Authors: Chassie West
“Plenty of time. I'd planned to go by it anyway, to take pictures to send to my foster mom.”
The ensuing discussion about digital cameras and how I came to be raised in a foster home was a pleasant distraction and made the trip seem shorter by half. I took the main route into Ourland this time, unwilling to risk damaging the undercarriage of Janeece's baby in one of the potholes that had made the back way such an enjoyable ride for Tank.
Approaching the town from this direction gave no hint that what was to come would not be your typical suburban setup, since the drive first cut through Eden's Edge. A buffer between the highway and Ourland/ Umber Shores, it was barely a decade old, with sidewalks, yards all the same size to the inch, and trees resembling adolescents in that gawky stage when they're all elbows and knees. Clarissa, I could see, was not particularly impressed. Then we turned onto North Star Road.
She leaned forward, brightening. “This is more like what I expected,” she said, as sidewalks disappeared. Houses sited on irregular-sized lots lost their sameness, took on personalities and character, their faces unashamed of their age. They were as neat and as well-kept as those in the buffer zone, but the swings on the decks and front porches, the occasional anchor or pair of oars leaning against a gas light in the yard, all currently wrapped in Christmas greenery, contributed a well lived-in look to this area. Since this end of town was farther from the flood zone, these homes were not elevated. The trees added the finishing touch, oaks and evergreens that had been around since the ark ran to ground on Ararat.
Without warning, this leg of North Star Road became Main Street, the commercial section, all two blocks of it. A tow truck from W. Two's service station blocked the intersection. The street itself was jammed, crowds lining the sidewalk, all practically quivering with anticipation.
“What's going on?” Clarissa asked.
“No idea.” I shifted into park, got out, and approached the nearest man, a toddler straddling his shoulders.
“What's happening?” I asked, uncertain whether to be alarmed.
The man glanced down at me before pointing to the town hall, formerly a church complete with steeple. “That. Here comes my baby.” His cocoa-brown face split into a grin.
The doors of the white clapboard building burst open. From inside, the sound of a band, clearly new to the exercise, began a tinny “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” and a preschooler dressed as a majorette led them out, her little white boots practically up to her knees. She held a baton above her head, yanked it to her shoulder then up again, twirling obviously beyond her. With an ear-to-ear grin, she escorted the band down the steps, onto the sidewalk, then into the street.
The band, some of whom I recognized, my aunts among them, consisted of elves of all sizes and ages. And, man, did they stink. The crowd erupted in cheers, and I returned to a vacant car. Clarissa stood on the far side of the intersection, clapping and cheering with those around her.
I killed the engine and got out again to wait, leaning against the front of the car. The band was followed by a variety of floats from the parking lot behind the building, a couple of other bands from local schools, more elves tossing candy canes, and finally Santa, who bore a startling resemblance to W. Two and rode in a sleigh pulled by a team of ponies I suspected spent most of their time giving rides to toddlers in a petting zoo.
All smiles, Clarissa returned to the car. “That was fun! Where to now?”
Stopping by the storefront police station was out, thanks to the parade. “My grandparents, to make a formal appearance to accept the gift of the house. After that, I'll take you to see it. From there I'll need to track down my aunts. By the time they finish with me you'll be starving, so I'll have the perfect excuse to introduce you to Mary Castle and the best restaurant in town masquerading as a dump.”
She greeted all that with silence, and I wondered if she was up to meeting so many people. She hadn't mentioned Claudia and neither had I, preferring to follow her lead. I wasn't even sure if she knew the results of the postmortem.
“If you'd rather not, I can probably skip stopping by my grandparents', but I really do need to see my aunts. They offered to make my wedding dress, and they'll need to take my measurements.”
“Oh, it all sounds lovely.” She managed a strained smile. “I'm feeling guilty because I'm enjoying this so much. Sister's lying in the morgue, all cut up, and I'm enjoying myself. Her death was so senseless, so needlessly cruel, and I'm
enjoying
myself. It doesn't seem right.”
I sent up a small prayer that I could say something to help. “You spent your whole life with your sister, right? You knew her as well as you knew yourself. Do you think she wouldn't want you to revel in as much joy as you can? Wouldn't she want that for you?”
After a second, she nodded. “I always envied her that capacity. Sister got enjoyment out of every single moment, no matter what she was doing. Give her a grungy bathroom to clean and she was in sheer heaven. Give her a spoonful of vanilla pudding and you'd think she was eating a bowl of trifle. I was the serious one, attacking things as if they were obstacles to be overcome, and Sister was always chiding me about it, telling me to loosen up.”
“In other words, she'd be pleased that you're having a good time today. Honor her memory by doing just that. Enjoy yourself.”
Her smile was a little quivery around the edges, but it was a valiant effort. “You're right. I will. Tell me about your grandparents.”
I made an embarrassingly awkward U-turn on the narrow street and tried to prepare her for the grands as I doubled back and made a detour a block over in hopes I could work my way to the other end of North Star Road far enough south to avoid the parade. It worked only because the procession appeared to have stopped for a concert and Christmas carol sing-along where Main became North Star again.
Clarissa relaxed and scrutinized the Ritch family compound with avid interest, seeming both charmed and energized. “It reminds me of Johns Island in South Carolina,” she said, “minus the Spanish moss and the palmettos, of course. But the same kind of feel to it, old, well-settled.”
“It has quite a history, but I'll leave it to my grandmother to spell it all out for you.”
Which was exactly what happened. The candles on the tree were lit and the aroma of freshly baked cookies perfumed Ritch Manor. Both grands were home, having skipped the parade, since Granddad was still coming to grips with using a quad cane. Tall, with skin the color of cocoa and my dad's intensely dark eyes, he was a gorgeous old dude, hair graying solely at the temples despite the fact that he had to be nudging eighty.
He was, at the moment, champing at the bit to get back onto the golf course and knew that was some months away.
“I hate the damned thing,” Granddad grumbled, glaring at the cane. “I keep kicking it when I'm walking, and it's a pure nuisance going up steps. I'm getting so I don't need it, but a certain someone raises hell if I don't use it.”
Elizabeth ignored him, having found another avid lover of antiques in Clarissa. I settled down in a back parlor with him while my grandmother took Clarissa on a Cook's tour of the first floor.
“You've lost weight,” Granddad observed, ever the M.D., retired or not. “And you look tired. You feeling okay? Want me to check you over?”
Since Granddad was an OB/GYN, I passed. No way did I wish to peer at him from between spread-eagled knees. “I'm fine, just running myself ragged. Aside from your complaints about the cane, how's your knee coming along? Are you sure you'll be able to walk me down the aisle of Arundel Woods A.M.E. on the twenty-sixth?”
“So our cousin, the reverend, got hold of you, did he?” A knowing grin lit his handsome features, and I began to suspect that Nunna and Duck's mother weren't the only co-conspirators in on the scheme to see me married in a church. “I'll be fine and raring to go,” he said. “Might even manage a dance with you afterward at the reception.”
I jerked upright. “What reception?”
By the time my grandmother and Clarissa joined us, I'd come to the realization that not only had I been outsmarted and outfoxed, the wedding was now completely out of my control. A part of me was touched that my new family cared enough about me to want to make it such a special event, but the major part of me was extremely annoyed and dismayed. I didnât know what to do about it.
Thoroughly distracted, I lost the thread of the conversation, belatedly picking up on the fact that the subject had become the house and Clarissa's and my itinerary for the day.
“I'm looking forward to seeing it,” she was saying, “although we probably won't stay long. Leigh has to meet her aunts and get measured for her wedding dress.”
My grandmother's disappointment was obvious, which I couldn't understand, given the attitude she'd exhibited about the furnishings.
“What a pity,” she said. “The first floor is full of treasures you need to see at leisure. The top floor, well . . .” She wrinkled her patrician nose. “And it should be more comfortable now. I had Amalie stop by and turn the heat up a bit more.” Inexplicably, her face cleared. “Leigh, dear, why don't I take Clarissa to the house? You can go on and spend as much time as you need with Frances and Bonita.”
Head lowered, Granddad squinted at her over reading glasses in grave danger of dropping down onto his top lip. “Have you forgotten that you're expecting guests, Lizzie? Any time now,” he said, for my benefit, “this place will be wall-to-wall elves and band members. After the parade, they come here for hot punch and cookies. Tradition, don't you know.”
Elizabeth looked greatly put-upon and sighed. “He's right, heaven forbid. Every year I swear it'll be the last, and every year, I give in, bake enough cookies for an army, and pray no one breaks anything.”
“Mind you,” Granddad added, a twinkle in his eye, “it's not fractured arms or legs she's concerned about. I'll go with you, Clarissa. Leigh can drop us off and pick us up when she's done being fussed over by Frannie and Bonnie.”
“But the steps,” I said, Elizabeth's protest a beat behind mine.
“You can stay long enough to watch me, if it makes you feel better. Besides, going up is a breeze. Coming down, now, that's another matter.”
Ashamed at taking advantage of his generosity, but still relieved at having a few moments to myself to deal with my growing resentment about my wedding, I agreed. “But only up to the first floor, Granddad. I'll take her up to the second when I get back. Deal?”
“Deal. Although I'll miss getting another look at that upstairs bedroom. It's a corker.” He grinned at his wife. She was not amused.
I said my good-byes to her, kissed the offered cheek, and helped my grandfather down the front steps, even though he appeared to manage them with little difficulty, tongue caught between his teeth. He made appropriate admiring noises about the Cadillac and made himself comfortable in the front seat.
At the house, I followed him up the stairs to the first floor, Clarissa trailing us. He unlocked the door using a key on a ring full of them. I should have known he had one, since he had keys for half the houses in the compound, all contributed by the owners so he could check on retirees and have access to rental properties.
I left them to it and made the drive to the home of my Aunt Frances at as leisurely a pace as I could and was not particularly surprised when no one answered the door. She'd been one of the taller elves in the parade and would probably be going to my grandparents' with everyone else, including her sister, my Aunt Bonita.
Purely for form, I drove to Bonita's. No answer. I'd lucked out. I could enjoy some time alone and return later. I got back in the car and returned to Ritch Road. It occurred to me that if I parked in front of my future neighbor next door, I might be able to sneak up to the top floor and spend a few more moments in solitude. If I were quiet enough, Granddad and Clarissa would never know I was there.
Easing the Cadillac onto the edge of the adjacent lot, with my left eye glued on the ditch between the tarmac and the grass, I parked. I'd be facing oncoming traffic, but that was a common practice here. I closed the car door quietly and hurried along the driveway on the left side of the house. I tiptoed up the stairs, hesitating at the first-floor landing, but there was no way I could be seen. The windows on this side of the great room were clerestory, tucked up under the floor of the loft.
I made it to the upper floor, relieved that the stairs didn't creak. I let myself in and just stood there. It was the first time I'd been in the space alone, and I wanted to get a sense of its ambiance, its spirit. There was a serenity about it, perhaps because of the neutral color. The walls in daylight didn't strike me as a cold white. There was a softness about them, the paintings and rugs contributing just enough vibrancy to be pleasing to the eye. I would be content here. This could indeed become my home.
I tossed my purse onto the nearest sectional and felt a twinge of annoyance from my bladder. After all, it had been a while. I dispensed with my coat and started for the bathroom. As I approached its door, I heard a series of muted thuds from directly below, even felt the vibrations in the soles of my feet. What in the world were they doing?