CHAPTER EIGHT

THE CELL PHONE ON JACK’S belt warbled. He could have changed the ringtone, or downloaded a more unique one, but he left the ring exactly as it was when the phone was first activated. To change the ringtone, he’d have to find the manual and read it—both chores he was pretty sure would never be accomplished.

He flipped it open. “Kenyon Construction.”

He listened for a few moments.

“That’s great. I’ll be able to start at the end of the month, if that’s okay with you. I’ll call with the exact date when I know for sure.”

He knew he wouldn’t be completely done with the Midlands Building at the end of the month, but the overlap of a few days wouldn’t be stretching his promise of “one-job-at-a-time” too much. Stretching just a little, maybe—but not breaking.

“Well, the kitchen I’ve just finished is almost exactly like your kitchen. If it’s okay with the owner, I could show you what you could expect. Much easier than trying to draw it out, or show you in a store.”

He waited a moment, then said, “I’ll call you back if and when it would be okay to see the kitchen. And thanks a lot. I mean that.”

He slipped the phone back in the holder, feeling a bit more secure. One job in progress, one more scheduled at the Pettigrews’, and a few other estimates still pending.

Maybe I can make this work. No—I can make this work. And I will. I will.

Later that afternoon, after a full morning of hanging the final cabinets in the apartment kitchen at the Midlands Building, he brushed himself off, unfastened his tool belt, and tapped on the door that led to Leslie Ruskin’s apartment. The door opened and Jack could hear the music for Dora the Explorer in the background.

“How’s it going, Mr. Kenyon?” Leslie asked.

“Jack. If I get to call you Leslie, you have to call me Jack. That’s the contractor’s rule.” He stood outside on the landing and explained that he’d landed another job and wanted to show the young couple the new kitchen in the empty apartment. “I’d never take anyone inside unless you said it was okay. After all, it is your place.”

“Why sure, that would be perfectly okay with me,” she said. “It’s kind of a compliment, isn’t it—that someone else wants to see how nice the kitchen turned out?”

Jack leaned his head just slightly. He caught Ava, sitting at the edge of the sofa in the living room, staring at the door. She ducked backward, out of sight, but a second later, she reappeared, and this time she waved.

“Dora’s on,” she called out, as if explaining her absence at the door with her mom.

“Her favorite show,” Leslie said softly. A look passed over Leslie’s face, indicating that perhaps she was considering something more complicated.

“Jack, would you like to come in for a cup of coffee? I was just about to make a fresh pot. Or do you have to run? Are you done with work for today?” Leslie asked as she glanced at her watch. “I heard you start early this morning.”

Jack was never good at maintaining a poker face. In that split second, he wondered what emotion his face was showing. He was surprised, to be sure, that Leslie was inviting him in. Excitement? He couldn’t tell exactly what he felt most. He was pleased, too. What she’d just said was a compliment, in a way, since she was obviously paying attention to his comings and goings on the job.

But maybe she’s just making sure the job gets done on time. She probably wouldn’t be watching me for any other reason … well, maybe there are other reasons …

He hoped he kept his voice in check. “Sure. If it’s not too much trouble. Fresh-brewed coffee sounds good. I guess I’m still not used to instant. I mean, there’s only one of me, so making a pot of real coffee seems like a big commitment.”

Leslie laughed—a clear, crisp laugh, gentle, genuine, rich. “I know what you mean. It’s the same debate I go through every day: Now, how many cups am I going to drink? How many should I drink? Will I muster up the nerve to reheat it later?”

Leslie closed the door behind him and led him through the living room and into the kitchen. They both hurried past Ava, not wanting to stand too long between her and the television. Ava bounced one way, then the other, not willing to miss a second of the show. But as Jack passed, she did stare at him, at least until he and her mother were in the kitchen.

Leslie measured out cold water into the carafe and poured it into the coffeemaker. Jack watched, trying not to stare, but it had been so long since he had been around a beautiful woman in a normal setting—a little family, a normal kitchen, an everyday activity like making coffee for two.

He took a seat at the table as politely as he could. He tried not to shed any sawdust.

It was a normal kitchen, with good light coming in through the dining area from the balcony facing the street out front. There was a vase of flowers on the table—not real flowers, but nicely done artificial flowers, in a simple glass vase. There was a stack of napkins in a metal holder, and on the front of the refrigerator, an explosion of papers and artwork, each signed in tiny block letters: AVA. Jack had a flash of the same melancholic mood that came over him whenever he was reminded of what he was missing … what he’d never have again. All the papers of his daughter’s that he’d never see on a refrigerator door.

Leslie saw him looking. “They seem to do a lot of art projects at this age.”

Jack nodded. Some papers were all but hidden by more recent acquisitions.

Leslie busied herself with cups and sugar and spoons. “Do you like milk with your coffee? Or I have cream. It’s one of my few luxuries.”

“Cream, if you don’t mind. That would be great. I use the powdered white stuff when I’m by myself. It’s nice when you can use the real thing.”

She sat down, and they both watched and listened as the coffeemaker dripped and sputtered, the final elongated hiss indicating it was done with its brewing business. Neither of them moved for a moment. Jack didn’t know why exactly, but he stood and reached for the coffeepot. It was not his job as host, but Leslie had hesitated.

“May I pour?” he asked.

Leslie, appearing grateful, smiled. “Why, thank you, Jack.”

They both added in more than one serving of cream and sugar.

Leslie hoped Jack had not seen her hand shake as she reached for the container of cream in the refrigerator nor heard her take three deep breaths while standing behind the refrigerator door in an attempt to calm her pulse. She had turned away from him as she’d readied the cups and all the rest on a tray, delivering it to the kitchen table in a swift turn. She hoped he didn’t know she was trying to make sure that the cups and spoons didn’t rattle on their journey from the counter to the table.

“So, you have another job lined up. That’s good, isn’t it?” Leslie asked.

Inwardly she winced. The question sounded like one a girl asks on her first date with a boy she likes.

An image flashed into Leslie’s mind—of an old etiquette column she’d read as a teenager. You must get the boys to talk about themselves! They love talking about sports and cars. If you want date number two you must feign interest in all those topics.

Jack didn’t seem to mind being asked to talk about himself.

“It is. I knew it would be hard starting up in a place where I didn’t know anyone, but I’ll be busy for at least a couple of months.”

“I really like the way the other apartment is shaping up. You’ve done a great job.”

“Thanks. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble renting it. I mean, I would rent it—if I could afford it.”

For a moment Leslie felt a nervousness … not the bad kind, but the giddy kind of nervousness.

“But it would be too big for me,” Jack quickly continued. “I don’t need all that space. And I want to find a small old house to renovate. Then sell it and find another to work on and sell.”

Leslie did her best to hide her feelings, slowly turning her coffee cup, making small ceramic grating noises on the wooden table. “The ground floor looks great too. Just cleaning it up made a world of difference.”

“Have you found any tenants?” Jack asked. “I let all my suppliers know about the space.”

“Why, that’s so sweet of you, Jack. I haven’t started to advertise it yet. After we get the bathrooms finished, I’ll put an ad in the paper.”

“There is that one big wooden door in the back that I couldn’t get into,” he reminded her. “I can’t tell if the lock is jammed, or if I don’t have the right key for it.”

“I’m pretty sure I gave you all the keys I had. But I’ll double-check with the realtor at the bank.”

Jack finished his coffee well before Leslie. He wondered if he should stand up now and leave, or if he should wait for his host to finish. Too many years had passed since he’d had to worry about such things. He decided to wait.

Suddenly the noise from the television ceased. Ava walked into the kitchen with some deliberateness and stood close to her mother. Not very close, but closer to her than to Jack.

“Do we have any cookies? Or cupcakes? Trevor didn’t bring any cupcakes with his lunch today.”

Leslie stood and walked to the small pantry. “We have a few shortbread cookies left. You may have two of them.”

“Can I have four?” Ava asked.

Jack could see that Leslie wanted to smile at the negotiations but didn’t. “Three.”

“Three is good.” Ava extended her hand as her mother placed the three small cookies in her palm. “Thanks.”

One cookie immediately disappeared into Ava’s mouth as she headed out of the kitchen and down the hall to her room.

Both watched her leave.

“Such a cute girl,” Jack said as he stood to leave.

“She is—and the trouble is that she knows it.”

Jack wanted to say how true that was—to add something about his daughter that might connect him and Leslie—but he didn’t. It had been too long, he told himself. He had terminated the ability to mention her in public. She existed only to him; she couldn’t be shared with others … because of what happened.

He stood. “I should be going. You have things to do, I’m sure. Thanks so much for the coffee.”

“Are you sure?” Leslie asked. “The pot’s still half full. I’ll never drink all of it. One more cup?”

Jack wanted to say yes, because he so badly wanted to spend the afternoon here in Leslie’s kitchen, just talking and being with her. The whole night, in fact. There was something wonderful about how she spoke: her gentleness, the curve of her throat, and the way her eyes half-closed when she laughed. But he knew he couldn’t—or shouldn’t. Jack knew that if he asked, if he turned up the charm, even just a little, he could have a third and fourth cup, and more. He was that certain. But instead of asking for one more refill, he shook his head no.

Being here, being attracted to Leslie, being very attracted to Leslie, was more than he could deal with this day. “No. I’ll take a rain check. Okay?”

“Sure,” Leslie said. “That would be nice.”

There was a tiny note of panic in her voice, he thought … as if she wondered if he somehow knew that this might be her first time with a man since her divorce.

He heard the door being latched as he walked down the steps to the street. He hurried to his truck, started the engine, flipped the visor down and paused for a long moment, then drove away, a few miles per hour faster than needed, a few miles per hour faster than he wanted.

Leslie kept her hand, white-knuckled, on the doorjamb a long time until her heart slowed to a normal rhythm. She gulped, drew her shoulders back, ran her hands through her hair, and drew in one last deep breath.

Okay. Okay. I feel fine. No problem. I’m fine. There’s nothing to be worried about.

She called out, “Ava, let’s go. Remember? We’re shopping for furniture this afternoon.”

She waited while her daughter, walking slowly and more carefully than necessary, came out into the living room, holding a picture book on dolphins in her hand.

“I don’t want to go shopping. I don’t like shopping.”

Leslie refused to be drawn into the debate.

“I know, but we’re going. We talked about this yesterday. We need a dresser for your room. We need a chair for the living room. And the whole apartment simply has to have some artwork on the walls.”

“Like on the refrigerator?”

“No, sweetie. Like my grown-up posters. We’ll need to get frames for them.”

“Ohh,” Ava replied, disappointed.

Five minutes later, the pair was in the minivan heading south on Route 356. Leslie had been told of a Catholic Charities resale shop near Saxonburg, a few miles south of town. Ava really did need a dresser; she had been using five cardboard boxes to hold her assortment of clothing, plus the dresses and sweaters that were hung in the closet. But cardboard boxes were depressing if used as furniture. Leslie was sure that some of her panic was caused by the image of her daughter rummaging through cardboard boxes when she got dressed in the morning.

A dresser will make things better, she told herself. And it doesn’t have to be a fancy dresser. Just a nice dresser. And a mirror above it. Every little girl deserves a dresser and a mirror—and maybe a little desk or dressing table.

Glancing in the rearview mirror at her daughter, Leslie realized that Ava probably didn’t care. Cardboard boxes were normal for her now, and until she had friends over, however she stored her clothes would be fine.

She needs a dresser.

Leslie navigated the minivan onto the gravel parking lot.

The place looks nice enough. Almost like a real store.

Ava unsnapped herself from her car seat and held out her arms for her mom to help her down and out. She reached up and took her mother’s hand. Bells above the shop’s door offered a cheerful little clatter when they walked in.

“Good afternoon. Glad to see you. Let me know if I can be of any help at all.”

A woman of about sixty, maybe even a bit older than that, waved from behind a counter.

“I’d get up, but that takes a while and people don’t want to be bothered when they shop, am I right? The big furniture is in the back room. That’s where it gets delivered, and no one wants to haul it farther than they have to. Clothes are on that side—I guess you can see that. Smaller household things are out here.”

Leslie kept nodding as the woman spoke.

“Now for prices. We put a price on everything here. And that’s the price that you pay. The parish priest says some of us ladies are too easy and we’d be giving everything away. That would be me. ‘Take it,’ I’d say. ‘Get it out of here and make use of it.’ But Father Boyd says that’s crazy. Well, maybe he didn’t say ‘crazy,’ but that’s what he meant. He says that we have to make a little money on this place to pay the rent and heat and all that. He says a charity like this takes money to run. I guess he’s right. So the yellow tag on all the furniture has the price written on it. Father Boyd says to discourage any dickering because we’re not allowed to take less than the tag. We keep the tag, and the tags and the money have to be even at the end of the day. And I guess God would be watching if we threw the tags away, now, wouldn’t He? Besides, the prices are really cheap. I bought a great old bed here once and I’m still using it.”

Ava was staring at the woman, perhaps because of her enthusiastic and animated monologue.

“And what’s your name, sweetie?”

“Ava.”

“Well, that’s a real pretty name. Like Ava Gardner?”

Ava scrunched up her nose. “I dunno. Is it, Mommy?”

“No. I just liked the name. Ava Gardner was a little before my time.”

“Gracious sakes, of course she was. But she was a very beautiful actress. Are you an actress, Ava?”

Ava shook her head emphatically. “Nope.”

Leslie spoke up. “Do you know if you have any dressers? Ava needs a dresser for her room.”

The older woman rubbed her forehead, pursing up her lips into a tight slit. “I think they brought in a whole bedroom set the other day,” she said brightly. “I think it was for a little girl. It’s in the back on the right. All white with pretty knobs and handles. It’s real cute. You yell if you don’t see it. I’ll make my way back there if you don’t.”

Leslie took Ava’s hand and wound their way through the cluttered room. The back room, nearly twice as large as the front, was crammed with all sorts of odd dressers and tables and chests and chairs and beds and sofas. They passed one chair, and Ava hopped up into it, kicked her feet, and said with some authority. “I like this chair, Mom. It’s all cushy.”

Leslie stepped back and looked. The chair, a fully upholstered one, was classic and pretty. The legs may not have been real mahogany, but they were solid and unscarred, the fabric clean, in a very rich medium shade of sage green. The tag read $10.

“That’s cheap,” Leslie said.

Ava turned her head to see the tag. “It says ten. I know that number. What’s that squiggly thing?” she asked as she pointed to the tag.

“That’s a dollar sign.”

“Is ten dollars a lot?”

Leslie shook her head. “No. That’s real cheap. I think this would be a great chair for our living room, for by the fireplace, don’t you?”

Ava nodded with enthusiasm. “Are you going to buy this?” she asked, her feet still dangling and kicking in the air.

“I think so.”

From the front of the store came the older woman’s voice. “If you see something you like, tear off the bottom half of the tag. That means it’s yours.”

“Let’s look around a bit more, Ava. There’s no one else here. I think this chair is safe for now.”

Ava hopped down and walked calmly through the narrow pathway between the furniture. As they came to the end of the aisle, Leslie caught sight of the white girls’ bedroom set.

It is pretty, Leslie thought to herself. A double dresser, a small dressing table with a chair and mirror and a bed frame and headboard. It looked well made, almost hand-carved; though Leslie was pretty sure it was not. But it was delicate and definitely girl-like, yet simple. Ava walked over to it and touched the brass handles with some reserve.

“It’s pretty, Mommy,” she said very softly.

Leslie was certain it would be too expensive, even at bargain resale shop prices. She imagined a set like this, in a real store, would be close to two thousand dollars, so even a reduced price would be more than she could comfortably afford. Ava gently traced her finger along the scalloped edge of the table and stared at herself in the dainty, child-sized mirror.

Leslie looked for the tag, not wanting to hope too much to commit to anything. Her chest tightened, as if her heart was conditioned to respond to dashed dreams. Her breath grew a bit shorter, and sweat started to glisten on her forehead. She closed her eyes and willed it all to stop. She breathed in deeply and out slowly.

The moment passed.

Ava jumped to the left and pointed to a yellow tag. “There it is, Mommy. It says fifty and the squiggly thing means dollars. Is fifty dollars too much?”

Leslie was certain that it must have read $500, or that if it was $50, that was for one piece. She looked at the tag. Indeed, the tag read “$50 Set/5 pieces.”

Leslie looked around quickly. There were no other tags.

The fifty dollars must be the real cost.

“Do you like it, Ava?”

Ava, who had never been the most feminine of little girls, who had never favored lace over blue jeans, who had never yet attempted to put on her mother’s makeup and style her hair, touched the dresser again, smoothed her small hand along the satiny surface, and finally looked back at her mother.

“It’s real pretty. Like a princess. Like that princess we saw on TV.”

The bell in the front of the shop sounded.

Leslie didn’t hesitate. She reached over and tore the yellow tag in two. “Then let’s get this for you.”

Ava, a child not given to spontaneous acts of affection—it wasn’t that she was unaffectionate, but that her responses were most often considered and thought-out—jumped at her mother and embraced her fiercely. She waited a long moment until she whispered “Thanks” in her mother’s ear.

When Ava released her mother, she stepped back, looked at everything again, then said calmly, “Will this fit in our car?”

It was a situation Leslie had not considered. She looked at all the pieces. They could tie the flat ones to the top of the minivan—there was a luggage rack that would hold them. The middle seats could be folded down to make space for the rest.

“I think so.”

Ava didn’t take her hands off the dressing table. “I bet Daddy could make it all fit.”

Ava did not mention her father often. Neither did Leslie, for fear of sounding angry or hurt or saying something unwise.

“Maybe he could. But Daddy’s not here right now.”

Ava looked at herself in the small mirror with beveled sides. “I miss our old house.”

Leslie’s heart ached. “But our new house is nice. Isn’t it? It will be nicer with this furniture, right?”

Ava sighed. “I guess.”

Leslie could have let the discussion stop there, but she needed to explain. She had to. What happened wasn’t her fault. Not at all. There weren’t always two sides to every story. Sometimes there was only one. She bent down to Ava and took the child’s hands in hers.

“We’ll make it all fit, Ava. I know Daddy is not here, and Daddy could have done it. But Daddy had some problems and made his choice with his life. Sometimes men … daddies … just make bad choices. Maybe Daddy doesn’t see it that way, but that’s what happened. Mommy did her best, Ava, she really did. She did everything that Daddy wanted. She cooked and cleaned and tried to do everything Daddy needed. Mommy was there for him. I really, really tried. Then, out of the blue, there was someone else, and Daddy decided he didn’t love me anymore. As if I had that choice. I don’t understand how it all could change so quickly. I did everything he wanted. Anytime. Whatever it was he wanted. I tried.”

Ava listened and nodded. Yet, even in the middle of this, Leslie realized she was saying too much. Ava had no business knowing what Daddy did or did not do. In fact, Leslie wasn’t even certain Ava knew there was another woman involved in the divorce. Leslie had never mentioned her … until now. But maybe it was time for Ava to hear about it.

Ava’s face was blank.

Leslie’s heart rate sped up, unwanted and unexpected. “I’m sorry, Ava. I’m so sorry. It’s okay. Really. We’ll get it all in the van. We’ll make two trips if we have to. It’ll all be okay.”

She went down on one knee and opened her arms. Ava slowly moved toward her, allowing herself to be hugged. There was a tension, a tightness in her daughter, that Leslie had not felt before. She held her for a long time.

“I’m not getting a new mommy, am I?” Ava finally asked. “Trevor said his daddy is looking for a new mommy. He says he wants a new mommy, but I don’t think I do.”

Then Leslie knew she had said too much. She stood up, and by sheer force of will, took Ava’s hand and walked slowly toward the front, stopping to take the tag from the green upholstered chair.

“Mommy?” Ava said.

Through pursed lips, Leslie said, “What?”

“You said picture frames, too. Are you going to buy picture frames?”

Leslie shook her head. “Another day. The minivan will be filled anyhow. Is that okay?”

Ava nodded.

Leslie reached the counter and carefully laid the two tags flat. “It’s fifty dollars for the whole set, right?” she asked, her words compressed.

“That’s what the tag says. You got a deal on this one. Good for you. Let me call over to the church office. I’ll get the custodian to help load your car. If you ask me, he loves it when I call him. Gets him out of the church. That’s why he always runs over here. And he’s got rope and all those sorts of packing things.”

Leslie finished writing the check and slowly tore it out of the book.

“You pull around to the back, by the garage doors, and Freddie will take care of you. Thanks for shopping with us. Enjoy your new bedroom set, Ava.”

Ava smiled happily and waved as her mother held the door open.

Amelia Westland, age fourteen years, four months

Butler Orphan Asylum

Butler County, Pennsylvania

November 25, 1876

Catherine considers me a giddy, silly schoolgirl. Perhaps I am. But I have made the acquaintance of a most agreeable young man, who is also residing at this Asylum. His name is Julian Beck. We have sat across the aisle in morning chapel and he glanced at me often, as I did at him. We have spoken on occasion, but for just a few moments, since prolonged association between the boys and girls at the Asylum is not encouraged. He appears to be pious, with a gift of oratory. He is agile and energetic. Catherine says she has heard tell he has been often in need of discipline. But his eyes are of the bluest color I have ever seen, and he has the most perfect of lips and beautiful blond hair, so to me, that is of no regard. I have taken a decided fancy to him, and I suspect his gaze might be enough to make many a woman swoon. His face fills my thoughts and dreams.

My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O LORD;
in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up.

—Psalm 5:3