The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society (39 page)

Yvonne is on the sidewalk and sprints forward toward them, as do several other neighbors. The fire trucks have arrived, along with an ambulance. Firemen race past them dragging long fire hoses. Two EMTs escort Bettie and Isabel to the back of the ambulance where they’re immediately given oxygen and inspected for burns and smoke inhalation.

Isabel feels her arms and stomach smart—she has first- and second-degree burns that run up the length of her left arm and on her stomach. Bettie, thankfully, has none, but her face is black with smoke. Her eyes are wild behind the oxygen mask.

“It’s okay,” Isabel tells her, pulling off her own mask so Bettie can see her face. “It’s me. Isabel.”

The fire chief, Abraham Garza, approaches them. “Are you ladies all right?”

Isabel nods her head but Bettie looks at him, confused. “Abe?” she says.

Chief Garza smiles. “That’s right,” he says. He glances at the EMT who gives him a slight nod. “How are you, Bettie?”

“I haven’t had a chance to call Imogene since the last scrapbooking meeting,” Bettie says, her face a bit like a raccoon’s. The ends of her hair are singed from the fire. “I wondered how she was liking that new circle cutter she bought. She was going to make coasters for the family reunion, I believe.”

Chief Garza smiles. “She has most of them done,” he says. “They sure do look nice, I have to say.”

One of the firemen comes up to them. “Chief, it looks like the fire started in the kitchen,” he says.

“Thanks, Ricky.” Chief Garza turns back to Bettie. “Bettie, do you remember if you were cooking anything in the kitchen?” he asks.

“No,” Bettie says.

Isabel coughs, her throat burning. “Bettie, you told me you were baking. Remember? For the scrapbooking meeting?”

“That’s right!” Bettie exclaims, an excited look on her face. “I wanted to make a sugar-free crumble. There are some diabetics in the group, you know, and they have to watch their sugar intake. We always have so many delicious things they can’t eat, so I thought I’d make something special. I used rhubarb. Is it time to take it out?”

“Uh, I think it might be done,” Isabel says, glancing at Chief Garza.

An EMT escorts Bettie to a stretcher and has her lay down. They attach a clip with a wire to her finger, carefully put the oxygen mask back over her mouth and nose. A second later, Bettie’s eyes flutter closed.

Isabel gasps.

“She’s okay,” the EMT reassures her, pointing to a monitor. Bettie’s pulse is steady. “She fell asleep. That happens sometimes.”

“We’re going to take you over to the hospital in Freeport,” Chief Garza says to Isabel. “Just relax and someone will be with you in a minute. Can you stay with her?” he asks Yvonne. Yvonne gives a fervent nod and steps closer to Isabel.

Isabel takes another hit of oxygen. They watch as the flames take over the roof, the firemen aiming their hoses through the windows and doorways. She thinks of everything in the house, of Bettie’s life, going up in smoke.

Going, going, gone.

A
VALON
, I
LLINOIS—
A kitchen fire quickly set a local Avalonian home ablaze this past Sunday, according to local fire officials.

The house belonged to longtime Avalon resident Bettie Shelton, who lives alone. Shelton, 77, was home when a fire broke out in the kitchen. Shelton was trapped in the home and rescued by neighbor Isabel Kidd.

“They were both very lucky,” said Avalon fire chief Abraham Garza. “It’s dangerous to run into a burning house, but she saved Ms. Shelton’s life.”

Shelton’s house was gutted from the fire, which was a two-alarm blaze. She is currently staying with friends and appreciates the outpouring of support from the community.

Shelton is also president of the Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society. This Thursday’s meeting has been moved to Madeline’s Tea Salon.

Chapter Seventeen
 

Ava knocks on the door, carefully balancing a tuna noodle casserole. Max is holding a Tupperware container of chocolate chip cookies and a clump of weedy-looking flowers that he insisted on picking at the park.

Ava knows she may be pushing it, but she can’t help it. Standing up to Randall Strombauer changed something inside of her and one thing’s for sure—she’s going to do her best to be as honest and open as possible, no more shirking away. Ava will never forget Bettie’s unexpected kindness, her willingness to help, and she wants to offer some sort of support, even if it means being subjected to Isabel’s wrath and obvious disapproval. It’s true that she promised Isabel never to bother her again or show up unannounced, but this is about Bettie.

The door opens and Ava gasps, unprepared. Max presses against her legs, uncertainty etched on his face as well. The person answering the door is wearing a bathrobe with her hair twisted up in a clip, a clay mask on her face.

“Oh, it’s you,” comes the tight voice that Ava knows belongs to Isabel. “Come in.”

Ava and Max step warily into the house. For Max, it’s because the
lady answering the door is unrecognizable and a little scary, but for Ava, it’s because it’s the house Bill used to live in. Her Bill, Isabel’s Bill, Max’s father Bill. She almost expects to weep in recognition but sees that the house is practically bare. There are no pictures, nothing that speaks of Bill or even Isabel. The furniture is spare and everything is neat and clean. It feels … neutral. Not good, not bad, but okay. Ava realizes she’s gawking and quickly reminds herself why they are here.

“I wanted to drop this off for Bettie,” she says, holding up the casserole. “I didn’t know where her friend lives so I hope it’s okay that I’m leaving it here.” She follows Isabel into the kitchen and gives a start when she sees Bettie at the table as well, also wearing a face mask.

“Hello!” Bettie says, her voice also tight. “Look! We got these new rejuvenating masks at the drugstore. My skin already feels like butter!” She carefully touches the dried clay on her cheekbones. “Of course we might need a chisel to get this off my face. Isabel, do you have a chisel?”

“I’ll look for one,” Isabel says as she bends over the sink, splashing water on her face. When she looks up, the mask is gone and her face is glowing. “Wow, you’re right,” she marvels, using her fingers to press into her cheekbones. “Just like butter.” She scrunches up her face and Max giggles.

Ava pushes him forward but Max steps back, shy. “The flowers and cookies are for you,” Ava says to Isabel. “From Max.” She’s still not sure what to expect, but Isabel hasn’t kicked them out yet so she ventures, “And me. To thank you for picking him up. It … it meant a lot to us—me—that you did that.”

Isabel gives her a long look as she pulls a headband from her hair. “Yeah, well … I was completely caught off guard. You should have asked first.”

“Would you have said yes?” Ava asks.

Isabel thinks about this. “Probably not. But still you shouldn’t have done it.”

“I know,” Ava says. And then she adds quietly, “But like I said, you were the only person that I could trust.”

Isabel looks flummoxed. “I still don’t get it. You’d think I’d be the last person on your list.”

Ava gives a small shrug. “But you’re not.” And it’s the truth.

Isabel just sighs and takes the casserole from Ava, then bends down to accept the cookies and flowers from Max. She smiles at him. “Are those for me? To remind me of our fun adventure last week?”

He nods and holds everything out. “Auntie Isabel,” he says, then buries his face again in Ava’s legs, embarrassed again. Isabel smiles but straightens up, quickly turning her back on them as she places the food on the table.

“Time to get your mask off,” she says briskly to Bettie, and Ava sees Isabel do a quick dab at the corner of her eye. “Eula will be here in ten minutes to pick you up and take you home.”

“My home?” Bettie asks, her voice hopeful.

“No, her home. You’re staying with her and Buddy, remember?” Isabel wets a washcloth with warm water and begins to moisten the clay on Bettie’s face.

“Oh, right.” Bettie’s face contorts as she remembers. She sighs. “It was nice of them to offer me a place to stay, but I miss the ol’ neighborhood.”

“You’re only two blocks away, Bettie.”

Bettie ignores her. “And it’s so noisy over there,” she complains. “Buddy snores like a freight train, it keeps me up nights. Have you ever lived with someone who snores?”

“Yes,” both Isabel and Ava say. There’s an embarrassed pause as this sinks in. Isabel turns beet red as she begins to wipe Bettie’s face with rapt attention. Ava is horrified.

“I mean …” she starts to say. “That is …”

“Oh, forget it,” Isabel says with a flick of the washcloth. She lets out a breath. “I mean, it’s not as if I hadn’t figured that part out.” She gives a slight nod in Max’s direction. “Exhibit A.”

Bettie is still chattering, oblivious. “And Eula, well, I love her but let’s face it: She has gas like nobody’s business.” Bettie tilts her head back so Isabel can wipe under her neck. “I appreciate the charity but I have to say that I can’t wait until I can move back home.”

Ava and Isabel exchange a look. When Ava drove up she saw the skeleton of a house that remained next door. There is nothing for Bettie to move back to. She watches as Isabel rinses the washcloth and wipes Bettie’s face again.

Ava reaches into her purse and brings out a muslin bag. There’s a pleasant tinkle as she gives the bag a shake. “Bettie, look what I brought. I finished those bottle-cap embellishments we talked about.” Ava opens the bag and pours the bottle caps onto the table, more than fifty in all. Bettie gasps in delight and even Isabel leans forward, entranced. Ava can’t help but feel proud.

“Wow,” says Isabel, picking one up. The awe in her voice makes Ava smile. “What are these?”

“I make bottle-cap jewelry in my spare time,” Ava says. “I’ve sold a few pieces at Avalon Gifts ’N More and a few other boutique gift shops. Bettie asked if there was a way she could incorporate them into different scrapbooking layouts and I came up with these.” She holds one up, a burst of oranges and yellows. “I’m calling them scrap caps. They’re recycled bottle caps, but each one has a different word or image inside. I’ve added small beads in some and glitter in others. They’re fun embellishments you can put on a page or in a handmade card. I also have blank ones so you can put a one-inch round picture in, too.”

“These are wonderful!” Bettie exclaims, running her hands through them. “What are they for?”

“They’re for your scrapbooking club,” Ava says again. “You asked me to make them?”

Bettie gasps. “You make these? They’re wonderful! What are they for?”

“For your …” Ava’s voice trails off. She looks at Isabel, who confirms her silent question with a nod.

Bettie is looking at Ava with curious interest. “Have we met?” she asks. “Bettie Shelton, founder and president of the Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society. You should come to one of our meetings sometime!” She leans forward conspiratorially, “It’s fifteen dollars a month and that includes the monthly scrap pack, but you can come as my
guest and I’ll give you one for free.” She puts a finger to her lips and smiles. “But don’t tell anyone!”

“I won’t,” Ava assures her. She reaches forward and plucks a bright pink bottle cap and hands it to Bettie. “You should keep this one. I was thinking of you when I made it.”

“Memories,”
Bettie reads. “Oh, that’s nice. Look, Isabel!”

Isabel nods. “Nice,” she says. She holds up the square of washcloth. “I’m going to go put this in the washing machine. Ava, do you want to help me?” Isabel jerks her head in the direction of the laundry room and gives Ava a look that she can’t quite decipher.

Ava sees that Max has climbed into the chair next to Bettie and is running his hands through the bottle caps with her. Their laughter makes her smile. “Um, sure.”

In the laundry room, Isabel tosses the washcloth into the sink. “Just so you know,” she says. “Bettie has vascular dementia.”

Ava feels her breath catch. “Oh, no.”

“Dr. Richard diagnosed her a year ago. She’s known for a while but she hasn’t told anyone—he said she was determined to keep it private.”

Ava remembers Nana, her father’s mother. She recalls the vacant looks, the eyes focusing elsewhere as if seeing something in the far distance, visible only to her. There’s a lump in her throat as she tells Isabel, “My grandmother had Alzheimer’s. She couldn’t live alone. She died in a long-term-care facility. I always wanted to do more to help her, but my parents wouldn’t let me.”

“Bettie supposedly has long-term-care insurance, but everything was destroyed in the fire so I don’t know who the provider is. I have no idea what she had or what might be missing. I’m sure we can eventually figure it out, but it’ll take time.” Isabel runs her hand along an empty shelf, inspects it for dust. “And I’m moving soon. I have an interested buyer in the house, and there’s nothing left for me here.”

Ava feels the color drain from her face. “Leave? But you can’t … you can’t …”

“Oh, no,” Isabel sighs as Ava furiously tries to blink back tears. “No waterworks, please.”