Sound Advice (Sensations Collection #1) (34 page)

It is with heartfelt sadness that this will be the last “Matters of Manners” column written by yours truly. It has been an amazing 26 years and I have seen some major changes in how we as people interact with one another. No matter what the times may bring, manners matter and using proper etiquette will always put forth an excellent impression.

This column will now be turned over to “What’s Up Michigan?” to bring you new and exciting adventures in and around our glorious state. But to this antiquated old lady, let me say that the adventure is every day, in what you say and how you act. Modern times may dictate a different style of dress, attitude, or behavior, but manners will always matter. Follow your heart; you’ll know what the right thing to do is.

“Matters of Manners,” 1980

IT WAS SEPTEMBER. I tried not to think about how school was starting and Katie would be talking to new friends this year. I tried to call once, but there was no answer and I didn’t know what to leave as a message. Jess didn’t try to contact me, and as much as I wanted to talk to him, it was probably for the better.

Tricia Carter did come to town over Labor Day weekend. She claimed it was practically sacrilegious to miss the last weekend of the summer in Michigan, but it was the only weekend Trent and she could get away. I didn’t want to intrude on a romantic weekend, but I did meet her for coffee at her hotel.

“Here. I brought this for Katie. Do you think it’s okay that I send her a gift?” I passed over a bright red bag from a famous doll store downtown.

“You don’t need permission to send Katie a present. I know you called, and he’s just being a stubborn ass not to call you back.” Tricia flinched like she had said too much. I tried to ignore it.

“So how is Katie?”

“She’s fine. I’d like to say kids are resilient, and they usually are. In her case, it was a tragedy, but I think we’re all working through it. She speaks more and signs still. Jess told her she can still use her hands, but she has to use her words as well. We told her she knows two languages and that makes her extra special.”

I continued the conversation, asking about Mrs. Carter, Tom and Karyn, who’d had their baby, and the Carpenters.

“Just ask me about him, already,” Tricia teased. I shook my head and looked out the window of the coffee shop at the busy street of Chicago.

“Okay, then I’ll just tell you about him. He’s not fine. I won’t lie. He’s thrilled that Katie speaks, but I think that just like her silence was a reminder of Debbie, her talking is a reminder of you. You brought that out of her and he knows it. Sometimes I think he’s jealous that it was you and not him, her own father, and other times I think he’s so grateful he doesn’t know what to do. One thing’s for sure though, he misses you.” On this last comment, Tricia’s voice softened.

“Chicago is an amazing place. Bright lights. Big city, and all that. And I totally understand if you love it here. We all have our thing. I think sometimes it’s hard for Jess because he gave up so much. He could have had this too. Top engineer and car designer, living in a big city with a big house. But things happened. Call it fate. And Jess is where he’s supposed to be because he would never trade Katie, even if he wonders ‘what if’ sometimes.”

I looked down at the wooden table. Tears threatened to spill out of my eyes.

“Listen, I might be speaking out of turn here, but are you where you’re supposed to be, Emily?”

I THOUGHT BACK on this conversation from three weeks ago as I stared out the office window, into another office across the way, then looked down to the busy street below, trying to find a glimpse of the lake. I was told during this morning’s Thursday conference meeting that I was going to write my first feature, and I would be writing it about my own grandmother. Elizabeth Parrish was an icon in Michigan and the November issue of the magazine wanted to honor someone local for contributions to society. I was excited, and nervous that I was too close to the material, but Jack Dooley told me I would be perfect. I knew all the facts of Nana’s life and the piece would be emotional and the tribute honest. On top of this good news, I was also informed that some photographs were needed for the November issue as well and I would be travelling with a photographer on a double assignment. We were to gather pictures of the Michigan coastline changing to fall colors and some photos of Nana’s home. I wasn’t sure why I had to travel with the photographer.
Surely, he could find the place alone
, I thought, but I didn’t want to question Jack Dooley’s decisions.

I had thrown myself back into my work, making up for lost time over the summer. I didn’t want Jack to ever regret his patience during Nana’s struggles and eventual death. I came in early, stayed late, and kept ahead of the deadlines. It made the time pass, and I had lived through one month so far. Working hard was an excuse to keep my mind busy, though, to prevent me from thinking and remembering.

I placed my forehead on the cool window. Tricia’s comments were all I could think about today since my new assignment was announced. Remembering Jess was all I did each night. Him kissing me. Me touching him. Him tracing on my hand
I don’t hate you
. What did that even mean, really? I wanted to see him again.

The following Monday I was on the road with Bob Matthews, a new photographer. We drove out of town with usual conversation about the traffic and what had brought us each to Chicago. As we drove through Indiana, we spoke of the smell and Bob’s experience at a large university in Indiana studying communications and photography. This led to a conversation about goals and plans for the future, and how both of us had a job that paid the bills but didn’t really fulfill our creative energy. I was starting to feel very old at twenty-three as I listened to this new graduate.
Was I really that much wiser than him after a year out of college?
When we reached Michigan, we talked about where we would stop for photographs and eventually stay once we reached Elk Rapids. There was an inn just north of the town and Jack Dooley approved the stay despite it being a local establishment and not a commercial hotel chain.
Small town
, I emphasized.

After stopping for lunch and making several smaller stops on a mapped out plan of locations for Bob, we continued heading north as the night grew quickly darker. It would be almost midnight before we would reach Elk Rapids, since Bob needed some sunset shots with the fall colors. We were scheduled to stay two nights in Elk Rapids and on the return trip stop for any additional photos Bob felt he needed. We fell into companionable silence when the night was black and I focused on the back roads to town. There was no radio station that I wanted to hear, and Bob had his ear-buds in, listening to his own music. My thoughts began drifting.

I was thinking of all Nana’s Rules to Live By, a collection of the articles from her years as a columnist for “Matters of Manners.”
Use your words. Children should be seen and not heard. Never go to bed angry.
They were words I planned to use in the article to emphasize Nana’s Victorian-era way of life. She had a unique style and attitude towards behaviors and the place for those manners. These rules kept circling in my head.
A gentleman should make the first move. Hold the door for a lady. Flowers are appropriate.
A voice intruded on my thoughts.

“Are we almost there?” Bob yawned.

My heart beat faster as we turned onto US31 and my thoughts shifted to Jess. It was late and he had no idea I would be in town. The whole community would be sleeping at this point, but I wondered if he would be awake.
What would it matter?
I thought.
You haven’t decided to speak to him yet,
I reminded myself
.
I tossed and turned all night in my hotel room, strung out on nervous energy, knowing I was so close and yet so far away from Jess Carter.

ALTHOUGH I OWNED Nana’s house in joint share with Rosie, I could not intrude on the property now that it was rented. Since the phone was now in the name of the person who rented the home, I couldn’t call them to let them know I was stopping by. For that fact, I didn’t know the name of the renter. The person wanted to remain anonymous, which made me very skeptical at first, but the realtor assured me the new tenant was reputable and there was no cause for concern. I had to give notice to the rental agent, but I forgot to call on the ride up and decided to just stop in the office first thing in the morning, hoping that this would not be too much of an inconvenience for the tenant. I assumed that the person worked and the house would be available during the day.

When I entered the realtor’s office, the young woman looked shocked to see me after I introduced myself.

“Hi. I’m Emily Post and I’m here to see Annie.”

“Annie’s not in today. Can I help you with something?”

“Well, I need to get into my grandmother’s house. 423 Ottawa. I know you hold the rental lease and I forgot to call Annie yesterday. I’m in town for a special feature for the magazine I work for in Chicago and we just need a few pictures of the house. I only need a little while, so hopefully it won’t be too much of a disturbance for the renter.”

“Let me pull the contract and we can contact the tenant.”

Bob was shuffling his feet behind me as we stood and watched the young woman walk to a file cabinet.

“Don’t they have it on the computer?” Bob mumbled to no one in particular.

“Well, oh my. It seems the home is rented and there is a note that the renter’s name is not to be revealed to anyone. Paid in full for eight months. Maybe I should just call Annie.” The woman’s squeaky voice revealed her panic. She picked up her cell and pressed a contact. Placing a false smile on her face, she looked briefly at me before glancing over at Bob, then back to me.

“There doesn’t seem to be an answer,” she said to me. “Oh wait, here’s the serv…Hi Annie, it’s Lisa. I have Emily Post in the office and she needs to get into the house at 423 Ottawa. She’s asking permission, but there seems to be…special instructions… regarding the place. Please call me back right away, so I can tell Ms. Post how to proceed.” She disconnected the call and smiled falsely at me again.

“If you want to have a seat, I’m sure she’ll call back in a few minutes.”

“What the hell is going on?” I spoke with more force then I intended, but then again something wasn’t right.

“Well, I…I don’t know…I’m just doing what I think is right….and…”

I didn’t wait for the girl to finish before I stormed out the glass door. Bob was scrambling behind me and although I wanted to run to Nana’s I knew I’d look silly in four-inch heels. I pulled the car door open with enough force that it bounced back at me and I growled at Bob to get in. Immediately I started mumbling out loud to myself.

“What the hell is going on here? I knew an anonymous renter was creepy.”

“Um, what are we doing?” Bob squeaked.

“We’re going to my Nana’s house. My home. That I still own even if some creeper is renting it.” I pulled into the Carpenter’s driveway since I didn’t have an emergency set of keys on me. I was trying to do the right thing by going to the realtor, asking permission, and borrowing the key, but something was very strange about this situation and I was about to find out what was going on.

To say Sue Carpenter was shocked to see me was an understatement and exactly what I expected. After a brief hug hello and an explanation of what I was doing in town, I blurted out that I needed the key for the house next door.

“Where’s yours?” Sue asked as she walked to a desk drawer to retrieve the key.

“I have a spare at home that I never thought to bring. I went to the realtor to get permission to enter the house. I don’t know who the renter is and I didn’t want to just barge in, but the realtor wasn’t in and the girl working was acting strange. And now I’m going in like it or not.” I put my hand out for the key. My little speech had picked up speed as I spoke and my heart was beating fast enough to jump out of my skin.

“You don’t know who the renter is? How could you not know who the renter is?”

“I just don’t…” I started, as Sue said, “It’s Jess.”

Things happened so quickly that I wasn’t sure in hindsight what I did first. As I was forming the word
What?
I spun on my heels and sprinted out the front door and across the lawn. After I climbed the porch steps to Nana’s, I knocked vigorously on the door.

There wasn’t an answer at first and I began to bang on the door.

“Jess. Open up. It’s Emily.” I continued to hammer at the door before I realized what a scene I was making. I placed my forehead on the wooden slats and took a deep breath.
There was no truck in the driveway
.
Katie was at school because it’s Tuesday. What if he has someone else? Found someone else? Sammie? Or another someone to hold him over?
My mind was spiraling out of control and I began to hyperventilate. I stepped back from the door and put one hand on my knee, the other holding my stomach. I felt sick.
Breathe. Breathe.