The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(44)



When I got bedridden, I asked Destiny to fetch me a white tablet and I wrote out what my intentions were. I’d seen television shows where people had scratched out their last will and testament on a stretch of sand or piece of rock, so this, I thought, should do just fine. It was only one page, but shaky as my hand had become it took every ounce of strength I could muster to complete it. When it was all done, I said, “Destiny, this here piece of paper states that you are to have all my worldly belongings after I die.” I folded the paper in half and stretched out my hand to her, but she acted like she hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “Destiny,” I repeated, “didn’t you hear?”

“You’re not dying!” she said, and went right on shaking a duster at the window blinds. Anybody else might have thought she was just being impertinent, but I could see how she was swiping at the tears with the sleeve of her shirt.

“Well, okay then,” I answered. “But, just in case I’ll leave this paper in the top drawer of my nightstand.” I had planned to explain about the bonds at that time, but feeling as she did, I thought I’d just wait a while. Of course, I thought I had a lot more time to get around to such things.

With Destiny knowing that she was entitled to everything I owned, you’d think that once the funeral was over, she would have cleaned up my affairs and got rid of the house, but she didn’t. She just kept right on paying the bills and coming over once a week to clean, same as if I was still alive. I’d watch her polishing up that old Buick like she was getting ready to take me out for a Sunday drive and the whole while she’d be brushing back her tears. I was thinking, get rid of the old wreck if it’s gonna make you cry. At first it made me feel good to see someone so saddened by my passing, but at this point I had gotten beyond thoughts of myself and was wishing Destiny would get back to being the carefree person she’d always been.

Almost three months passed before Destiny started getting out, and even then she’d head right back to places we’d gone together. On the first Saturday of June she went back to Le Grand Salon and had her toenails painted fire engine red, after that she swung by Macy’s and took to trying on outrageous hats. If there’s such a thing as poking a wish through the gates of Heaven and having it land on a person, I could swear it happened at that precise moment. Destiny suddenly slapped a bright yellow straw hat on top of her head and started laughing out loud, same as she did when we were there together. Then, to my amazement, she up and bought the hat! After that she went on a spending spree, bought herself a polka dot bathing suit, a pair of red lizard skin sandals and a genuine gold watch. That was pretty much the start of her getting back to being herself. Whenever she got to feeling lonesome, out she’d go, shopping. She’d spend an entire day rummaging through first one store, then another. She’d come home with fancy dresses, matching shoes, dangle earrings, anything that happened to catch her eye; one time it was a set of crystal lamps and a blue velvet sofa for her living room. I had to laugh at Destiny ‘cause she’d buy things for the pure pleasure of buying them. She was like spun cotton candy, you couldn’t help but love the sweetness of her, but she wasn’t the least bit practical. By August, she’d really gotten into the swing of things and that’s when she traded in my old Buick for a shiny new Thunderbird Ford. It made me wish I’d done such things while I was still alive.

Even though she’d bought all kinds of new furniture and fixed her own house nice as a person might wish for, Destiny still came over to clean and take care of my place. Her being there was how this whole business with Elliott started up. It was just about six months after the funeral when he stopped by; no doubt to tell me some hard luck story about how he needed another handout. When Destiny answered the door, he didn’t look any too pleased and said sharply, “Don’t tell me dear old Abby isn’t at home!”

Destiny gasped and just stood there with her mouth hanging wide open.

“Cat got your tongue?” Elliott said. “Or did my lovely old auntie tell you to shoo me off next time I came around?”

“Oh no. No indeed,” Destiny mumbled apologetically. “Please, come in.”

Elliott tromped into the living room and flopped down on the sofa. “Got anything cold to drink? Some chips maybe? Or pretzels?”

Destiny’s face was as white and hard set as a plaster mask, but she hurried into the kitchen and came back with a glass of ginger ale. “Sorry,” she said, “the cupboard is pretty bare, no chips or pretzels.”

“Figures.” Elliott took a large gulp of soda.

“I would have gotten in touch,” Destiny stuttered, “but, your aunt didn’t have your address or phone number in her book.”

“That hurts,” he said in a smart-alecky way.

“Poor Abigail was quite sick for a while.” Destiny spoke with little stops and starts to her words, like someone with something to say but no will for saying it. “There was nothing that could be done. It was pancreatic cancer. The doctor –”

“Auntie’s dead?” Elliott looked like he couldn’t believe his own ears. “Dead?”

“I know it’s terrible to find out this way –”

“Terrible?” He started laughing, it was a hearty guffaw that rolled up from his stomach and echoed across the room. “Listen up, Florence Nightingale, this is the news I’ve been waiting to hear. That old witch has been the only thing standing between me and what is rightfully mine!”

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