Previously Loved Treasures (Serendipity #2)(39)

Wimpy as it may sound, I’ve never had enough courage to stick up for myself. But defending somebody you love is a whole lot different than sticking up for yourself. It makes you able to do things you didn’t think you could do. When I defend Clarence, I’m fighting for somebody I love. And I love Clarence way more than I ever loved myself.

Yes, I know you’re going to tell me Clarence isn’t a somebody, he’s a stray that I picked up along the highway. But to me, he’s a somebody.

We’re kind of alike, Clarence and me. We’re both strays abandoned by someone we thought loved us. I saved Clarence just like Grandma Ida saved me.

I know Grandma is gone, but I feel like she’s still here. I go day to day pretending she’ll be back tomorrow or maybe the next day.

It’s hard doing all the things that need to be done in this house, and if I let myself accept that Grandma will never be back I’d fall to pieces for sure.





The Lamp





After Caroline’s threat, Max stayed clear of her and most everyone else in the house. If he happened to pass one of the other residents, they stepped aside and said nothing. For the remainder of that week he spent the days sleeping, and when the sky turned dark he left the house and headed for the Owl’s Nest. After long hours of sitting at the bar and pulling bits of conversation from strangers with no interest in talking, he’d stumble back to his room. By that time the house was dark and most of the residents sleeping.

On several occasions Caroline heard him lumbering about the kitchen, obviously pilfering leftovers from the refrigerator. Since her room overlooked the center hallway she could see the glow of the refrigerator light coming from the kitchen and hear the clattering of dishes. In the morning she often discovered half a roast chicken or large slabs of ham missing, along with a basket of biscuits.

An edginess that hadn’t previously existed began to creep into the house.

The first to notice it was Wilbur. He took Caroline aside and suggested she might want to ask Max to leave. “He’s trouble,” Wilbur warned.

“Not Max,” she answered. “He’s harmless. He’s just acting up to prove how mad he is. In time he’ll get over it.”

Wilbur gave a rather doubtful shrug. “Maybe so. But if I were you, I’d keep a wary eye.”

Of course, Caroline didn’t. She couldn’t, because in her mind Max was family. He was Big Jim’s brother, her great uncle, her only living relative. Whenever one of the residents suggested Max should leave, she thought about how Ida had taken her in. “He’s family,” she’d say and drop the subject without any further explanation.

She was certain that given time Max would come around.

Wilbur knew better, and when he went to his room at night he remained awake for a long time listening, waiting to hear the lock click shut on Max’s door. Once he was certain Max had gone to bed, Wilbur allowed himself to sleep.

~

As the days passed, Caroline settled into becoming as much like Ida as was possible. She started early in the morning, cooking pots of oatmeal and frying platters of eggs. As soon as the table was cleared and the dishes washed, she’d begin tidying up the house. On a chilly morning when she rose fifteen minutes late, she threw on a housecoat that had once belonged to Ida and hurried downstairs to start breakfast. When Laricka rushed past the kitchen she caught a glimpse of Caroline and let out a gasp that could be heard in the attic.

“Oh, my Lord,” she said, “I thought that was Ida’s ghost standing there.”

“No,” Caroline answered. “It’s just me.”

~

That afternoon Wilbur talked to Caroline as a grandfather might.

“You’re too young to be living a life of cleaning and cooking for old folks,” he said. “You should be getting out, having fun with young people your own age.”

“I am having fun,” Caroline answered. “I’m doing what I think Grandma Ida would want me to do.”

Wilbur heard the weight of responsibility in her voice and gave his head a sad shake. “I doubt this is what your grandma wanted for you. I know it’s not what I’d want for my grandson.” He thought about his own grandson, a year older than Caroline, living in Paris and enjoying a carefree life.

“Maybe you should think about selling the house,” he said. “You could take the money and move to Paris.”

“Paris? What would I do in Paris?”

“Finish the novel you’re writing,”

“Oh, that,” Caroline said dismissively. “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a writer.”

It had been more than a month since she’d turned on the computer, and the images she once had of a love story were long gone. Lost, perhaps, in a pile of oven mitts and dishcloths.

“If not Paris, maybe New York,” Wilbur suggested.

Caroline shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said, and that was the end of the conversation.

~

On the second Thursday after the incident, Caroline was upstairs dusting the loft when she heard a loud crash. Fearing the worst, she came flying down the stairs.

Huge tears rolled down Laricka’s face. “I am so sorry, so sorry…” Standing behind her were the two grandsons. Fragments of what was once a lamp lay scattered across the parlor floor. “Don’t run, I told them. A thousand times I said, don’t run.” Laricka turned and glared at the boys. “But did they listen? No, of course not!”