Final Rights (34 page)

“Well, I think I understand better than when
we started this conversation. You don’t intentionally do hurtful things most of
the time. When someone gets upset and you didn’t do anything wrong, you don’t
let them put it on you. You sometimes are pushy and you own it. And sometimes
you should think more before you act. Have I got it right?”

“Pretty close! And I don’t kowtow to many of
the social conventions about being nice and sweet and all that crap, either.”

Cally noticed the tight smile beginning to
curl the corners of Tate’s mouth. “So, I guess we’re done being serious,
right?”

Tate’s smile morphed into a grimace. “Yeah.
I can only handle self-disclosure in small doses, and this has been a really
big one!”

“Thanks for opening up to me some. It helps
me to know you better.”

“I trust you in ways I don’t trust many
people, Cally. That says more about you than it does about me.”

They lapsed back into quiet for the
remainder of the trip. Tate thought about how easily Cally had understood the
point she was making about one person being held responsible for another
person’s feelings. If how one feels is the result of what she thinks—and Tate
had no doubt at all that was the case—then what one feels about any particular
situation lies directly in her own control. Change your thoughts and you change
your feelings. Change your feelings and you gain control of your life.

Tate had done just that with years of
practice, and she found it puzzling that so many people chose to hang onto the
belief that they would be happier if only other people treated them the way
they wanted. In Tate’s world, if you don’t like how someone treats you, you
simply stop hanging out with them. Undoubtedly, that accounted for her shortage
of close friends.

Tate
eased the truck into the crowded drive in front of the Princess Hotel. “How are
you doing, Cally?”

“I can’t really tell. I’m pretty much of a
mess, I think.”

“That trip to Conservation Salvage was an
emotional roller coaster for me. I can barely imagine what it was like for
you.”

“And that’s only part of it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. That was the end of what had already
been a very full day for me.”

“Oh, right. You never told me what you did
today.”

Tate expected an answer that did not
materialize. She waited, her anticipation building steadily. “Cally?”

“I went to that house today, Tate. I know
time is running out.”

“Oh! Wow!” The news rocked Tate to the core.
“And then I forced you to find the fireplace and its contents! I’m so sorry,
Cally.”

“Actually, it’s okay,
Tate. I wouldn’t have chosen it, but I’m glad I . . . I’m glad you found it and
took me there. It’s just that . . . I don’t know . . . I always imagined
somewhere in the back of my mind, in my heart, all the good things Gamma left
for me. It never occurred to me that I’d find them after so long and . . . and
it wouldn’t be only good things. That note was so . . . shocking. I’m not sure
. . .” Cally trailed off into thought.

“Not sure of what, Cally?”

“I’m not sure . . . who
I am. I guess that’s it. Leland is not my grandfather. This man named Harland
is. And what he said in that note. Why would he say all that? And why would
Gamma hide it away for me to find someday?”

Tate felt herself
gearing up to come to Cally’s rescue. She would reframe the situation, point
out that Leland was, in fact, the grandfather Cally had known all her life and
maybe he hadn’t been Clayton’s biological father, but he had been his real
father, and he had been and still was a wonderful grandfather to Cally. She
felt all this gathering and about to burst out of her mouth in a rush when she
remembered that sometimes the kindest thing she could do for another person was
to let them feel bad. Allow them the time and space and support to move through
their feelings at their own pace. So she sat back, took Cally’s hand in hers
and allowed her friend to cry.

Several minutes passed
before Cally spoke again. “You’re not going to believe this, Tate. I don’t . .
. but I want to do one more thing today. Actually, two more things.”

“Really? What?”

“Well, I haven’t eaten since Dawn fixed me
breakfast this morning, and I’m starving. So I’d like to get some dinner.
Something quick and easy. And . . .”

“And . . .?”

“I want to see Gamma’s house. Your house.”

FIFTY-ONE

2004

Unexpected memories of being taught to read and write by
Lee Lou filled Tate’s thought as she carved out a picnic area in the living
room of the house that once belonged to Leland and Ellie—the house Tate now
called her own and the one that served as the closest thing to a real home
Cally could remember.

Their plans had been formulated quickly as
they sat outside the Princess Hotel. Cally wanted time to shower and change
clothes. Tate wanted the same as well as leeway to prepare the apartment so
that Cally would be able to look around without stumbling over equipment and
materials.

Cally arrived just as Tate finished, and the
aroma of Chinese take-out filled the open space when Cally entered toting two
large bags of steaming food.

“I have to confess. I
was so hungry I gobbled down an egg roll on the way here!” Cally offered the
bags to Tate who began unpacking them and spreading the boxes of food out on
the recently installed countertop.

“It’s a little chilly in here, but I brought
a couple of extra space heaters over, and it should be warming up pretty soon.
Do you want a wrap?” Tate offered Cally one of the small throws she had picked
up from her house next door.

“No, I think I’m okay,
but thanks.” Cally stopped and looked slowly around the large, open living and
kitchen area. “This is so different from when Gamma and Gampa lived here. Are
you sure it’s the same place?”

“Yeah, it is. I know it has been changed a
lot . . .” Tate pointed to the main entrance. “But I’ll bet you remember that.”

Cally walked over to the
massive door and slowly traced the delicate scroll work that framed the panels
with her finger. “Oh yes, I remember this very well. Gampa made it, but he
never seemed to like it very much.”

“Really? That surprises me. It’s an amazing
piece, and he obviously took great pains to construct it.”

“Yes, but remember what he said? When we
asked him about it? He said the door was a mistake and the only mean-spirited
thing he’d ever done.”

“Oh, you’re right. I’d forgotten that. I
wonder what he meant.”

“I don’t know, but it is beautiful. Much
more so than the one on the other house.”

“Okay, Cally. I know you’re starving and I’m
pretty hungry myself. Let’s have some of this food, and I want to hear all
about it.”

Over a spread of egg
rolls, hot and sour soup, vegetable lo mein, chicken with mixed vegetables and
brown rice, Cally related the events of her day to Tate. She shared her
awareness of the similarities between her mother’s deteriorated condition from
alcohol abuse and depression and the old house on Chestnut Street.

“I didn’t
want
to want the place, Tate. I went there to confirm the decision I’d already made
not to try to claim it. I knew that would disappoint you, but it just seemed so
overwhelming and, really, that place is kind of weird. You know that, don’t
you?”

“Yes, of course. Weird, but compelling, too.
At least for me, and I hoped it would be for you as well.”

“
I walked
around it. I noticed how a neighbor on the street scurried away when he saw me
there. That’s when it hit me that people treat that house like they treated
Mom. I had another one of my crying fits, right there on the back porch. When I
finally sat up and saw that kitchen, it took my breath away!”

“Yeah, the kitchen got to me, too!”

Cally paused and pushed
some cold food around on her plate with her chopsticks. “Well, I started
looking at it differently then. I knew it would be mine one day, like it or
not, and I left there ready to do whatever was necessary to keep it.”

Tate noticed that Cally
sounded resigned, not excited. “You don’t seem so happy about that decision,
though.”

“I was when I left there. Until I read that note.”
Cally leaned back against the wall and released a deep sigh.

“When we were at the
salvage company you said ‘this changes everything.’ What did you mean?” Tate
braced herself to hear an answer she hoped would not come.
Please, Cally, help
me save that house.
This thought surprised Tate, since she rarely wanted help
from anyone.

“Well, Leland is not really my grandfather.
I can’t even begin to make sense of that!”

“But he is, Cally, in every way that’s
important. And from what that note says, he was a good father to Clayton as
well.”

“That house . . . I had hopes for it before
. . . now it feels, well,
haunted
! I don’t think I could live in a place
where a greedy, arrogant man—one who happens to be my biological grandfather,
no less!—killed himself. And why did he give the place to Leland? That just
seems cruel since they obviously hated each other.”

Tate took time to
respond. She looked around the room where they sat and reviewed in her mind how
it differed from what she had purchased less than a year earlier. “I’m not
going to try to sway your decision, Cally. But I believe a house reflects the
character of the people who live in it. This place for example. You know what
it was like when you were a child and Ellie and Leland lived here. You loved
the place. You still think of Asheville, and even this house, I bet, as home,
right?”

Cally surveyed the room. “Well, yes. Sort
of.”

“That’s the spot where the fireplace used to
be.” Tate indicated the missing floor boards at the hallway entrance and the
space just to the right of it. “And you sat right about there when you carved
your initials. It was a much different place, then, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. It was home, like you said.”

“And then Ellie and Leland were gone, you
were gone, other people lived here, and the place took on an entirely different
feel. When I bought it, this place was a dump. The people who lived downstairs
had filled the backyard with broken down trucks and cars, discarded furniture,
at least a dozen old tires and I’m betting a thousand beer cans and bottles
they’d thrown into the bushes.”

“No way!”

“Yes. It was awful. They got into drunken
brawls in the street all hours of the night. The cops were here routinely
breaking things up. This place would have scared the pants off you.”

“Why did you buy it?”

“Because I saw immediately what it could be.
Just like I did when I saw the place on Chestnut. And I knew I could make it a
happy, peaceful place again.”

“And you have.”

“And I have. And someone could do the same
for Harland’s house. Whatever unhappiness it has soaked up since it was built,
in all those decades that it has sat empty and unloved, it doesn’t matter. It
can be a happy, vibrant place filled with joy if someone makes it that.”

“But he must have been a horrible person. I
hate being related to him. If a house can hold a person’s energy, then that
place reflects all his negative traits, doesn’t it?”

“Cally, we can’t ever know what drove
Harland Freeman. But I truly believe that each and every one of us, even the
most detestable among us, does the very best he can at any given moment. Why
not give him, and the house, the benefit of the doubt?”

“I wish I knew more about him. You really
think he had good qualities, too?”

Tate suddenly remembered her recent
conversation with Mazie. “Actually, I know someone who can tell you a lot about
Harland Freeman. Her name is Mazie and she lives right across the street! I’ll
take you to meet her if you want.”

“Now?”

“No, not now. Mazie is
up there in years and is likely asleep by now. Or nodding out in front of the
TV. Soon, though. If you want.”

“Yes, I think that would be good. But, Tate.
I still don’t really understand why you seem so gung ho about that old place.”

“Actually, it is routed in my very earliest
years. I was just thinking about it before you got here.”

“Tell me, then.”

Tate shared her memories of Lee Lou and her
own personalized Head Start program with Cally, and as she did so, she felt her
heart open a bit more to this woman whom she had met only days before.

Tate’s closeness with Cally and her
willingness to share such personal parts of herself came as a surprise. A
lifetime of believing she could depend on no one but herself had ensured that
Tate would have countless experiences to confirm that tightly held conviction.
The permeable barrier she had constructed to protect herself allowed support to
flow in one direction only. Tate could reach out and care for others but she
would rarely accept the same from them. She had diligently devised numerous
ways to deflect nearly every offer of help she saw coming, and those defenses
had become so much a part of her that she no longer recognized them as things
of her own creation.

Cally willingly shared some of the most
painful aspects of her life with Tate. She cried openly, laughed easily and seemed
to flow through her emotional landscape without much resistance. Tate could not
imagine doing the same, but as she became more comfortable with Cally, she felt
herself softening.

Tate moved slowly from her thoughts back to
the room as Cally took her hand and laid her head on Tate’s shoulder.

“You seemed a long way away for a minute,
Tate.”

“I was just thinking about how the Universe
brings people together. A few days ago, you didn’t exist for me, and now you’re
changing how I see life.”

“Really? How so?”

“I’m so independent.
Have been pretty much all my life. I don’t let many people in beyond the
surface, and I certainly don’t look to others for support when I’m going
through something difficult.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty obvious.”

“But it feels different with you, Cally. I
feel different. I tell you things about my life and it feels good to do that.
Maybe that’s why we were thrown together, so we could heal each other. And
Leland, too.”

“Yes. And maybe that house.”

“Yes, Cally, that house. We could heal it,
too.”