Chapter Twenty-Three 5 page

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He picked up a smaller one made of aqua blue glass. The cap was rusty and she imagined it was very old. “Jeff figures this Mason jar is worth fifteen or twenty bucks without the change.”

“Wow,” was all she could say.

“And one other thing,” he said, leading her to the end of the hallway outside of Paula’s old bedroom. “As you pack stuff you need to check it.”

“Check it?”

“Yup. We’re finding all kinds of paper money hidden in Francine’s things—inside knickknacks, old purses, even the pockets of her coats and sweaters. There’s money everywhere, so if you find some, just put it up here.” He motioned to a small cardboard box sitting on a table. It was filled with crinkled bills of different denominations, including fifties and hundreds.

“I guess this is what Francine used instead of a bank,” she said sifting through some of the cash. She picked up a twenty that was dated 1942.

“My grandmother used to do the same thing. She hoarded cash and kept it under mattresses and in kitchen cupboards. It was typical of people who lived through the Depression.”

They went into Paula’s room and she froze, staring into the past. Francine had left Paula’s room exactly as it was the day she graduated from high school. Her corkboard hung over the oak desk where she diligently finished her homework and a purple beanbag chair sat in the corner. She resisted the urge to plop down, as it had been her customary spot whenever she visited. Paula would sit at her desk or lounge on the four-poster canopy bed that overwhelmed the small room and Steph would gaze up at her in awe.

Emilio handed her an empty box and gestured toward the bookshelf filled with all of the titles they read on demand during high school.

“Are we still going to see your mom later?”

“You can come if you want. I’m warning you, though, she’s not the same.”

“Does that mean she’s stopped doing crazy stuff?”

“Hardly. Last week she hijacked the electric golf cart and took it for a spin. She said three orderlies chased her across the entire property and some woman in a walker had to jump out of the way.”

He laughed heartily. “God, I love your mom. I still remember the time she put on your cheerleading outfit and came to practice.”

Paula waltzed into the room. “Are we talking about Debbie?”

“I’m going with Steph to visit her this afternoon after we go to lunch,” Emilio said.

Paula’s face brightened. “I’d like to go.”

“Why?” Steph scowled. When she saw Paula’s shocked expression, she added, “I mean, won’t it be a little upsetting for you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe it’ll help to take my mind off everything. Would it be okay?”

Steph couldn’t think of a reason to say no, but the thought of her mother and Paula meeting again after so many years made her somewhat uncomfortable.

“Of course you can come,” she said, hoping she sounded enthusiastic.

They sat down in front of the bookshelf with a box and got to work.

“Thanks for helping,” Paula said quietly. She glanced at Emilio, who’d busied himself with the stuff Francine stuffed in her closet after she’d moved out.

“It’s not a big deal. I remember how hard it was to clear out my parents’ house after we put my mom at Waverly Place.”

Paula rolled her eyes. “I’m supposed to be back at work in a week. I’m not sure I’ll even finish the kitchen by then. I can’t believe how much cash my mother hid in this house.” As if on cue, she held a book upside down and a twenty-dollar bill drifted to the floor. “She even hid money in my stuff.”

Steph murmured agreement. She wanted to say something but she couldn’t think of a way to start a real conversation.

“Steph, I need to ask a huge favor.”

“Sure,” she said automatically.

Paula paused and took a breath. “At some point I need to take her ashes up north to Tillamook. I was wondering if you’d go with me.”

Steph stopped packing and looked at her. She was close to crying and her eyes glimmered with tears as if she wouldn’t know what to do if Steph said no.

“Of course I’ll go, but wouldn’t you rather have your girlfriend go, or did you want both of us,” she quickly added.

“No, just you and me.” There was gentleness, an intimacy in her tone that Steph remembered from high school when Paula was her most serious.

Steph pulled another stack from the shelf and noticed the title on top—Pride and Prejudice. Her mouth went dry and she glanced at Paula, who wore a little smile on her face.

“Do you remember reading that book?”

“Yeah,” she said casually. “Do you?”

“Well, I remember that you made a great Elizabeth to my Mr. Darcy.”

Steph chuckled and she laughed. And then they were both laughing hysterically.

“That does not sound like serious work,” Emilio called from the closet.

Paula flipped through the book, which naturally spread open to chapter thirty-two, when Mr. Darcy proposed to Elizabeth.

“Well, that was a long time ago,” she said, setting the book in the box. “So, where are you living?”

“I’m staying out at Heceta Head.”

“You know, I’ve never been there.”

“Really?” Steph was surprised. “I thought Francine would’ve taken you since she was a lighthouse lover.”

“No, she always went by herself. She said that lighthouses were solitary creatures and it was a private experience for her. She just wanted to be alone and stare out at the sea.”

She could barely finish the end of her sentence. She took a deep breath and avoided another crying spell. Steph touched her cheek and Paula pressed her palm against her face, holding it in place. She smiled warmly and kissed her palm before pulling away.

“How did you wind up at Heceta?” she asked after the moment had passed.

“Do you remember Caroline Bickford from high school?”

She searched her memory and nodded. “Vaguely. I’ve heard my mom mention her. Are you living with her?”

There was an odd tone in her voice and she seemed engrossed in packing the box.

“Actually, she and her husband Rick own the B and B. I ran into her at the mini-mart in Yachats a few days after I pulled into town. I guess it was just fate.”

“Oh.” She sounded relieved. “What’s your plan?”

Steph shrugged. “I’ve got no idea.”

Paula stared at her, clearly wanting to ask more questions but recognizing it was neither the time nor the place. Shelby called and she pulled onto her knees, her arms resting on the box.

“Um, we’re not done talking about this.”

“You mean my plan or lack thereof?”

Her lips curled into a seductive smile. “Yes, we definitely should talk about your plan, the last decade and a half—and maybe Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth.”

Her cute little butt vanished and Steph searched the box for the old copy of Pride and Prejudice. She leaned against the wall and flipped through the pages, breathing in the old book’s smell and gazing at the pink dust ruffle that decorated Paula’s bed—the bed they’d lain on while they read and the place they first kissed when Elizabeth locked lips with Mr. Darcy.

Chapter Nine

After three hours of packing Paula’s room they were famished. The others declined to join them for lunch, and when Hazel returned from the mini-mart with a twenty-four pack of Budweiser, Steph doubted that much more packing would occur.

They decided to revisit the Glenwood, a diner just west of the university that had been one of their haunts during high school. It was a converted house that served great coffee and decent meals. Emilio pleaded and flirted with the gay host to give them their old booth in the back. Once they were situated, Paula and Emilio caught up on life. They’d stayed in touch, referencing people and incidences Steph had never heard of, such as a lucrative job offer for Paula in Portland.

“Would Shelby go with you?” Emilio asked.

She shrugged. “I doubt it. Her art is really taking off in Seattle. It’s hard to move and reestablish yourself. Frankly, I don’t think I’m worth it.”

He scowled. “Now, I totally disagree with that, honey. Right, Steph? Paula is totally worth it.”

“Absolutely,” she said. She realized if Paula had begged her to go to Seattle with her when they were kids, she would’ve had a hard time saying no.

She was equally envious of Emilio’s scandalous life. He’d returned home from visiting a friend to find all of the furniture missing from his house. While he was gone his boyfriend had learned he was cheating and sought revenge.

“Did you call the police?” Paula asked.

He nodded. “I did, but they said there’s not much they can do. It’s not like Juan and I were legally married. And California is a community property state anyway. We owned all of that stuff jointly. It’s just a fucked-up mess,” he concluded with a dismissive wave.

Steph felt bad for him but she had a sore spot for cheaters because it made the other person look like a loser.

Her phone rang as their lunches arrived. It was Eric and while she didn’t want to have a public conversation with her son, she hated missing his calls since he was incredibly busy.

“Hi, honey,” she answered cheerily.

“Hi, Mom. How’s it going?”

“Good. Everything okay at school?” She glanced over at Paula, who speared her Caesar salad, seemingly uninterested.

“Hectic. I got a job at Pizza Joey’s to save some more money for college.”

“Congratulations, son, that’s terrific. Did you get the goodies I sent you?”

He made a disgruntled sound. “What I managed to pry out of Dad’s hands. He recognizes your care packages and he’ll open them before I get home. Last time I found him out by the pool sobbing over your blueberry muffins.”

She shook her head at Lawrence’s pathetic behavior. “Well, I promise I’ll send you some more treats but I’ll disguise the box. Your father won’t think there’s anything interesting to discover.”

“Good. Go ahead and put a toxic waste symbol on it, too,” he said, laughing. “And speaking of Dad, he wanted me to tell you that he’s sorry for fucking Marta and he wants you to come home.”

She laughed and when Emilio laughed too, she realized he and Paula could hear Eric.

“I doubt your father used those words.”

“Might as well have, jackass,” he added.

She cracked a grin. Lawrence typically threw Eric in the middle, thinking that the son he’d hardly acknowledged during his youth would side with him simply because they both possessed testosterone. Eric, though, was incredibly bright and she’d invested a lot of dinner conversation explaining her position.

“Don’t let him get to you,” she advised.

“He doesn’t. I’m hardly home now and I’ll be gone in a few months. So how’s life at the lighthouse? Have you seen the ghost?”

“Nope.”

“You know, I read once that spirits with a positive aura only show themselves when they feel comfortable with you or they think you need their help. You said Rue is a positive spirit, right?”

“Well, I think she’s a tragic spirit. She committed suicide over the death of her daughter.”

“Well, she’s not giving off a negative or destructive vibe so you’ll probably see her when she thinks you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Mr. Paranormal Expert. I’ll let you know when it happens.”

“It will,” he said. “I gotta get to class, Mom. I love you. And don’t feel guilty.”

Her voice caught and she paused before she said, “I love you, son. I’ll talk to you later this week. I can’t wait for you to visit.”

“I know, Mom. After exams, okay?”

“Yeah.”

They hung up and she realized Emilio and Paula were waiting for her to fill them in.

“There’s a ghost at the lighthouse and I’m the only one who’s never seen her.”

Emilio furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. Ghosts give me the shivers.”

“I think it’s kinda cool,” Paula disagreed. “I’d like to have a ghost for a friend.”

“She’s not really a friend,” Steph said. “She’s more of a practical joker and she tends to run off the troublesome guests with her wailing.”

Paula set down her fork. “Okay, Steph, it’s time to fill in some blanks. Your soon-to-be ex-husband is a doctor—

“Plastic surgeon.”

She scrunched her nose. “That’s a doctor, right?”

Steph shook her head. “Surgeons hate to be referred to as mere doctors. They’re far more specialized and educated than a regular GP.”

Paula rolled her eyes. “Sorry. Okay, so he’s a plastic surgeon and your son is finishing summer school so he can go to college.”

“Does he want to be a surgeon? Follow in daddy’s footsteps?” Emilio asked.

“He’s not really sure. Right now he’s talking about genetics. He’d like to help cure diseases.”

“He sounds a lot like you,” Paula said, squeezing her arm.

She smiled. That was true. She’d always hoped to become a doctor who did a lot of pro bono work for the poor. Eric’s affinity for helping those less fortunate was something he’d learned from her.

“So, what about you?” Paula asked, sipping her tea.

Steph looked from her to Emilio. Both of them were waiting for her big story, which didn’t exist. She shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I used to take care of Lawrence and Eric.”

“Did you work?” Paula asked.

She shifted in her seat. “I do charity work. I’m the president—I was the president—of three different organizations and I volunteered in several capacities. I was rather busy with all of that,” she said mildly but she willed herself to pass through the old oak top tabletop, just like Rue the ghost. Her life was nothing and it was completely embarrassing.

Paula took her hand under the table and whispered, “I’m sure you do a lot for everyone around you. That’s how you are.”

Paula kissed her cheek and she nearly sank to the floor. She glanced at Emilio who grinned.

“Excuse me,” a voice said.

They all looked up at a waitress, a tray of dirty dishes resting on her shoulder. Her bobbed blond hair bounced when she moved her head and she had enormous lips. Steph knew they’d gone to high school together but she couldn’t remember her name.

“What the hell are you guys doing here?”

Of course Paula immediately identified her while Emilio and Steph exchanged stupefied looks. “Gretchen Ellers, how are you?”

Steph was grateful Paula said her full name for their benefit. Paula’s exuberance ratcheted up about five levels, reminding Steph that Paula was voted Most Popular in high school for a good reason. Everyone was a friend and everyone loved her. Steph had once read that the key to public relations was never burning a bridge and from what she could tell, Paula had bridges intact everywhere.

Gretchen smiled, obviously pleased that Paula remembered her. They exchanged pleasantries while she and Emilio smiled politely. She was keenly aware that Paula never let go of her hand.

“What about you, Steph, Emilio?” Gretchen asked. “How are you guys?”

“Fabulous,” Emilio offered. “You?”

Gretchen sighed. “Hell, I’m still in Eugene working at the Glenwood. What does that tell you?” She flashed a smile at Steph. “Where do you practice medicine?”

It took a second for the question to register. At the moment it did, she felt Paula’s grip tighten. She glanced at her friends, who looked at her compassionately.

“Not around here,” she answered quickly, determined to keep the lie as simple as possible.

“Oh, are you one of those traveling doctors like the ones who work for Doctors Without Borders?”

She shook her head and Emilio saved her. “Hey, Gretchen, it’s great seeing you but we know you’re super busy. Could you find our waitress? We really need our check.”

“No problem. It was great seeing you guys.”

She headed off and Steph leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thanks.”

When they arrived at Waverly Place, Steph was greeted by Tammy, the head orderly.

“Honey, you’re just in time to see Debbie in her element. And I see you brought friends to enjoy the show.”

Before she could ask her to explain, Debbie’s notable and extraordinary singing voice floated into the lobby with the opening line of “Tomorrow” from Annie.

“Oh, God,” she murmured.

Emilio and Paula stifled their laughter as they entered the day room, where Steph had expected to find her mother engaged in a quiet game of bingo.

It was no accident that she came on Mondays during bingo to visit Debbie. It gave them something to talk about and limited other topics of conversation. It was hard for Debbie to tell stories from the past when she was listening for I-fourteen.

However, she was late and Debbie had seized the opportunity to make bingo about her. She stood at the front, holding the microphone and resting her other hand on the ball cage. The college volunteer who usually ran the game sat back in his chair, enjoying the show.

“Unbelievable,” Paula said. “Some things never change. She looks and sounds great. How many guys does she have in her stable of love?”

Steph’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? You really think she has a boyfriend?”

Emilio leaned closer. “Steph, your mother is totally hot for her age. It’s not boyfriend, honey, it’s boyfriends.”

She sighed heavily, worried they might be right. Years of formal dance training during her youth had ensured Debbie kept her lithe physique. While other women in their mid-sixties donned polyester pants with elastic waistbands, Debbie’s designer jeans and oxford cloth shirt hugged her fabulous curves. She’d earned a few more wrinkles and her blond hair, still fashionably coiffed, was streaked with gray.

Debbie shouted, “Everyone, with confidence!”

While several of the elderly and debilitated patients sat confused and disoriented, some sprang from their chairs slowly and joined Debbie, singing the final chorus terribly off-key. As the last note faded with their limited breathing, clapping and cheers erupted. Debbie took a bow before she grabbed the volunteer and kissed him on the cheek.

As the residents returned to their seats, Debbie saw Steph and Paula. She ran up the aisle and threw her arms around Paula, who squealed with glee.

“Let me look at you! You look exactly the same, darling.”

“And so do you. I just told Steph how beautiful you are.”

“We’re also wondering how many boyfriends you have,” Emilio said, giving her a hug.

She chuckled, clearly embarrassed, and Steph insisted they return to her room in case Paula’s presence sparked any inappropriate stories that might possibly ruin Steph’s reputation in Eugene or the entire Pacific Northwest.

In her room, Debbie offered everyone some cookies and Hawaiian Punch, her new drink of choice. “I’m sorry about Francine,” she said immediately. “She was a great lady. I remember the time we took you girls to the shore and Steph got stung by the jellyfish.”

Paula and Steph exchanged puzzled glances. No such trip had ever occurred but it had become common for Debbie to invent stories that intrigued or pleased her. They’d taken some car trips together during the summers but Steph had never been stung by a jellyfish.

“Yeah, that was a great trip,” Paula agreed. “My mom always loved being around you,” she said.

Debbie patted her knee. “I felt the same. Now you two tell me about your lives.”

Emilio took a cookie and proclaimed, “I’m a queer man enjoying life in San Francisco. I have many friends, spend my days teaching the second-grade youth of America and partying responsibly at night. That’s me.”

“Hear, hear,” Debbie said, raising her glass in a toast. “What about you, Paula?”

Steph was dying to know some details from the past two decades.

Paula took a sip from her glass and set it down. “Well, up until my mom died things were okay.”

“Are you married?”

“No, Debbie, I’m gay. I came out in college.”

“I knew it! All those afternoons you and Steph spent alone out in the forest…” Her voice trailed away and Steph spilled her punch on her pants.

“Shit,” she said, rushing to the paper towel dispenser.

“Debbie, just for the record,” Paula continued, “Steph and I were just close friends. Nothing really happened.”

“It didn’t?” Emilio asked.

Steph glared at him from the sink and he sank into his chair.

Debbie snorted. “It figures. Do you have a wife?”

Paula shifted in her seat. “Um, no. I’ve never come that close. I spend a lot of time at work.”

“That’s great,” Mom said. “So what do you do when you’re not working?”

Paula was clearly at a loss for words. “Work some more?”

She shook her finger at Paula. “That’s not good, missy. Life isn’t about work. That’s what you do between fun stuff. She suddenly belted a line from a tune Steph couldn’t recognize but it seemed applicable for Paula.

An orderly named Steve appeared in the door and applauded. Probably in his late forties, he was completely bald and muscles bulged underneath his white uniform shirt.

“Sounds great, Deb. What’s cookin’ good lookin’? You got time for me?”

“I’ve always got time for you, Stevie,” she purred.

She turned toward Paula and mouthed, Boyfriend.

Steph rolled her eyes and stood. “We should probably get going so Steve can help you with… whatever it is he’s here to do.”

Her mother winked. “Sponge bath.”

Chapter Ten

Steph and Emilio dropped Paula back at the house before zooming off toward the Sea Lion Caves, which Emilio desperately wanted to see before he returned to San Francisco the next day. When Paula noticed the other cars were gone except for her rented Malibu, she pulled the willing Steph into a lingering kiss and earned a cheer from Emilio. It’d been like that all day. She’d openly flirted with Steph while he watched. He never proclaimed himself a third wheel and he seemed happy for them.

She found a terse note from Shelby stating that they’d done what they could without her guidance but they didn’t know what to do next and had headed to Neighbors, a gay-friendly bar. She was encouraged to join them—an opportunity that seemed entirely unappealing. She only felt a little guilty for leaving Shelby with Hazel, Roman and Jeff, since they loved art and drinking, Shelby’s favorite pastimes.

She looked around at their minimal progress. There were several closed boxes by the door, an indication that something had been accomplished, but it was only a small punctuation mark in the prolonged sentence that was her mother’s life and stretched throughout the house. The curio cabinet was emptied but the hutch and the shelves over the mantel still displayed Francine’s extensive miniature lighthouse collection.

“This is gonna take forever,” she muttered.

Unable to find a single beer in the fridge, she hunted through the kitchen cabinets to see if on the off-chance her teetotaling mother had kept any alcohol around for guests. She was more than a little surprised to find an unopened bottle of single malt scotch. It was covered in dust, suggesting Francine had bought it long ago and forgotten about it.

She found a tumbler and poured herself two fingers. “Thanks, Mom,” she said, raising the glass in salute.

She went out to the deck. The rusty patio chairs obviously hadn’t been used in years, but she found a rag and dusted the old vinyl straps, which had endured two decades of Oregon rains. She sat down carefully and closed her eyes, thinking of the general response her parents’ house received whenever her friends had visited during school. It was the eighties, but the furniture, the housewares, even the beds, were circa 1964. They either quietly giggled behind her back or expressed jealousy that she got to live in a retro museum.

“Why throw usable things away?” her mother always argued. “Everything is cheap plastic now.” Inevitably she would pick up something, such as the sturdy pink Sunbeam can opener, and hold it out for Paula’s inspection. “Look at this! They don’t make quality like this anymore. You’ll inherit this when I die and you’ll still be able to use it.”

She took a stiff drink and thought of the can opener now in Jeff’s possession. He’d asked to have it when she said she’d give it to Goodwill if he didn’t take it.

“You’ve got a fortune here, Paula,” he’d commented. “We should inventory everything and put it on Craigslist. You’ll make a ton of money.”

She wondered if she should consider the idea since she’d just lost her job. She wasn’t too worried about money, but if she didn’t find employment fairly quickly, she could be in trouble. She’d spent too much on her Mercedes and her loft in downtown Seattle, insisting when she purchased it that it had to be upgraded. She rationalized her expenditures with the knowledge that she really had no life—no hobbies, no vacation destinations, and until Shelby a few months ago, no real girlfriend. What she had told Debbie was the truth. She worked. All the time.

There would be a small inheritance from her mother, enough to keep the panic of unemployment from overwhelming her. She made a mental note to call back Ted Ruth, her mother’s attorney, who’d been trying to reach her. He had the only copy of Francine’s will and she was curious to see where she stood.

Francine had rarely mentioned her death to Paula, beginning and ending the subject with, “You’re the only child and I have a lawyer. You get everything and you won’t have any of the fuss.”

Details were not discussed. As a member of the Greatest Generation, Francine subscribed to the notion that certain subjects such as financial affairs were confidential and private.

“I’m not sure why we abandoned that idea,” Paula said out loud, thinking of how many times in her professional career she’d cleaned up a messy personal life after the paparazzi stalked one of her clients. She hated tabloid TV and all the gossip mongers who kept them in business, but she also knew she wouldn’t have a job if no one cared which starlet was dating which actor.

Perhaps she’d work at a low-key company for her next gig and avoid the high-profile clients. It sounded appealing but it would guarantee a significant cut in pay to go from planning a multi-million dollar PR campaign to organizing local radio spots.

She had avoided the truth about her job and now she’d lied to Emilio, Steph and Debbie about a fictitious career in Portland. Maybe if she mentioned a promising job offer, they wouldn’t quiz her as much about her current situation.

She felt slightly guilty that she hadn’t told Shelby, but when she finally did, Shelby would be furious that she waited so long. As she sipped the scotch, staring out into the woods that were her childhood backyard, she realized she didn’t care if Shelby got angry, or threw things or made a scene.

She just didn’t care about Shelby anymore.

She wished Steph were here. The tiny kernels of truth about Steph’s life were incredibly interesting. She’d quit school, been married and had a son. Those seemed to be the major plot points of her life but Paula wanted details and she wanted to laugh more. Today had been joyous and she couldn’t wait to see her again.

She knew she could easily tell Steph about losing the job because she wouldn’t judge her. She glanced at the other old patio chair and pictured Steph sitting next to her, her knees tucked under her chin, curled up in a ball. As teenagers whenever they’d venture outside into the chilly air Steph assumed that pose. She loved being outdoors even when it was cold. She appeared vulnerable and small and Paula had resisted the urge to throw her arms around her and hug her tightly.

Once, Paula had come home from a day of shopping with her mother and found Steph on the deck, asleep in the chair. She’d waited all day for Paula, avoiding Debbie who was on a tirade about money. She’d thrown all of John’s fishing gear on the lawn after he’d criticized her spending habits, and Steph had snuck out and neither of her parents ever noticed she was gone.

Paula leaned back in the old chair, remembering how much she pitied poor Steph and her crazy mother. It wasn’t that Steph complained about her life. Quite the opposite. Whenever she was embarrassed or hurt, she became quiet and distant. They often spent an entire evening just sitting on the chairs, hardly saying a word. There was nothing to discuss, nothing to change. Countless times Paula had counted her blessings about her mother while she watched Steph suffer the emotional turmoil from dealing with her own.

She finished the glass of scotch and went for another. Only instead of returning to the deck she sat on the couch, listening to the plastic sheet crinkle under her weight. She hated that sound and whenever her mother had left for an overnight at a lighthouse, she’d removed the plastic and sat on the couch like a regular person.

“What the hell,” she said. She stood and ripped off the plastic, mangling it into a twisted ball and throwing it into the corner. “Sorry, Mom.”

It felt good to react and she wanted more. Everything in the house revolved around preservation and conservation and rarely had Francine splurged on anything. “Maybe if you’d spent some of that money rather than hiding it,” she said loudly, her voice a mixture of fury and sadness.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 576