Hot Tea (25 page)

The laughter worked.  I was beginning to feel like me again.  Enough philosophizing.  Time to get to work.

The front door is in a little pokey out place, I have no idea what it’s called, but a little area, like a foyer, poked out from the front of a very flat house facade.

Now that I actually take a moment to look closely at it, the porch follows the outline of the house exactly.  The approach makes the whole thing very custom and expensive looking.  My guess would be the expensive appearance is probably due to the attention to detail.  Then again, it could be because this lovely little house doesn’t look like every other house in the neighborhood. 

You can still do that in Florida.  Build your custom house right next to someone else’s cookie cutter home.  You see million dollar homes next to trailers in Florida.  Not in the new subdivisions, but out where things are still a little countrified.  Where deer and armadillos wander. 

The little pokey out place had a big heavy door, with ornate lights on either side.   

I took a deep breath, used the key to open the door, and walked through a portal back in time.  As cheesy as that sounds, it’s the only way to describe it.

My grandmother would describe this lovely environ as a wee little house.  I think my term would be a cottage.  We would agree that the word beautiful applies, and would probably be an extreme understatement.

The house smelled delightful.  Being that Bernie was somewhere between 168 and 203, I expected that old people smell that you sometimes run into, especially since the house had been closed up for a little while now.  That was definitely not the case.  The lovely smell, lemon and something, was a pleasant surprise for my nose.

I’d have to remember to hunt down the source of the smell.  I’d love for my wee little apartment to smell like this house when I open my door.

I walked into a parlor.  A parlor!  I don’t know how else you could describe it. 

I’m repeating myself.  That’s never a good sign.

The little house has lots of nooks and crannies.  Each filled with something more lovely than the last.  The house is full of treasures; some of them might actually be of monetary value, but I don’t know anything about that sort of stuff.  It is obvious each of these treasures was very dear to Bernie.

There were hand made doilies and little porcelain figurines.  There were picture frames made by little hands, holding a place of honor right next to exquisite works of art made of heavy silver, meant to house the finest portrait, but instead, snuggling a drawing of this very house, obviously drawn by a loved child. 

Another frame of gathered bone-colored lace, smocked, accented with little flowers and tiny little bows caught my eye.  I looked closely.  It was a picture of my mom as a child.  Why hadn’t I ever noticed that before?  Why did Bernie have a picture of my mom as a kid displayed in her house? 

Sitting with great ceremony was a little porcelain box, with hand painted English Roses around the edges.  In very fine script it read: ‘Keep no more secrets than will fit in here.  Allow this box to hold your fear.  With your secrets and fears both stowed away.  You are blessed to live life to the fullest each day.’ 

Great way to live your life.  I’d have to write that one down. 

It was dawning on me that there was much more to Bernie’s life than I’d ever known.  I’d been to her house before, but I’d always been in a hurry.  I was picking her up for one reason or another, dropping Mom off, or shuffling crap back and forth between Bernie and Mom.  Basic errands that were always rushed and taken for granted.  When I visited with Bernie over the years, she’d always come to us.  It is easier to move one Bernie than all the members of my family.

I’m beginning to think I may have missed out on a great opportunity in life.  I consider myself to be pretty established, as modern American life goes.  I’m blessed to have my family around me, and generations of us gather on a regular basis, but maybe I’ve taken that blessing for granted.  Maybe I haven’t taken advantage of the gifts I’ve been given.  What else have I taken for granted would always be there?  What else could leave me unexpectedly without my having taken the time?  I’d have to think about that.

First things first, I walked from room to room, checking to make sure that each window was closed and locked, and that nothing looked disturbed.  About the time I came wandering back from Bernie’s bedroom, Teagan showed up with our sustenance.

We found paper towels in the kitchen, and had Pepsi and cinnamon rolls standing at the kitchen counter.  Bernie had a microwave and butter, to warm them up and serve them the usual way, but it seemed kind of oooky to use them.  Normally, I’m sure she would have offered a nice hot cup of tea.  Everything, exciting to tragic, is centered around a cup of tea when you’re blessed to be Irish.

Teagan, always organized, brought paper and pens, some cardboard boxes, and some of those yellow envelopes to sort important papers.  We’d need to get more, but as always, Teagan was implementing a really good start.  That’s why they love her so much at the office; she is the queen of getting things done.

I had to ask, “Are you ever going back to work?”

“You won’t believe it, but they still owe me 27 sick days, my regular two weeks vacation, 4 personal days, and 122 comp days.”

I was shocked, “What?  122 days?  How did that happen?”

Teagan laughed.  “Remember when my boss had that whole meltdown after his divorce.  I was working close to 16-hour days.  I was working 6 days a week. I put in almost a thousand hours of overtime.  I didn’t even have time to get my nails done or my hair highlighted for the better part of 4 months, and even when it got better, I still worked a bunch of hours.”

“I remember, Mom was about to put a hit out on your boss.”

 Teagan shook her head, “Yeah, I missed one too many family things, Mom wasn’t amused.  Anyway, I kept the business going and Mr. Fisher said he would give me a comp hour for every hour of overtime I’d put in, plus he threw in some sick time.  I guess he figured I’d only really use the sick time, since no one in the office had ever kept track of their overtime before.  An hour here and an hour there, you just kind of donate to the cause, but I kept that place running for months.  It was more than a goodwill gesture.  He almost had a heart attack when he found out I’d actually documented my time.”

Anyone that really knows Teagan would know she is smart, capable, organized, and generous to a fault.  It’s completely unlike her to take advantage of someone when they’re down.  But she’s not an idiot either; it’s about balance.

I asked, “Were you going to ask for the comp time?”

“No, I just document everything at work.  You know the old saying, ‘He who has the most paperwork wins.’  Pretty much the rule of thumb for everything these days.  With computers being what they are, documentation is easy.”

“Good point.  So how did the whole documentation thing turn into this windfall of time off?”

“Mr. Fisher offered thinking that he could come off as the good guy.  He thought I was too dumb, or busy, or unthinking to have documented it.  I hate it when people underestimate me, so I showed him the documentation.  Since he’d made the offer in front of everyone, what could he do?  I’ll probably never use all the time, but I thought I’d at least use up my vacation hours and a few extra.  Turns out Liam talking me into buying that laptop for ease of note taking was a really good idea.”

Teagan started toward the front door, “Speaking of which, my laptop is out in my car.  I think if we just sit down and inventory everything first, we will be better able to get this place under control.”

“I bow to your superiority.”

Teagan rolled her eyes, “Unless you’re willing to bow to my superiority in all things, that is an empty gesture at best, and a very poor attempt at manipulation is probably a better description.”

“Moi?  Manipulate the master?  I’m not stupid Teagan.”

“That much is true.  I’m going to go grab the rest of the stuff out of my car.  Would you walk around and see where you want to start?”

“I want to start in Bernie’s bedroom.”

“Why there?”

“It’s the room with the least amount of stuff, and it’s in the back of the house, I figured we’d start at the back of the house, work our way to the front door.  Then we could make Liam come help us with the garage.”

Teagan looked confused, “Why Liam?”

“Lots of reasons. I haven’t heard any more about the wedding, which is supposed to be on Mom and Dad’s anniversary.  We need to find out what is going on if we’re going to get anything done.  There is probably heavy stuff out there, and we can make him do the grunt work.  There’s the whole oook factor.  Bernie was there for a while before anyone found her.  But the real reason, there’s probably bugs.”

“Bugs.  Yep, sounds like a job for Liam.  I’ll call him when I get home tonight.”

Teagan came into Bernie’s bedroom.  It’s a lovely room, very girly, and Irish.  Dark carpet with a flower pattern covered the floor.  I wonder where she even found that.  The duvet cover was a different pattern, but light and a little frilly.  There was stuff everywhere, most of it looked centuries old, which didn’t make a lot of sense, since Bernie came over to the United States with virtually nothing.  It wasn’t like she was holding on to generations’ old keepsakes.  Right?  Bernie never seemed like the type to invest in stuff that would become heirlooms.  Besides, isn’t the whole point of an heirloom to pass it down to someone, and Bernie didn’t have anyone to pass anything down to.  Bernie only really had us.  We always treated her like family, but there is just no reason to think she would want us to have anything of hers.

I’m not even sure how she became a part of our family.  I think she was a friend of Grandma’s before she died, and Mom just kind of took her in because she didn’t have anybody else.  Mom is really good at that kind of thing.

We started in the bathroom.  Bernie had a bunch of vitamins in the medicine cabinet, but no drugs.  Pretty good for someone 227 years old. 

She had makeup neatly arranged in the bathroom cupboard drawers.  Smashbox and MAC.  Pretty hip for a woman her age.

She had quite a collection of clothes in the closet.  Things the likes of which I’d never seen on her.  She even had some stuff that sparkled.  I think she went on a cruise a few years back; maybe that was the reason for the fancy stuff, but it seemed pretty high end and awfully sophisticated for an older woman going on a cheesy cruise. 

Teagan was calling off each item, working her way around the room.  I was typing the inventory into her laptop. 

We’d determined that Teagan’s nails were just too long to do a lot of typing on a laptop, it was a vacation thing, she wasn’t cutting them till she went back to work, and since mine weren’t all that spiffy, I’d be much more comfortable, even if she does type three times as fast.