Scrappily Ever After (2 page)

“Nope. She's not scheduled to be back for a few more days.”

“The more I think about it, if that wasn't Beatrice Matthews, I'll eat my hat.”

“I'm telling you she's not home. I saw Vera last night. Of course, she was all reflective about Eric's proposal, but I'm certain she'd have said something if they'd come home early.”

“Still no answer for Eric?”

She shook her head.

The game came back on and the subject was dropped.

Strange, though, for him to confuse Bea and Jon with another couple. How many eighty-four-year-old women were hopping about town with a dashing French man?

 

 

Vera had a whole day to herself in the house, a rarity. She loved this old house. So many memories here—and they didn't build houses like Beatrice's old Victorian anymore, with all of its interesting nooks and crannies, and sighs and moans.

Vera was living in her girlhood home, sitting in the window seat that she had sat in so many times as a girl, and looking out the window at the mountains. Given all the years, things hadn't changed much. A tree or two was gone, but more had replaced them. Now an in-ground pool spread across the backyard.

With her mother and Jon still in France and Elizabeth spending the weekend with Bill, Vera's Sunday stretched out before her, filled with possibilities. She had wanted to get into the kitchen and experiment with chocolate. Today would be a good day to do that. She also needed to do a few loads of laundry, which, now that she had a child, seemed to be never ending. She had some bookkeeping to do as well, for the dance studio. All of these things floated through her mind as she looked out at the mountains. Eric and his marriage proposal weighed heavy on her mind.

She sighed. Why marriage? They had been having such a good time together. Marriage might spoil things. It certainly had with Bill.

She stroked the new family pet, Junie Bee, a long-haired tortoiseshell cat. She fit right into their household—even Beatrice was fond of Junie Bee. She'd never let Vera have a cat the whole time she was growing up—but when Lizzie had asked for one, Beatrice couldn't say no.

Junie Bee was three years old. Lizzie had picked her out at the local animal shelter. Junie Bee's original owner had passed away. The cat was mostly well behaved, with a sweet, playful personality. Lizzie had named her after a character in one of her books and she loved playing with her.

But Junie Bee had a few strange quirks about her that Vera found a little annoying. She'd often found her on the kitchen counter—where no cats were allowed. And the cat had a penchant for shiny things—aluminum foil, jewelry, shiny paper, anything. Also, for an animal, the cat had developed a finicky appetite. No cheap dry cat food for little Miss Junie Bee.

The phone rang and she got up to answer it.

“U.S. Customs,” the voice on the other side of the phone said. “Is this the home of Beatrice Matthews?”

“Yes,” Vera said. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, but we have a package here that needs to be claimed,” the voice said. “She must have left it behind at the airport.”

“But she isn't here,” Vera said.

“We can hold it here for her to pick up or we can send it to the house. But we need a credit card to do that.”

“Well, hold on. Let me get my purse,” Vera said.

She walked over to the dresser, the cat tangled beneath her feet, and as she reached for her purse, it struck her as an odd thing that her mother had done. Why ship a package from France instead of bringing it home with her? And why did the person seem to be suggesting her mother had left it there? Beatrice wasn't scheduled to be back for a few days yet. Vera shrugged.

Junie Bee played with the phone cord and Vera picked the cat up and placed her on the bed, shaking her finger at her. Junie Bee's head tilted and she blinked.

Vera gave the man her credit card number and said good-bye before she went back to sitting in the window seat, with Junie Bee at her feet. She pulled a quilt around her as a chill crept over her. So many things she needed to do and wanted to do. Something whispered to her to stay where she sat. And so she did.

She was awakened to the sound of the phone. Another phone call! She struggled to awaken but didn't make it to the phone on time. She listened to the message.

“Jon Chevalier? Monsieur?” said a voice, followed by a bunch of French words that Vera didn't understand. Even though she knew French ballet terminology, she couldn't speak the language—or, as it turned out, even understand it.

She pushed the button to return the call.

“'Alloo? Jon?” the voice said.

“No, not Jon,” Vera said. “English?”

“Yes, a bit. Who is speaking please?”

“My name is Vera Matthews. I'm Beatrice's daughter.”

“Beatrice? Yes, yes, yes. I would like to speak to Jon. This is his sister, Eva,” the woman on the other line said.

“Jon's not here. He's in France,” Vera said, confused. She had thought Eva was one of the people on their list to visit.

“No, no, no. They left here,” said Eva. “I told them to call when they returned. No call! I am worried.”

“They are not scheduled to be home for a few days. Please don't worry.”

“No,” Eva insisted. “They left here already.”

“But they are still in France, somewhere. I've not heard from them,” Vera said.

“No, they are not in France.”

Vera's heart sank. If they weren't in France, where were they?

Eva must be mistaken. No point in arguing with the woman.

“Okay, well, when I see Jon, I will tell him to call you,” Vera said.

“See Jon? He should be there,” she said, sounding exasperated, then muttering something in French.

“Okay,” Vera replied. She didn't know what else to say. Beatrice and Jon were not home. But according to this woman, his sister, they should be. Her stomach twisted. Had something happened to them? Where were they? “Are you certain, Eva?”

“Absolutely!” she said. “I've been trying to call his cell phone. No answer.”

The woman sounded near hysterical.

“There has to be an explanation. Maybe their plane was delayed or something,” Vera said.
This conversation is absurd.
If her mother and Jon were back in the U.S., they'd come to this house, their home. The older woman must be confused about the dates.

Eva sighed. “Okay, please have him call me when you see him,” she said and hung up.

And ridiculous. If her mother was in the U.S., she'd be at home with her family.

 

 

Sheila could not be happier than she was at this very moment. Her entire family had come together for Sunday dinner. Donna might be leaving soon to go back to Carnegie Mellon University, where she studied design, and next year her son would be studying business at community college. He planned to work with Steve, who owned and ran an outfitting and tour company, leading groups through the mountains. Dusty was going to be very busy. The other two children were just as busy. Jonathon was so involved with music and Gerty, well, she had to buckle down this year a get those grades up. Sheila took it all in and knew these moments were going to be more and more rare.

“Pass the mashed potatoes please,” Steve said to Dusty, who handed them to his dad.

Sheila loved the smell of roast chicken that was wafting through her dining room. She didn't, however, like the dark circles beneath Donna's eyes.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I can't seem to get enough sleep,” Donna said.

“Are you sleeping okay at school?” asked Steve.

“When I get a chance to sleep, I sleep,” Donna replied and then took a drink of water. “I want to do well. I don't want to lose this opportunity, so I work hard. Sometimes that means no sleep.”

Sheila shot Steve a look of concern.

“Taking a semester off sounds like just what the doctor ordered.” Steve smiled.

“I'm all for it, if it doesn't mess up my scholarship,” said Donna.

“Don't forget about my concert on Wednesday night,” Jonathon said to his sister. “I want you to hear this new song I've been working on.”

“I wouldn't miss it for anything,” she said, smiling and showing off her dimples. She had lost weight and her cheekbones protruded more than usual, giving her a hollow, gaunt look. She had always been so healthy looking, with a scattering of freckles across her nose and a pink tone to her skin.

Sheila tried not to fuss. Her daughter was a young woman. The days of hovering over her and fussing about what she ate or how much she slept were over. But when Donna was home, Sheila made sure that they had plenty of her favorite food things stocked. And Donna availed herself of them.

Sheila also tried to not fuss over their brooding middle-schooler as she moved the food around on her plate. But she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Gerty drooped over the table and barely looked at the rest of them.

“What's up with you, Gerty?” Sheila said and then bit into her chicken.

“Nothing, Mom,” Gerty replied, giving her a slight smile.

“Ready to go back to school?”

“Not really. I hate it.”

Donna laughed. ”I hated it too. I hear you.”

“You have to get through it, whether you like it or not,” Steve said.

“That's exactly what Beatrice told me,” Gerty said.

Beatrice had taken to Gerty. She was named after Sheila's mom, who had been Beatrice's best friend.

“Bea is one smart woman,” Sheila said.

“I miss her. When is she coming back?” Gerty asked.

“I have no idea. Soon, I think,” answered Sheila.

“Funny, I thought I saw her the other day in town. I must be losing my mind,” said Dusty.

“You must be, son,” Sheila said. “Beatrice is still in France. “

“She had that guy with her,” he persisted. ‘I'm pretty sure it was them.”

“Nope, couldn't be.”

“Odd,” he said and shrugged his shoulders. “Can I have more chicken?”

Sheila smiled. That boy had one hell of an appetite.

 

 

“Whatever happened to that Cookie Crandall?” Earl asked Paige over dinner that night.

“What brought that up, all of a sudden?” she asked, dropping her fork full of mashed potatoes on to her plate.

“I was thinking about how people come in and out of our lives. This whole thing with Randy. I don't know whether or not to be excited,” he said, as he lifted his fried chicken to his lips.

“He's our kid, Earl. It would be great to have him back. I'm sure he'd want to live in Harrisonburg or Charlottesville. I doubt he'd move in with us.”

“Hell, I never imagined that he would,” he said. “But you didn't answer my question about Cookie.”

“Well, it's sad, Earl. I don't like to talk about it.” Cookie's pale face, with the spark in her eyes completely gone, came to Paige's mind. What had happened to her?

She took a sip of wine. “The night she showed up at the crop? She had this guy with her. Some kind of doctor.”

“Doctor? She sick?”

“In a manner of speaking. She seems to have lost much of her memory and this man is helping her out. Supposedly. But I didn't like him. He seemed like a cold son of a bitch. Hard to believe he's a doctor or a healer. British accent and all that.”

“How long did she stay that night?”

“About an hour. She remembered us, wanted to see us, and the guy asked a bunch of questions,” Paige said.

“Will she be back?”

“That's a good question,” Paige said. She sat back and thought over that night.

“I'm back,” Cookie had said, standing in Sheila's basement. “I have no pictures or scrapbooks, though. Is that okay?”

The room had gone silent until a strange sobbing gasp-like sound had escaped from Annie. The rest of the scrapbookers, as if on cue, rushed toward Cookie and the strange man that accompanied her. After the initial sobs and hugs, everybody sat down.

To Paige, Cookie had always looked a bit unhealthy. Always a bit too skinny and pale. Now she looked even unhealthier as she sat at the scrapbooking table. She looked as though she could barely hold herself up in the chair.

“Are you okay?” Annie asked. Annie and Cookie had gotten very close before Cookie had disappeared. They were both outsiders in Cumberland Creek, a place where most families' histories stretched back for generations.

Cookie nodded.

“We aren't certain what happened,” the man beside her said. “All of her symptoms point to a lightning strike.”

“This is my doctor, Dr. Dupree,” Cookie explained and introduced them.

“You were struck by lightning!” Vera exclaimed.

“We're not sure,” Cookie said.

“But he just said—”

“What I
said
,” he said with emphasis, “was that it looked like she'd been struck by lightning. But we don't know. Where she was found, there were burns. There were also signs of mild cardiac arrest and temporary paralysis. And a complete amnesia, which we've been working on. She's been remembering a few more things lately. And that's why we are here. We need your help.”

“We'll do anything we can to help,” Annie said. “What do you need?”

“We need you to answer a few questions,” the doctor said.