Carpe Bead'em (27 page)

I grip the cup over my head ready to
fling it for a taste of feeling free. I clinch my jaws and tears trickle like a
dripping faucet down my face.

“Why me God?” I grip the cup with both
hands and scream up to the ceiling.

“Why?” I scream at the top of my lungs.
“A person can only take so much. I am tired. Tired of saying it can be worse.
Tired of looking for the bright side.”

For me this is worse.

I can’t. I can’t throw it. With my
shoulders slump and the tiny coffee cup in my hands, I start to laugh. Laugh
harder than I have in weeks. It reminds me of a crazy person. I laugh more. I
imagine myself as Aunt Grace’s biological daughter. It makes sense in a way. I
sure seem to have gotten the crazies from her.

I hold the coffee cup towards Henry, who
is cowering under the table, scared from my rant. “Maybe two sips.” I shove the
cup closer to him. “Can’t drink much coffee out of this.”

I pretend to take a couple sips with my
pinky sticking up in the air.

It’s then that I notice the label on the
bottom. Royal Doulton England. A crowned lion sits on top a crown with Royal
Doulton England printed under it. I examine every piece. All twelve place
settings, gravy bowls, platter, the whole nine yards. All in immaculate shape.
There’s no way Aunt Grace would’ve been able to afford real china.

I have to admit, it’s cute china and with
my curiosity up, I Google Royal Doulton.

Antique? Circa 1910? I comb through the
Google entries on the screen. Could Aunt Grace’s china possibly be worth
something?

“Please, God, let there be three
thousand dollars here,” I whisper.

I jump up and pack the china in an empty
boxes.

“Henry, I’ll be right back.” I grab the
box and slam the door behind me.

Driving I recall a few pawn shops
around. I park and go in the one I’ve passed many times. But never been a
patron.

The gentleman looks up from behind the
counter to acknowledge my existence.

“Can I help you find something?” He
stares back down at his paper.

“I have some china and I want to know
how much you think it’s worth.” I hand him the tiny coffee cup, hoping he may
see something I don’t.

“You’re in luck. We have an antique
dealer who looks at all this stuff. He’s here now.” He disappears behind a
dingy blue curtain.

I look around the darkly lit room. There
are at least five security cameras hanging from the wooden rafters. I get the
heebie-jeebies being in this part of the town at this time of day. I wish I
would’ve told someone I’m down here just in case me or my china doesn’t get to
see the light of day again.

The counterman re-emerges with another
man. “How many pieces do you have?” the other man asks me.

“I have all twelve place settings plus
the extras.” I’m getting the feeling that he is a little interested in what I
have.

“All good condition like this cup?” He
holds it closer to the light.

“As far as I can tell. I have it all
with me if you want to see it.” I point towards the door with my keys still in
hand.

The antique dealer follows me out to the
car, making two trips to retrieve the boxes. On the second trip, he points to
the yellow bag of silver. “Is that yours?”

He picks up the carved spoon. There is
excitement in his eyes.

“Oh yeah, that. Why?” I pull out the bag
and dump the contents in the trunk.

“Interested in selling it?”

I don’t answer, I start stuffing it in
the boxes. With the china and the silver, I follow him back into the pawnshop.
I bet I can get fifty dollars out of him.

Anticipation build as I watch him
carefully place each piece on the empty table. He looks them over, one at a
time, writing on a piece of paper. Then the two men whisper in a way that makes
me uncomfortable.

“Here’s the deal.” He takes the
magnifying glasses off his head and lay them on the counter. “Royal Doulton,”
he taps the bottom of the tiny cup, “started in 1815 and to make a long story
short became Britain’s leading china maker. What you have here is worth about
ten thousand dollars.”

My mouth drops, but no sound comes out.
I have to steady myself against the counter. “Did I hear you correctly?”

“If you heard ten thousand dollars, you
heard me correctly.” He picks up the knife.

I look around. I’m either on
Punk’d
or
Antiques Road Show
. “This is a joke. Right?”

He laughs and then points to the silver.
“This is a very rare Sheffield sterling silver set circa 1894 worth four
thousand dollars.”

As if in slow motion, I watch him puts
the knife next to the spoon. “I’ll give you fourteen thousand dollars for all
of it.”

My lungs compress. I can’t breathe.
There is no way Aunt Grace knows she gave me thousands of dollars of china.

I fiddle around my bag for my phone and
motion to the antique dealer to hold on.

“Hello?” Aunt Grace sounds tired. I can
hear her shallow breathing as she tries to take in air.

“Aunt Grace?” I question if it’s even
her. “Are you okay?” I momentarily forget about the china and become
increasingly frightened.

 My first instinct is to go and look at
her to make sure she is still wearing a wig, ruby red lipstick and stroking her
fox. I need to know she’s still my crazy Aunt Grace.

“Hallie, it’s so good to hear your voice,”
Aunt Grace’s says. “I’m fine. All this humidity loves to get in my lungs.” She assures
me nothing is wrong. Though I still have an uneasy feeling she isn’t telling me
the truth.

“Aunt Grace, you know the china and the
silver ware you gave me.” I get to the point. “Do you know how much that is
worth?”

“Yes.” The line is silent. “I guess you
either need money or want to get rid of it. Either way, I know we couldn’t
offer you the life you deserved, but I gave you the best life I could. I am
proud of you, Hallie.” Aunt Grace sounds the sanest I’ve ever heard her.

I wipe the tear from my cheek. I don’t
know what to say. I can’t let her down. “I need the money.” I whisper in
embarrassment.

“How much do you need?” She questions.

“Three thousand dollars.” Shame begins
to fill my soul. My insides slowly begin to tear away from my body. I realize
she’s done the best she could for me and the way I’ve treated her over the
years is ungrateful and evil.

“Wait, Hallie,” she pleads. “Don’t sell
it.”

I checked the LCD screen on my phone.
Aunt Grace’s call has been dropped.  I don’t know what it is about her voice,
but it makes me believe her. It’s the least I can do. The credit card minimum
payment isn’t due for three weeks. I don’t have to do this now.

I thank the gentlemen for their time,
pack my china and silver back in the box, and speed back to Hyde Park to begin
my real packing.

Chapter
Fifty-One

There he sits, on the stoop and still
not giving eye contact. “Your aunt’s upstairs.” Uncle Jimmy doesn’t even scoot
over to let me through.

This time, I slowly walk up the stairs,
smiling at the smells of urine, the scatter of bugs and the loud noises coming
off the street that would’ve annoyed me a couple weeks ago.

The apartment number is still crooked
hanging on by a thumbtack and the wood still shows the history of the cockroaches
that once lived here.

I tap on the door. “Aunt Grace?”

She opens the door teary-eyed. “I’ve
dreaded this day since the day you showed up.” She grabs me and hugs me tighter
than she ever has. I embrace her just as I did my mother many years ago. 

“Are you okay?” I hold her at arm’s
length to gain a better look. She’s pale, maybe not feeling well.

“Fine. Allergies, small headache.” She
smiles her gummy smile. “I am ninety-two years young.” She laughs. 

“You know, this isn’t the last time I’ll
be here. I’m still going to visit once every six weeks like I always have.” I
see the sadness in her eyes. “Maybe once a month.” I can do that, especially
now since I have business dealing here.

“Come in?” She knows I’m going to
decline. “I know you want to get back to that big-city life.”

She reaches inside the door and hands me
a doll. It isn’t any doll. It is a true child like baby doll. She—I think it’s
a she—stands as tall as my waist. Her hair is shaved and only the hair plugs
are visible.

“I found it in the dumpster and thought
about you immediately.” She smiles. “She can keep you company on your way
home.”

“I have Henry, Aunt Grace and I don’t
have any more room.” It looks like the bride of Chucky. I see the
disappointment in her eyes. “You know, I can put Henry in the back seat.”

Her chin tilts up, showing me a
toothless smile I’m going miss. I realize I need her more than she needs me.
She’s all I have.

Uncle Jimmy’s back is facing me as I
walk back down the steps. He still doesn’t flinch stepping over him again.
“Excuse me, Uncle Jimmy.”

His hat is blocking his line of vision.
I want to smile and tell him bye, but he is the same old Jimmy. I turn one last
time to look back at the old apartment building. I don’t know when or if I will
ever be back here. I have an uneasy feeling I’ve never had before.

Uncle Jimmy stands up with dampened
eyes.

“Hallie?” His voice is frail and soft.
“I know I’ve been a bear of a relative, but your Aunt Grace has always loved
you. These past few months have brought out a happiness and joy she hasn’t had
in years.” He begins to weep. “I may not be smart or rich, but I do know when
to say thank you.”

I walk over to him, but he pushes me
away. “No need for all that.”

He sits back down on the stoop. He
doesn’t want a response, he only wants to say thank you in his own way. Of all
the crazy things he did this summer, this one ranks as the most memorable.

Week Eleven

Bead CRAZY!

Chapter
Fifty-Two

With a swift clap, my lights came on. I
jump to look at the clock. Two in the morning! No need to look at the caller
ID.

“Hello, Aunt Grace.” I lay down with the
crook of my elbow shielding the light from my eyes. Of course, now that I’m
about to leave, she’s going to start calling in the middle of the night,
again
.

“Hallie?” Uncle Jimmy’s voice sounds
shaky and unclear.

“Uncle Jimmy?” Like a spring, I jump to
my feet and clap. “What’s wrong?” I can tell by the pause it isn’t a good sign.
Panic starts to take over. “Uncle Jimmy?”

“It’s your Aunt.” I’m sure I hear a tear
hit the phone. “We’re at University Hospital. I think it’s her heart.”

“I’ll be right there.” I hang up, dress
in record time, and run to my car.

My foggy mind matches the September
foggy streets of Cincinnati, leaving me driving slower than normal and making
me panic more. All the what-ifs are running in my head.

What if it’s a heart attack?
All of our
family has died of heart related issues, expect my parents.
What if she
dies?
She can’t die. She’s all I’ve got. My panic turns to sadness. Sadness
for her. Sadness for Uncle Jimmy. Sadness for me.

The red emergency room sign looks pink
in the fog, making it hard to read. I park in the closest parking spot, grab my
bag and run as fast as I can, almost smacking into the sliding glass doors.

Uncle Jimmy sits next to her holding her
lifeless hand. He looks up at me. It’s the look of a scared old man. His eyes
are red around the edges from worry, from crying.

“She got up to get a drink and fell.” He
puts her hand to his lips. “I keep saying her name and she never responds.” He
breaks down, laying his head on the edge of her bed.

I walk over and rub my hand along her
forehead and through her fine hair. If she has to be in this position, I know
she would want her hair to look good. She looks gray. Her face is sunken and more
drawn without her teeth.

The tube sticking out of her mouth is
pumping her chest up and down, making it seem she is breathing on her own. Her
bones protrude through her skin.

My urge is to grab the tube out and
scream “Get up, Aunt Grace. What are you doing, teaching me a lesson? I love
you. You have been my mother. Get up!” But I don’t.

“Aunt Grace, I love you.” I bend down
and whisper in her ear. The machines beeps.

The noise of the breathing tube fills,
clicks and releases, to me as loud as a gonging bell. It fills the room, making
this more real. My sadness turns back into fear.

 “Aunt Grace, open your eyes.” I beg
her. I get angry. I demand. “Open your eyes, Aunt Grace.”

I need her to get up,
for me
.