By the time CeCe had advanced to the fourth grade, she was reading seventh-grade chapter books recommended by Mrs. Anderson and cashing in on a hug every day. CeCe’s mother couldn’t listen to CeCe’s recounting of the books she read. Her eyes weren’t seeing things close up anymore, and she hardly remembered anything CeCe told her about the light bill or the new pack of underwear or school field trips.
For the first time, CeCe was afraid. The newest caseworker asked different questions from the others, questions about living in other houses, with other families, other mothers. Mrs. Anderson assured CeCe that, as long as her mother did what was asked of her, CeCe wouldn’t have to worry about living anywhere else.
“What was the word we learned?” Mrs. Anderson had asked.
“Compliance.”
“Right,” Mrs. Anderson said, not showing her dimple now.
Over the past two years, CeCe had shared things with Mrs. Anderson she’d never told anyone else, especially the caseworkers. CeCe told Mrs. Anderson the truth about their empty refrigerator at home, about her imagined birthday gifts, about their laundry in the tub, about her mother’s wrenching sobs at night.
Mrs. Anderson explained that everyone was just trying to make sure CeCe was safe, and her mother, too.
“Sometimes mamas need a little help,” she said.
“Did you need help?” CeCe asked. Mrs. Anderson spoke to CeCe often about her teenagers.
“I sure did,” Mrs. Anderson said, reaching out her hand for CeCe to place a book from the cart. CeCe had been relieved to be exempt from recess and become Mrs. Anderson’s aide. The other children played with her, sometimes, but Mrs. Anderson talked to her kindly all the time. CeCe enjoyed her job, too. She’d been fascinated when Mrs. Anderson taught her the Dewey decimal system and thought it was honor when she’d been given the job of re-stocking the mislaid books.
CeCe handed her another book from the stack of 900s, history. From the looks of the titles, CeCe guessed one of the upper classes must have assignments about U.S. presidents.
“We had our first daughter right out of college,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Being a mother is a lot of work, and I needed help figuring everything out. My own mother passed away when I was a young girl, so I relied on my aunties and a few ladies from church. It was really hard, but we finally got the hang of things.”
CeCe was quiet, handing over the next book.
“Did you miss your mother?” CeCe asked.
“All the time,” Mrs. Anderson said. “I was only thirteen when she died.”
“I miss my mother a lot, too,” CeCe said.
“I know, sweetheart,” Mrs. Anderson said. “I know.”
EIGHT
MAGIC
CECE LOOKED THROUGH THE BACK window where Doris had stood. The yard was enclosed only because all three neighbors had a fence or a thicket around their properties. The stellar feature for this small yard was an arching tree in the corner with two thick trunks. CeCe had attended one of Doris’ Fourth of July parties and remembered wanting to pull the library book from her bag and sprawl out beneath that tree.
CeCe started to walk through the house when the voices in the kitchen shifted from jovial banter to hushed, official tones. There were three small bedrooms, two baths, a dining room, and a living room. CeCe stood in the living room estimating how many books might fit into the wall’s cubby shelves when she heard a voice behind her. She spun around, shrieking.
“I’m sorry, CeCe,” the man said, stepping back and spreading his arms to draw CeCe’s eyes to the round belly buttoned inside his salmon-colored shirt. “It’s not often I’m able to sneak up on anyone.”
CeCe held on to her chest, willing her heart to stop racing. She grinned at the short, portly man with a retreating hairline. She was arrested by his emerald green eyes, the way they smiled at her.
“I’m Brian Clark,” he said. CeCe shook his outstretched hand as Doris soft-soled into the room.
“Well, we know who’s not getting invited to any haunted houses,” Doris said.
Everyone laughed. CeCe wondered if she’d actually heard this stranger call her by name.
There was a brief, clumsy silence, like would-be lovers uncertain of who should kiss who first.
“Doris has herself one helluva house, huh?” Brian said.
“Yeah,” CeCe replied. “I’ve only been here once, but it was so full of people I really didn’t get a chance to see all of her touches. I mostly remember the yard.”
“The tree,” Doris said. “That’s right. I remember.”
“I still feel like I know the house,” CeCe said, looking around them. “Doris talked about it all the time. She loved this place.”
Doris and Brian smiled at CeCe, then at one another.
“That’s a high compliment, don’t you think, Doris?”
Doris nodded, her eyes shining.
CeCe’s antennae went up. This guy was no renter, but he wasn’t a friend, either. She’d never heard Doris mention anyone named Brian Clark. CeCe looked at the dumpling of a man and hoped Doris wasn’t trying her hand at playing Cupid again. Matchmaking was one area where her friend was not gifted, though she gave great advice once the connections were made. CeCe felt Doris’ eyes on her and resolved to humor her dear friend for as much of the afternoon as she could bear. At least he had a sense of humor, CeCe thought. Their lunch date wouldn’t be too painful.
“Tell me, CeCe,” Brian said, slipping his hands into his pockets and talking at his shoes. CeCe braced herself for the awkward exchange. “Can you picture yourself in this house?”
CeCe’s brows raised.
“Picture myself?” CeCe said, tilting her head to one side. “What do you mean?”
Brian looked to Doris, so CeCe did, too. Her friend’s eyes were wide with anticipation and her bright berry lips were pursed together. CeCe could see her friend wanted to explode.
“I’ve known some pretty amazing women in my life,” Doris said with a deep breath. Her hands were clasped together in front of her chest, like prayer. “In big ways and small ways, I wouldn’t have been able to finally make the life I wanted for myself without them.”
CeCe waited for another story about the Ladies, but Doris stepped forward and took CeCe’s face in her hands. Doris had never positioned herself as a mother figure for CeCe, but they both had cherished the obvious opportunity for their friendship to fill aching spaces: Doris’ miscarried baby girl so many years ago and CeCe’s miscarried childhood. Doris’ hands were soft and warm, like her eyes. CeCe didn’t know why, but she wanted to cry.
“You’re one of those amazing women, kiddo,” Doris said, her voice plush and sweet. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders and a great heart in your chest. From the first day I met you, I knew I was going to like you.”
CeCe’s tears began to brim. So much love they’d harvested in that food court. Doris had given her advice and confidence and reality checks and courage. She was humbled to know Doris had seen a fighter in her all along. Doris smiled at her and used her thumbs to wipe away her tears.
“When Doris called me about revising her will,” Brian’s voice broke in and the women took a step back, “naturally, I introduced a number of options for her properties. Her boys. Area nonprofits. We even talked about making it a free residence for college kids working at the mall through the summer.”
CeCe frowned at the idea of keg parties spiraling out of control in Doris’ back yard.