahead of her. How would she fill it?
Looking for Honey.
Had Honey come home? Suddenly hopeful, Sandra jumped out of bed and raced down the steps. She opened the front door. No dog. She went to the kitchen and opened the back door. No dog. So early in the day, and she was already discouraged.
Sandra fixed coffee and took it upstairs to sip while she got washed and dressed. The aroma alone was a help. She decided to view the day as full of potential.
In front of the mirror, she tried to fluff up her hair with her fingers. Not much she could do with it until it grew out. She’d have to wet it to get rid of the morning bedhead effect.
Her hair would grow. Didn’t everyone say that after a bad cut?
Sandra’s wardrobe was pathetic, so she settled for a clean pair of jeans and a plain T-shirt. Despite the disturbed sleep, she counted her blessings. Hot water, a roof over her head, privacy and security (at least of the premises), and food in the kitchen, with no one to give orders or ask questions. She felt like a princess in a castle, even if it was full of junk and dust.
Sandra cooked some eggs for breakfast. Colton Bennett had said he’d bring posters, so she waited. Always waiting—not assuming—never forcing. She needed activities. Her lack of a to-do list was the result of being in someone else’s house.
Her aunt’s yarn was beside the chair, under the chair, and dangling from the bookcase.
Enough.
Sandra tidied the yarn projects and stacked them in a yarn bag she found behind the chair. She gathered more loose skeins and tucked those into plastic grocery bags she found in the pantry. From there she decided to get rid of the junk mail left lying around. She gathered the fliers and envelopes, being careful not to trash anything worth keeping. Things were starting to look better, but then Sandra stopped abruptly. How does one clean up someone else’s mess without those actions declaring it was a mess to begin with? Rude. She was a guest, after all.
She stood in the dining room. Her arms felt twitchy. Muscle memory? From when she had a house? A home and a place for everything and had enjoyed managing it? At least for a while. Until Trent learned to twist that, too.
Suddenly deflated, Sandra pulled out a chair and sat at her aunt’s dining room table.
A year into their first marriage, she’d wanted to join her friends for a girls’ weekend. Trent had known many of her friends from college. After all, that’s where she’d met him. He was a little older, and he worked as an engineer in a firm that built bridges and other highway-related construction. His employer was paying for him to take the courses he needed to complete his degree. That’s how she’d met him, in an English class. He’d spent a lot of time on campus with her, especially in the evenings, and had met her friends, and many of them had ended up being her bridesmaids.
Tammy had called to invite her to the girls’ weekend. “We’re going to the lake. My parents’ place.”
Sandra was excited about seeing her old friends. Trent wasn’t.
“But Trent, you know them. They’re great gals. They’re my friends. This is about a weekend at the lake.”
“You’re a married woman now. They’re still college students. Their responsibilities, their focus is different.”
“They are my friends. They were in our wedding.”
“We haven’t seen them since.” He shook his head. “Save yourself the heartbreak.”
“There’s no heartbreak, Trent. They are in school, they’re busy, and I’m not there. We don’t live close, so it’s hard to get together. This would be so much fun.”
“More fun than staying home with me?”
“Trent. Be reasonable.”
“Do whatever you want, Sandra. I guess I can understand, but I think you’ll see I’m right. You’ll be sorry you went.”
She went.
It wasn’t wild or crazy. Her friends were sweet, funny gals, and they did a lot of laughing. It was good to get away. She hadn’t realized the tension had been building with Trent until she was removed from it. She returned home from the long weekend with renewed energy and was genuinely happy to see him. She was barely in the house when Trent said, “Grab a spoon for me, will you?”
When she opened the drawer, she saw the difference immediately. She looked at Trent. He broke into a full grin and came to stand next to her.
“Do you like it?”
She stammered, “Wh-what’s going on? Where’s my silverware?”
“I bought new. Got rid of that old stuff. It was junk. You like it?”
“Where is it? Tammy gave it to us as a wedding gift.”
Trent frowned. He moved closer until his chest was almost touching her shoulder. His extra inches towered over her.
“Does it matter? It was stained. I got you this really nice set—the knives, forks, spoons. It has all the serving pieces. See?” He picked up the gravy ladle and waved it near her face. “I told the clerk I was living dangerously, that you might not like the pattern.” He chuckled. “She said I can bring it back if you want to choose your own.”
“Trent, where’s my silverware?”
“I tossed it. Trashed it.”
She moved toward the trash can. He stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“It’s too late. The trash already went to the dump. I made a special trip over there because I did some other clearing out, too.” He gave her a thin smile, dropped his hand, and lowered his voice. “That’s the thanks I get? I try to do something nice to surprise you. That was a long, lonely weekend with you gone.” He thumped his hand on the counter. “Fine. Teaches me a lesson. I won’t be so thoughtful next time. Besides, don’t blame me. If you’d been here, it wouldn’t have happened, right? If you don’t like the new utensils, the box is in the garage. Pack it up and return it. Regardless, the old stuff is gone.”
He gestured at Leo. “Come on, boy.” He let the door slam behind him and the dog. Trent tossed the ball as he walked down the porch steps, and the pit bull mix chased it, his muscles rippling under short hair, and clamped his unforgiving jaws on the ball.
Sandra had loved her silverware. It wasn’t silver, and it wasn’t top-of-the-line stainless, but when she set the table or washed the implements, she wasn’t seeing cheap flatware. Instead, she was remembering her friend and the fun they’d had in high school and college. Everyone liked Tammy. Being in her company was like wearing a seal of approval, and the people who liked her liked you.
Memories could soothe a lot of what was wrong in one’s life. Sometimes a good memory helped a person believe that life could be good again.
The knives, forks, and spoons now in the drawer had a nice enough pattern and were better quality, but Sandra had loved that other set.
She was angry and hurt. She called her mother.
“What’s wrong, Sandra? Didn’t you have a good time at the lake? You went, right? You sound upset.”
“I did go. It was great, but Trent got angry.”
“I th
ought you said he was OK with it.”
“He said he was. But Mom, he bought new silverware. He threw away the utensils that Tammy gave us. Took them to the dump. I can’t get them back.”
“I don’t understand. New silverware? Don’t you like the pattern?”
“That’s not the point, Mom. He did it to punish me because I went. He knew how I felt about that silverware.”
“They’re knives, forks, and spoons, Sandra.”
“It was a gift from my friend. Trent didn’t even ask. He smiled when he told me.”
“Let me make sure I understand. You went away for the weekend with your friends, and while you were gone your husband missed you and bought new silverware to surprise you.”
“Yes.” It sounded different when her mom said it like that.
“Sandra, I think you should just say thank you.”
“He should’ve asked first, Mom.”
“I agree, but he’s a man, and men don’t think that way.”
Sandra breathed. She tried to concentrate on breathing and nothing else. The intermittent pain in her side was trying to come back.
“Sandra? Are you there?”
“I’m here, Mom.” There was no point in explaining it again. Repetition wasn’t going to make her mother understand, but overreaction or not, it didn’t change the truth. Trent had gotten the new silverware because of the choice she’d made to leave for the weekend. He’d trespassed into her space, her kitchen, and had taken a wedding gift from a dear friend, and then he’d made sure it was irrevocably gone to punish her. Sandra heard in her mother’s words and the tone of her voice that she believed Sandra was the problem. It had been only silverware, and cheap at that.
It was early in their first marriage, and so long ago now, but it still hurt, especially as it proved to be one of the first of many such incidents to come.
Sandra pushed up from Aunt Barbara’s dining room table. Was there any similarity to what she was doing to her aunt’s belongings? She didn’t think so.
She walked over to the sofa. She was tired and that tightness in her chest was back. She was going to lie down, to . . . She stopped.
No, she wasn’t. This chaos was far different from a set of silverware.
She had to do what she had to do.
In the dining room, Sandra moved the sagging boxes away from the French doors. She pushed them under the dining room table and then opened the drapes. The drapery rod was iffy but holding. She sneezed and sneezed. The sunlight was nice, but it highlighted the dust.
The house was full of chaos, tripping threats, and dust—multiple potential health hazards. She was actually doing her aunt a favor.
She unhooked the drapes and tried to bundle them up to contain the dust. She took them outside, made sure of the wind direction, and then shook them. An old clothesline was strung by the shed. She threw the drapery panels over the line and left them there to air.
Back in the house, she sorted the magazines on the dining room table while keeping watch on the garden and the yard, in case Honey put in an appearance. That’s how she happened to see the boy approaching. A blond-headed boy limped across the backyard holding a large manila envelope. He was maybe ten and wearing jeans and a collared knit shirt. He stopped to watch the drapes on the line flap and billow with the breeze.
Sandra knew nothing about children, especially boys. He angled toward the side of the house. Sandra went to the front door and stepped out onto the porch as he came into view.
“Are you Miss Barbara’s niece?” he asked.
“I am. You must be Aaron.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. His manners showed in his posture as well as his words. “Have you heard from the authorities or the animal shelters about Honey?”
“Nothing.”
“If you don’t mind me suggesting, you should hang up these posters near the main road and then over by the new subdivision. Plus, there are several gas stations and convenience stores along the road.”
Sandra came to the edge of the porch and looked down at Aaron. “First, I’d like to apologize for keeping Sammy captive. It was unintentional, I promise you. She wanted to leave, and I didn’t understand. I realize now she wanted to go home to you.”
The boy shrugged and smiled. “No problem. Dad explained what happened. I was worried, but she’s fine. I’m glad she was safe.” He held out the posters. “Would you like to take a look?”
“Sure.” Sandra accepted the posters and sat on the steps.
Aaron joined her. She pretended not to notice his awkward progress up the steps or his careful movement as he twisted to sit on the step.
The picture on the poster was slightly grainy because it had been enlarged from a photo that wasn’t sharp to begin with, but Honey’s face and coloring would be recognizable to anyone who saw her.
“These are great. How will I hang them? Tape? Nails?”
“Depends on where. I’d start with the gas stations on the main road and down to Interstate 64.”
“Do you think she’d go that far?”
“Honey might not, but people coming through this area do, and they might see her and remember her. Hang some in the businesses in Mineral and down in Goochland.”
The task felt so big. This boy’s composure made her ashamed to be so inadequate. She tried to rally. She sat taller and smiled. “I appreciate your help.”
“No problem. Dad said you didn’t have a computer.” He pointed to the posters. “I’m pretty good with it. If you need anything else, let me know.”
“Aaron,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“You are a lifesaver. I could never have done such a wonderful job myself. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. Glad I can help.”
It was up to her now. Aaron had brought the posters, offered advice, and limped away. Sandra had offered him a ride home. He assured her he could manage fine.
Yesterday, Colton had called the shelters and the local police, and they had her number, but she couldn’t sit around waiting. She would call them all again. What if she annoyed them? Like with the temp agencies? That might not help her cause.
What about showing up in person? Too bad she didn’t have a more appealing, engaging personality. Aaron was a cute, personable kid and much more of a heart-wringer. Maybe his father would loan him out? She laughed. Shame on her for thinking that way, but honestly she was only half-kidding.
She called each listing one by one. As she dialed and spoke, she started in the house and then migrated to the porch and out to the yard. As each call was answered, she explained who she was and why she was calling, and they said, “Hold,” and then came back to report there was no sign of Honey.
Thirty minutes’ worth of phone calls didn’t seem good enough. She could try harder. She had to, because at some point she would have to explain to her aunt and mother about Honey and what she did to try to find her and bring her home.
She needed to go to these places personally. Make it real. Hang posters where it was allowed. She’d go in the morning. She glimpsed her reflection in the china hutch glass, and then took a second look. Not good. The hair could be a quirky, eccentric kind of style-maker thing, but the clothes?
Aunt Barbara. She and her aunt weren’t so very different in size. Style? Yes, very different, but surely she had a few things in her dresser and closet that were more understated than that purple and orange sweater vest.
In the short time that the front door had been closed, the room already smelled musty. Sandra opened a window a few inches. The air was cool, but pleasantly so. Spring. The forsythia bushes were green and fully leaved, having already dropped their yellow blossoms. When the hardwoods started pushing out their leaves, spring was well under way.
Her car was still parked at the side of the house. Gas, or the cost of it, was a consideration for tomorrow’s plan. You had to drive forever to get anywhere out here. Suddenly, Aunt Barbara’s cash popped into her head. Behind the Treasury of Kni
tting, hadn’t she said?
Sandra found the thick volume at eye level in the bookcase. She pulled it out, felt around behind the books on either side, and found the envelope.
For unexpected bills, she’d said.
Like gas, maybe?
The long white envelope was sealed. Sandra opened the flap. Cash, for sure.
About $300 in fifties and two hundreds. Nice.
Sandra slid out the note. Barbara had written a long note, but the gist was that the utilities were on auto-pay, and there shouldn’t be anything else needing payment, but in case of emergency with the house or with Honey . . . and a request to start her car from time to time to keep the battery charged. She felt behind the books again and found the car key.
Really, Aunt Barbara? But she’d done well otherwise, and, yes, Sandra called this an emergency. It was all about Honey.
She took a fifty-dollar bill, tucked it deep into her jeans pocket, and returned the rest to its hiding place.
Now on to Aunt Barbara’s closet.
It was barely noon, and Sandra was already listless and feeling at loose ends. It was awful pawing through someone else’s clothing, and that mural felt like it was watching her, judging her, in Barbara’s absence.
She’d found sweatpants and stretch yoga pants and a couple of casual tops that would augment her wardrobe. A nightgown and pajama pants, too. She tidied her aunt’s bed and laid the clothing on the bedspread. She had her job-interview outfit, and while she wasn’t planning to dress up to that degree, pairing a nice blouse from the interview outfit with her jeans would be fine for the shelter visits. Too bad her aunt and she didn’t wear the same size shoes. That said, she’d found a pair of green galoshes in the kitchen. With a thick pair of socks, courtesy of her aunt, she could probably make use of those outside.
Sandra sat in the dining room eating a cheese sandwich for lunch and stared at the garden. Not a garden. A dog run. And not much of a dog run with no dog. She stretched her fingers and hands. They’d knotted into fists. She needed action. If this were her place, if the decision was up to her, she knew where she’d start . . . but it wasn’t hers, and she had no right to make substantial decisions without consulting her aunt. Aunt Barbara hadn’t left the money for home improvements.
