Previously Loved Treasures (Serendipity #2)(19)

She washed, Wilbur dried. When Ida finished the last of the cups, she turned to him and asked, “You believe my story, don’t you?”

Wilbur gave a gentle smile. “If you ask me to, I will.”





Traveling South





On Wednesday morning thirty minutes after Greg left the apartment, Caroline loaded two suitcases and her computer into the trunk of the car and headed crosstown. Ever since he stopped coming home for dinner and started finding fault with most everything, she’d thought about leaving him. But it was a thought she was afraid to move past. She imagined the emptiness of a life with no one and pictured her heart so heavy it would have the weight of a bowling ball in her chest.

Oddly enough, that wasn’t the way it was.

Caroline felt lighter than she could ever remember. Lighter than when she ran through the streets of New Orleans, lighter than when she spent long months caring for her mother, and much lighter than when she pretended not to notice the cloyingly sweet perfume that clung to Greg when he came home late.

She didn’t just feel lighter, she was lighter. She’d rid herself of the things that made the days seem dreary and the nights seem long. Gone was the apartment with its windowless walls and empty bed. Gone was the thankless job with no future. Gone was the man she once thought she couldn’t live without.

When the afternoon mail arrived, letters would be dropped on each person’s desk. Short letters that said for personal reasons she found it necessary to leave town. She’d given no mention of where she was headed but stuck to succinct paragraphs stating that she was resigning the job, giving up the apartment, and leaving the man who in truth had left her a year earlier. Although the letter to Greg was longer than the others, she left many things unsaid. She’d thought about the words for a long time and in the end decided that detailing each and every heartache would pain her more than it would him. It would be twisting the knife he’d stuck in her heart.

She snapped on the radio and eased into the line of cars headed south on Route 95. The traffic was sluggish going through Philadelphia, but once the skyline faded into the distance she picked up speed.

As she crossed into Delaware Caroline tried to picture the woman who would be her grandma, but there was nothing. She could barely remember her daddy; how could she possibly know what his mama would look like? Caroline thought about the conversation with Ida Sweetwater and remembered the sweetness of the woman’s voice. My son James is your daddy, she’d said. Not maybe or perhaps, but with certainty. The call had come at a time when Caroline was feeling alone and empty, and she’d rushed into believing such a thing could be true…but what if it wasn’t? What if she got there and Ida Sweetwater asked for proof that James was her daddy?

The only thing she had was one small black-and-white photo taken with the man who’d been her daddy. Her mama claimed the picture was taken the Easter Sunday before he left, but couldn’t say for sure. Caroline had smiled when the picture was snapped, but the man standing next to her did not. He wore a brimmed hat that shaded his eyes, but you could see the sense of annoyance tugging on his expression. Was it something she’d done? Was it because of her he’d left? A thousand times Caroline had pushed deep into her memory trying to recall that day, but she couldn’t.

My son is your daddy, Ida Sweetwater said. She’d claimed it openly and laid an offer of love on the table. Caroline accepted it without question. The issue of whether the rebellious son who left Ida and the angry man who left her mama were one and the same was of no significance. Ida Sweetwater was now her grandma, and despite any questions or misgivings that lingered in her thoughts, Caroline had decided she would be the granddaughter Ida wanted.

As she drove through Maryland, hunger pangs poked at Caroline’s stomach. She continued driving for a while longer, then exited and went in search of a place to eat. Three miles from the highway she found a roadside stand with outdoor tables. She pulled in and parked the car.

Before she’d taken two steps, a brown dog darted from behind the garbage cans and ran to her wagging his tail. “Well, hello there,” she said and squatted to pet him.

The dog lapped her arm.

As Caroline ran her hand along his back, she felt the protruding rib bones. “Aw, poor baby,” she said. “You look like you could use a meal. Where’s your mama?”

The dog seemed to understand—whether it was the words or simply the act of kindness there was no way of knowing—but he stood on his hind legs and nuzzled into her neck. “Well, now, aren’t you just the sweetest thing,” Caroline cooed. She played with the dog for a few minutes, then stood and walked toward the building. The dog followed along. As she entered the restaurant, he squeezed through the door behind her.

The guy behind the counter looked up. “Hey! You can’t bring your dog in here!”

“He’s not my dog,” Caroline answered.

“I don’t care whose dog he is, he ain’t allowed in here!”

Caroline looked toward the couple sitting in the back booth. “Is this your dog?”

The man and woman both shook their heads.

The only people in the restaurant were Caroline, the counterman, and the couple. She looked back to the counterman. “Well, then, who does the dog belong—”

“I don’t know or care!” the counterman snapped. “He came in with you, so get him out!”