The Legacy (68 page)

Andrea slowly walks down the busy street, making her
way home, a combination of anger and sadness creasing her
brow as she thinks about the incident at work. She thought she
had become immune to cruel taunts and unkind treatment.
After all, she has been cleaning up after loud mouthed teenaged
patrons for a year now. She tries to act tough, pretending she
doesn't care, but it still hurts.

There are so many times she has asked God why she even
exists. The world is rotten and she hates life. And she considers
hers a total waste. There are no brothers or sisters, and no
mother or father for that matter. Her father ran off before she
was even born. Then her mother decided she really didn't care
for the title and left her with her grandmother so she could
pursue her own dreams. Because of this, Andrea learned the
meaning of rejection early in life. Her only achievement so far
is graduating from high school. But what good does it do her?
There is no money for college, and the little she makes pays the
rent on her room and puts a little food on the table. She has
nothing going for her and sees no reason to have aspirations.
She
doesn't
have
time
for
elusive
dreams.
She
can
only
concentrate on surviving.

Andrea angrily brushes the tears away, determined not to
give in to emotional weakness. She is stronger than this. At
least she had been. Once upon a time she could handle any and
everything the world dished out at her.

But now as far as she is concerned, the sooner she can
leave this world, the better. Since her life is worthless, living is
just a waste of time as well. She will suffer through it a little bit
longer.

We decide to catch an early movie and have dinner
afterward.
As we pull away from the curb of the bed and breakfast
we've lived in for the past couple of months, I put a hand over
Adagio's and ask him to stop.
“What is it,
amore
?”
“Look,” I say pointing to a girl entering a large house
three doors down.
He follows my gaze. “That is the young woman from the
mall,” he states more than asks.
“It is,” I say with a smile. “I have thought about her a lot
this past week. There is just something about her that has kept
her on my mind.”
“With all the time we have lived in this neighborhood, I
can't believe we haven't seen her before now,” Adagio says.
“I can't either.”
Squeezing my hand, he starts the car and moves forward
a little, stopping in front of the large rooming house. He turns
off the engine and we sit for a moment, staring up at the house.
The place looks like another bed and breakfast. It is well kept
and the yard is lovely.
“Let's go inside,” I say.
“We will probably have to knock on a few doors to find
the right room,” Adagio says, opening the door for me. “And
we don't even know her name.”
“I do,” I say, smiling.
His eyes widen in surprise. “How?”
“A couple of days after the incident I called the mall and
asked about her. They couldn't give me any other information,
but they did give me her first name.”
Adagio smiles and squeezes my hand. “You are amazing,
you know that?”
“No more than you, my love.”
We enter the building and knock on several doors but get
no answer. We walk up to the second floor. Two more doors
are unanswered. I knock on the next door twice and am about
to move on to another when I hear the clicking of the lock.
The the door is cracked open slightly and I quickly smile.

Andrea stares blankly at the two older people. “Yeah?”
she says, wondering what they want.
“I don't know if you remember us, but we met you at the
mall last week. Some teens were giving you a hard time while
you were working, and my husband and I stopped to help you.”
“Yeah, I do,” she says warily. Suspicion fill her eyes.
“How did you find out where I lived? You follow me home or
something?”
Cisely again smiles, shaking her head. “It just so happens
we have been staying at the bed and breakfast down the street
from your building and saw you when you came home.”
Andrea continues to stare at them, still wondering what
they want.
“My name is Cisely St. John.” She pulls Adagio within
Andrea's view. “And this is my husband, Adagio. We live in
Italy and have been visiting here for the past few months. We
wanted to formally meet you and let you know we were
thinking about you.”
Andrea doesn't know what to say. This is something new
for her. Even hearing the words, “we were thinking about you”
is foreign. “I'm Andrea,” she finally says.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Andrea,” Adagio says.
Andrea is again taken aback by their kindness, almost as
much as she was the day they stopped to help her. She leans
her head against the door and sighs. “I can't tell you how many
times stuff like that has happened.” She looks into Cisely's eyes.
“You were the first people who ever tried to help.” She opens
the door wider, her eyes softening. “You can come in if you
want.”
Adagio smiles, squeezing Cisely's hand. “We would like
that.”
Moving aside, she lets them enter. She clears some books
from the small couch and places them on a table in the corner.
Gesturing for them to sit down, Andrea pulls a chair from the
the desk, and sits across from them, her eyes moving around
the room. “I know it's not much, but it's home.”
Cisely glances at their surroundings. “It's lovely, Andrea.
It's one of the tidiest rooms I have ever seen.” A beautiful quilt
covers the twin size bed. The floral and check patterns are
brightly colored. It looks like the quilt is handmade. Cisely tells
her how beautiful it is.
“Thanks. My grandmother made it. She died before she
could finish the matching pillow covering.”
“When did she pass away?” Cisely asks with compassion.
“Last year.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Yeah, well . . . me too.”
“Do you have any other family here?” Adagio asks.
“No,” she answers tonelessly. “My grandmother was it.”

Adagio and I glance at one another, both of us curious
about her parents but not daring to ask just yet. Instead, I
casually pick up a thick book lying on the coffee table. “
Roots
,”
I murmur,
opening
the
front
cover.
“I love
this
book.”
Glancing at Andrea, I notice a slight smile tugging at her lips.
“The
stories
of
Alex
Haley's
ancestors
are
incredible,”
I
continue. “It's one of my favorite books.”

“It's mine, too. I would like to do that one day.”
“You mean, you would like to trace your roots?”
“Yeah.” Her voice is somber, despite her efforts to sound

tough. “I mean, since I have no relatives to speak of, or at least
that I know of, it would be nice to find out about the dead
ones. I'd like to know the kind of people I came from.”

“I can empathize. Other than my immediate family and a
couple of cousins, I have no other relatives. But you probably
feel completely alone. It must be hard sometimes.”

“What about friends?” Adagio asks. “A great person like
you must have many.”
When she shakes her head, I smile. “Well, you do now.”

Andrea knows nothing about these people, yet they are
already working their way into her heart. They have a quiet way
about them and she feels different just talking to them. And
maybe knowing them will give her a reason to want to stick
around in this life a bit longer. Yeah, that will be the test. She
shakes her head slightly, not able to believe what she is about to
say.

I lay awake listening to the sound of Adagio's deep
breathing, unable to turn my thoughts off enough to sleep. The
whole evening keeps replaying itself over and over again in my
mind. It has been one of the most amazing days we have had
here so far.

Andrea Gaston was like a sponge, soaking in our every
word. Each thing we shared about ourselves and our family was
met
with
questions.
And when
we
answered those,
she
bombarded us with even more questions. I have never seen
such a desire, such a thirst for an emotional connection in
anyone before. I could see her slowly internalizing everything
just by looking at her face. By the end of the evening she didn't
look
like
the
same
girl anymore.
The
anger
that
once
permanently creased her brow had literally disappeared. And
when she smiled, her face seemed to transform, making her
absolutely beautiful. I know now what made her beautiful. It
was the knowledge that someone truly cared about her, and
knowing she will never be alone in the world again.

Two hours later we finally left, offering to take her to
dinner tomorrow evening. Adagio and I talked about Andrea all
the way home, neither of us able to believe all that happened.
Not only did we make a new friend, we also managed to get her
to open up more about herself. Andrea talked with us about
growing up with her grandmother. She shared her feelings
about her parents and the abandonment she still feels most of
the time.

I brush a tear away as I remember Andrea's words to us
before we left. She told us that we had literally saved her life,
because she had seriously been contemplating suicide. She had
been miserable for a long time and had had her fill of life. She
said if we hadn't stopped to help her that day in the mall, she
wouldn't have given us the time of day, much less let us in her
room. We tearfully embraced her and told her how special she
is, and how glad we are to be her friends.

When I sniffle, Adagio turns to his side, facing me.
“Are you all right,
amore
?” he asks sleepily.
“I'm fine. Just thinking about tonight.”
He opens his arms and I move into them. “It was pretty

I nod, resting my head against his shoulder. “I think
leaving the bed and breakfast at the same time Andrea was
arriving home is one of those '
God moves in mysterious ways'
moments.”

He pressed his face into my hair. “I think you are right. I
am very grateful for those moments.”
“So am I.” I yawn. “I'm sorry I woke you up.”
“It's all right.”
Closing my eyes, I snuggle close, my final thought of the
night being a prayer of gratitude to God for placing us in
Andrea's life at the right time.