The toast jumps from the slots in the toaster as I flip the bacon in the skillet. The eggs are already on the plates, waiting for Caitlyn to join me.
I can’t get the necklace out of my head.
Did I just imagine that I took it up to Caitlyn’s room and actually left it there in the Writing Room? Am I really that tired? It’s possible, I guess. That’s the only thing I can come up with, or, at best, I went upstairs to Caitlyn’s room and forgot to bring the necklace with me, but that adds to a whole other problem that I can’t ignore; I really might be starting to lose it. The lack of sleep, the visions. I’m not only seeing things that aren’t there, I’m hallucinating actions that I’m not really taking. This can’t be simple, run-of-the-mill processing of grief, and if it keeps up, I’m going to have to talk to someone. I know there’s no shame in it. Under the circumstances, it’s understandable, but it just adds another level of difficulty to everything. I suppose I can try to keep it a secret from Caitlyn and go to therapy sessions while she’s at school, but I don’t want to sneak around or lie to her when I want her to be honest. Merely thinking about it is giving me a headache and I’m not there, yet. I’m simply allowing myself that option if this keeps up.
Last night, I slept on the couch, again. I got some sleep but only three or four hours. That chapter that I wanted to finish before going to bed? Yeah, that didn’t happen. Not even close. Instead, I crashed on the couch, lights on, thinking about the necklace.
Caitlyn walks into the kitchen, dressed and ready for school.
“G’morning, pumpkin. How’d you sleep?”
“Good,” she replies, sliding into the alcove.
“I’ve got scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. You want juice or milk?”
“Juice, please.”
“You got it.”
I pour her a cup from the fridge and set it on the table.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I bring our plates over from the counter by the stove and sit across from her.
“Listen,” I say, scraping some butter across a wedge of toast. “That necklace you left on my computer? I really appreciate it, but why did you leave it there for me to find?”
She bites off the end of a strip of bacon. “I didn’t leave it there. It was my friend. She said you were sad about losing Mom’s ring. She said you could have the necklace and wear it like Mom’s ring.”
She’s making things up, again, but how can I be upset? She’s trying to do a nice thing. I have no problem letting this one slide.
“Well, you can tell your friend that’s very sweet, but I’ll be okay,” I say with a knowing nod. “She can have the necklace back.”
Caitlyn just munches her bacon and takes a sip of juice.
I take a bite of my toast. “So, what’s going to happen on your second day of school?”
“I don’t know.”
“You gonna learn how to be a rocket scientist?”
“Dad, I told you I want to work with animals.”
“Rocket animals?”
“What are ‘rocket animals’?”
“I don’t know. I guess today, you have to learn how to build them.”
“They don’t teach you how to make rocket animals in second grade.”
“Einstein made rocket animals when he was in second grade.”
“Who’s ‘Einstein’?”
I’m clearly failing as a parent.
“Are you gonna make some friends?” I tentatively ask. I want to nudge her in the direction of making some real friends as opposed to the imaginary ones.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs with a little more uncertainty than I’d like.
“You should try,” I say, attempting to be encouraging without being pushy. “It’s exciting, getting to meet all these new kids. A lot of them probably like the same things you do.”
“Maybe,” she replies, looking down at her glass of juice. “What if Peter Sanders makes fun of me, again?”
“Hey, pumpkin, look at me.”
She does.
“You don’t worry about what Peter Sanders says, okay? He’s just a bully. Bullies try to make other people feel bad and do you know why?”
“No.”
“Because they feel bad about themselves. You are amazing, Caitlyn Nicole Price. Peter Sanders ain’t got nothing on you.”
She smiles.
“And, if you work hard this week and we get your homework done right when you get home, we’ll go swimming in the pool this weekend.”
“The pool?”
“Yeah,” I say with a nod towards the window.
“You mean the lake?”
“I thought you said it was a swimming pool.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“I’mmmmm pretty sure you did.”
“No, I didn’t!” she laughs.
“Oh, no. You called it a puddle.”
“Dad!”
“Okay, okay, okay. Fine. Let’s finish up breakfast. The bus is on its way.”
*
I close the front door as the bus pulls away.
After talking and joking with Caitlyn over breakfast, this morning is a lot easier than yesterday.
Before getting to writing, I grab the necklace off my notebook in the Writing Room. Finding it there when I thought I had taken it upstairs last night had really messed with my head, so I decided to have nothing more to do with it.
I carry the necklace up the stairs and into Caitlyn’s room.
The place is a mess, again. All it took was one day for some dirty clothes to find their way back to the vanity. I pick them up, taking a second to check my reflection in the mirror, and then toss the clothes into the closet.
Holding the necklace in my hand, I scan the room.
I don’t even know where Caitlyn keeps her jewelry. I’ve never seen a jewelry box or anything of the sort. There’s not one on the vanity, window seat, or in the closet.
Finally, I set it on the nightstand, next to the medallion, which is where I thought I put it last night. That being done, I step over the stuffed animals and toys that litter the floor as I make my way to the door …
Know what?
Instead of leaving, I turn around, begin picking up the items on the floor, and putting them away. A few minutes later, her room is neat and organized.
I know it’s her mess, and she should be the one to clean it up, but she was looking out for me by giving me the necklace.
It was a really sweet thing to do and I’ll look out for her, too.
June 12th, 1900
The pharmacy has become a perfect balance of anticipation and despair.
On one hand, I’m forced to endure this endless boredom, working behind the counter. The throngs of customers still haven’t arrived. It’s gotten to the point that Father has been forced to make a decision. He had promised Carol that we would never sell alcohol at the pharmacy, but he had to go back on his word. Carol was furious. Father tried to argue that we would only market it as a medicinal remedy and not for recreation. When Carol continued to argue with him about how expensive it would be, he said that we would buy cheaper alcohol and repackage it. I know all of this because their voices easily carried through the curtain that separates the storeroom from the store. They only stopped when a potential customer opened the door, was startled by their voices, and promptly turned and left. Finally, Father said that we didn’t have a choice if the pharmacy was to survive. After that, Carol left without saying a word.
The only joy I get from the pharmacy is the anticipation I feel at the possibility that Mr. Carrin—Thomas will place another order, giving me an excuse to go to the Nightingale House to see him, or that he may drop by the store.
Throughout the day, I constantly watch the window, hoping my wishes will be answered.
Instead, almost every day, I have to see Patricia Fleming and her herd of friends take their lordly stroll across the green. I have to watch as they stop and speak to the nobility of Kingsbrook. I can imagine her put-upon tone and her laughing as she spreads what I’m sure is unfounded gossip about the person she spoke to only moments ago.
Why should someone so horrid be blessed with such a leisurely life while I’m stuck here, in this Hell?
I often dream of what it would be like to have wealth, stature, and peace … to have Thomas. He is all those things wrapped into such a striking package. That’s exactly what he is to me—everything that I want.
I find myself constantly fiddling with the necklace, wishing it was a magical amulet that could summon him at my will.
But I guess I shall have to wait.
It’s all I can do, besides dream of Thomas and the Nightingale House …