The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society (49 page)

Frances sorts through the remaining squares on Mei Ling’s One Hundred Good Wishes quilt. She’d love to have it done before they go, but if not, it won’t be the end of the world. After watching the pandemonium that erupted after Peter Linde admitted to the goat-napping, Frances realized that all she wants is for her family to be together, to learn how to help each other out.

She’d watched as Sandra stared at Peter in disbelief, and then anger. His brother Jamie was livid; Hannah was horrified, since Connie was a friend. Frances had held her breath, scared for Peter while wanting to shake him at the same time.

Then Sandra got on the phone with her husband and they agreed to go to the police station. As Frances watched them pile into the car, grim but together, she realized that she didn’t care about all of the things she’d bought for Mei Ling or whether or not Nick was going to let her sew him a Halloween costume. She didn’t care about the size of their house or whether or not they had enough money for a family vacation. As long as they’re together, be it through good times or bad, is all that matters to Frances.

She went home with a renewed sense of clarity. Some clever rearranging of furniture, a purging of things they no longer needed, and suddenly there was enough room for everyone.

Now she lays a few squares next to each other, thinking, when the doorbell rings. When she answers, she’s surprised to see it’s Bettie Shelton.

“Bettie!” she exclaims.

“I only have a few minutes,” Bettie announces. “Got my babysitter waiting in the car outside.” She turns and gives Isabel Kidd a wave.

“Would you like to come in?” Frances asks.

Bettie shakes her head. “I’m paying a visit to all Society members, to let them know that I’m okay. Of course, things get spotty for me sometimes but I’m still me and I’m available to help you with any of your projects, at least while I can.”

“Thank you,” Frances says gratefully. “I think I’m hooked for life. I’ve already made several albums for my boys and I just mailed another small album to Mei Ling in China. I want her memories of us to start now—she’s already a big part of our life, and she’s not even here yet. It’s a huge comfort to me to know that she has these pictures of us, these images of our family and our home in Avalon.
Her
family,
her
home.”

“Yes,” Bettie says. “She’s a lucky girl.”

“We’re the lucky ones,” Frances says, and she means it.

Bettie stands on the porch for a moment longer, lingering. “October is one of my favorite months,” she tells Frances. “I love the smells, you know? The end of autumn, the onset of winter. Leaves, crackling fires. Of course, I hadn’t expected I’d be getting a lungful of smoke with the fire at my house. I meant the kind that’s contained in a fireplace, but what can you do.”

“I was so sorry to hear about your house,” Frances says gently.

“Everything is gone,” Bettie says with a look of amazement on her face, as if she were recounting someone else’s bad news. “My life went up in smoke, literally. Except for a few things in a safe-deposit box at the bank. I’d completely forgotten about it. We got the manager to drill the box open, and it turns out I was smarter than I realized. Had copies of all my important documents and a few other important things in there.” Her eyes seem to be misting and she blinks rapidly.

Frances nods, making a note to talk to Reed. They don’t have a safe-deposit box but she definitely wants to get one now.

Bettie pulls a small square of pink felted wool from her pocket. “I wanted to give you my square for your quilt,” she says quietly. “It’s from a baby blanket I’ve had for a long time. It’s very special to me and it makes me feel good knowing that it’ll be with a baby girl who’ll be in a family who loves her.”

Frances takes the square from her. It’s soft and thick, and she presses it against her cheek. “It’s lovely, Bettie. Thank you.”

Bettie doesn’t answer right away, suddenly squinting as if the sun’s too bright. “Well, I should go,” she finally says. “I’m working my
way through the membership list and I want to finish up before dinner.”

Frances nods. “Of course.” She waves as Bettie makes her way down the walk and climbs into the waiting car.

She closes the door, pressing the square against her chest, can picture Mei Ling running her fingers along the different textures of her quilt, lingering on this simple, pale piece. Frances imagines Mei Ling tucked in with the quilt at night, a reminder of all the people who love her and who waited for her arrival.

“Mom.” Brady suddenly appears at her side, clutching a toy pilot in one hand and a toy stewardess in the other. “Play with me.”

“Not now, Brady,” Frances says, wanting to get back to Mei Ling’s quilt.

“Now,”
Brady intones, a hint of whining in his voice. It’s a new thing still, the two of them in the house during the day, though in a month that’ll all change again. Frances reluctantly puts the new quilt square on top of the others and lets Brady drag her into the hallway. “Look!”

He’s pointing to the dollhouse in Mei Ling’s room. Frances sees that he’s brought in all his cars and trucks, his trains and mini people, the wooden trees and animals. In fact, it seems as if he’s dumped his entire toy box onto the floor.

“Brady!” Frances scolds, dropping to one knee so she can start picking things up. “This is Mei Ling’s room—you can play in your room.”

“Play here,” Brady insists, patting the play carpet. He puts the airplane pilot into the living room of the doll house. The stewardess follows. Within minutes the house is crammed with little toy people and animals.

“No, Brady,” Frances begins, about to pluck everything out, when she realizes that Brady is playing with the doll house. Not just playing, but creating scenes—people watching pretend television, their faces pointed to the screen. People gathered around the dining room table, eating a meal. Three ponies are hanging out in the attic. A fireman is lying in the master bed, an astronaut is standing in front of the
bathroom mirror. Lego people are playing outside with a small rubber ball between them and a giraffe is standing next to a girl holding a balloon. “Oh, Brady, this is wonderful!”

Brady stops for a moment to beam. “I know! Thanks, Mom!”

Frances sweeps the stray pieces aside and settles down on the carpet. In the small nursery a stewardess stands over a crib with a panda bear inside.

Her breath catches. “Brady,” she says gently. “Did you know that pandas are from China? See your panda in the crib? It reminds me of Mei Ling.”

Brady stops for a moment to study the panda in the crib. He frowns. “No, Mom,” he says with a shake of the head.

“No, what?”

“Mei Ling isn’t a panda. She’s a girl!” he crows.

Frances smiles. “You’re right about that, Brady.”

Nick and Noah appear in the doorway. “We’re home,” Nick announces, dropping his backpack on the floor. “Can we get a snack? Hey, what’re you doing?”

Frances beams. “Brady’s playing with the dollhouse.”

Brady is lining up cars in a row in front of the house. “Look, car wash!” he says.

Noah sits down next to him and reaches for a handful of airplanes. “Gotta wash these, too,” he says.

“Yeah!”

Nick peers into the house. “That’s cool, Brady.”

Brady nods to the nursery. “That’s a panda,” he says. “From Chiner. Like Mei Ling. Except she’s not a panda. She’s a girl.”

“And our sister,” Nick adds. He picks up a few stray items that have fallen to the wayside and sets them up in the house, then begins to rearrange the fake trees and hedges.

“Sister,” Noah agrees as he brings a helicopter in for a landing.

“Sister,” Brady repeats, then pretends to wash the vehicles. “Pssshaw!”

Frances leans back against a dresser, watches her three boys playing together, a smile on her lips. It’s a small thing, this new word that
will soon become a part of their everyday vocabulary, and for all the months it’s taken her to get her family to this point, it suddenly feels moot. Brady’s acknowledgment of a sister, of whether or not they’ll be able to handle the challenges ahead, or even if they’re challenges at all. Being in her mind these past few months hasn’t done her much good, just created more anxiety and doubt if anything. But being in her heart is something else altogether.

Frances feels the same heightened awareness as she did when she was expecting each of her boys, the rush of adrenaline that comes as the “delivery date” grows nearer. It’s the difference between thinking something and knowing it. And right now she knows it’s all perfect—her, sitting on the floor of Mei Ling’s room, and her children talking and playing around her. She doesn’t have to think about it—she knows it feels good. It
is
good. If she stops the chatter in her mind and lets herself feel, this is exactly where she wants to be. Period.

She knows this is a moment like any other, one that can change in a second if Nick gets a phone call from a friend or if Brady has to go to the bathroom. It’s a snapshot in time, just one of many, and Frances knows there are still many more to come.

Frances gets that she doesn’t have to have it all figured out. That she doesn’t need to try and predict the future, which is impossible anyway. She needs to be here, present and observing, participating if she wants to but above all, appreciating what she has.

Chapter Twenty-two
 

Ava’s short hair is tucked into a tie-dyed bandanna as she drags a box full of junk to the landing from their apartment. She’s accumulated several boxes and trash bags already, feeling lighter each time she dumps a new load by the railing. Ava can see her neighbors peeking out from behind their ragged curtains, ready to pick through her discards once she turns her back. Well, more power to them.

The good thing about not owning a lot is that it makes packing and moving all the easier. A few of Max’s favorite things, that’s all they’ll need. Wherever they end up they’ll be able to get more, but for now everything has to fit into the Jeep.

The interim plan for all intents and purposes was the plan of last resort. Ava had finally broken down and called her parents, who didn’t seem surprised to hear from her but didn’t exactly sound excited, either. It was a humbling call, one Ava had hoped never to make, but she’s trying to tell herself that it’s not all that bad. It’ll be good for Max to see her parents, to get to know her family though she’s praying they treat him with kindness. Praying because she knows it would be just like them to make a jab at Ava or even Bill, to cut her down in front of her own son in a misguided attempt to make them
face the “realities” of life. But maybe things are different now. Maybe enough time has passed that they’ll be different, too.

Ava notices Max’s Shrinky Dinks mobile hanging by the doorway and carefully begins to take it down. The string is tangled and dirty, the bright colors having faded to a bland monotone. She tries to untangle it but everything is knotted and worn, the mobile having taken a beating outdoors. She finally gives up and yanks the whole thing down before tossing it into the trash. There’ll be other Shrinky Dinks in their life, she tries to console herself, but even she’s not so sure she believes it anymore.

Who is Ava kidding? As much as she’d like to think otherwise, people don’t really change. Her parents, Dr. Strombauer, Isabel Kidd. Maybe that’s been Ava’s problem all along—she’s been holding out for the impossible, for things to be different, for people to be different. Was she being hopeful or just naïve? Neither, she decides. She was just plain stupid.

“Mama,” Max calls from inside the apartment. He appears in the kitchen holding a plastic pumpkin as if ready to go trick-or-treating. “Look what I did.” He holds up the pumpkin proudly.

Ava sees that he’s taken a few of her bottle caps and taped them onto the pumpkin. Two for the eyes, one for a nose, five for a mouth. The mouth is crooked so the pumpkin looks like he’s grimacing rather than smiling. The tape peels back from the plastic and one of the eyes slips off.

On any other day Max’s effort would bring a smile to her face, but instead she feels more like crying. Ava kneels down and quickly gathers him in her arms so he can’t see the tears filling her eyes, threatening to spill over. Ava knows that if she lets that happen, it’s all over.

“Hey,” comes a voice from behind her.

Max is the first to react. He squirms out of Ava’s arms. “Auntie Isabel!”

Ava stiffens, quickly wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She doesn’t bother to stand up right away.

“Hey, kiddo,” she hears Isabel say. There’s the sound of Max’s laughter and suddenly Ava finds herself more irritated than upset.

“Max, go inside,” she says when she turns around.

“But I don’t want to,” he protests. He edges closer to Isabel, which irritates Ava even more.

Ava picks up the plastic jack-o’-lantern and the stray bottle caps that have fallen off, drops them inside the jack-o’-lantern, and then jams the whole thing into the large trash bag. Max doesn’t even notice; he’s too busy gazing up at Isabel like she’s some kind of superstar. Ava looks at the plastic pumpkin rolling around among the trash, is tempted to pluck it out for a moment, but doesn’t. It won’t be much of a Halloween this year anyway. Ava’s parents have never been big on Halloween, and she doubts they’ll let Max do much trick-or-treating if at all.