“That’s where I grew up, Coco.” The fragile old dog smiled up at her.
Kate hit the trunk latch and got out of the car. After grabbing a couple of worn Louis Vuitton suitcases from the back, she toted them around the passenger side of the car and opened the door. She snapped on Coco’s leash and lifted the dog out of the car and onto the grass.
Matching Coco’s pace, she ambled to the porch steps where the little dog tried to climb the first step but couldn’t lift her arthritic rear leg. The cocker slid down to the stones of the sidewalk, her soft brown eyes focused on Kate, and gave her a “Woof.”
“I know, Coco. Old age must be tough.” Kate dumped the luggage and leaned down to pick Coco up and place her gently on the porch.
“Why do you carry that dog around?”
Surprised to hear the voice, Kate straightened and saw a girl, probably eight or nine years old, standing inside the front door. She wore pink slacks and a black-and-pink-striped T-shirt. With her hand, the child combed out tangles in her straight brown hair. Who else could she be but her niece? She had Abby’s small bones and beautiful features.
“Hello, Brooke. I’m your aunt Kate.”
Brooke stared at her.
“This is my dog, Coco.”
Coco woofed, not loudly, just as a greeting.
“She’s old and has arthritis so she can’t get up and down very well.”
“That’s a really ugly car,” she said, then headed upstairs. When she reached the landing, she said, “My mother’s at work.”
Kate dropped her suitcases on the shiny parquet floor inside. “On Saturday?”
Brooke disappeared without another word.
It wasn’t as if Kate were a guest or helpless. She’d grown up here and could find a room for herself. “Stay, Coco,” she said as if the little dog would move. She climbed upstairs and looked down the long hall. Three bedrooms and a bath on each side before a right turn into the other wing.
As she contemplated the staircase and the difficulty of carrying Coco up and down, she remembered a bedroom off the kitchen where their housekeepers had stayed years ago. With its private bathroom and proximity to the back door, it would fit her and Coco perfectly.
She found the linen closet and picked out everything she needed. From below came Coco’s soft whimpers. “It’s okay,” she shouted as she climbed down the steps. Words the elderly and nearly deaf dog couldn’t hear but it comforted her to say them. That short phrase was filled with optimism, the hope that everything would be fine, that her sister would welcome her and that Coco would live forever.
When she shoved the door to the small first-floor apartment open, she found a room empty of furniture but with a heavy covering of dust and a few cobwebs. She reached out to touch the wall and felt layers of dust on her fingers. Not up to Abby’s usual immaculate standards. That shoulder must really be bothering her to allow dust and cobwebs to accumulate anywhere in her house.
Our house, Kate corrected herself, as her parents had left the house to both daughters.
She went back to the kitchen, dropped the linens on the counter and tried to reorient herself. What she needed was a broom, dustpan, some rags and maybe a chair or two. Where would they be?
For two hours, while Coco slept on a spot of sunshine in the kitchen, Kate swept and mopped, wiped down everything in the small apartment. That completed, she opened the bathroom door and groaned at the state of the tiny place but plowed right in.
Kate had never been much of a housekeeper. At times she wished she’d inherited a smidgen of her mother’s compulsive need to clean in her own genetic makeup, never more strongly than now.
“Are you going to stay in here?” Brooke called from the hall outside the bedroom.
“Yes.” Kate stood and stretched.
The child glanced around the small area and shook her head.
With one last scrub of the bathroom sink, Kate asked, “Why’s your mom at work?”
“Trying to get caught up on stuff.”
Exactly like Abby. “Why aren’t you out with your friends on a pretty day like today?”
Brooke twisted her hair with a finger. “I don’t feel well,” she mumbled. “And I like to read. In my room.”
Kate didn’t pry further. “Is there a bed anywhere I can use?” she said.
Brooke said nothing. Like her mother, Brooke gave less information than anyone needed, but Kate refused to play that game. Arms crossed, she waited.
“There’s a shed in the backyard,” the child finally said.
Oh, yes, the old shed. Her father had used it for his woodworking shop, his tools mixed companionably with her mother’s gardening equipment.
“Thanks.” But Brooke was gone.
An odd child, but with Abby for a mother, who wouldn’t be? Kate had been surprised that a man as nice as Charles Granger had married Abby, had actually seemed eager to, but he had and this lonely child was the outcome. Where was he now?
Thirty minutes later, with the rooms tidy, Kate headed out back to the shed. Once in the backyard, she paused to remember the glory of her mother’s flower beds, imagining the heaps of orange and yellow roses and beds of tulips and daffodils of brightly colored blooms now replaced by thick grass. She wished she’d come back years earlier to see Mom attacking the weeds and fooling with her flowers while Dad built stuff in his workshop. An aching sense of loss rolled over her.
In honor of her mother, maybe she’d plant something while she was here. What else did she have to do except take care of Abby after the surgery? Gardening would allow her time away from Abby before they drove each other crazy.
But she wasn’t going to be here long enough. She’d be leaving in a month, getting on with her life, whatever that meant. She headed to the shed again and shoved the door open to see a jumble of furniture that seemed to have woven itself into an enormous granny knot.
A mattress for a single bed slumped close to the door. She gave a tremendous tug and pulled it out of the building while everything inside shifted with a crash. With a firm grip, she dragged the mattress across the lawn and up the steps. This was like towing a huge piece of overcooked spaghetti, but she finally steered it into the house and dropped it in the kitchen as she gasped for air.
She’d moved the thing this far by herself, and that counted as a big success in a year that hadn’t had many. With a few more shoves, she got it into the bedroom. Heady with her victory over the obstinate mattress, she grabbed the sheets and made the bed. That finished, she stepped over Coco and headed to the enormous closet in the front hall.
As a child, she’d taken very literally the scripture advice about where to pray. Back when she was a faithful Christian who really did believe, she’d shut herself in this closet to meditate. Even today the scent of wool and mothballs made her want to fall on her knees.
Shoving away the memory of her former piety and the disappointments that had scuttled her faith, she opened the door and flipped on the light. Yes, the card table and folding chairs were still stored behind the coat rod. She pushed the coats back, picked up a chair and slid the table back to her room. By that time, she realized it was three-thirty and she hadn’t eaten lunch yet. A grilled cheese sandwich sounded good and easy.
“What are you making?” Brooke asked.
Kate started when she heard the voice. The child was so quiet, it was like being stalked by a silent, sulky phantom. “A sandwich. Do you want one?”
She shook her head. “Mother doesn’t allow me to eat between meals.”
“Okay,