Connie slows the car to a stop and cuts the engine. There’s a large sign over the entryway.
Doherty Farms
Cows, goats, sheep, horses, rabbits, and chickens
Get lost in our 5-acre corn maze!
M–F, 10–3
Adults $3, Youth $1, Children under 5 are free
Ask about our special birthday packages!
There’s a large red barn set on the back of the property, surrounded by fields of corn. Connie can see a white farmhouse, too, another large building, and a grain bin. A couple of wind turbines are spinning behind the farmhouse. There are a few cars parked in the dirt lot, but otherwise it seems pretty empty.
Connie unscrews the cap to her bottle of orange juice and takes a sip. She’s hungry, but she all she has is a granola bar. Rayna’s farm is south of Avalon, and if Connie keeps driving she’ll head straight into the open prairies of Illinois. She should have packed more food before leaving Avalon, but she didn’t know where she was going, and she certainly didn’t expect to end up here.
It’s a big place, probably sixty acres, maybe more. Connie knows she won’t be able to drive in without being seen, and she’s too far away to see any of the animals, much less Serena.
She closes her eyes. Connie’s not foolhardy, but this is perhaps the most foolish thing she’s ever done in her life. And yet she can’t bring herself to drive away.
There’s a rap on her window. Connie opens her eyes and sees an elderly man beaming at her, his skin tanned and wrinkled from the sun, a worn baseball hat in hand. She sees a tractor parked across the road. “You lost?” he asks.
Connie rolls down her window and tries to smooth her hair—she knows she must look like a mess. “I’m taking a break,” she says. “Just passing through.”
“We still got lots of pumpkins,” he tells her. “You can pick your own. And we had a bumper crop of beets and parsnips so those are on special today.”
Connie tries to smile. “That sounds great,” she says politely.
“Terrific!” the man says. “Follow me in!”
“What? Oh no, I mean it’s great that you—” but the man is already heading back across the street to his tractor. He gives Connie a wave with his hat before fitting it back on his head and climbing into the seat. “This way!” he hollers. The tractor kicks on with a rumble.
Connie doesn’t know what to do. The sensible thing would be to start the car and drive away. But as she sees the man give her another friendly wave she thinks, What have I got to lose? She would do anything to see Serena again, if only for a moment. This might be her only chance.
The man on the tractor pulls into the parking lot, then cuts the engine and jumps down. He’s a spry guy who has to be in his seventies at least, and Connie can’t help but think of Madeline. She’s glad that Hannah is with her and helping out at the tea salon, because the thought of Madeline alone is more than Connie can bear. She feels better knowing that Hannah and Madeline will have each other, but she hadn’t counted on missing Madeline so much. She even misses Hannah, who’s shown her more kindness than Connie’s ever offered in return.
She looks toward the barn where there’s a hand-painted sign, VISIT OUR BARNYARD! Serena must be in there.
“We sell some nice jams, too,” the man is saying. “Want me to walk you in?” He nods to the large building adjacent to the barn.
“Um, I was thinking about visiting the barnyard first,” Connie says. A family with small children emerges and Connie knows it must seem like a strange request. “Your sign says you have goats?”
“Sure do,” the man says. “I’m headed that way myself. So where are you from?”
Connie feels a seize of panic. “Oh, all over,” she says. “Like I said, I’m just passing through.”
The man nods. “Here we are.” They step inside the barn.
Connie blinks. There’s the strong musty smell of animals and hay, of the wooden barn itself. Pens are lined up against the wall and in the center of the barn, where a handful of children are playing with rabbits or holding baby chicks. There’s a horse and cow, three sheep, and a couple of goats, neither of which are Serena. Something about this feels familiar, as if she’s walked into this barn before.
Connie feels faint, and for a second she wonders if maybe she did steal Serena, and didn’t even know it. Could it be? It’s a wild, errant thought but how else would Connie know this place?
She looks around. There’s a wooden ladder leading up to a loft, a rope dangling from the ceiling. Straight ahead is the exit to the barn, a large window above the door with a stained-glass image that’s casting refracted color light onto the hay.
“Is that an eight-point star?” she asks, her voice hollow in disbelief.
“How did you know?” The man is delighted. “Yep, that’s our family crest. We have several quilts in our family with that same star. And flanking the star on both sides are …”
“Violets,” she finishes for him weakly. Illinois’ state flower. How she knows this, she has no idea.
“Most people think they’re mini purple stars,” he says, surprised. “And I can see that—they don’t look like violets to me, either.” He looks at Connie. “Have you been here before?”
“Yes, I mean no, I mean, I don’t know.” Connie feels herself beginning to sweat. “Are there more goats, sir?”
“We have a bunch in the pasture, but these LaManchas are my favorites. A good breed, very agreeable.” He jerks a thumb toward the door. “Got some Pygmies outside if you want a picture. Got some Nubians, too, that will give you a run for your money.”
Connie feels ill. She has to get out of here. She starts heading for the exit and feels relief when she steps into daylight.
There’s a young boy standing in the clearing in between two Pygmy goats as his parents snap a picture.
Suddenly, Connie remembers.
“Did you used to have Boer goats?” she asks. “Years ago?”
The man chuckles. “We’ve had every kind of goat over the years,” he says. He pauses to think for a moment. “But yeah, we used to have a small herd, maybe about ten or twelve years ago. Why?”
Connie looks around, feels a well of emotion. “Because I think I came here a long time ago. With my mother. It was the first time I’d ever seen a goat up close.”
The man reaches out and clasps Connie’s hand. His hands are worn and calloused but Connie feels comforted by his touch.
“This is a special place,” he says, and he gives her a kind smile. “It’s why we’re all still here.”
“WHAT’S SHE DOING HERE?!”
They turn and see Rayna Doherty bearing down on them. Her hair is tied up in a red bandanna and she’s wearing an apron over a flannel dress printed with daisies, garden boots on her feet.
“I’m showing this young lady around,” the man says pleasantly.
“Dad, this is the person who stole Daffodil!” Rayna exclaims. She glares at Connie.
“I figured as much,” the man says. He turns to Connie and holds out a hand. “Jay Doherty.”
Connie shakes his hand. “Connie Colls. How … how did you know it was me?”
“Your picture was in the paper,” he says. “Though you’re much prettier in real life.”
Connie blushes. Rayna looks incensed. “Dad,” she says.
“Oh, Rayna. She sent a check and a very nice note. And I don’t think she did it.” Mr. Doherty turns to face Connie. “Do you want to see Daffodil?”
“Oh, no, she is NOT going anywhere near Daffodil,” Rayna says, reaching into her apron and pulling out a cellphone. “I’m calling the police!”
Jay Doherty looks disappointed. “Now, Rayna,” he begins.
Rayna ignores him. “Hello, Officer Daniels?” she says importantly. “It’s Rayna Doherty. Yes, I have … what? Who?” Rayna glances at Connie then turns away, cupping the phone closer to her mouth. “They did? When? Oh. No, right. Okay … okay. Thank you.” She presses a button on her phone and drops it back into her apron pocket. She straightens up and clears her throat.
“Rayna?” her father arches an eyebrow. “Everything all right?”
“Apparently four high school boys came forward and turned themselves in. They said they took Daffodil as part of a prank but she got loose. They didn’t report it because they didn’t want to get in trouble.” Rayna pretends to smooth the front of her apron, her cheeks scarlet.
“Boys will be boys,” Mr. Doherty says. “Foolish idiots.”
“So, um, I’m sorry,” Rayna mumbles to Connie, who’s looking at them both in disbelief. Then Rayna looks up, annoyance still etched on her face. “Even though you should have tried to return her earlier—”
“Oh, Rayna, stop it,” her father orders. “You’re a grown woman and you’re acting like a schoolkid. Connie here took good care of Daffodil, and I daresay she got just as attached to that damned animal as you did. Can you blame her?”
Rayna sniffs and looks away.
Jay Doherty smiles at Connie. “Well, we have your check in the house. I’ll go get it so we can tear it up.”
“Please don’t.” Connie takes a breath. “I sent you that check because I wanted to make sure Serena, I mean Daffodil, is taken care of. I still want that. It would make me feel good to know that I can contribute to her care.”
“We can take care of her,” Rayna says. “And those boys are the ones who can pay for all the property damage.”
Connie looks at Mr. Doherty. “I know I have no right to ask this, but I’d appreciate it if you would let me pay for everything on their behalf. Please. I know what they did was stupid, but they’re kids and they came forward even though they knew they could have gotten away with it. I’d like you not to press charges.”
Rayna and her father exchange a look. “But why?” Rayna finally asks. “Why would you do that for them?”
Connie shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Because I have people who would do that for me.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Mr. Doherty promises. “If you agree to put that money back into your bank account. Deal?”
There’s an unmistakable bleat. Connie turns and sees Serena in the pasture running toward her. Jay Doherty grins and goes to unlock the paddock.
“Have your reunion,” he tells her. “And then come join us in the house for some apple pie.”
“You have fifteen minutes,” Chief Garza tells them.
“Okay,” Isabel says. She takes Bettie by the elbow and leads her into the blackened remains of her house. Bettie doesn’t resist, but looks around, incredulous.
“This is my house?” she asks. “It doesn’t look like my house.”
“There was a fire,” Isabel reminds her. Isabel and Bettie are wearing rubber boots and Isabel runs the toe of her boot through a pile of ash. “Almost a week ago. They’re letting us do a walk-through to see if there’s anything we can salvage. But I don’t think we’re going to find much. I’m sorry.”
“The walls are gone,” Bettie murmurs. She looks up at a large hole through the roof that the firemen had to cut as they were putting out the fire. It’s a cool but clear October day, the smell of smoke still lingering in the air. Bettie gazes up at the sky until Isabel gently tugs on her arm.
Bettie’s home insurer came and walked Isabel and Bettie through what would need to be done. An inventory, first and foremost. But, he told them, it could be six to nine months before anything would be settled. They’ll cover a hotel, but Bettie can’t be alone. Several people have volunteered to take Bettie in but after what happened with the McGuires, Isabel is wary. Dr. Richard told her it would be stressful for Bettie to move from house to house, so Isabel is going to let Bettie stay with her until she can figure out what to do next.
Isabel feels something under her foot and bends down to pick up a rhinestone buckle buried in the ashes. “Look,” she says to Bettie. She blows on it gently then rubs it with her finger. There are two rows of glittering rhinestones encircling the buckle. It’s flecked with soot but otherwise in perfect condition.
“I was looking for that,” Bettie says. “I haven’t seen that since 1979. I used to wear it with my scarves.” She holds it in her hand, then slips it into her pocket.
They find other small things—a few pieces from Bettie’s silver collection, a spotted rooster porcelain pill box, a glass Pyrex measuring cup. Everything else seems to have disintegrated, only leaving a shell of a house, blackened appliances, piles of unrecognizable cinder everywhere.
“Well,” Bettie says, straightening up and looking around. “Well.” Her eyes are blinking away tears.
There are bits of clothing, dishes, and furniture that were tossed onto the lawn by firemen doing what they could to save Bettie’s things, but so much of it is stained by smoke and fire. Still, Isabel and Bettie’s neighbors have agreed to try to save whatever they can and let Bettie decide later what to keep and what to let go.
As the fire chief escorts them out of the charred remains, Isabel sees a familiar procession. It’s the children from the neighborhood pulling their red Radio Flyer wagons, accompanied by their parents. Wooden boxes are stacked in each wagon.
“We made these with some of the leftover boards from the clubhouse,” the red-haired boy says, pointing. “They’re sifting boxes, to help you find things. They have a mesh bottom so dirt and stuff can fall through and you can see if there’s anything you want to keep. It’s like panning for gold!” He gives them a toothy grin and Isabel wants to hug him.
“I’m Lauren Eammons,” a woman says to Bettie, giving her a kind smile. She touches her son’s shoulders. “And this is Jacob. We live down the street, Bettie, and have been your neighbors for the past six years.”
Bettie stares at them for a moment and then points at Jacob accusingly. “Hey, I know you,” she says. “You busted my window!”
“That was two years ago,” he protests, shrinking behind his mother. “I’m better now. I even pitch for my Little League team.” His chin juts out.
“Have I seen any of your games?” Bettie asks. She squints, trying to remember.
“I don’t know.”
“Then that makes two of us,” Bettie says. She taps the side of her head comically, making Jacob grin. “I’ll come to the next one,” she promises him. “I gotta work on squeezing more memories into the old noodle.”
As Jacob and Bettie talk baseball, Lauren Eammons turns to Isabel.
“We already have several garages filled with donated items for Bettie,” she tells Isabel. “Come by anytime to see if there’s anything she’d like.”
“I know she’d appreciate that,” Isabel says. “Thank you, Lauren.”
Lauren glances over to Isabel’s house, at the for sale sign. “We’ll sure miss you in the neighborhood, Isabel. I heard you sold your house.”
Isabel looks at her in surprise. “Not officially, but it looks like it’ll be going through. How did you know?”
Lauren smiles. “Bettie. She told Gennifer Kelly who told Leigh Brewer who …”
Isabel nods. “Yep, got it. That sounds about right.”
“Well, I’d better get back to work.” Lauren smiles again and gives Isabel’s arm a squeeze of support, of friendship. Isabel feels a tickle in her nose, like she’s about to sneeze, or cry.
Their whole neighborhood is out, dressed in jeans and boots, and for the first time Isabel feels truly sad at the thought of leaving. These same people had reached out to her when Bill died, but she’d been too closed off to pay attention, to say yes and accept any help. She hasn’t bothered to participate in any of the neighborhood block parties or send over a casserole when someone was sick. Even when Bill was alive Isabel was reticent to participate.
But now as she watches the fathers and mothers coordinate their children, talking to the firemen who are raking through the debris and making sure no more smoldering embers remain, she wishes she had made more of an effort to get to know these people. There are small groups dotted across Bettie’s lawn, the sifting boxes between them, paper masks covering their mouths and noses as small clouds of dust rise and fall. A man stands over one of the sifting boxes, then crouches on his knees to lift something from the ashes. He’s talking to a teenager, also masked. They look familiar somehow, and when the man pulls off his mask and gives Isabel a wave, she sees it’s Ian Braemer and his son, Jeremy.
After a few more minutes it’s clear that there’s nothing more they can do. They carefully make their way back out of the house and meet up with Chief Garza.
“I can’t even remember what I had in that house,” Bettie tells them. She looks displaced, a little lost. “But I don’t know if it’s because of the dementia, or just me. What do you think, Abe?”
Chief Garza puts an arm around Bettie’s shoulders. “I think the things that matter most will make themselves known,” he assures her. “Until then, take it one day at a time.”
As Bettie and Isabel cross the yard to Isabel’s house, Isabel sees a car parked against the curb. As before, Dan Frazier is standing outside the house while his fiancée, Nina, is sitting the car, looking at something on her cellphone.
Isabel wants to kick herself. She had completely forgotten that they would be coming today and realizes that she hadn’t even called to tell them about the fire.
“What happened?” Dan Frazier meets her halfway as she crosses the lawn. “Was anybody hurt?”
Isabel shakes her head. “Luckily, no. This is Bettie Shelton, my neighbor … I mean, your future neighbor. Bettie, this is Dan Frazier.” Isabel turns to stare at Bettie’s house. “We don’t know yet if she’ll be staying, if she’ll rebuild or what will happen. We’re still trying to sort everything out, so she’s staying with me for the time being.”
Bettie doesn’t say anything, just gapes at Dan, looking a bit star-struck as if he were someone famous.
“I should have called you,” Isabel continues apologetically, but Dan shakes his head.
“No, that’s all right,” he says. “You obviously have your hands full. I’m glad you’re all right,” he tells Bettie.
Bettie has a goofy look on her face. “Oh, Phil,” she says, and giggles.
Isabel and Dan exchange a look. “Uh, I put the new porch in,” Isabel says quickly. “It looks nice. And you can walk through the house again if you like …”
“My name is Dan,” Dan repeats politely, not seeing Isabel cut her eyes at him. “Dan Frazier. And that’s my fiancée, Nina—”
“What?!” Bettie suddenly looks cross. “Stop it, Phil. That’s not funny.” She scowls in Nina’s direction.
“Bettie.” Isabel places her hand on Bettie’s arm. “They’re interested in buying my house.”
Bettie turns to look at her. “You’re selling my house?”
“No, not your house. My house.” Isabel points to her house.
“You want to sell my house?” Bettie says again, louder this time. Her voice has taken on a slightly hysterical peal, and a few heads turn their way.
Nina rolls down the window and calls out to Dan. “The Internet says it’s ten to twenty percent, depending on the damage.” Dan shakes his head, but Nina is insistent and holds up her phone, pointing to the display. “Sometimes up to thirty,” she tells him. Her lips pucker.
Dan says, “Not now, Nina.”
“Is everything okay?” Isabel asks, confused.
Dan sighs. “Sorry, Isabel. But when we drove up and saw what happened, Nina started doing some research on her cellphone and apparently house values typically drop after a fire in the neighborhood. But don’t worry,” he quickly adds, “I’m not looking to take advantage of the situation or anything. We still like the house.”
“Dan …” Nina calls out again. Isabel is suddenly tempted to march back to the car and roll the window up herself.
Bettie clutches the front of Dan’s shirt. “We need to talk about the baby, Phil.” Her voice is low, urgent.
“What?” Dan looks startled.
“I’ve been trying to reach you.” Bettie reaches out and grabs his hand, then brings it to her cheek and starts crying.
Isabel doesn’t know what to do. Chief Garza is frowning as Dan looks at Isabel, bewildered. Bettie’s face is streaked with tears.
“I think we made a mistake,” she tells Dan, her eyes wild. “I can keep her by myself. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
“Come now, Bettie,” Chief Garza is saying, trying to disentangle Dan from her grasp. “Why don’t we go inside for a bit?”
“Abe, Abe, you remember, don’t you?” Bettie pleads. “Phil just forgot. But you remember, right?”
Chief Garza puts an arm around Bettie and steers her into the house. Isabel gives Dan an apologetic look as she hurries after them.
Once inside, Bettie bursts into tears. “Oh Phil,” she sobs. Her eyes are red and her nose is running.
“How about a nap?” Isabel suggests. “Want to lie down for a bit?”
“I don’t want to lie down,” Bettie says, but she lets Isabel lead her to her bedroom. “Isabel, did I make a mistake?”
Isabel takes off Bettie’s boots and slips her legs under the blankets. “A mistake about what?”
Bettie gazes up at the ceiling. “I shouldn’t have let Phil give her away,” she says sadly.
“Shhh,” Isabel says, and a second later, Bettie’s asleep.
Downstairs, Chief Garza is standing in the kitchen. He starts pacing, restless. “I called Imogene, my wife. She’ll be here in a bit to sit with Bettie.”
Isabel falls heavily into a chair. “She must be hallucinating,” she says, not sure what this could mean. Is Bettie going crazy?
“Isabel.” Chief Garza pulls out a chair as well. “Now, I don’t know much. But I think you should know what I know. It happened a long time ago.”
“What?” Isabel asks.
Chief Garza sighs. “Phil Frazier was a buddy of mine. No relation to this young fellow—I think the last name must have triggered something in Bettie. An old memory.”
“What kind of memory?” Isabel asks.
“I knew Phil in my army days, and sometimes he’d come to Avalon for a visit. For a short time, he and Bettie had something going on.”
“Really?” Isabel can’t picture what Bettie must have looked like when she was younger.
“We’d double date, me and Imogene, Phil and Bettie. Phil lived in Chicago but he liked the pace of Avalon—used to say he’d move here someday. I think that was Bettie’s hope—it was certainly mine, he was a good friend—but it never happened. And then Phil stopped coming to Avalon altogether. It was kind of out of the blue, but he said he was busy with work and I didn’t push him on it—we were all just starting out.
“I found out a couple months later that he got married. I was annoyed that he didn’t tell me until after the fact—I didn’t even get an invite to his wedding. I was about to propose to Imogene, you see, and I was going to ask Phil to be my best man, to stand up for me. So to not even know about his wedding was kind of a blow.”
He clears his throat. “Shortly after Bettie went on a trip somewhere. Imogene told me, and I didn’t think much of it. I figured she was visiting family or something. She was gone about six months.”
Isabel waits for more, but it doesn’t come. Chief Garza is staring at his hands. “Where did she go?” she finally asks.
“Imogene can probably give you the details, but it was some place north of here. I think …” He looks unhappy. “I think it was a place for unwed mothers.”
“Unwed mothers.” Isabel stares at him as it dawns on her. “Bettie had a child?”
“I don’t know what happened. Part of me didn’t want to know, I guess, and Imogene has been good at keeping Bettie’s confidence. But when I put it all together, it’s obvious.”
“Bettie had Phil’s child,” Isabel says slowly. Chief Garza gives a small nod.
“Yes, that’s what I think.”
“But where’s the baby?” Isabel asks. “Bettie never said anything. What happened to the baby?”
“I have no idea,” he says.
His wife, Imogene, bursts through the front door and finds them in the kitchen. “Where is she?” Imogene demands, and Isabel points to the second bedroom down the hall.
“She’s sleeping …” Isabel starts to say, but Imogene has already disappeared.
“I have to get back outside,” Chief Garza says. He pushes himself up from the table, drained. “I guess I kind of knew all along what had happened but didn’t want to think about it.” He exits, still shaking his head.
Isabel slips into Bettie’s room. Imogene is sitting in a chair next to the bed, watching her friend sleep, her eyes sad.
“Poor Bettie,” Imogene is murmuring.
“Imogene, what happened? Was there a baby?”
“A baby girl,” Imogene confirms softly. “Bettie gave her up for adoption. Has regretted it ever since.”
“But why?”
“Why?” Imogene’s face pinks with indignation. “He was two-timing her. Two-timing both of them, I guess. But he made his choice, and it wasn’t Bettie. He told her it would be better for everyone if she gave the baby up, and Bettie didn’t want to bring any unhappiness to anyone. She didn’t expect it to affect her as much as it did. By the time she wanted to change her mind, it was too late.”
“Why didn’t she get an …” Isabel’s voice trails off.
“We didn’t do that back then,” Imogene says, giving Isabel a sharp glance. “But even if she could have, Bettie wouldn’t. She wanted to give that child a chance. She just didn’t count on missing it so. It was a closed adoption, meaning that she wouldn’t have any way of knowing where the baby was after it was placed for adoption. That was standard, too, at the time.” She pats her friend’s hand and pulls up the covers, tucking her in. “We haven’t talked about it for years.”
“But there are ways now,” Isabel tells her, her mind racing. “You can sign up for registries, get blood tests …”
“Oh, Isabel, you young people think everything is so easy now.” Imogene’s voice is an annoyed hush. “Bettie isn’t about to ruin somebody’s life. She made her decision, and that was that.”
Bettie stirs, but doesn’t wake.
“I’ll stay with her,” Imogene says. “And I’ve spoken with Abe. We’d like to have Bettie come live with us. I can have the guest room set up by this weekend.”
Isabel feels her chest tighten. She hovers by the door. “Thank you, Imogene, but I’m still looking at several options for her. I’d rather not change things until we know for sure what’s going to happen—”
“I took care of my mother when she had Alzheimer’s, Isabel. I know what it’s like to care for someone with this condition. Do you?” Imogene looks at her pointedly.
“Well, no, but …”
“It’s a lot of work,” Imogene says briskly. “I’ll have to hire a care-giver to help, but we should be able to manage fine. I know she has some savings and insurance.”
“Okay, but …”
“Isabel, you’ve been absolutely wonderful to Bettie these past few days. But that’s all it is—a few days. Bettie needs a long-term-care plan. You’re still young, you have a job, you might want to settle down again. It’s very hard to do any of those things if you also have to care for someone like Bettie. Abe works but I’m retired, and frankly I could use the company. Nobody keeps me on my toes like Bettie.” Imogene looks back at her friend affectionately. Bettie’s snoring delicately now, the worry lines no longer creasing her forehead.
Isabel quickly ducks out of the room, not trusting herself to say anything in Imogene’s company.
In the kitchen she feels herself bubbling over with indignation. Imogene doesn’t know her, doesn’t know what Isabel can or cannot do. Even in the short few days Bettie has been here, they’ve developed an easy rhythm that’s not perfectly seamless, but it works. Isabel knows from her talks with Dr. Richard that this could change at any moment, but for now Bettie is comfortable here. Why would they want to change that?
Angrily, she punches in the numbers for Yvonne’s cell. She’s steaming. When Yvonne picks up the phone, Isabel starts talking right away, her voice low so Imogene can’t hear her.
“Hold on,” Yvonne says when Isabel finally pauses to catch a breath. “Isabel, hold on. Nothing’s happened yet, so take it easy.”
“You take it easy,” Isabel retorts. Then she feels foolish, like a six-year-old. “Sorry. But she assumed I wouldn’t be able to take care of Bettie, you know? She doesn’t even know me! I mean, we’ve gotten along great these past few days. She knows this house better than her own!”
“But Isabel, how can you take care of Bettie? You’re about to sell your house—you said they’re paying cash so if you go through with it, your house could close within a month. And then what?”
“She could stay with us,” Isabel says, her mind racing. “At your house. I’ll take care of everything, Yvonne. I know what she likes, what she’s familiar with …”
Yvonne interrupts her. “Isabel, I like Bettie, you know I do. But my house definitely isn’t set up for someone with dementia. I have a lot of stairs, the hallways are narrow …”
“Then I’ll figure something else out,” Isabel insists. “Bettie knows me, Yvonne. I can take care of her.”
“Isabel, this isn’t about you,” Yvonne says gently. “It’s about Bettie, about what’s best for her. Everything Imogene said is true. Are you sure you want to take on that responsibility, even if you could? It’s a lot for any friend to take on.”
Isabel sits down at her table, looks at the whiteboard with Bettie’s daily schedule, color coded and marked with different activities, people, and phone numbers. A small glass vase filled with pink colchicums from Bettie’s backyard adds a burst of color and cheer to Isabel’s otherwise plain kitchen. On the counter are three containers filled with Bettie’s medication and vitamins.
“There’s always an adrenaline rush whenever there’s a crisis,” Yvonne continues. “People want to help—it feels good to help. But once everything settles down, can you see yourself putting Bettie to bed every night? Helping her go to the bathroom? Bathing her? Even if you get help, those are the sorts of things you’ll be doing. If not now, then someday soon.”
“So you’re saying I shouldn’t do it.” Isabel feels dejected, discouraged. She finally wants to do something for someone else, and she’s shot down.
“I’m saying you should think about it carefully, that’s all. A year from today, can you see yourself with Bettie watching TV in the living room? Just take a moment, Isabel. What do you see?”
Isabel closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. Fast-forward one year, carving pumpkins for the porch, readying the candy for the trick-or-treaters. She tilts her head, listening to her future. And unlike the past few years, what she sees—and hears—is far from an empty house.
Ava walks into the Avalon Grill, the sounds of forks and knives on china greeting her. Everything looks the same since the last time she was here, over five years ago. The dark mahogany tables, the slightly cracked garnet leather booths, the large oil landscape of Leaf River, the river that runs adjacent to Avalon. The waiters and waitresses are dressed in black slacks and white shirts. Ava recognizes the manager, a nice guy who used to greet Bill by name.
It’s a good-sized lunch crowd. Soups, steaks, salads, French fries, onion rings. People are talking and laughing. Everything smells so wonderful it makes Ava’s stomach rumble. She can’t remember the last time she had a meal out, much less anything other than macaroni and cheese.
She spots Colin behind the bar, drying glasses. His face is a bit rounder, more relaxed, and he seems happy. Ava can tell that things are going well for him, and the manager, Arnold, gives him a friendly nod as he passes by. A few customers are sitting at the bar, and she watches as Colin talks with them, joking and laughing. He looks good.
What is she doing here? Maybe she’ll come back some other day, when it’s less crowded and she has a little more courage. She’s about to walk out the door when she hears Colin call her name.
“Hey, Ava!” he says in surprise.
Busted, Ava turns around and gives a weak wave. “Hi, Colin.”
“I was wondering if you’d ever stop by,” he says. “I’m up to my ears in bottle caps!”
Ava nods. “I meant to come by earlier, but …”
“Don’t go,” he instructs, as if she might suddenly disappear. “I need to go to the back to grab them. Hold on?” He gives her a hopeful look and Ava nods.
He disappears behind the double doors and a moment later returns with a large burlap bag. Ava can’t believe it. “Is that full of bottle caps?” she asks, amazed.
He nods. “I’ve been collecting them since I saw you last,” he tells her. “And I asked some of my bartender friends to save theirs, too.”
Ava steps forward to reach inside. There are easily thousands of bottle caps. “I’m making some money from my jewelry now,” she tells him, “so I can start to pay you. Do you want to charge me per cap, or maybe by weight …” She suddenly frowns as she looks at the bag, wondering if she’ll have enough money to pay for it.
“Ava, it’s not a big deal,” Colin says. “You’re recycling them. They’d end up in a landfill otherwise. It’s great, what you’re doing.”
“But I’d feel better if you let me pay for them,” Ava insists. She begins to open her purse but Colin shakes his head.
“I don’t want your money,” he says. “And technically they’re not even my bottle caps—they came from drinks that belonged to the restaurant. So you might even get me into trouble if you gave me money for them because I’d be accepting payment for something I don’t technically have a right to sell.” The look on his face is serious but she sees the twinkle in his eye.
Ava laughs and closes her purse, impressed. “Wow, I’m not even sure how to counter that.”
“Good. Don’t.” There’s the sound of a bell from the kitchen. “Excuse me—I’ll be right back.”
Ava scoops out a handful of caps, her mind filling with possibilities. She’ll be able to take on more ambitious projects like belts and purses. The caps are all clean and in wonderful condition. She turns one over in her hand. It’s cork-lined with “Diet Sun Drop Cola” stamped on the top. She frowns as she studies it, but she can tell right away that it’s an antique. There’s no way Colin or his friends removed this from a bottle of Diet Sun Drop Cola, because they don’t make it anymore. She looks through the bag again. Most of the bottle caps are current but she finds another one, an old root beer cap that’s in mint condition. It confirms what she’s suspected all along, that Colin’s been secretly adding to the collection.
Colin reemerges from the kitchen holding a steak salad. He places it on the bar and hands Ava a cloth napkin and silverware. “Here you go.”
“But I didn’t order this,” Ava says, confused.
“I know,” Colin says. “I ordered it for you. You look like you could eat a horse, Ava.” A thought crosses his mind. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
“No.” Ava can’t stop staring at the salad. The steak is cooked medium rare and resting on a bed of fresh salad greens. There’s fresh corn, bell peppers, and blue cheese. A small ramekin of salad dressing is tucked on the side.
“Go ahead and sit down,” Colin says, filling a glass with ice and lemonade. “Lunch is on the house. Well, it’s on me. They give me a generous friends-and-family discount and I don’t use it as much as I should. It’d be like I wasn’t supporting the place where I worked, so you’re actually doing me a favor. I’d hate to offend them.” He places the lemonade on the bar next to Ava’s salad and grins.
She hesitates, still not sure what to do. So much is unclear in her life right now. Does she want to complicate things by inviting Colin into her life?
Colin starts to wipe down the bar even though Ava doesn’t see a crumb anywhere. “So can you stay?” he asks. “Or do you have to go?”
Ava looks into his eyes, at his kind face. The root beer cap is still in her hand and she gently rubs it between her fingers, memorizing each groove, thinking about the history in this simple item—where it’s been, how it found its way to Colin, what she might make with it. For the first time she doesn’t bother to look around, to see who might see her, might recognize her, might judge her. She doesn’t need to think about this anymore.
“I’m staying,” she says, and slides onto the stool with a smile.