The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society (43 page)

“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.