Simple Gifts (6 page)

Vic laughed. “A little different from Glen Ellyn, I guess.”

“Very different.”

“Bored?”

“Not in the least.” Truth be told, I was in heaven; I hated the thought of going home almost as much as I missed Sara and my grandbabies.

A carload of teenagers passed, radio cranked to the max. “Reminds me of the way we used to hang out.”

I smiled. “Yeah. Those were the days, huh?”

“How's Noel?”

I licked the stick clean and disposed of it in the nearby trash receptacle. “Now I'm cold.”

“I can remedy that.” He hooked an arm around my neck like he had so many years ago, a brotherly gesture, and we set off for home. I hadn't answered his question. I didn't intend to.

“Ever feel like we're getting old, Marlene?”

“All the time.” I pressed closer. How could I get any older than I felt right now? Where had the years gone? Why had I thought my plan for my life was wiser than God's?

“You know, when we were kids we didn't think much about life. We had it all ahead of us. We thought it would all be good. Coming up roses.”

“Turned out to have a little crabgrass mixed in.”

He leaned closer and grinned. “We're not old. We're in our prime; the best is yet to come.”

I laughed. “Nice try, but I know baloney when I hear it.”

“I mean it. There's something to be said for experience. Kids think they know everything, but they only know enough to mislead and confuse them. They don't start to live until life throws them a few curveballs.”

“Hummm.” I'd had my share of curveballs and sliders. I missed my naiveté.

“Your life hasn't been all laughs?”

Ha!
“I can't complain. Sara's been a blessing.”

“If she's anything like you, she must be great.”

I studied the way one corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other when he smiled, the familiar planes in his face—how I'd missed him. So much that it hurt. With some effort I pulled my attention back to the conversation. “She's a little dependent on me.”

Like a leech, a barnacle on a ship's hull, a piece of lichen on a rock. Why had I never insisted she stand on her own feet? I stopped, stunned that I could think such thoughts about my darling daughter. But her dependence on me was a reality I couldn't deny.

Vic didn't appear to notice my lapse. He pointed to the white church, steeple pricking the dark velvet sky. “I took God for granted when I was young. After Julie died, I saw him differently.”

I was a little surprised by the admission. I'd sensed a change in him for years, but we'd never talked about his spiritual awakening. Our conversations had always centered on the immediate. The Vic I remembered had been a little defiant where religion was concerned, determined to be one of the boys instead of the preacher's kid.

“I'm sorry about your wife. That wasn't fair.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Life is seldom fair. They say whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger—or something to that effect. Losing Julie nearly killed me, but it also made me stop and examine my life. Priorities. You know—the prodigal son returneth.” He grinned. “I always knew Dad was right about God. I was even proud of him and the solid beliefs he held, but I was a kid. Faith didn't mean a lot to me then, but it does now.”

I'd done a fair share of scrutinizing my own situation when Noel left, and I had lived with a bitter heart. Now I couldn't help wondering…How could I have let one person spoil a large part of my life? Well, two, if you counted Herman.

Either way, I was about to decide bitterness wasn't worth it. It was like living on bacon cheeseburgers and hoping the other guy had the heart attack.

While Vic had grown spiritually stronger, I'd moved away from the church. Oh, I still believed in God. I sure had called on him in hard times, but when I married Noel, we'd both worked, and we never had time for church. Free Sundays were spent in worldly pursuits. I gradually slipped away.

Then there was always this animosity in me. If only I hadn't wanted to leave my father and past behind; if only I had made smarter choices in a mate; if only I had stayed in Parnass; if
only
.

I told myself that this
was
God's plan for my life. Then I'd get mad at God.

I glanced at my watch. “Look at the time. I need to be getting home. The plumber and roofer will be here early.”

“You're not serious.”

My heart sank when I heard the humor in his voice. “You think they won't come?”

“Folks around here don't get in any hurry. They mean well, but they have their own agendas. They may come and they may not.”

“Never?”

“No, they'll come—just when they get around to it.”

“I only have a few days to line up the work.”

“Well, miracles happen.”

Croak.
What was that supposed to mean?

I slid the key in Beth's front lock. In the time I'd been here I'd managed to get the floors cleaned, the curtains washed and ironed, and even hauled out a couple of smaller rocks. My back was killing me. How was I to accomplish all I needed to do in what time I had left? No one would buy the house with a leaking roof. And the dripping faucets would leave rust stains on the sink, making it impossible to clean.

“That you, Marlene?”

The question penetrated the darkness, reminding me of the raven in the Edgar Allen Poe poem, the one that kept croaking “Nevermore.” I jumped, resisting the urge to demand “Who goes there?”

“It's me, Ingrid.” She'd basically left me alone since I'd been back—but then, she was like that, unless she wanted something. I couldn't imagine what she'd want, but I knew something was on her mind if she was out after dark.

Her imposing figure stepped from the shadows—tall, fairly wide, red hair pulled back in a long braid and tightly secured by her plastic rain bonnet. Gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Matriarch of Parnass Springs, ruling with a firm, if not always tactful, hand.

The last person I wanted to see tonight.

She strode across the wet grass, garbed in a pink flannel gown with a rose print and a ratty green terry-cloth robe. She hadn't changed much. She was older, of course—ninety-two now. Maybe a tad plumper, but I'd be willing to bet those blue eyes never missed a thing.

I sat down on the porch swing and waited.

She marched across the lawn, and I gave thanks she hadn't heard about my entrance to town—or if she had, she hadn't demanded to know why I'd disgraced her. She'd have seen through my phony act in a second. I'd never been able to fool her.

She climbed the steps and settled on the swing beside me. The seat sagged beneath her bulk. “Don't know where you disappear to for such long periods.”

I resisted the urge to say she didn't need to know. She always said her age gave her the right to pry, but I knew from experience, give her an inch, and she'd take the whole yardstick.

“I went to services.”

“I wasn't there,” Ingrid stated.

“I noticed.”

“Don't be smart with me. I go occasionally.”

We sat in the silence. What did she want?

She peered at me over her glasses. “Joe long-winded tonight?”

“Not at all. His sermon was very inspiring.”

“Vic, there?”

“He wasn't at the service. I saw him later.”

“You're a married woman.”

Was she worried about Noel? Why? She'd never been concerned about him before.

“Vic's an old friend, nothing more.”

“That's what they all say.”

Why the interrogation? I knew Aunt Ingrid was suspicious of every man, but this was ridiculous.

“Well, he's a good man,” she said. “He didn't turn his back on the place where he grew up, like some I could name.”

Yeah, yeah, bad ole Marlene. “I didn't have a choice.” I was desperate to get away from Herman, but I couldn't tell her that. “Vic did.”

“Oh, choice.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “We usually do what we want.”

Yeah, right. I'd wanted Herman for a father. I'd wanted to be a single mother raising a child by myself. When I married Noel Queens, he promised me the moon. I'd thought we'd have a good marriage, though like most thoracic surgeons, he worked long hours. One night, when Sara was two, he left to make his hospital rounds and ended up in Vegas with a pretty psychiatrist. He'd made the rounds all right. Evidently he'd been making them for some time while carefully cleaning out our joint bank accounts and putting everything in his name.

I'd divorced him and he'd married his psychiatrist. That marriage lasted seven years. The third wife managed to corral him for two years. Or maybe I had that wrong. It was possible she'd wised up quicker than wives number one and two.

Aunt Ingrid shoved to her feet. “Well, I'll be getting along and let the cat in. Saw the light on and wanted to make sure you were all right. Town's not as safe as it once was. Some strange man stopped Mildred Folsom a month ago and wanted directions to Kansas City. Never know
what
crazies are running loose.”

“I'll be fine. Thanks for your concern.” She hadn't mentioned Beth. Even in death, bitterness ruled.

“I'm glad you've come home, Marlene. I've been praying that you'd come to your senses and move back to Parnass Springs. The town needs a firm hand, and I'm not going to be around forever.”

“I'm only here a few days.”

“Better stay longer. Vic needs a wife. Half the time his socks don't match.”

She wandered off into the darkness, and I stared after her, mouth hanging open. Was she going senile?
Vic needs a wife?
She knew I was married—at least she thought I was. As for the firm hand, not even in my wildest thoughts would I consider replacing Ingrid when she passed. I didn't have that sort of Rottweiler mentality.

I let myself in the front door, flipped on the lights, and tripped a circuit breaker.

I yelped. The house was as dark as a witch's heart.
Please
God, let it be a simple fix and nothing that requires an
—I could barely bring myself to even think the word “electrician.”

I groped my way upstairs, trying to find the circuit breakers in the dark. I reset the tripped one, then fumbled for a wall switch, and light flooded the room. Score one for Little Marlene.

A yawn stretched my mouth. Fine. Trouble could just go away. My mission was simple: Rest. Get Beth's house on the market. Break Sara's dependency. Put the past behind me.

I had four whole days left to complete those tasks.

No problem.

I'd no more than rolled out of bed Thursday morning before I heard someone pounding on the front door. Not even in my wildest expectations did I hope to find the plumber or roofer. Good thing, because I didn't.

I found Aunt Ingrid, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, as my Grandpa Parnass used to say.

I stared at her disheveled appearance—crimson cheeks, eyes bright as a possum caught in a headlight. Was she having a heart attack? Her flushed face glowed tomato red, her eyes dilated. Prone as she was to dramatics, I'd never seen her so distressed. “What's wrong?”

“I've heard from the hussy.”

“The who?”

“The hussy!”

“Oh.” That hussy. Prue—the waitress who'd run off with Uncle Eugene…how long ago? Too many years to remember. Prue Levitt. No, make that Prue Levitt Moss. I didn't think the two rivals spoke.

“And?”

“And you'll never guess what that homewrecker wants.”

I couldn't. Not in a million years. To be truthful, I didn't even want to try. All I wanted was to see a plumber's or roofer's truck pull up in front of the house.

“She wants Eugene's foot.”

Okay. That got my attention. “Uncle Eugene's foot?”

“His
foot.
”

“The one buried in the cemetery?”

She looked at me like I'd left my common sense in Illinois. “He only had two. He took one to the grave with him. The other he left here, and if that woman thinks for one minute she's going to get it, she's sadly mistaken.”

I shook my head. With any luck, I was dreaming. The cell phone sang out, and I ignored it. Sara could wait.

“Why—“I paused, trying to clear my head—“Why would Prue want Uncle Eugene's foot after all these years?” He'd been dead ten years—his whole body, I mean. The foot had been in the grave years longer.

“To spite me.”

“Aunt Ingrid. Surely the woman didn't call—“

“She didn't call. Sent me a wire.” She waved a paper in my face. “Coward!”

And I thought
I
had problems. “Why does she want the bone?”

“Foot!” my aunt snapped. “She claims she can't afford to have the whole body shipped to Maui. She can only pay to have the foot shipped, said she was tired of not having something of Eugene to pay her respects to.”