The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(7)
The following day was Monday. Mondays and Fridays are when the county aide comes to lend a hand; although in this woman’s case I’d say it was more like a finger. She does drive me to the grocery store, which is something I truly appreciate, but other than that, she hardly budges. I generally have to fix her lunch and if she stays a bit longer, I have to feed her an afternoon snack as well. “Oh, I know you want to watch Oprah,” she’ll say then plop herself down to listen to advice from Doctor Phil. Anyway, it was Tuesday before I got around to making some cookies—chocolate chip with walnut chunks. That evening when the lights in Destiny’s window came on, I headed over to her house. She had on paint-splattered dungarees and looked like she was ready to start working. “I don’t mean to barge in,” I said, “just wanted to bring you some of my homemade cookies.”
“Oh my, don’t they look delicious!” A real glad smile brightened Destiny’s face and she pulled the door wide open. “Come on in,” she said, “we’ll have some together.”
She didn’t have any tea but made instant coffee and set two cups on what was supposed to be her kitchen table—it was nothing more than a square of plywood on top of some cinderblocks. There wasn’t a stick of furniture in the living room or the dining room, just two tipsy-looking lamps without any shades. Destiny must have thought I was the type to frown on such a thing, because she started apologizing.
“I’m sorry about the way this place looks,” she said. “I’ve been working down at the book store and it doesn’t pay much so I haven’t bought any furniture yet. But, my luck’s about to change …” She laughed and rubbed her hands together like a kid with a jolly good secret. “I got a job that’s gonna pay real money,” she said. “…waitress! I was lucky enough to get the evening shift; with tips I’ll be making more money and have more time to work on the house!”
She gave me the only chair and perched herself atop a step stool. I couldn’t help but admire her spunk and determination; she sure wasn’t someone who let circumstances get the best of her. Elliott, who’s nothing more than a twice removed nephew, is exactly the opposite. He always has some sad story and long before he even gets to the part where he tells me what he wants, I know he’s gonna ask for another loan. Destiny never asked a thing of me; maybe that’s why I got so much joy out of doing something for her.
As we were sitting there drinking our coffee, I said, “Destiny I’ve got an old kitchen set downstairs in the basement; you’d be more than welcome to take it.”
“Thanks, Missus Lannigan,” she answered, “but, you might need that set someday. I can make do with this stuff for a while.”
I wondered what stuff she was talking about; the only real furnishings she had was two broken lamps and one spindle back chair. “Nonsense,” I said, “that furniture is just collecting dust. You’d be doing me a favor to haul it away.” I had a number of things she could put to good use: a kitchen set with four perfectly fine chairs, some mahogany end tables, a bookcase and an overstuffed chair you’d have thought brand new if not for the burn hole Will made in the right arm. That happened before I knew about the pitiful state of his health; although I should have guessed something was wrong when he just sat there and let the cigarette between his fingers burn down to an ash. I told her, “Destiny, I’d consider it a kindness if you’d take those things off my hands; having so much stuff around is a lot for an eighty-two year old woman to be burdened with.”
“Oh, Missus Lannigan,” she said, “I couldn’t just take your perfectly good furniture, but I’d be real happy to pay you for the things.”
“Pay me?” A blind man could see that child didn’t have two spare quarters to rub together, let alone pay good money for some stuff that wasn’t doing anything but dry-rotting in my basement. “Destiny,” I said, “you don’t need to pay a cent for that worthless old stuff. I’d get a lot pleasure out of giving it to you. If you don’t take it, I’ll have to call the Salvation Army to come get it.”
“I think you’re just being nice,” she said with one eyebrow stretched up like a person who doubted my intention to give the stuff away. “How about if I don’t pay you cash money, but pop over once or twice a week and lend a hand with the chores?”
“That would be right neighborly, honey. You don’t have to do any chores though, just come and sit a spell, have some tea, that’s more than enough.”
We laughed and shook hands like two big-deal businessmen; then we got back to finishing up the cookies I’d brought over. I’d made those cookies dozens of times, but somehow they tasted better dunked in Destiny’s instant coffee.
On Thursday, that was her day off, Destiny showed up on my doorstep at about eight-thirty in the morning. She was wearing those paint-spattered dungarees and had a Dunkin Donuts bag in her hand. “I’ve brought some muffins,” she said. “We can have a nice snack together after I’ve finished the chores.”
“Forget about that nonsense,” I told her. “You just sit yourself down and I’ll fix some tea.” I was about to ask if she’d prefer to have coffee—I had some of those coffee bags that can make a single cup at a time, same almost as making tea—but by then she’d already latched onto my cleanser and bucket and was heading down the hallway toward the bathroom. “What do you think you’re doing?” I called after her, but she laughed and reminded me that a deal was a deal. “You haven’t seen the kitchen set yet,” I told her, but she didn’t seem to care, she just started in cleaning and scrubbing. In less than two hours that little devil had breezed through the entire house and had everything as polished up and sparkling as those windows of hers. Not that I would in any way compare Destiny to the county aide woman, but lazy old Lucille hadn’t done that much work in the two years she’d been coming to help out.