Previously Loved Treasures (Serendipity #2)(30)

~

When Ida was not in the kitchen the next morning, Caroline set a pot of coffee on to brew. Although she knew how to make it, the residents often complained that her coffee was thick as mud or weak as water. As the coffee brewed she set the dishes on the table, scrambled a dozen eggs in a bowl, unwrapped a pound of bacon, and placed the strips side by side across the griddle.

It was almost eight when Louie came into the kitchen and found Caroline sitting in the chair leafing through a recent issue of Home and Garden.

“Why ain’t there no breakfast on the table?”

“I’m waiting for Grandma,” Caroline answered. “She does the biscuits.”

“It’s eight o’clock!” Louie said. “Go get her.”

Caroline wrinkled her brow. “If she’s still sleeping, I don’t think—”

“Look,” Louie replied impatiently, “if you don’t go get her, I will!”

“Okay, okay.” Caroline stood and started toward the hall. “Looks like you could be a bit more patient,” she grumbled.

Louie’s words followed her up the stairs. “I been patient for an hour!”

~

Caroline rapped on Ida’s door, softly at first, then firmly. After several minutes of getting no answer, she cracked the door open. “Grandma?”

No answer.

“Grandma?” she repeated in a loud voice.

Still no answer.

Caroline pushed the door open and rushed to the bed. “Grandma?” Her voice turned panicky and fearful. She bent to shake Ida, but her hand touched icy cold skin. Caroline let out a scream that could be heard several towns away.

Within moments several of the residents stood behind her.

“Call an ambulance!” Caroline shouted. She was still trying to shake Ida awake.

Doctor Payne pushed through the group and reached for Ida’s arm. He may have only been a dentist, but he knew how to take a pulse and he knew that when one was missing the person was already dead.

“It’s too late,” Payne said. “Ida’s gone.”

“No!” Caroline screamed. “It can’t be!” She threw herself across the bed and clung to Ida’s body. “Please wake up, Grandma,” she begged. “Please…”

With streams of tears rolling down his face, Wilbur stepped forward and reached for Caroline. He lifted her from the bed and pulled her into his arms. “Go ahead and cry. I know how much it hurts.” The sorrow in his words was as great as hers.

~

That morning the coffee went untouched, the bacon remained uncooked, and the eggs sat in the bowl until they started to give off an odor. No one had any appetite, not even Louie.

Caroline was inconsolable. After the ambulance came and took Ida away, she ran to her room and slammed the door shut. All afternoon and for miles around you could hear her howling like a wounded bear.

By morning of the next day, a silence had settled over the house that was in many ways worse than the howling. It was the kind of sorrow that spread from person to person and carved deep scars in everyone it touched.

The residents of the house gathered in sad little clusters, grieving for what they’d lost. Each of them had come to the house looking for a bed to sleep in, nothing more. But through the months they had morphed into a family. Ida’s family. Now she was gone, and the pain of having loved her was everywhere.

Caroline’s heartbreak was visible in her swollen eyes, the dryness of her lips, and the unkempt look of her hair. Wilbur’s pain was great, equal to Caroline’s, but he stood strong. It’s what Ida would have wanted, he told himself.

He thought back on the evenings they sat together on the porch swing, long after the others had gone off in pursuit of their pleasures. He had fallen in love with Ida. Not the youthful type of love that flared with passion, but an elderly love. A love that softened the ravages of time and disguised itself as a helping hand or listening ear. A love that was different but no less deep.

Not once had he told Ida of his feeling, and now it would remain forever untold. It was too late for words. The only way Wilbur could again express his love would be to watch over Ida’s granddaughter, a girl blinded by the same grief he felt. Yes, he had to remain strong; it was his final act of love.





Wilbur Washington





The problem with life is that it’s so damn temporary. You always think there’s going to be another day following the one you’re enjoying, but sometimes there isn’t.

There were a million things I wanted to say to Ida but never did. Not big flowery statements but mentions of all the little everyday reasons I loved her.

A few days ago I was watching as she got a peach pie ready for the oven. It was all put together, but before she slid it in to bake she pressed a fork around the edge of the crust and made fancy-looking ruffles. I wanted to say doing things like that is what’s so special about her, but Louie walked in and I swallowed my words. Now I could kick myself for not speaking up. I should have said what I had to say and let tongues waggle if they wanted to.

The irony of life is that we’re quick to tell people what we don’t like about them, but we hold back on saying how special or wonderful they are. Instead of letting someone know what’s in our heart, we wait until they’re gone then stand around crying and thinking of all the things we should’ve said.