Mourning Dove (12 page)

Jonathon nodded his
agreement. “Keep at it today, and I’ll see what I can do from my end.  If
things aren’t resolved by Monday one of us will have to go out there.”

***

By late afternoon Sara
was packing her briefcase and laptop to go when she heard a timid knock at her
door. Standing in her doorway in a royal blue designer dress with an iridescent
feather boa draped around her neck was a petite lady whose smile was as
understated as her outfit was not. “Mrs. Starr, I’m glad you’re here. I planned
to send you a note thanking you for including me Tuesday night.”

“My dear, Sara,
I
have come to thank
you
for stepping in at the last moment and rescuing
my party and my plans. This could have been the disaster of the decade—at least
for me. I’ve come to invite you to join us this Monday night. We’re giving a
small dinner party at the house. The cleaners have promised that everything
will be back to normal with no hint of disaster. Will you come?”

“It will be my honor. You
said it’s a small dinner party? Is it a special occasion? Should I bring a
gift, or bottle of wine?”

“Oh, no dear, just bring
your smile. Many people who were at Jonathon’s on Tuesday will be with us.
Robert and I are organizing a foundation for the arts. I’m using this dinner as
an introduction to those whose talents I would love to have on board. You have
such wonderful diplomatic skills I know you’ll be a perfect asset to our dinner
– cocktails at six; dinner at seven. Jonathon knows the way.”

“Jonathon Pierce is
invited, too?”

“Yes dear. You can come
together.”

Sara shuddered at the
thought of repeating Tuesday night, but she couldn’t disappoint Elaina Starr.
She didn’t think anyone ever had. Looking down at her watch, Sara realized if
she didn’t leave right then she was going to be late for the closing. She
walked around to the front of her desk with her briefcase in hand.

“Oh dear, I’ve just
caught you before you left. I won’t keep you, then; just wanted to make sure
you had your invitation and my sincere thanks for last Tuesday.”

“Thank you again, Mrs.
Starr.”

“Please, call me Elaina.”

“Elaina, I’m glad we were
able to connect. I have a house closing in twenty-five minutes, or I wouldn’t
be so rushed. Please forgive me for leaving so soon.”

“You’re buying a new
home, how exciting!”

“Yes, it is.” From her
desk Sara picked up one of her new business cards for Elaina. “I’ll be out of
the office until Monday morning with the move. If you need to contact me about
the party or the foundation you’re planning, please call my cell number. I am
so glad you were able to catch me before I left for the day, but I really have
to go now.”

“You are so sweet to
think of me at such a hectic time.” Elaina held up Sara’s card then reached out
to hug her. “Take your time getting to your destination; don’t try to fly down
the turnpike. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Elaina turned to leave
and headed for the executive offices, trailing boa feathers and a waft of
Chanel. Glancing at her watch, Sara
would
have to fly down the Maine
Turnpike to reach the closing in time.

The caravan pulled up to 542 Blue Heron Boulevard, the two trucks in the drive, the cars at the curb. Mrs. Murphy
across the street peeked through the lace curtains from her living room.
Ignoring the neighborhood gossip, Sara took a deep breath and headed for the
house. Within minutes her parade of volunteers trooped through Ron’s living
room warehouse, up the stairs and into the back bedroom that had been her
private space the past two years. “Okay guys, I have boxes of books in here
that all go; take the three book cases first.”

“You want us to take the
desk and the file cabinets, too?” Jordie asked.

“No, I had a new credenza
and desk delivered yesterday. I need the computer equipment though.”

“Any other large pieces,
Sara?” Wearing a faded U Maine t-shirt and pair of paint spattered jeans Cass’s
friend, Ben, surveyed the furniture to be moved. Sara sensed he would like to
get out of there before any confrontation walked in the front door.

“My cedar chest in the
master bedroom, a bentwood rocker in the front room downstairs, and my
grandmother’s antique steamer trunk come with us. Everything else is in boxes
and can fit in almost any of the vehicles.”

“Sara, what can I do for
you?” Cass was wearing an expression fit for another funeral. “Do you want me
to check the medicine cabinet for any other medicines with your name on them?”

“Sure, check the linen
closet behind the bathroom door, too. That’s where Ron found the prescription
cream.” Sara pulled the door open to the closet in the room stacked with her
books. It was stuffed with winter clothes, her tennis bag, and the golf clubs
Dad gave her the year he died. She lifted the first armful of loaded hangers
off the pole and heard the clump, clump of the men maneuvering a bookcase down
the stairs.

“Sara?” Cass called from
the hallway. “You want to take this? You left it on the back of the bathroom
door.”

A pile of black nylon
fluff cascaded over Cass’s arms. Silence filled the air while Sara registered
the meaning of a piece of clothing she’d never seen before. The shock of it hit
her. She reached out to the door jam for support and closed her eyes.

“Cass, it’s not mine.”

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry,
hon. I didn’t connect the alternate possibilities. I can put it back or I can
take it out to the trashcan – your choice.”

“Put it back, Cass. It
wasn’t there when I left. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, it didn’t take him
long, did it,” Cass spouted, defending Sara’s dignity.

“Don’t try to placate me.
I’m the one who walked out.” They could hear Ben’s and Jordie’s footsteps
returning for another load. Sara shook her head, reached into the closet and
pulled out another armful of outdated clothes that would probably end up in a
Salvation Army box. Before long all evidence that she had lived there was gone
from the second floor: boxes of books, storage cartons of files, picture
albums, family quilts, clothes, and awards. She’d removed all trace of a
marriage gone wrong.

Jordie called out from
the living room, “Sara, is this the rocker that goes?” She came down the steps
for the last time; he stood behind a pile of electronic equipment with his hand
on the back of Sara’s bentwood rocker.

“That’s the rocker. Ron
gave it to me just before Carl was born. I used it in the nursery.  Now, it’s
good just to sit in and sip a cup of tea.”

“This note was lying on
the seat.” Jordie handed her a folded piece of yellow notepaper with Ron’s
handwriting scrawled across the top. She read the message over a second time,
wadded the paper up, and chucked it into the middle of the stack of black
electronic boxes.

Looking up, she saw Cass
well up with tears and the men stare out the window trying to be invisible. It
took a few minutes to realize her face was wet. Wiping away the evidence Sara
walked into the kitchen, grabbed a plastic grocery bag from the pile growing on
the table, and began opening drawers.

“Sara, what did he say?”
Cass stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded across her chest.

“Nothing important, he
wants me to take the television and sound system.”

“Are you gonna?”

Sara shook her head and
began sifting through drawers for pieces of her heritage, pieces Ron never used
– Aunt Ida’s pastry blender, Grammy Sims noodle cutter, the kitchen utensils
Cass gave her as a wedding present that were used once but he thought inferior.
Not much in the kitchen she could lay claim to. When she’d worked her way
around the u-shaped bank of cabinets, Sara reached into the back of the pantry
and pulled out all the cast iron from her past. “That’ll do it for here. Let’s
tackle the garage,” Sara tried to bring a light voice to the pallbearers of her
marriage.

In the garage, Cass
leaned over and gently removed the cobwebs dangling from her hair. “Let’s go
kiddo, almost done,” she whispered and rubbed her hand across Sara’s shoulders.

Up in the attic of the
two-car garage, Sara reached for a light chain and wondered why they never had
wall switches put in. “Guys, the stack of boxes and the antique steamer chest
are under that blue tarp in the corner. Everything under the tarp goes. They’re
things from my parents and grandparents.”

The two men lifted and
folded the blue plastic cover then began the long trek to haul the boxes to the
vehicles. “Sara, what’s this pile over here by the stairs?”

“Carl’s stuff, it’s
supposed to be under another tarp. Looks like Ron’s been going through it. It’s
just like him to leave things out. I hope mice haven’t gotten into it.”

“Do you want to take
something as a remembrance?”

“No, Cass, I can’t.”

“You should, even if you
just stuff it in the bottom of a chest or a drawer. Don’t burn this bridge,
Sara. It’s not healthy.”

“Okay.” Sara took a deep
breath and knelt down in front of the pain she carried for seven months. She
began straightening the contents of several boxes, replacing lids. In the box
marked office she found the miniature rubberized figure from the Star Wars
collection. He’d always kept it in front of the monitor of his computer. He’d
said it brought him luck.

“What’s that?” Cass asked
as she lifted it up.

“Jabba the Hut.”

“Jabba the what?”

“You know, from Star Wars.”

“And what does a Jabba
do?”

“He eats people.” Sara
squeezed the sides of the green and white figure’s smile, opened its mouth, and
pulled out a plastic critter.

“That’s disgusting!” Cass
shook her head.

“
I
like it.” Sara
announced, pulled Jabba from Cass’s hands and tucked him under her arm.

Cass pulled out two
framed pictures from the same box: one of Carl’s college graduation with Ron
and Sara flanking their son, the other of Carl, Jordie and Stacy on a rocky
beach not too many years ago, three young people with their lives ahead of
them. Sara’s vision blurred again. “You’re keeping these and there will be no
argument!” demanded Mother Cass.

Sara picked up a slim
leather case in the bottom of the box and stuffed it in her pocket.

“What was that?”

“The pen and pencil set
we gave him at his high school graduation. It was attached to the airline
tickets for his European tour.”

“Shouldn’t you open it to
make sure they’re still inside?”

“You can if you want.
But, I’m sure they are.” Sara pulled it back out of her pocket and passed it
over her head. She heard the snap of the case when Cass closed it back up.

“How did you know?”

“He was afraid he would
lose them. He was always losing pens. So, he kept them safe, in his desk
drawer.” Sara wiped her dusty hands on her jeans. “It was easier than I
thought.”  

Cass whispered in her
ear, “Maybe because you know he’s still with you.”

***

Later, in the back
bedroom of Sara’s new home, Cass said, “Sara, you need to take a break.  You
can empty boxes another time.”

“How long have you known
me? Don’t answer that.” Sara lifted another stack of books from the box in
front of her. “You know I won’t be satisfied until everything is in its place,
either now or the middle of the night. There’s another bottle of wine in the fridge,
will you please find something to do other than nag.” She placed the top book
of the stack onto her new desk and glanced at its title.
War and Peace.
How appropriate.

“Cass, I’m sorry, I don’t
mean to snap at you. And, you’re right; we’ve been at this all day.”

“No, you’ve been at this
all weekend, and you’re exhausted.”

“I tell you what. You go
open another bottle of wine and stir the stew in the crock-pot. As soon as I’ve
put this stack of books on the shelf, I’ll join you on the couch, put my feet
up and try real hard to work through the last of the Chablis with you.”

“It’s a deal. You have
five minutes; then I’m coming back in here and drag you to the couch. I’ll tie
you down if I have to, but you are going to spend the next hour taking a
break.”

The portable radio was
playing oldies from the kitchen table; Karen Carpenter filled the quiet with
“We’ve only just begun to live….” They were stretched out on the sofa with
their feet propped up on the glass top of Sara’s new coffee table. “I feel bad
about not feeding Ben and Jordie.”

“Ben has a soccer game to
coach. Jordie is in negotiations with a group to reopen The Art Shop.”

“Hey, that’s great. Do
you think he can swing it? Does he need some additional backing?”

“Right now, he’s trying
to squeeze in meetings with the craziness of preparing for his show. I’ll let
you know.” After a moment’s pause Cass added, “The stew smells good. When’s
dinner?”

“I guess we could eat any
time. I’ll put it in the bowls and warm up the bread.” Sara began to lift off the
couch. Cass grabbed her arm.

“It can wait until we’ve
finished this glass. Then I’ll serve it up.” At the sound of the door bell they
both pivoted in their seats to peek out the café curtains behind the sofa,
bumping heads in the process.

“Who’s that?”

In the driveway Sara
recognized the Stafford Company van. “Great! This is just what I need, a
confrontation with Ron.”

“You want me to deal with
him. I still remember that black piece of peek-a-boo from his bathroom.” Cass
began to heave herself out of the sofa when Sara pulled her back.

“Nah, I’ll take care of
this. Sit back and put your feet up.”

At the door, Sara
recognized the last person she could possibly yell at. “Hey, Allen, are you
slumming?” She pulled the door open wider and made a sweeping gesture with her
arm for him to enter.

“I’m the bearer of gifts.
I’ve come to install it and ask how you’re doing.” He scanned the living area
around him, nodded to Cass on the couch, and sniffed the aroma of food cooking.

“Bearer of what gifts?”
Sara asked.

“Something smells good.
Am I interrupting dinner?”

“Not yet,” Cass spouted
from her seat.

“Allen, have you eaten?
Are you hungry? There’s plenty of stew. We’re jus’ finishing off a bottle of
Chablis. Would ya like a glass?” Sara hoped she hadn’t slurred that last bit,
but from the grin on his face, she might have.

“No, yes, and yes I would
like to join you.”

It took a few minutes,
but Sara thought she’d figured out his cryptic answer. “Okay, Cass, will you do
the honors and pour another glass of wine for our guest? I’ll serve the stew.”
She began to set the table. Allen took the empty wine glass from her hand and
replaced it with a soup bowl. Sara looked down and stared in confusion. “Oh,
wrong bowl.”

Cass and Sara sat at the
table and watched as he served up the stew and joined them for their modest
feast. “Thank you, Allen.” Sara said and drained the last of her glass. Raising
the empty into the air, she toasted to friends.

“To friends,” Cass and
Allen repeated.

“I think we need another
bottle of wine. I’m empty.”

“Ladies, how about I make
a large pot of coffee to go with our dinner.”

“Why thank you, Allen,
that’s gracious of you.” She concentrated on her enunciation.

“We like tea better,”
Cass added.

“Kettle’s on the stove,”
they said simultaneously, waving their arms in the general direction of the
kitchen.

***

Sunday morning Sara
rolled over in her new bed, the smell of clean sheets a direct contrast to the
pounding in her head and sour taste in her mouth. Trying to clear her vision,
she focused on the blur of the evening before. She remembered the wine, Cass,
and Allen, and why she didn’t usually drink more than one glass. Stumbling
through the hall into the bathroom, she popped a couple aspirin and then headed
for the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. At the entrance to the living room she
stopped in amazement. A complete home theatre sat in her new entertainment
center on the far wall; side speakers were tucked into every corner of the
room. The kitchen was clean and a note on top of the coffee table was held down
by a remote that looked vaguely familiar. “Oh my God!”  She grabbed her head
and waited ‘til the throbbing stopped.

The doorbell chimed while
she sat at the table with her head in her hands. Maybe whoever it was would go
away. A few minutes later the chimes reverberated in her head again. “Sh.” Even
her whisper sounded like an echo in the Grand Canyon. Rising slowly, she tried
moving to silence the idiot at the door without moving her head.

She was half way across
the room when the door opened. “Cass, I know you’re my dearest friend, but if
you ring that doorbell one more time, I’m going to punch your lights out. For
God’s sake, use your key.”

“Don’t yell, Sara, an
anvil chorus is rehearsing inside my skull. I came over to borrow some aspirin,
I’m out.”