Perhaps more than anyone else in town, he was recognizable from a distance: no matter what the season, he wore worn, pin-striped, shiny wool pants a couple sizes too big held up by suspenders that were too long and sagged across a blue-and-white striped shirt with frayed cuffs. When the temperature dropped below forty degrees, he donned an ancient London Fog raincoat sans the lining which was too warm for his portly, hot-blooded self. Many speculated he only owned one set of clothes, but the truth was he owned several sets exactly the same. “Lowers my stress level,” he’d once told his secretary. “Got enough stress without tormenting myself over what to wear every morning.” His secretary had often thought about the sense in his theory as she stood in front of her closet rifling coat hangers from left to right and right to left again, peeking at the clock, promising herself that today she would not be her usual five minutes late—a promise she could never quite seem to keep.
Rick’s office was even more of a mess than his appearance: papers stacked two feet high, dust on his green vinyl chairs, chaos everywhere. And yet he was remarkable at his job, never missing a detail. It was magic, the way he could pull just the right paper out of just the right stack. He always strived his hardest to make sure folks’ legal affairs were in order. He was a dedicated, enthusiastic saxophone player in the Partonville Community Band; a robust fan of the Wild Musketeers, Partonville’s mostly senior citizens softball team; and a supporter of any other event, sporting or otherwise, that took place in and around the community. When Earl Justice, a mentally challenged dear man in his forties, delivered a phone-in order from Harry’s Grill to Rick’s office (which was often), Rick always tipped him a dollar, even though most in town gave him a quarter. It’s just the way Rick was.
How had the accident happened? How is his mother doing, poor thing? Who could have guessed, and so close to home for such a terrible tragedy! Since he was the only attorney in town, who would handle his estate? Who would now handle theirs? Where were their wills physically located? What if they couldn’t find them in his big mess of an office and who could they trust to look through it? Would his secretary surely have a nervous breakdown just trying to help whoever sort through whatever?
Most in town had either seen firsthand or heard about his chaotic place of business, including Katie Durbin, who’d had to deal with Rick when she first came to Partonville from Chicago to settle her Aunt Tess’s estate, Rick having handled Tess’s trust. He’d also helped Dorothy draw up the papers to sell Crooked Creek Farm to Katie, and he’d handled the documents to donate twenty acres of the farm to the conservation district for what would one day become Crooked Creek Park. Although Katie, an upper-crust “city slicker,” was at first repelled by the sight of the slovenly man and his ramshackle office, she was surprised to learn how dedicated, knowledgeable and thoroughly he handled any issue thrown his way (yes, she’d seen him work his magic when retrieving Tess’s papers from one of his giant piles), and with kindness to boot. She had grown to respect him as a businessman, and one thing was for certain: you didn’t earn Katie Durbin’s respect easily.
May Belle Justice’s hands were shaking as she measured the fragrant ground coffee into the filter and once again fired up the church’s giant coffee pot. The usual Meet and Greet gathering following church had gone into overtime following Pastor’s shocking announcement about the death of Rick Lawson. This was one of those rare two-pot mornings, May Belle thought. As she collected abandoned coffee mugs and paper napkins from here and there and refilled cups, she couldn’t help but overhear snippets of everyone’s conversations about the awful news. One thing was constant, she observed: they just couldn’t believe it, and neither could she.
Rick’s death rocked May Belle’s world in an unsuspecting way, and it set her hands to shaking. She could hardly remember a time she’d spoken with him throughout the decades when he hadn’t encouraged her to “come on up, May Belle, honey” and get some papers in order concerning her beloved son, Earl. “What will happen to him, May Belle, if something happens to you? We never know when our number’s up,” he’d said, shaking his head. “Now you know we all love that boy of yours and would look out for him best we could, May Belle, but I doubt he could stay at your house alone, could he? Where would he go? What will he do? He’s still your dependent, May Belle, and it’s possible he’d become a ward of the state if you don’t have a plan on paper. Please think about it, May Belle. Please.”
Rick had started lobbying for her legal instructions regarding Earl soon after her husband died so many years ago. He didn’t ask because he wanted her business—goodness, everyone knew May Belle didn’t have an ounce of extra cash for anything, let alone legal matters. But rather than bring it up to her in a way that made her feel poorly about her lack of funds, he’d say, “I’d gladly trade you one little official document for a few batches of your award-winning double chocolate brownies me and Mom love so much. You’ll feel better knowing something is in place, May Belle.” And so she would. But what? What could be put in place for her now forty-four-year-old son?
She’d heard people talk about group homes for “special needs” adults, but the closest of those types of facilities was in Hethrow and she knew Earl would have a hard time adjusting to living in what he would undoubtedly perceive to be commotion compared to their simple, quiet life together. Commotion was hard on Earl, even among those he knew well. Besides, who would deliver the noontime call-in meals from Harry’s if Earl wasn’t around? Who would bring Earl to UMC on Sundays where folks knew him? How would their best friend Dorothy—the one person whom Earl loved and trusted as much as his own mother—visit him now that Dorothy no longer drove? No, a group home far away from the Partonville square, where everything and everyone was familiar to her Earl, would not be right. But where would he go?
Why hadn’t she once thought to ask Rick what he would suggest? And now it was too late. What was there to do but to make another pot of coffee, rub her tired back and continue to pray for God to grant her breath.
Maggie Malone plucked the handset to her Cinderella-shaped telephone from its billowing-dress cradle. The phone had been presented to her last Mother’s Day by her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Shelby’d spotted it in a mail order catalog and said to her mother, “Well, that’s got Grannie M written all over it!” Ben, Maggie’s husband of fifty-plus years, grumbled within himself every time he tried to wrap his strong meaty hand around the handset, Cinderella’s head quite the obstacle. But he never once mentioned it to Maggie, since every ounce of torment was worth it just to watch his enthusiastic wife clap her hands in delight every time Cinderella’s gown lit up when the phone rang.
Maggie’s shop, La Feminique Hair Salon & Day Spa, was closed on Mondays, so Eugene knew to call her at home. Eugene had been visiting Sadie Lawson in the hospital that morning to talk about funeral arrangements for her son, and she’d asked him to please give Maggie a call. She said the new doctor in town, Doctor Nielson, thought she’d be released by Thursday at the absolute latest, but when “good old Doc Streator” had stopped by to pay her a visit, he thought Sadie should plan on a Friday release, just in case. “You’re still gonna be plenty sore,” Doc had told her. “And goodness, Sadie, you’ve lost your son.” Doc could tell she was still in severe shock. “Give yourself at least a day of leeway in there between getting out of the hospital and dealing with a funeral.” Although Sadie thought the new doc had done a good job of running tests and diagnosing her cracked ribs, sewing up her cuts, bandaging her leg and putting a sling on her arm, Doc Streator did a better job when it came to broken hearts.
Aside from her medical concerns and issues of the heart, there were other things to be considered, like the fact that Eugene Casey was colorblind and Sadie wanted Maggie to make sure her son’s clothes matched for the viewing. Poor Eugene. He’d never been able to live down “that one time.” That one time two families had each dropped off clothing and accessories for their beloveds to wear and through an unbelievable series of
accidental mishaps, Eugene had mixed up the pieces to the outfits. Oh, that terrible one time when, to the shock of the onlookers, he had one woman wearing a red blouse, an orange vest and a green necklace. Maggie Malone never got over the fact that “anybody with a lick of color sense would have known that no woman in her right mind would be caught dead or alive in a getup like that. And that other poor soul!” she’d raved in her shop for a week after the funeral. “Could you even believe the color of that lipstick up against her skin tone!”
The calamity, as Maggie referred to it, had left everyone feeling sorry for Eugene’s affliction, and yet to this day they still had to swallow down peals of laughter (almost never successfully) when they discussed it. Truth be known, while one of the families chose to ignore the mishap the best they could, the other believed the incident to be pure grace since it brought a much-needed dose of laughter into their heartache. “Gracie would have laughed harder than any of us!” Gracie’s husband said. “Her laughter is one of the things I love . . . loved . . . most about her. I wonder if she didn’t orchestrate the whole thing from heaven just to get us going!” When Arthur Landers had passed by for the viewing and said, “I ain’t never seen Gracie look perkier!” the entire family had busted out in belly laughs right there in the greeting line. They’d laughed until they’d cried again, both avenues of expression and release helping them bear their grief.
And so Sadie asked Eugene to find out if Maggie could help him dress and prepare her son because Maggie, a mother many times over as well as a woman with a careful eye for detail, would take tender care with her son’s cowlick—oh, how she remembered studying that sweet little swirl on the top of his precious newborn head—and give his wooly eyebrows, such a defining part of her son’s face, a nice trim. Sadie also asked Maggie if she might be able to come to her home when she got released to do her hair since she was sure she would not be up for a shop appointment. There were times, in fact, when Sadie didn’t feel up to drawing her next breath, so deep was her despairing grief. And yet, there was an odd grace in the preoccupation of details since it meant for at least a moment, there was something to think about other than the truth that her precious child was gone.
Eugene had, of course, obliged Sadie’s wishes and given Maggie a call. “Eugene, you know I’ll do anything I can,” Maggie said into Cinderella’s left hand. “Tell Sadie not to worry, I’ll take care of all those details for her. I am a little confused that she’d worry about Rick’s clothes matching, though. That man only has one set of clothes and if we dressed him in anything else, folks wouldn’t know who they were viewing!”
“You got that right,” Eugene said with a sigh, a sorrowful heart and a swallowed down smile that comes with knowing a buddy well, a true buddy he was already missing. “I’ll leave that to you to bring up with Sadie, though.”
“Ask her if she wants her roots done or just needs a trim, Eugene. Never mind. I’ll stop by and visit her myself. She can have visitors, right?”
“I reckon they let me in because I’m the undertaker. Don’t rightly know. Can’t see any reason why she can’t, though. Better check with the hospital just to make sure. And be prepared, Maggie. Poor Sadie isn’t quite herself.”
“How could she be, Eugene? She’s lost her son.” A chill ran down Maggie’s spine, the smiles and scent of each of her own nine children springing to mind. “Has Sadie set the funeral arrangements then?” Maggie was preparing to start spreading the word. Some “news” spread in a beauty shop was indeed idle gossip, but other times La Feminique Hair Salon & Day Spa was one of the best places to help dispense a piece of information everyone needed to know.
“Funeral is on for this Saturday. Doc thought she should wait until at least Monday, but Sadie said waiting a couple extra days wouldn’t make burying her son any easier. She’s got that right.” When they hung up, Eugene shuddered at how closely death lurks. All he could think about was that even after a lifetime in the business, he’d never get used to the constant reminder.
5
“Mom, I’ve got some news I hope you’ll like,” Jacob said, flipping his cell phone closed as he entered the kitchen where Dorothy was cleaning up their lunch dishes. She was keeping herself busy, trying not to reveal the depth of her sorrow over the fact that the last of her visiting family would be leaving within the next two hours—Vinnie and the boys had left yesterday before church. The weight of her family’s departure was extra heavy this morning since she could not stop thinking about poor Sadie. Caroline Ann, Dorothy’s daughter, had lost her battle with breast cancer a little over a decade ago and Dorothy knew you never get over the loss of a child.
“I hope I’ll like your news, too, son. Yesterday brought all the bad news I can stand for a spell. Did you know when Rick was a freshman in high school I taught that boy how to play the saxophone? I couldn’t believe he’d never had a lesson; he was a natural. The band is scheduled to play for the church Christmas service and he had the lead solo in the prelude to ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful.’ I bet Raymond just has us skip the prelude now since it would be too sad for us to hear someone else playing his part.” She stuffed her dish towel down into the glass she was holding and gave it a good twist, then carefully set the glass in her cabinet, wiping a tear from her cheek.
Just when Jacob was about to stand and put his arms around her, she surprised him by chuckling. “It’s too bad you weren’t here for the Centennial Plus Thirty. You’d have laughed yourself silly at Rick’s rendition of ‘Put on Your Old Blue Bonnet,’ during which he actually wore one! I’ll tell you, he had everyone in stitches. And now. . . . I could barely get to sleep after Josh left last night thinking about how close he came to being involved in that accident! When he told us after church how he’d actually seen the wreck, it just took my breath away. A few minutes earlier and. . . . Well, I was sure glad when Vinnie called to say he and the boys had arrived safely home. As much as I hate to see you go, I’ll be glad to know you’ve made it to your home, too.” She shook her head and swiped her dish towel around the edge of the last sandwich plate, then dabbed at her eyes before stowing the plate away. She hung the dish towel over the cabinet door beneath the sink and plopped down in a kitchen chair across from Jacob.
“Okay then. Enough already with my fretting. And Lord, keep me from any more of it!” she said rolling her eyes toward the heavens. “Give me the good news, son. You’ve got my undivided attention.”
“That was my secretary. Looks like you won’t be receiving a phone call from me tonight since I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got company for another week, maybe even a little longer, depending upon a few other loose ends.”
“What?” She’d been so busy trying to let go of him, it wasn’t sinking in she didn’t have to just yet.
“To be honest, I was hoping for a better reaction,” he said in that flat tone that often stumped Katie but which Jacob’s mother, who adored his wry humor, understood.
“But I thought your plane leaves at six-thirty tonight.”
“It does, but I don’t have to be on it. I knew before I left Philly that there was an outside chance I’d be able to stay longer, but I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Colleen just let me know it’s a done deal.”
Dorothy’s eyes misted over as she sprang out of her chair and threw her arms around Jacob. “Oh, honey! That’s just wonderful ! I am e-la-ted!”
“That’s more like it,” he said, patting his mother on the back.
She sat back down in her chair, then clicked her tongue and rapped her knuckles on the table. “You know, there’s probably not a whole lot I’ll have to do for Rick’s wake and funeral, but there’ll be some. Other than that, I’m yours! And like your grandpa used to say, ‘Life is for the living!’ He sure was right. You remember him saying that?”
“No, but I wish I did. I wish I remembered a lot more about him.”
“Me too. He was a dandy. But back to the living! What would you like to do while you’re here?
Let’s live it up, get high on the hog!”
“Do? Do? I’m looking forward to doing nothing but visiting with you. In fact, I might just lock my briefcase in the trunk and give you the keys. It’s too tempting to see it sitting over there.” He stared at the worn butternut-colored leather for a moment, noticed the two papers sticking out the top and thought about the upcoming brief, then forced himself to look away. Yes, life—and there was a life apart from the courtroom, he kept reminding himself—was for the living.
Dorothy smiled at her son, then sighed. “Too bad Vinnie and the boys couldn’t have stayed longer. I bet you fellows could have found a grand adventure or two.”
“What? But what about us? You’re not telling me you’ve lost your sense of adventure, are you? I know you’re getting old, Mom, but you’re not decrepit yet! Are you?” Of course he was teasing her. But nonetheless, he’d noticed a few slightly slower things about her and. . . .
With her left hand she began rubbing the first knuckle of her right index finger (which he’d noticed her doing on more than one occasion), taking note how the cool weather always made her arthritis bumps act up. “Well, not decrepit. I’d say a good bit slowed down and a tad more achy. But you know me, I’m always up for a road trip! Now. You hide that briefcase in your trunk and give me those car keys.” She stretched her leg out and waggled her foot. “My right foot is already itching for the gas pedal! Where could we go?”
Dearest Dorothy, Merry Everything! Page 4
