Rain Dance (22 page)

Setting the sack on the counter beside some dirty dishes, I handed her the receipt.

“I’ll be right back.”

She went into another room. I heard soft mewing from the hallway. A small calico cat approached with caution.

“Hey, pretty kitty, what’s your name?”

Della stepped back into the kitchen. “Her name is Patches. Somebody with no sense of responsibility dropped her off. She yowled half the night. When I opened the door to tell her to hush she snuck in. Don took her to the vet and bought a large bag of litter for her. Tuna is her favorite food.” The cat rubbed around her legs, purring.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No. This is fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She handed me a check. On the way through the living room to the front door, we passed a beautiful antique buffet. In its center stood a recent picture of Don and Della. I stopped.

“This is a wonderful photo.”

“Don insisted we get a family photo taken the week before . . .” Her unspoken words dangled between us. “They came back yesterday.”

“What a precious keepsake.”

She sank into her rocker. “I miss him.”

She pulled a hankie out from her sweater sleeve and dabbed her eyes. The flow could not be stemmed.

Instead of heading for the door and leaving the woman to grieve as I intended, I heard myself ask, “Can I do something for you?”

“What?”

“Do you mind if I stay for a few minutes?”

“Why would you do that? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“I’ll leave if you prefer, but it seems grieving alone all the time must be a big burden to carry. Perhaps for just a little while I can share the load. And maybe you’d like me to water your geraniums. They’re wilting.”

“Fine.”

She directed me to the watering can and the spigot. After giving her flowers a good long drink, I went back in and asked if I could do anything else.

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure. Would you like to talk about Don?”

“What have you heard?”

Her voice was so sharp that I jumped. “Only good things—how he worked hard, and many say he was the best mechanic who ever worked on their cars. I heard he spent a lot of time with his kids, and how much he enjoyed visiting his mom.”

“He was a good son.” She paused, then asked, “The gossip hasn’t reached you?”

“Where would I hear gossip?”

“Church.”

“I’m not very involved, so it’s not likely I’m going to hear anything there.”

I reached for another photo of Don on the bookcase. Four smiling teens surrounded him, two girls and two boys.

“His kids?”

“They came with us to the photographer the same day.” On the piano sat a single, framed picture of Della, Don, and the same kids. “I’m sure you noticed there is no wife in these pictures. She left them broken-hearted a few months ago. She didn’t even bother to show up for the funeral. I knew she was a hussy from the beginning. He was crazy in love and wouldn’t listen to a word we said. How can a woman walk away from her children? We kept it as quiet as we could. No one needs extra judgment heaped on them.”

How well I know.

My gaze fell to her slippered feet. The scruffy flip-flops were faded gray and red. The ends extended way beyond the heel of her foot.

She noticed my stare. “These belonged to my husband. He died almost ten years ago. I gave his tools to Don and his clothes to the homeless shelter. I couldn’t part with these old slippers, his bathrobe, and his books. I’ve always been angry he missed out on so much of life. Now I’m grateful he’s not here to grieve for his son. Parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children. What you see in these photos is my whole world.”

I didn’t know what to say.

She looked at the slippers again and said, “These old things will fall apart one day. My feet will miss them. His robe doesn’t smell like him anymore.”

I started to cry.

“Why are you bawling?”

“I can’t imagine not having Ben. I can’t grasp your sorrow or your loneliness. I’m glad you have your grandchildren. They must be a great comfort to you.”

“His oldest daughter just turned twenty-two,” Della said. “She wants to be the other kids’ legal guardian and raise them. With Don’s life insurance and her job as an RN, they should make it. The house is paid for. I’ll help too.”

It struck me that her oldest granddaughter was only two years younger than me. With three siblings in her care, they didn’t define a “normal” family either. I hoped I’d get to meet her.

“Their mom doesn’t want to be an active part of their lives at all?”

“She told Alisha she doesn’t want the life insurance, the house, or them. There was a new man with lots of money. She flashed a huge diamond at the kids the morning she drove off, never looking back. I know because I was there. We watched until she was out of sight, hoping it was some kind of bad joke. It wasn’t.”

Della reached for the photo in my hands. “I just don’t know where he is now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don wasn’t interested in what he called ‘my religion.,’ I don’t know if he ever made it right with God. And now I have to deal with this.” She gestured toward a large manila envelope. “Someone needed to identify the body. To spare his children that horror, I went. They gave me this. I can’t seem to open it.”

“You will when the time is right.”

The doorbell rang.

“Would you get that? I know I look a mess.”

The mail carrier greeted me, eyebrows raised. “Hi. How’s Della?”

I shrugged. “I brought her a few groceries from the store and watered her flowers. I’m visiting for a while.”

“Good. I’ve been worried about her. Every day she seems to sink a little lower. Don was a good friend. I try to keep an eye on his mother.”

“You two quit talking about me,” Della scolded from inside.

He raised his voice. “Della, you settle down in there. You know we care. I’ve got one letter for you today. It’s from the garage.

“What do they want?”

“I don’t read your mail, so you’ll have to open it to find out.”

“Jonica, bring it in here, and, Bill, you get on with your work.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Please take care of yourself.”

“Get along now!”

“I’ll be back after supper to mow your yard. I’ll bring Katie along. She’ll be glad to help you in the house for a while if you’d like.”

“That will be fine,” Della said, her voice softening.

Bill stepped off the porch. “Good luck,” he said to me and left with a brief salute.

I went back in and offered her the letter. “You open it and read it to me,” she demanded.

“Are you sure?”

“You asked if you could do anything. Is opening a letter too much for you to handle?”

I choked back an angry retort. She was old and grieving, and I didn’t have the heart to say what I was thinking.

She handed me the brass letter opener from the table by her chair. After slicing the envelope open, I offered the letter to Della, but she waved it off.

“I asked you to read it to me, girl.”

“This might be business. I’m uncomfortable delving into your personal stuff.”

“Please, Jonica.”

Reluctantly I pulled the single sheet out, releasing the smell of oil, grease, and exhaust into the room. I heard her take in a deep breath when I began to read.

Dear Della,

I know this is a difficult time for you. I put Don’s toolbox in the back room. Someone will need to come and get it. Maybe his boys will want to look through it. One of the guys can deliver it to you if that’s more convenient.

Sincerely,

Cliff

“Give me that.”

She snatched it out of my hand and held it to her nose. “It smells just like Don.”

As she held the letter and photo frame to her chest, I remembered Don working on my car. He had greeted me politely, all the while looking at my car as if he couldn’t wait to get under the hood. After handing me a coupon for a free coffee at Millie’s down the street, he pulled the car into the garage. When I came back, my car was fixed, and he had his head buried deep inside the guts of another car. I shared the memory with Della.

“And you know what is so neat about it all?” I asked.

“What?”

“He did what he loved.”

She smiled. “He excelled in school, and we offered to send him to college anywhere. We promised we’d support him no matter what he decided to do. It stretched the limit of our understanding when he wanted to work at Cliff’s and drag race in the summer. For a long time I thought it was a phase and would pass. It didn’t.”

“Was that hard?”

“Not after I watched him work on my Impala. He loved the old thing and kept her running for years.”

“Did you ever watch him race?”

“Every chance I got. Open the closet door and pull out the leather jacket on the right side.”

I did and held it up. On the worn black leather, embroidered in red letters, it read, “Della, Pit Crew Chief—in charge of prayer.”

“You wore this?”

“I sure did.”

“I love it. Does anyone else know?”

“No! Well, Bernice and my grandchildren do, but that’s all. Don’t you go telling anyone.”

“I won’t. Except Ben. I tell him everything.”

“Marty and I were like that too.” Again her gaze drifted to the slippers.

“Where are your pictures of you and Marty?”

She waved toward a door. “Our wedding and anniversary photos are on the wall in my bedroom over there. Go ahead and look.”

When I went into the bedroom, I couldn’t believe my eyes. A straight silk gown pooled at the bride’s feet. A veil circled her upswept hair, and white lilies and ivy cascaded down the front of her dress. A tall handsome man stood by her side. Don was a replica of his dad. I found myself mesmerized by her smile.

Where did this joyful woman go?

Family pictures taken every five years or so lined one wall, and anniversary pictures taken every ten years lined the other. Decades of devotion.

On her bedside table sat a trio frame that held a series of photos of Della and Don in their racing jackets, including one of her in his race car. I wondered what she’d think if she knew we both liked black leather.

When I went back to the living room, she held the large envelope with Don’s belongings inside. “Please open this. I can’t put it off and I can’t do it alone.”

I took it and pinched ends of the metal fastener together. “Here you go.”

She shook her head. “Would you mind handing them to me one at a time?”

First, my hand found his billfold. She gripped the leather in her right hand and waited for me to continue. Next, I found a full ring of keys. She held it in her other hand. The only other belongings were a comb, a wedding band, and a separate brass key. She waved her hand toward the table, and I set them down.

“Wonder what the key is to,” she said.

“I don’t know. Ben’s friend is a locksmith. I could take it to him, and he might know at least what kind of lock it goes to.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Tears welled up again, and she asked, “Did a sin I committed cost Don his life?”

Her question seemed to suck the air out of my lungs. I inhaled and choked before I could spit out, “No, Della! You didn’t cause the accident.”

“How can you be sure?” Watery pale blue eyes begged for an answer.

“May I show you from your Bible?”

She nodded, and I picked up the worn black book. Turning to John chapter nine, I read aloud the story of the man blind from birth.

“See Della? God allows some bad things into our lives and trusts us to bring Him honor and glory through them. Infertility is not God’s way of punishing me. He is using it to draw others to Himself. I don’t know how He can use Don’s death, but I believe He can and will.”

“I’m so tired I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I’ll go and let you rest. I’ll leave your Bible open to this passage so you can take another look later. As soon as I find out what this key goes to, I’ll stop by again.”

“Can you hand me the blanket behind you?”

I picked it up and held it toward her. She reached for it, her hands still full of Don’s things. She wasn’t ready to let go of the little bit of her son she had left.

“Here. Let me tuck you in.”

I drove toward home in a daze.

I’m not sure where all this is leading Lord. Thy will be done.

My cell phone chimed. I heard Stacie’s sobbing voice.

“Please, Jonica, can you come over?”

“Sure. I’ll be right there.”

Please,
God, keep the baby safe.

Stacie

I parked the car and stood looking at the sage green house with rose red trim. Bay windows, a wrap-around porch, and gingerbread added dimension to the large square building.
Jonica would love this place
, I said to myself.

Walking up to the front door, I admired the hanging pots with bright red blossoms, the yellow rose bushes along the walk, and the wooden porch swing, chairs, and tables. Red, green, yellow, blue, purple, and orange paint splashed, swished, and zigged without a pattern across each piece of furniture. Braided rugs decorated the dark sage floor.

“Hello, Stacie!” Peggy greeted me, opening the screen door. Its squeak welcomed me.

“Hi. Who painted your furniture?”

“Flashy, huh? One day I mentioned these pieces needed paint and the kids volunteered to do the job. I primed the wood to match the house then gave each one a can of their favorite color and a brush or sponge. They did the rest.”

“I love them. May I hire them to do mine?”

“You’re kidding.”

“I mean it. We enjoy our balcony and bought plain white metal furniture I need to do something with. I think this is wonderful. Joyful. Where did you get all the different styles of chairs?”

“We were driving by a yard sale and saw them all lined up. They reminded me of our kids and us—all different but together. We let each kid pick out the one they liked best. The lady laughed when we piled out of the van and tried them all until we each found one that was just right. Come on in.”