Dovetail: A Novel(41)
“Oh, stop.”
But Marcia wasn’t going to let it go. “I had to leave just in case the clothes came off and the two of you went at it. No way I’d want to be a witness to that.” She shuddered. “I’d have to boil my eyeballs afterward.”
“I think you’re making too much of this,” Kathleen said. “I thought he looked familiar. That’s all.” Marcia didn’t contradict her but just smiled smugly as she went about her work.
Lying in bed now, Kathleen could picture Joe with crystal clarity, astounding considering they’d just met. She fell asleep thinking about the way he’d held her gaze while she was describing details of different types of antique furniture. Every time she glanced up, he was nodding and looking at her, not the furniture. As if she were the most fascinating person in the world.
The pieces he’d brought were in excellent shape, with little wear considering their age, and as clean as could be. She found the hope chest particularly pleasing. It wasn’t just lovely to look at, the wood polished to a high sheen. It was knowing (or speculating, really) that the chest had been made for Alice by her loving father. She wished her great-aunt was still alive so she could find out more about the Bennett family. She had so many questions and no one to ask besides Pearl, who struck her as a little testy.
Even with these thoughts crowding her head, sleep came quickly, the way it had ever since she’d arrived in Pullman. The bed was the only item of furniture she’d replaced in the house. She made sure to get a comfortable mattress, and every night she thanked herself for spending the extra money and getting the one she really wanted. Some things were worth the cost. As Kathleen drifted off, she found herself thinking about the hope chest, so painstakingly crafted. The addition of the lovebirds carved on the top added a unique touch. She might, she mused, just buy the hope chest for herself.
Something about it really spoke to her.
In the middle of the night, her brain woke her up, her mind reeling. She rubbed her eyes and turned her head to look at the time on her clock radio. Half past three. Too early, and yet the words inside her brain demanded to be acknowledged. She turned on her bedside lamp and pulled a pad of paper and pen from her nightstand, scrawling frantically before she forgot. When she was done, she’d written a poem:
Little, little darling child
Sweetest flower, small and wild
Fill me with your love and light
All my days’ and nights’ delight
Nothing will keep us apart
You’re always there in my heart
You are still my baby girl
Dearest one in all the world
Where did that come from? She had no idea. It was like an ode to a future child, a baby girl. Reading it over a few more times, she found it impressive. As poetry went, it wasn’t particularly outstanding, but considering she’d plucked it out of thin air, it was pretty good. In the back of her mind, a melody came, and she hummed along with the words. Was she composing music now? The idea was laughable. No, this had to be something she’d heard once, maybe as a child. Who knew what memory fragments lurked in her subconscious? The next time she called home, she’d ask her mother if the song sounded familiar. No doubt it was something she’d learned as a little kid.
Satisfied with having written it down, Kathleen set the notepad on the nightstand and turned off the lights, ready to get back to sleep, but now she felt wide awake. Inwardly, she groaned. It was way too early to start the day, and yet she knew from past experience that falling back asleep was unlikely. Inevitably, she’d lie awake for hours, biding the time, having to wait until morning. Her thoughts wandered to the events of the day, of the furniture Joe had brought to the store. Something about the construction of the hope chest jumped out at her. The base struck her as being almost separate from the rest of the chest. She’d have to take a closer look in the morning.
Or she could just get up and go to the store, check it out, then come back home and climb into the comfort of her bed.
She weighed each option, ultimately deciding curiosity won out. She dressed quickly, grabbed her key ring and purse, then headed out of the house, making sure the door was locked behind her.
The sidewalks were well lit in Pullman, and the summer air was warm and humid but not unbearably so. Aunt Edna knew what she was doing living a block away from her business. It was easy to go back and forth from home to work, which was also a drawback, of course. She never quite got away from the store; there was always some detail to attend to, not that she’d complain about it. Despite it being a small town, the lake visitors were good customers in the summer, sparing no expense if they liked what they saw. She made more than enough to keep the business afloat, give herself a fair salary, and pay Marcia as well. It helped that she owned the house and car free and clear. As long as she kept the store filled with new stock, she’d be fine, so in that regard, Pearl Arneson’s estate was a gift, hand-delivered, wrapped in fine paper, and tied with a bow.
The downtown consisted of one main street, and that stretch was now deserted. Even the tavern at the end of the block had closed and locked up for the night. She stood in front of Secondhand Heaven, the key in her hand, listening to the quiet hum of insects off in the distance. So peaceful.
After a moment, she let herself in, turning on the lights and surveying the store the way a customer would. Charming. That was the word she’d use. And quaint too. She was proud of her contributions to the place. She’d reorganized the stock, worked on creating better displays by grouping similar things together, and prided herself on learning the interests of repeat customers. Small changes had helped a great deal too. The antique light fixtures hanging from the ceiling had been largely ignored until she had the idea to post arrows at eye level marked, LOOK UP! Ever since then, they’d sold steadily. A simple thing made all the difference.