Authors: Pamela Grandstaff
“That’s all true,” Clair said.
“But don’t you see? That’s true of everyone. Everyone is always going through big life changes. Psychics just make general pronouncements and watch how you respond. ‘The name starts with a J; the color blue is significant.’ Con artists do the same thing.”
“So nothing Anne Marie told you was specific to you? There was nothing she said that no one else could know?”
“Well,” Maggie said, but then she hesitated. “I thought so at the time, but no, it was all just her warped imagination and my susceptibility.”
“I thought she was really good.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She said I would travel across a large body of water and then fall in love with an educated man,” Claire said. “She said I would have two lives in one, but the second one would bring me the most happiness.”
“Maybe your second life is here in Rose Hill.”
“We’ll see.”
“Do you want to finish the movie?”
“No, I’m tired. Do you?”
“It’s not like we don’t know how it ends. I’m tired, too. Let’s go to bed.”
Claire lay next to Maggie under their grandmother’s quilt, staring at the ceiling. Moonlight filled the room, and Duke the cat was curled up between them, purring loudly. Claire felt like she was eight years old, at a sleepover at Grandma Rose’s house with Hannah and Maggie. The upstairs of that house had not been heated, and the three of them used to snuggle together for warmth under a mountain of quilts, like baby rabbits in a burrow.
“I’m wide awake now,” Maggie said. “What are you thinking about?”
“How we didn’t know we were poor when we were growing up,” Claire said. “I was looking through your photo albums earlier and things look so much shabbier in retrospect.”
“We never went without anything we really needed,” Maggie said. “We always had a roof over our heads and a meal on the table.”
“I remember being so jealous of all the toys and clothes Caroline Eldridge had, and how ashamed I felt when her sister Gwyneth made fun of us. I didn’t know anything about class prejudice; I just thought she was mean.”
“Gwyneth was always such a snotty, stuck up snob,” Maggie said.
“She still is,” Claire said.
“Caroline’s mother was always very gracious to us,” Maggie said.
“Where is Caroline now?”
“Traveling around the world, I guess, from ashram to monastery; saving the world one trust fund payment at a time.”
“Being born into wealth must make it easier to spend,” Claire said. “Now that I have money I’m scared to death I’ll lose it all. I want to hoard it. I’m going to end up like Mamie Rodefeffer, wearing twenty cardigans and carrying ten tote bags. What are in those tote bags, do you think?”
“Romance books,” Maggie said. “She’s one of my best customers.”
“Romance? Really?”
“The more torrid the better,” Maggie said. “She likes the bodice rippers.”
“I wish I’d known that,” Claire said. “I would’ve given her more of a B movie hairstyle.”
“Are you going to buy The Bee Hive?”
“I don’t know,” Claire said. “I’ve kind of enjoyed it this week, but I’m not sure I want to do that every day for the rest of my life.”
“It doesn’t have to be the forever thing, just the next thing,” Maggie said. “How are your parents?”
“My dad’s a mess,” Claire said, “and my mom is worn out taking care of everyone. I want to make their lives better, easier somehow.”
“Good thing you’re rich, then,” Maggie said. “You can fix everything.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Claire said. “My mother thinks I should just accept things the way they are.”
“That’s very Zen,” Maggie said. “I sometimes think Buddhist philosophy is basically that shit happens and you’re stupid for thinking it should be different.”
“I think there’s more to it than that.”
“Sure there is; I just like my version better.”
“How does that compare to Catholicism?”
“The Catholic philosophy is that not only does shit happen, but it’s all your fault because you’re such an awful sinner.”
“The protestant faith I grew up with is like the surfer dude of religions,” Claire said. “We’re all ‘hey man, just be cool, and like, don’t hurt anybody; but if you do, just say ‘my bad, bro’ and it’s all good.’”
“I love to reduce thousands of years of theology into short, pithy sentences.”
“And to think some people like to crochet,” Claire said.
“I’m glad you’re home,” Maggie said. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you until you came back.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Claire said. “I wouldn’t want to expose your weakness.”
“I’d deny it,” Maggie said with a yawn, “even if you did.”
“I’m glad to be home,” Claire said. “And no one is more surprised about that than me.”
“I’m still mad at you for not telling me you went skinny-dipping with Scott.”
“That was a long time ago,” Claire said. “Nothing happened.”
“I know,” Maggie said. “I can’t help it, this jealousy thing. I don’t want him but I don’t want anyone else to have him; even though I know that’s not fair.”
“Oh, for mercy’s sake! If you love Scott you need to do something about it,” Claire said. “He doesn’t deserve to be treated like this, and you’re only hurting yourself.”
“Your accent came right back,” Maggie said. “It’s been less than a week and you’re back to talking like you never left.”
“Shut up and listen to me,” Claire said. “Two very wise people recently told me that I wouldn’t really be grown up until I put aside my selfish wants to do what’s best for someone I love.”
“Your point being?”
“Maybe it’s time for you and me both to grow up.”
“I’ve changed my mind about missing you,” Maggie said.
“Too late,” Claire said. “No take-backs.”
Scott’s mother was struggling to breathe; the rattle in her chest sent panic rushing through his nervous system so that he felt like he might jump out of his skin. He could hear Penny on the phone in the kitchen exhorting the 911 operator to send an ambulance right away. He had done everything he knew to do and still his mother couldn’t breathe. He held his mother’s hand and tried the pursed lip breathing, encouraging her to do the same.
Doc Machalvie arrived and immediately gave his mother another breathing treatment, injected her with something, and then adjusted her oxygen to a higher level. He looked so gravely concerned that it made Scott’s heart thud hard in his chest.
Doc nodded toward the kitchen and Scott said to his mother, “I’ll be right back.” The panic in her eyes had changed to sadness, and there were tears on her face. He left, shutting the door to his mother’s room behind him.
“Do you really want to drag her to the hospital?” Scott asked his sister, as soon as he entered the kitchen. “The trip alone might kill her; and if she does live she’ll probably catch something in the hospital that will kill her there.”
“We have to do something!” Penny cried.
“Stop it. Just stop and look at what’s happening,” Scott said. “You’re not helping her; you’re making it worse.”
“She needs to be in intensive care,” Penny insisted. “They can build up her strength so she can take the chemo treatments.”
“You’re the only one who believes that,” Scott said. “She’s dying, Penny.”
Penny burst into tears and fled to her old bedroom.
Scott went out on the front porch and looked up at the dark clouds passing beneath the full moon. The wind was sharp and wet, and it chilled him to the bone, but he didn’t want to go back in the house for his jacket. What he wanted to do was run screaming down the hill and jump in the river; anything to get away from what was going on inside.
He thought he might pray, but what would he ask for? A merciful death? A miraculous recovery? What did he really want for his mother, for Penny, for himself? He took out his phone and chose a name out of his list of contacts. It was all he really wanted; his call was his prayer.
A little while later he saw someone coming down the street, running down the street, her long hair flying out behind her like a flag. When she reached the steps to the porch she leaped up two at a time until finally she reached him, embraced him, and hugged him so hard it took his breath away
“Thank you,” he said through his tears. “I need you.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Maggie said. “I’m here now.”
It was so early on Friday morning that stars were still twinkling in the dark sky. Claire had to hurry to catch up with Ian, who was pushing his walker down
Pine Mountain Road with Mackie Pea in the basket.
“Wait up!” Claire called after him.
Her feet were so sore she was having trouble walking, even in her mother’s gigantic pillow sneakers.
“We’re late!” he called over his shoulder.
“It’s not even the crack of dawn,” Claire protested as she caught up to him. “It’s practically still yesterday.”
“I’ve never heard that one before,” he said, even though he was the one who taught it to Claire.
There were several cars and trucks parked outside the Laurel Mountain Depot Bar and Grill; Claire was surprised to see it so busy. Her father led her up the wheelchair ramp and in through the side door, where several people greeted him by name. A dark-haired waitress whom Claire judged was showing way too much cleavage for this time of day called out, “I saved your table for ya, Chief.”
Ian led his daughter to a table in the corner by the window, which would have a great view of the river had it been light enough outside to see it. He parked the walker, lifted Mackie Pea out of her basket and tucked her in the crook of his arm before he sat down. Claire looked around and realized that besides the waitress she was the only woman in the room.
Many of the men were locals; she recognized them but couldn’t place names to faces. Most were dressed in the blue collar uniform of ball cap, tan cotton canvas jackets, overalls and work boots. There were a few students who looked like they’d been up all night. There were several men in suits who looked out of place but seemed to feel right at home.
The waitress brought them two coffees and winked at Claire.
“I thought you stood me up,” she said to Ian in a deep smoker’s voice.
Claire immediately cast her as a hooker with a heart of gold. She looked to be in her late forties or early fifties; her eyes were hard, her makeup had been heavily applied, and the smoker’s wrinkles surrounding her lips made her look even older. Her hair color was a few shades too dark, and the big, teased style had been more suited to music video vixens in the eighties.
“This is my daughter,” Ian said. “She’s home for a visit.”
“I know Claire,” the woman said, but it took Claire several awkward moments to superimpose this woman’s face over that of one of the wildest teenagers who had ever attended
Rose Hill High School. Claire was appalled to realize Phyllis was younger than she was by at least two years.
“How are you, Phyllis?” Claire asked.
“Oh, I’m alright,” Phyllis said. “I can’t complain; and even if I did no one would care. How about I give y’all some sausage gravy and biscuits?”
“What’ll you give me?” a man at a nearby table asked her.
“The only thing I can give you, old man, is a heart attack,” Phyllis said, and rolled her eyes at Claire while the other men laughed.
Phyllis went back to the kitchen and Claire sipped her coffee.
“This is good,” she said.
“We were late,” Ian said. “I leave the bakery at six and Scott gets me here by 6:05. It’s 6:38 now.”
His head started bobbing and his mouth turned down into the exaggerated frown.
“I think it will be okay,” Claire said quietly.
“I have a schedule,” her father said loudly. “My mind isn’t what it used to be. I need to keep track of things.”
“Okay, Dad,” Claire said. “It’s okay now. Phyllis is going to bring your breakfast and we’re in no hurry, we can take our time.”
“I get to Curtis’s station by 8:00,” he said, almost shouting. “We have to leave here by 7:50.”
“We will,” Claire said, acutely aware of the attention he was drawing to their table. She was embarrassed and then mad at herself for caring so much what other people thought. She thought if she heard even a hint of a snicker from anyone in the room she could easily do grievous bodily harm to the snickerer. But instead, everyone seemed to be accommodating, some even sending her kind, sympathetic smiles. Claire remembered what her mother had said about the townspeople protecting her father. They were probably used to his outbursts. With this thought she was flooded with a feeling of gratitude toward everyone in the room.
‘As the Mood Swings,’ she heard Tuppy say in her head.
‘It is kind of a soap opera,’ she thought. ‘I’ve got to get hold of myself and calm down.’
Phyllis was having a heated discussion with the college students, who looked like they were giving her a hard time. Claire couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it looked like she knew them better than just as customers.