The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society (44 page)

“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.