The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society (52 page)

Chapter Twenty-three
 

“Knock, knock!” It’s 7:45 a.m. on Saturday morning. Isabel checks her hair and hurries to the front door, her robe wrapped tight around her body. Max collides with her in the hallway.

“Someone’s knocking,” he reports, still in his pajamas. His hair is tousled and his glasses are askew. He looks absolutely adorable.

“I know, Max. I’ll get it—you can go back to sleep.”

“Back to sleep?” Ava steps out of the bedroom. “I wish. We’ve been up since six. Max is an early riser.”

“No kidding.” Isabel stops. “I’ve been up since six, too. I didn’t want to wake you guys so I stayed in my room.”

Ava stifles a laugh. “Oh no. Us, too. Not that we’re complaining—I think this is the best sleep we’ve had in weeks. It’s so peaceful here. Thank you so much, Isabel. I don’t know how to express my—”

Isabel holds up a hand. “Ava, we have to set some ground rules if this is going to work. First, you can only say thank you once in a twenty-four-hour period, and it’s preferable if you not say it at all. Second: No more tiptoeing around. For either of us. Go help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, make breakfast, bang pots or pans.” She looks at Max. “Wait, I take that back. No pot banging, at least not before eight. Deal?”

Max grins and nods his head.

The doorbell begins to ring. Incessantly.

“Hold your horses,” Isabel says. Ian’s persistent, she’ll give him that. Ava and Max slip into the kitchen.

By the time she reaches the door, there’s knocking
and
ringing. Okay, so this is a bit over the top. Isabel clears her throat, then cracks the door demurely, opening it as far as she can before the security door chain stops her.

“Isabel? Let me in!” A skinny hand snakes into the door crack and grapples for her. “It’s Bettie!”

“Bettie?” Isabel pushes Bettie’s hand back outside, then carefully closes the door, quickly sliding the chain off the track. She swings the door open.

Bettie is standing on Isabel’s porch dressed in her bathrobe. Her purse is hanging primly from her arm. Bettie gawks at Isabel, then herself. “Look, we’re twins!”

Isabel pulls her robe tight around her body and gives a shiver. She looks out onto the street. She doesn’t see Abe’s or Imogene’s car anywhere. “How did you get here, Bettie? Where’s Imogene?”

Bettie ignores her, stepping into the house. Isabel sees that the soles of Bettie’s slippers are worn and dirty. “Mmm, is that breakfast I smell? Sausages!”

Isabel’s about to follow her into the kitchen when she hears a truck rumble up to the curb. Ian Braemer waves from the cab, then cuts the engine. Jeremy is in the front seat, listening to his headphones. Ian steps out of the truck, two steaming cups of coffee in hand.

“Morning!” he calls, coming up to the door. He hands a tall paper cup to Isabel and grins. “Looks like I caught you in your pj’s after all.”

Isabel loosens the tie around her robe until it falls open, revealing jeans and the V-neck sweater she’d been planning on wearing. “You weren’t here early enough, sorry. I’m getting ready to paint the living room, actually.” She grins.

“Oh, you’re one of those women,” Ian says with a wounded look. He takes a sip of his coffee. “Whoops, still hot. Be careful, I just burned my tongue.”

One of those women? Isabel has never been one of those women. She blows on her coffee and smiles, tries the idea on for size. Isabel, a tease. She pictures herself in playful lingerie, revealing necklines, flirty makeup.

Nah. “So can I get you anything?”

“We’re fine. Just going to set up the ladders and take a closer look, see what will need to be done. I’ll get started today but in case I can’t finish, I’m happy to come back tomorrow. Is that all right? I wouldn’t want you to get sick of me.”

Not a chance
, Isabel thinks, but instead she says, “No, that’s great.”

Ian gives her a wave as he heads back to the truck, whistles for Jeremy to get out and join him.

Isabel goes back inside the house, follows the sound of laughter. When she steps into the kitchen, she sees Bettie is already seated, a plate of food in front of her. Max is eating scrambled eggs with ketchup. They all look up when she walks in.

“Hungry?” Ava asks. Isabel shakes her head, lowers herself into the chair next to Bettie, Ian’s coffee warm in her hands.

Bettie’s hair is messy, her cheeks rosy. When Isabel touches her hand, it’s ice cold. “Bettie, did you walk here?”

Bettie shakes her hand free and picks up her fork. “Sorry, don’t remember.”

“Nice try, but that won’t work on me. How did you get here?” The phone rings and Isabel already knows who it is. She gives Bettie another look. “Last chance.”

“Fine, I walked,” Bettie grumbles. “Abe and Imogene are married. I feel like a third wheel. They’re getting ready to retire, go into their golden years. They don’t need an old lady like me around.” She eats a forkful of eggs. “Oh, this is good, Ava.”

“Here,” Max says, squirting some ketchup on Bettie’s plate.

“More,” she demands, then grins when her plate has more ketchup than eggs.

“Would you like a spoon with that?” Isabel shakes her head as she goes to answer the phone. “Hi, Imogene.”

“Oh, please tell me she’s there,” Imogene pants, her voice strained. “I’ve looked everywhere. Abe is on his way over.”

“She’s here.” Isabel turns away and lowers her voice. “I thought you had locks on the doors.”

“I do, but she went out the bathroom window. It’s so narrow I didn’t bother safe-proofing it but I’ll get on it this afternoon. Is she all right?”

Isabel turns to see Bettie chatting with Ava. Bettie dips her finger and scoops up some ketchup, and laughs when Max does the same. Other than being disheveled and underdressed, Bettie is her usual animated self. “She’s fine. I’ll send her back with Abe. Bye, Imogene.”

“No, sir,” Bettie says as soon as Isabel hangs up. “I’m not going back. Put me into one of those homes if you will, but I’m not going to impose on them any longer. It’s weird.”

“Weird is the new normal,” Ava says. She glances at Isabel. “At least that’s what Isabel tells me. Isabel invited us to live here, to be housemates. Max and I moved in yesterday.”

“What?” Bettie puts down her fork, amazed. “No kidding.” She looks approvingly at Isabel. “Got your big-girl pants on, now don’t you? Good for you!”

“That’s enough from you,” Isabel says, but she flushes in pleasure at the compliment. “Those homes cost money, Bettie. I don’t think you should go in until you absolutely need to.”

“I have long-term-care insurance,” Bettie reminds her. “And some money saved up.”

“Not enough,” Isabel says. “Remember? We went through all the numbers with an accountant. Depending on how your condition progresses, if you can stay with friends for the next five to ten years, then we can look into a facility.”

“The next five to ten years? How long you think I’m gonna last? I’m already seventy-seven, for goodness’ sake!” She turns to Ava. “I’m not scared of death. A lot of people are, but not me. I even have my plot picked out at the Avalon Cemetery. Number two-four-one, lot B, block eight. It’s right on a little knoll, has a view and everything.”

Isabel hates it when Bettie starts talking like this. “Can you at least stay with Abe and Imogene until we come up with some kind of plan? They went through so much trouble to make their place nice for you.”

“I know,” Bettie says. “And that’s what I hate about it. I don’t like to be indebted, Isabel. I appreciate everyone wanting to do something, but …” She sighs. “This is all too much fuss. I want things to be normal again.”

“By normal do you mean weird?” Ava asks, confused. “Since weird is the new normal?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Bettie says, perplexed now. “Do I want weird or normal?” She and Ava turn to Isabel, a questioning look on their faces.

Isabel takes a long sip of her coffee. “I think I’ll have some of those eggs now,” she says.

As Ava scoops some eggs onto a plate, Bettie temples her fingers. “You know, Isabel, I was thinking that if it’s all right with you, I’d like to host a scrapbooking crop here at the end of the year. That’s when we scrapbook all day. We’ll be using Madeline’s Tea Salon for meetings, but the crops usually run all day and I’d like the women to be able to spread out. Since we already know how to utilize your space …”

“Fine,” Isabel says. “Whatever. But the bedrooms are off-limits.” She looks at Ava. “Sorry, I forgot to ask you. What do you think?”

“I think that sounds like fun,” Ava says. “So we scrapbook all day?”

“All day and all night,” Bettie says.

There’s a rap on the back door and the women turn to see Abe standing awkwardly on the back porch. “Looks like your ride is here,” Isabel says. She leans in and whispers, “
Be nice.
”

Bettie sighs and pushes herself into a standing position. She smooths her hair and gives Isabel, Ava, and Max a dignified nod. “Well, I’ll be going. Thanks for breakfast.” She marches to the backdoor, unlocks it, and leaves with Abe, who gives a polite wave to everyone.

“Poor Bettie,” Ava murmurs as she clears the plates. “It must be hard to feel so displaced. What’s happening with her house?”

“She’s not going to rebuild,” Isabel says. “Her house was insured for the appraised value, not replacement value—it’s not enough to put the same size house on it. And it was probably more house than she needed anyway. She might sell the lot but for now, she doesn’t want to rush it.”

“I’m going to go to the library to work on my résumé today,” Ava says. “And then I’ll get it to Dr. Tindell right away.”

“Can Max stay here?” Isabel asks. “I mean, if he wants to? I have to do a little painting—I’m getting tired of the white walls.”

“Yes!” Max exclaims, pumping his little fist. His glasses slip off his nose and he pushes them back on. Ava laughs.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” she says. “I’ll actually be able to get more done.”

“Me too,” Isabel says. “I could use a helping hand. Finish your breakfast, Max, and then we’ll go get our paint brushes.”

Yvonne stands in the passenger terminal, rubbing the grooves of her car keys, the embossed silver name tag at the end of her keychain. It’s just past eleven and she’s standing by the window watching the small planes come and go, her heart clenching each time she sees a plane approach.

How is it that less than twenty-four hours ago, she had no idea where Sam was, and now she’s standing here about to see him face-to-face? That’s all it took. One day for your life to turn upside down, one day for it to right itself again. Ten years ago she woke up ready to slip into a wedding dress, to walk down the aisle. Less than twelve hours later, she was sitting in the passenger seat of Harold Stroup’s plumbing van, driving away from the only life she’d ever known.

Yvonne hadn’t been able to sleep last night, and she’s sure it shows. She tossed and turned, adrenaline coursing through her veins, her heart beating so hard she thought it might burst. Her body was
clammy and damp, tears streamed down her face until her pillow was drenched. Every hurt, every heartache, found its place in Yvonne’s bed last night. It felt as if morning would never come.

This is why she never let herself think about Sam—it’s too hard on her mind, her heart, her body. It threatens to rip apart the fragile threads of her life, to mire her in the pain of the loss, to hold her back from moving on. The devastation of lost love—no one warns you about it because it’s impossible to describe. There’s nothing you can do about it, you either get through it or let it pull you into the black hole. An abyss.

Yvonne eventually got up, pulled back the curtains. She wrapped herself in a blanket and watched the sun rise. When the first pale ray of light began to warm the horizon, she gave herself permission to do something she hadn’t since that day.

She let herself hope.

There’s a bustle of people around her as a private charter is ushered toward the tarmac. Yvonne closes her eyes, touches the glass in front of her. Somewhere out there, Sam is flying toward her.

“Eleven-oh-six, that’s your boy,” a dispatcher tells her, pointing to the sky. Yvonne doesn’t see it at first, and then the Cessna comes into view. She watches it descend, sees a flash of him as the plane touches down, the same mussed russet-brown hair, the rugged outline of his face, a look of steady concentration. At that second he turns to look at her, the unmistakable recognition that was there the first day they met.

When the smile breaks across his face, Yvonne chokes a cry, her hand covering her mouth as the tears start. Then she’s moving, pushing open the door and hurrying toward the plane. A second later she’s running.

By the time she reaches him, the plane has slowed to a stop and eased into a tie-down. The door opens, and then he’s there. A second later, she’s in his arms.

“E,” he breathes, and he holds her, tight.

“Don’t let me go,” she whispers, her cheek pressed against the
cool leather of his jacket. He smells exactly the same and she breathes him in. His arms tighten around her, his lips brushing the top of her head.

“I won’t. Ever.”

Ava drops a quarter into the machine, presses the
START
button. There’s a hum, a roll of light. A few seconds later, a copy of her résumé emerges from the copy machine. It’s followed by a copy of her cover letter, signed and ready to be dropped off at Dr. Tindell’s office.