Family Pieces (22 page)

“Yes, it certainly has been,” Karsen answered, a bit bewildered that she recognized her.

“And your dad? Is he well?”

“He’s doing all right under the circumstances.”

Karsen’s eyes scanned the case below. The selection was unique, but the inventory was scarce. There were many pieces with an antique look, not anything that you’d find in your typical mall store.

“Well hello,” said Mr. Milton, stepping out from the back room.

“Hi,” Karsen replied softly.

“This is Mrs. Wood’s daughter. She’s trying to find out if her mother purchased jewelry from us.”

“Oh dear, I’m sorry about your mother,” said Mr. Milton, offering his condolences.

“Thank you.”

“Your mom did purchase several pieces over the years. Any piece in particular you were wondering about?”

“Yes, actually.” Karsen’s eyes rose to meet his. She pulled the chain from beneath her shirt and held the charm in her palm. “This.”

Mr. Milton moved closer, adjusting his glasses on the brim of his nose. He scooped the piece into his own palm and turned it tenderly. His eyes squinted as if to admire the minute detail of his own handiwork.

“Well, doggone. I haven’t seen these in years,” he said almost wistfully, releasing the necklace back to Karsen’s grasp.

“Then you made the three charms, right?”

“I did indeed. Well,” he raised his hand to his chin and rubbed it in a moment of reflection, “that must have been over twenty years ago.”

“Such an endearing idea,” Mrs. Milton added. “These days people seem to find more reasons to disown their families than connect with them. So sad, today’s society.” She shook her head.

“Very true,” Karsen agreed. “Mr. Milton, do you keep records of each piece, by any chance?” She wasn’t certain exactly what to ask. When finding a needle in a haystack, it’s helpful to know you’re looking for a needle.

“Yes,” he replied hesitantly, “but…that was an awful long time ago.”

“We’ve never transitioned to the age of computers, you see,” explained Mrs. Milton. “With our small little shop, everyone was happy with a hand-written receipt. Going back so far, well, certainly you understand.”

“I do.” Karsen’s heart sank, realizing her efforts had produced no fruit. As a last resort, she asked, “Mr. Milton, you probably don’t, and that’s okay, but, do you remember if all the charms fit together? You know, linked?”

He valiantly searched his fading memory for an answer. His eyes brightened finally and he said, “I believe they did. Yes, I think so,” he reiterated confidently. “Your mom had an old piece that we made a mold from.”

“Okay then.” Karsen smiled and thanked them for their time. She pulled a pen and scrap of paper from her purse. “If you think of anything else, here’s my cell number. Call me anytime.”

“All right then,” said Mr. Milton, picking the paper off of the counter and staring at her number as if trying to make sure he could read her handwriting. “Have a good day, young lady.”

“Thanks. You, too.” Karsen left and headed home feeling defeated.

Karsen spent Sunday morning resting and trying to relax before her flight. She started by making breakfast for her dad, a feeble attempt to distract him from asking her additional questions about her whereabouts the day before. She could tell he was still suspicious of her motives for coming home, but she wasn’t ready or willing to divulge the truth.

Later that night, Hanna stood against the wall of the airport terminal, latte in hand. She scanned the exiting flock of passengers as they scurried through the gate. An older couple bickered at each other, dressed in bright yellows and oranges. The man wore a wide brimmed hat, and the woman sported black sunglasses the size of two cantaloupes. Typical tourists, Hanna smirked. She watched as another woman and toddler raced to welcome a man, a soldier returning from deployment. The couple embraced passionately with the child clinging to the pant leg of his military fatigues. Karsen trudged behind the pack, worn out from the whirlwind trip.

“Thanks for picking me up.” She hugged Hanna lethargically.

“No worries. Caffeine helps. Could your flight have been delayed any longer?” Hanna whined jokingly.

“Sorry.” Karsen glanced at her watch. It was almost midnight.

“Brad’s waiting in the car. His performance last night rocked the house. I think he celebrated with one too many Coronas, though.”

“Nice.” Karsen managed a weak grin.

“I should forewarn you, he’s pretty pissed about your little excursion. You should have at least called him.”

“He’s my brother, not my father,” Karsen grumbled.

“Still, he’s worried about you.”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“No, not about that.”

“Good. Thanks,” Karsen said, relieved.

“Have you decided anything?” Hanna inquired hesitantly.

“No. Strangely enough, I barely thought about it at all.”

They broke off their conversation once they reached the car. Karsen flung her bag into the open trunk and slammed it shut. She climbed into the back seat. She listened as Brad scolded her like a schoolgirl who broke curfew. All she could do was apologize. Whether she felt it was warranted or not, she knew in her heart that he was sincerely worried about her. She didn’t know how she could she fault him for that.

“How’s Dad holding up anyway?” Brad asked as he pulled the car away from the curb.

“He seems to be doing okay. Which reminds me, I need to call and let him know I made it.”

She powered up her cell phone. A small envelope appeared in the upper corner indicating she had messages. While Brad and Hanna chatted in the front, she sank back against the seat and hit send.

First unheard message: “Hi. It’s Hanna. Got your message. I’ll be there to pick you up at nine-thirty. Flight 347 from Chicago. See you then.”

She pressed delete.

Next unheard message: “Heellloooo? Karsen?” An old gentleman’s voice quivered, uncertain how to proceed. Her mind immediately sparked. Mr. Milton?

She heard some fumbling on the other end of the line and then nothing. The caller had disconnected.

Anxiously, Karsen listened to the next message.

“Karsen?” Yes! It was the same male voice again. “This is Mr. Milton. You said to call if I thought of anything else. If I recall, you mentioned three pieces were made. I believe I actually made four. There were three closer together, then one…” Beeeep!

Karsen heard the allotted voice message time cut him off. Damn. She saved the message then listened wearily as the phone reported, “You have no new messages.” She hit disconnect. Before dialing to leave the voice message for her dad, she felt an adrenaline rush surge throughout her. She sat, now wide awake, the number four bouncing around in her head. P
oor Mr. Milton
, she thought.
He must be confused.

16

A
chain saw revved outside Karsen’s window.

“Damn landscapers,” she mumbled, inwardly pleading with them to go away. She glanced at the clock. It was just before six Monday morning, giving her ample time to make her eight o’clock class. Feeling the churning in her stomach, she groaned and reached, too tired to move anything but her arm, for the sleeve of Saltines on the nightstand and lugged them across her chest. Crumbs fell and scattered indistinguishably upon the white cotton sheets. She didn’t care. There would be no one entering her bed but her anytime soon.

She collected herself enough to complete her morning routine before heading off to campus. Shower, check. Deodorant, check. Makeup applied, check. She gave herself a complete once-over in the mirror. Not bad. That is, not bad if you don’t mind blood-shot, droopy eyes. Cute on a bloodhound puppy maybe, but on a college girl, not exactly attractive. She shrugged, shaking the bottle of eye drops and squeezed one last dribble into the corner of each eye.

Something about Mr. Milton’s phone message from the night before stuck in her head. She recounted it again. He sounded totally confident, not uncertain as he had at his shop.

She pulled up the call log. With one click, the phone began dialing.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Milton? It’s Karsen Woods. Is Mr. Milton available?”

“Yes, dear, just a minute.” She placed the phone on the counter. There was no fancy phone system or hold music. Karsen could hear activity in the background.

“Well, hello again, Karsen.” Mr. Milton’s voice sounded as if every day were a holiday.

“Hi, Mr. Milton.” Her voice sounded sad in comparison. “You said something in your message last night that I wanted to call and clarify.”

“Yes, and what was that, dear?”

“You said that you made four charms. That’s not possible. My grandfather made three, and there are only three more.”

“No, dear, I’m quite certain I made four. I remember there were three closer together in years. Then, there was another. I believe your mother was expecting you when I made the last one.”

“I’m sure that can’t be,” Karsen replied, growing a little uncomfortable.

“Well, dear, I almost forgot about the first one. It was the year our store opened, 1969. We’ll be celebrating our fortieth year in business – and maybe our last – next year,” he said, going off on a tangent.

“That’s certainly an accomplishment, Mr. Milton.” Karsen couldn’t imagine doing anything for forty years. “If there was a fourth charm, though… you must have made it for someone else then?”

“No, I don’t think so. I know my clients like family. Your mother, she was a beauty back then. Looked a lot like you do now; you both have a certain glow about you.”

“If you did make another charm for my mother, did she say who it was for?” Karsen drew in a deep breath and held it, not sure she wanted to hear his reply.

“Well, honey, it was a long time ago. I reckon it was for a boyfriend. She did have one boy she seemed smitten with. Handsome fellow. Left around the time of Vietnam if I recall correctly.”

“Did you know his name?”

“Sorry, I’m afraid not.”

“Okay, Mr. Milton. Thanks again for your time. You take care of yourself,” And she hung up.

Karsen sat absorbed in thought. Perhaps her mother thought she was in love and had a charm made for her high school sweetheart. But if that were the case, why would she have kept it a secret?