Cracks in the Sidewalk (33 page)

When Charlie came home two hours later, Claire still held Elizabeth.

“I was her mother,” she wailed, “but I couldn’t save her.”

A
fter the funeral dozens of friends and neighbors streamed through the McDermott house. They came with saddened faces and carried casseroles, trays of meat, fruit, cakes, pies, pastries. They embraced Claire and Charlie as they offered condolences and spoke of what a wonderful person Elizabeth was, but in the far corners of the room ugly whispers asked, “Where is her husband? Where are her children?”

The night his daughter died, Charlie called Jeffrey and left a message on the answering machine. The following day he drove to the house and slipped a note through the mail slot. But no one from the Caruthers family came to say goodbye to Elizabeth. The church generally reserved the first pew for the grieving family, but Claire and Charlie sat alone. Charlie held her hand. Claire stared straight ahead, her eyes blinded by misery.

In the weeks that followed, Claire allowed grief to consume her. It lived in every thought, in every word, in the river of salty tears flowing from her eyes. It shunned the touch of anyone who reached out and closed its ears to words of sympathy.

Although the rental company came and took back the hospital bed Elizabeth had used, the remainder of the room stayed exactly the same. Claire continued to lie on the narrow day bed night after night, seldom sleeping.

“You can’t go on like this,” her friend, Mildred, said, but Claire turned her face to the wall. Who was Mildred to give such advice? How could she possibly understand, when she had three daughters, all of them alive and well?

When Charlie suggested she return to their bed, she ran into Elizabeth’s room and slammed the door in his face.

“Please,” he begged, but she had already closed her ears to such a suggestion.

Eventually Charlie began staying at the office later and later. He’d stop at the diner for a bite to eat, then go home to a dark, silent house, a house where his wife had locked herself in her dead daughter’s bedroom. Many a night he’d wake to the sound of Claire sobbing, then in the morning he’d see her red-eyed and puffy.

“Perhaps if we took a vacation, got away for a while,” he suggested to no avail. “Or move,” he offered. “We could find a new house, without so many memories.”

But Claire drew back from the thought as if scalded.

~ ~ ~

I
n October, shortly after the leaves began to fall, the phone rang. When Claire answered the telephone, the caller said, “Good news! I’ve got it!”

“Excuse me?”

“I finally got it, the blond Cabbage Patch doll you wanted.”

“I’m sorry, I think—”

“Is this Elizabeth Caruthers?”

Claire’s breath caught as she suddenly remembered the doll Liz promised to get for Kimberly.

“My daughter Elizabeth passed away,” she said quietly, “but she ordered that doll for her little girl, and I’d very much like to pick it up.”

“I’m so sorry,” the caller stuttered, “if you don’t want—”

“Oh, but I do. Finding that doll was something my daughter had her heart set on. Now it’s the only thing I can still do for her.”

“There’s plenty of things you can do,” the caller said. “I’m a grandma myself, and I know how much kids need their grandma. I’m certain your daughter will find great peace in knowing you’re looking after her little one.”

“Three,” Claire replied. “Elizabeth has three. Two boys and one girl.”

“Oh, well, then, you’ve got your work cut out for you.” She gave the address of her shop and said she looked forward to meeting Claire.

“Me too,” Claire replied. Oddly enough, she meant it. 

~ ~ ~

T
hat night Claire didn’t sleep in Elizabeth’s room. She sat in the recliner and thought about the three children who now needed her more than ever. Before daylight crawled into the sky she decided to go to Jeffrey. She would do whatever she had to do—beg, grovel, apologize, anything. And if the only way to break down this wall between them was to give him money, she would force Charlie to give him whatever he wanted, right down to their last cent.

Claire closed her eyes, convinced that her purpose on earth was to care for Elizabeth’s children, which was why she’d been left behind even though she’d wished to go with her daughter.

The Following Day

C
laire awoke filled with purpose. First she planned to pick up the Cabbage Patch doll and buy presents for the boys. Then she would drive to Jeffrey’s house. She’d ring the doorbell and wait patiently until he got good and ready to open the door. She would not make a scene of any sort. She’d simply park herself on the stoop and wait. Sooner or later he had to use the door, and if she had to wait until tomorrow then she would wait.

“You look better this morning,” Charlie said.

“I feel better.” She smiled and poured herself a cup of coffee.

~ ~ ~

T
he drive across town was uneventful, although a garbage truck blocking her way made the trip slower than necessary. Claire parked in front of Todd’s Toys and hurried inside. The Cabbage Patch doll sat on a ledge behind the counter, and a note stuck to the box read, “Hold for Elizabeth Caruthers.” Claire flashed back to the memory of Liz telephoning store after store to find the doll, and for a moment she feared the tears would start again.

“You have got to be Elizabeth’s mother!” Nora Todd came from the back of the store carrying an armful of teddy bears.

Shaken from her reverie, Claire answered, “Yes, I am.”

Nora dropped the teddy bears onto the counter and wrapped her arms around Claire. “I feel for you. I know what it’s like to lose a child.”

“You do?”

Nora nodded. “Walt and I lost our Tommy when he was only twenty-eight.”

“How awful.”

“Yes, indeed. Tommy was our baby and smart as could be.”

“How did he—”

“Car accident. A drunk driver ran a stop light and hit him.”

Claire gasped. “Oh, no.”

“Yes. He died before they got him to the hospital. Tommy left a wife and four little boys, every one of them as good looking and smart as he was.”  

Claire gasped, clutching her hand to her heart. “How on earth did you get over—?”

“I had to, for the boys. Every time I’d look at one of them, I’d see my Tommy. I finally came to realize Tommy wouldn’t ever be completely gone, not as long as I had those boys. Of course, they grew up faster than weeds.” Nora laughed. “I was wishing they’d be babies forever, but life moves on whether you want it to or not.”

“Isn’t that the truth. Liz’s oldest boy is already in first grade.”

“Tommy’s oldest just went off to college.”

“It’s wonderful that you were able to remain close with them,” Claire said wistfully.

“It wasn’t easy. Tommy’s wife remarried and I was afraid they’d shut us out, but Walt and I just kept turning up like a couple of bad pennies. Eventually everybody accepted that the kids had three sets of grandparents instead of the standard issue two.” Nora smiled and began straightening the jumble of teddy bears. “You never forget, but in time you get past the heartache.”

Claire returned the smile. “I hope so.”

“You will,” Nora said confidently. “Those grandchildren will be a constant reminder that you’ve still got an important part of your daughter right here with you.”   

When Claire left the store, the conversation looped through her mind. She knew Nora was right. David, Kimmie, and Christian were a part of Liz, the part Claire could hold on to. She and Charlie had to provide those children with all the love Elizabeth would have given them. Claire began picturing the face of each child and picking out what features most resembled Liz. Kimberly definitely had Liz’s personality, and her smile, and the tilt of her…

Lost in thought, Claire failed to notice when the traffic slowed, so her foot was still pressing the gas pedal when she hit the Buick in front of her. Seconds later the delivery truck following her slammed into the back of her car.

A brawny man with a beard the color of a carrot climbed from the Buick and tromped toward Claire.

“What’s the matter with you?” he growled. “You blind? You can’t see I’m stopped?” 

“Oh dear, I’m sorry, terribly sorry. No question it’s my fault. Instead of paying attention, I was thinking—that is, my daughter passed away—”

“Oh,” he grimaced, pulled back his anger, then turned to survey the damage. “I guess you’ve got insurance?”

Claire nodded.

After two hours of paperwork and formalities, the tow truck finally hauled away her smashed car and she telephoned Charlie.

When he heard she’d been in an accident, he gasped. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she answered. “But the car’s in bad shape.”

“Drivable?”

“No. You’ll have to come pick me up.”

When Charlie arrived, she stood on the street corner with a Cabbage Patch doll under her arm and a shopping bag from Todd’s Toys dangling from her hand.

“You sure you’re not hurt?” Charlie asked.

“Unh-huh.”

“You want to stop at the hospital and let them check you over?”

“No,” she answered. “But I would like you to take me somewhere else.”

As Claire settled into the passenger seat, she launched into a full explanation of all that had happened—the telephone call, the doll, Nora Todd’s loss of her son, and, lastly, her vow to make amends with Jeffrey regardless of cost.

“I know we both have a lot of resentment about the way he treated Liz,” she said, “but for the sake of our grandchildren, we’ve got to set it aside and move on.”

“That’s easier said than done. After the way he—”

“You couldn’t possibly dislike Jeffrey any more than I do. But regardless of what we feel, we’ve got to patch things up with him. If we don’t, he’ll never let us see the children!”

Charlie didn’t disagree.

“Anyway, I was thinking if you came with me—”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Charlie said. “Especially given the last time I saw Jeffrey.”

“All the more reason you should be there. It’s important for him to see you’re willing to bend, willing to ask his forgiveness.”

“Seeing me might make him less inclined to listen.”

“No, it won’t, because the minute he opens the door I’ll say we both regret whatever misunderstandings have come between us. That way he’ll realize we’re not looking to make trouble. I’ll explain we’re there to make amends and give him whatever financial assistance he needs. I’m not even going to mention seeing the kids until we get him on a friendly footing.”

“What makes you think he won’t slam the door in your face before you can say anything?”

“He won’t, I just know he won’t. I’ll get down on my knees and beg him to listen if I have to.”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said.

“It’ll work. You’ll see.”

As they approached the Caruthers house, Claire pointed to the pot of chrysanthemums on the front stoop. “That’s a real good sign.”

“It is?”

“Yes, it indicates he’s feeling a bit more optimistic.”

“I fail to see how one has anything to do with the other,” Charlie mumbled as he followed her up the walkway. Claire touched her finger to the doorbell and rang it just once. They waited several minutes, but no one answered.

“We’ll just sit on the stoop and wait,” she said.

“I’d rather not,” Charlie answered. “Let’s go for a bite of lunch and come back later.”

They compromised, waiting for fifteen minutes then heading off to the diner.

After lunch they returned to the house and rang the doorbell a second time; still no answer. Again they waited, this time for nearly an hour. Claire lowered herself onto the stoop, and Charlie paced up and down the walkway. Finally he convinced Claire they ought to come back in the evening when Jeffrey was more likely to be at home. 

It was dark by the time they returned. Upon seeing the lights of the house ablaze, Claire said, “He’s obviously at home now.”

Once again they rang the doorbell and waited, and this time it was only moments before the door swung open.

“Yes?”

Claire had never seen the brown-eyed woman before. “Are you the housekeeper?”

“I suppose you could say that,” the woman said with a laugh. “I’m Fran Lombard.”

“Oh.” Claire stuck her hand out. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Claire McDermott, and this is Charlie.”

“Yes…and?”

“We’re the children’s grandparents,” Claire explained. “We’re here to see Jeffrey.”

“Oh,” the woman chuckled. “You must be looking for Mister Caruthers, the previous owner.”

Stepping closer to the door, Charlie said, “Previous owner? Jeffrey Caruthers and his children no longer live here?”

“Not for some time,” Fran Lombard answered. “They moved before we bought the house, and we’ve been here for over a month.”

“Where did they move to?” Claire asked in a high-pitched, anxious voice.

Fran shook her head. “I haven’t a clue. We never even met the man. The real estate agent handled everything.”

“Do you have the name of the agent?” Charlie asked.

“I’m pretty sure it was Elkins. Pamela, I think. She works for Somerset Realty.”