Authors: Grace Greene
****
The house was still empty when she returned. She felt pointless and fruitless, angry over disrespected memories, yet who was she to hurt someone over a sofa?
So no eviction notice. No grand gesture like changing the locks.
There would have to be another conversation with Laurel. Something along the lines of ‘Laurel, our lives are too entwined and it isn’t healthy for either of us. I understand you feel like this house is yours, is your home, but I own it. Please find somewhere else to live. And, by the way, before you leave, tell me more about Frances.’
Could she do that?
Lost in disappointment, she barely noticed the drive back to the beach. Suddenly, she was in Morehead City, had totally missed the first bridge over to Emerald Isle, and was driving down Arendell Street in the direction of the rehab. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the red neon lettering in the window of
Lynette’s Two
.
She
’d seen that bright red lettering before. She turned around at the next opportunity and drove back.
Shopping? Impulsive. Distracting. She wanted to be distracted.
She entered and saw several women, sales clerks and customers, clearly occupied. One called out a welcome, promising to be with her shortly.
A table near the front displayed tops in sheer fabrics and muted colors. The soft shades of grayed blue and browns drew Frannie. She touched the light, silky fabrics and admired the necklaces displayed with them.
“Can I help you?”
Free from her customer, the woman offered assistance, and in that moment Frannie realized she didn
’t need help with any of this, not at this table and not with these colors and styles. She owned a closet full of this. Beyond the woman’s shoulder, Frannie saw the colorful scarves, slacks and jeans in exotic colors…well, exotic to her. She’d never considered wearing shades of apricot and turquoise and puce.
“
Uhmm.” She tried again. “Do you have capris pants? Not shorts.”
“
Sure. Right over here.”
****
She laid the bag on the passenger seat wondering if she’d really wear these garments. She’d stood in front of the mirror and liked the bright colors and then turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder. She liked the way the pants fit—they were flattering, but they were tight, tighter than the slacks she usually wore. The clerk assured her the fit was right.
Clothing might look fabulous or even daring in the dressing room mirror, but in the real world they looked like what one already owned. People gravitated to what they knew. To what felt safe. But these colors were different.
She pulled into the rehab parking lot, into a space about halfway back.
The sun was shining like a crazy, blazing orb and she wanted to feel blessed to part of this day, but she couldn
’t shake the down mood that had stalked her since she left
Captain’s Walk
for Raleigh. She looked around the lot. There was no sign of her uncle’s old van, but on a nice day like this, Brian would surely ride his bike, if he was going to be here.
Even if she saw his bike
, she was going in to visit her uncle anyway because she didn’t schedule her life around where Brian might or might not be.
Still no sign of him.
She locked the car and went inside.
Will was seated in the pink vinyl chair. He wore a robe over his pajamas and a white cotton blanket was spread across his knees. One
hand rested in his lap, with his fingers loosely curled around a red rubber ball.
“
Well, hello, Uncle Will.”
His blue eyes
were lively and his face was more animated than before. It pleased her.
“
You look good today.” She walked into the room and dropped her jacket on the windowsill and perched herself on the end of the bed. “I stopped by yesterday, but you were out on the town.”
The hand in his lap lifted, and he waved.
“Hi.”
Not perfect, but easily understood. Impulsively, she grasped his hand, but ever so gently. The flesh looked fragile and papery, barely covering the bones and knuckles. It was only a quick, gentle pressure, but he returned it. As she watched, she noticed the sun streaming through the window and casting bright light on their hands.
Like a blessing? She released his hand slowly.
“
It’s beautiful outside today.”
Janet
spoke from the doorway. “He can go into the courtyard for a few minutes. We can put a blanket around his shoulders. It’s very mild outside.”
Frannie said to Will,
“Janet says it’s warm enough, so let’s go for it.”
She helped
Janet move him into the wheelchair. He didn’t protest, but allowed them to move him as they needed and she was surprised to feel the strength in him as he stood with their help. Janet wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.
Taking Uncle Will for a ride beat
being trapped in a room making one-sided conversation. For this moment anyway, pushing his chair, she felt useful and they were doing something other than her talking and him staring.
She parked him in a s
heltered corner of the courtyard. There wasn’t a breath of breeze, but only glorious sunshine. She sat in a wrought iron chair next to him.
“
I just returned from Raleigh. A quick, overnight trip. I got my birth certificate.”
He turned his face more fully toward her. Listening.
“It wasn’t what I was hoping for. It wasn’t the original certificate. This is the one with Laurel as my mother. I found out about my dad’s first marriage to Frances a few days ago.” Deep breath.
His eyes didn
’t waver, but he nodded. Encouraged, she continued.
“
I found the letters from your mother and I read them. Was that wrong? They are your letters and personal. I hope you don’t mind. Did you realize I didn’t know about Frances?” She paused. She didn’t want to seem to be putting any blame on him. “Did you know Frances?”
He shook his head
‘no’ but pointed his finger as if about to make a statement, but no words were uttered. She wasn’t surprised, but also, she was a bit pleased. Clearly, he knew what she was talking about even if he didn’t have the power to confirm it verbally here and now.
She touched his still hand and arm, the one that continued to rest without movement on the arm of the wheelchair.
“I’m so glad we can have more of a conversation now. You need to get better quickly.” She checked to make sure his blanket hadn’t dipped too low such that it might get run over or caught up in the wheels. “I think we should go back inside now. I don’t want you to get chilled.”
He nodded.
“Read,” he said. “Letters.”
The expression in his eyes
was animated. Frannie paused. That was the most he’d said to her since the stroke.
Encouraged, she added,
“They named me after her. I never knew.”
He nodded again.
“I don’t even know her last name.”
Will raised his hand again
and his lips moved, but his face turned red and she was worried she’d overdone it.
“
Sorry, Uncle Will. I’ll take you back in now.”
That hand waved more strongly and he said, clearly,
“No.”
“
What?”
He wanted to speak. He knew what he wanted to say
, but the mechanics fell apart as he became agitated. She leaned toward him and again rested her hand on his arm.
“
Please don’t worry. We’ll talk some more next time.”
He spoke one last word, but she wasn
’t sure what he was trying to convey. It sounded like cool or cook. He was cool. Chilly.
“
I’ll get you back inside.” She maneuvered the wheelchair through the door and then down the hall back to his room.
“
Hi, Janet, we’re back. Do you need assistance getting him back to his chair?”
“
No, ma’am. He’s due for therapy in a few minutes.”
Frannie knelt in front of Will
’s chair. “I’ll be back on Sunday afternoon. Maybe sooner.”
He
spoke two clear words among words she couldn’t understand. “Van. Paper.” His brows furrowed in frustration.
“
Don’t worry about your van. I asked Brian to drive it to keep it in running shape.”
“
Papers.”
She nodded. Was he worried that it had been a little messy?
She patted his hand and then remembered she’d forgotten the small scrap of paper in her pocket.
“
That reminds me…I found this in a coffee mug in the kitchen cabinet.” Frannie pulled out the slip of paper and with a quick smile, she read aloud,
I will lift up mine eyes unto the mountains: From whence shall my help come? My help cometh from God, Who made heaven and earth. Psalm 121.
She placed the paper in his palm.
“I believe this belongs to you?”
His eyes lit with an inner glow she hadn
’t seen before. What did these papers mean to him? Why hide them around the house? It didn’t matter. They were important to him, and that was enough to know.
As she left, her eyes welled with tears. This visit had been less of
a duty, and more of an intelligent exchange with her uncle, and it felt like a small blessing. It struck her, stopping her in her tracks… maybe he would recover enough to return home.
He couldn
’t live at
Captain’s Walk
without help. Live-in help, maybe. It was time to chat with his doctor again, and she should price things like wheelchair ramps and the cost of refitting the house with some wider doors, etc. Brian might know. Then she remembered that she and Brian were no longer speaking and her mood took a dive again. The sunlight was bright outside and she paused as she left the building to allow her eyes to adjust.
Motorcycle. A blue dented machine. She took a quick scan of the parking lot.
Brian wasn’t in sight. While the coast was clear, she took off across the lot, heading straight to her car.
“
Fran.”
She stumbled.
“Brian. Hi.”
He
stood by the building, near the wider entrance. He must have been going in one door as she was exiting the other.
She waved
. It was a deliberately acquaintance-friendly gesture intended to soften the effect of her turning her back and getting into her car, which she did without wasting a moment. As she fastened the seat belt, she was facing the building and expected to see him still standing there, but he was gone.
No, he wasn
’t. Her passenger side door opened. She nearly screamed. She knew it was Brian, but her heart pounded. Adrenaline. Invasion of her personal space. Fear morphed to anger. He couldn’t bother to call, but he could invade her car.
“
Calm down,” he said.
The nerve
of him. “Me? Calm down? What about you?” She slapped the steering wheel. “I’m not the one who spoiled a lovely day by holding a grudge against my sister and embarrassing her in front of a friend.”
His mouth gaped. He closed it.
Her bag from
Lynette’s Two
was on his lap. At least he hadn’t sat on it.
“
Then you go MIA for a week. Pouting like a sulky child.”
His lips curved in a lazy smile.
“You missed me.”
“
Me? Miss you? Hah. Not likely. Disappointed in you, that’s all. Disappointed in your behavior.” Her indignation was rapidly losing its punch. She stared at the windshield, trying to hold the anger close, to keep it for protection, but it was already diminishing to regret. She sighed. “Maybe that was unfair. You don’t owe me anything. I don’t lose my temper very often and I don’t have enough practice to do it well.”
“
You should do it more often.”
The tone in his voice was aligning with his smile, softer with a hint of something warmer.
“What?”
“
Sorry for the cliché, but sometimes truth is truth. You’re beautiful when you’re angry.”
She realized her mouth was
hanging open and she closed it. He needed to leave. Now.
“
Get out.”
“
Are you angry again?” He sounded hopeful. Or baiting.
Her eyes burned.
“Please go.”
The moment drew out. Finally, he said,
“Whatever you want, Fran.” He reached for the door handle.
“
Are you here to see my uncle?”
“
Of course.”
“
He seemed good today.”
“
Glad to hear it.”
It was a w
eirdly courteous conversation, but Brian’s hand came away from the door handle and he settled back in his seat.