Last Known Address. Elizabeth Wrenn

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СКАЧАТЬ and walked away. C.C. watched as he reached up and held the little bell quiet as he opened and closed the door.

      Feeling adrift, C.C. looked at her friends. Shelly was pulling little bits off her paper napkin, already a small pile forming on her bread plate. Meg looked like she might burst into tears again. Poor Meg. She couldn’t control the breakdowns yet. But she would. Eventually. It was only recently that C.C. trusted herself not to break down in public. Right after Lenny died she couldn’t even speak, much less go out. It had taken weeks before she did anything besides go to the grocery store. And here Meg was, ‘the event’ still so recent, and she was on a road trip, of all things. In a way, Grant leaving was worse than Lenny dying. Grant had made a choice to leave Meg. Lenny had simply been called by God. Though she had doubted many times, C.C. still preferred to think there was some sort of intention somewhere in the universe. If not God, then…C.C. sighed. Something. Surely there had to be something.

      She looked up, waved at Purdy till she got his attention, circling her finger around the table and lifting her mug. Purdy nodded, grinned, and bustled into action behind the bar.

      ‘This round’s on me,’ she said to her friends, her mug still in the air. ‘I’m sorry. I got us into this mess.’ As she said ‘mess’, she gestured broadly with the mug, which slipped from her grasp, and shattered on the hard floor.

      ‘DOWN!’

      C.C. looked up, her heart pounding, first from the mug breaking, then from the shout. Purdy was cowering on the floor, at the end of the bar, his dishtowel wadded and held protectively near his head. Nobody moved for several seconds. Purdy suddenly stood, red-faced, and rapidly disappeared behind the swinging kitchen door.

      C.C. had thought he was yelling at her. But clearly he was not. Still, she felt the heat of embarrassment. Then confusion.

      ‘Wow. What do you suppose that was about?’ asked Shelly.

      Meg looked wan, said nothing. C.C. stared at the black, swinging kitchen door, then at the jagged pieces of mug littering the floor. ‘We should just turn around, go home. This is another very bad omen.’

      ‘C.C!’ Shelly and Meg said in unison.

      ‘Well, it is! Look, I did get us into this. When I inherited Aunt Georgie’s old house, I was just going to sell it, you know, just get rid of it, take that pittance the real-estate agent was offering and be done with it. But then Shelly told me about flip investments, and, then, well, Meg’s situation and all…’ C.C. hesitated, then went ahead and said it: ‘Well, it just seemed like a sign, like maybe we could all finally really do the Great Escape. I thought it’d be fun, all of us getting away, work on the house together, maybe all make a little money on it…’ Her voice trailed off. Quietly, she added, ‘But so far, it’s just costing us.’

      The kitchen door flapped open again. Purdy was walking slowly toward them with a broom and dustpan. He didn’t look at them as he squatted and began to sweep up the pieces.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ said C.C., scooting to the edge of the bench. ‘Here, let me do that. And, of course, please put it on our bill.’

      ‘No, no,’ he said gently, but keeping his head down. ‘It’s really okay. Doesn’t matter. These are…ancient.’ He rose, staring at the dustpan filled with mug pieces. He turned and walked back to the kitchen, his steps tight and uncertain.

      C.C. watched him go, feeling at an utter loss in a way she didn’t quite understand. She was always interested in people’s stories, whether she knew them or not. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to know this man’s story. She was pretty sure, whatever it was, it was a sad one.

      ‘Well, I’m the one who told you about the whole flip thing,’ said Shelly. ‘So really, it’s because of me that we’re even here.’

      ‘Look,’ said Meg, with a resolve that C.C. hadn’t heard in a while, ‘the only extra to all of us is going to be the motel. It’s my car, so it’s my repair bill. Plus, if I hadn’t wanted to do that little detour onto that country road, we would be farther along by now.’

      C.C. opened her mouth to object, but Meg raised her palm, again surprising C.C.

      ‘The alternator and battery didn’t go out just because we’re on this trip. They went out because they were old, used up. If I’d been driving around Wisataukee, a block from my house, they still would have gone out.’

      ‘Well, then, I agree with Shelly,’ said C.C. ‘It’s all her fault.’ She playfully stuck her tongue out at Shelly.

      Shelly laughed and put her finger on her chest. ‘Yeah. And I’ll take the credit when we all make a tidy little profit on the deal when we’re done. C’mon, show us the pictures again. That’ll lift our spirits, seeing the old cash cow.’

      Even Meg smiled. But C.C. laughed. Where her own drug of choice was food, Shelly’s was money: her moods went up and down with her financial bottom line. She had done well as a real-estate agent, and then better, doing flips and small development projects. But she’d gone into a real depression–of every kind-when that big development deal went south.

      C.C. gasped. There was that phrase again. It had to be an omen! But she didn’t know if it was a good one or a bad one. It didn’t seem great at the moment.

      ‘C’mon! You have that little picture book with you, don’t you?’ prodded Shelly, slapping the table lightly.

      C.C. nodded. She opened her huge purse and pulled out a small, white vinyl album with a clear plastic pocket on the front. Before they’d left, she’d placed her wedding present from Lenny in the pocket: a necklace, a tiny, gold horseshoe with dots of green peridot stones set within, on a fine, gold chain. She trusted it: all the confusion and upheaval of her life had seemed to settle right down, everything falling into place, after she’d married Lenny. She touched it now, tenderly, with just her index finger. Then she thought about the car breaking down, the rift between herself and Kathryn, Grant leaving poor Meg like that, Shelly’s money woes. She pulled the necklace out and swung it around the table, as if it were a thurible, closing her eyes and silently saying as much of the prayer for travelers (which she’d found on the internet the day before) as she could remember, which was not much. Something about angels flying with them, protecting them.

      ‘For luck,’ she said, when she opened her eyes and found Meg and Shelly staring at her.

      She poked the necklace back into the pocket, and placed the album sideways in the middle of the table so they could all see. She opened the cover slowly, her heart opening in its own way, right along with it. Meg and Shelly both turned, as did she, the better to see the pictures. The first page contained an old four-inch-by-four-inch black and white photo with scalloped white edges, pulled from her mother’s old photo album. C.C. thought that in black and white the house looked even more stately than in the later, color pictures. Or maybe it was just that the photo was old, taken in a time when the house had been maintained. She flipped the page to one that showed the expansive front lawn, in which three dogwoods, each heavily laden with blossoms, stood evenly spaced. She remembered planting those with Aunt Georgie, the weekend after the funerals. One each for her mother, her father and her sister. The dogwood had been her mother’s favorite flower. Aunt Georgie had referred to the house as Dogs’ Wood ever after, even having stationery made with that name in the address.

      The picture was too small to see them clearly, but C.C. knew that between two of the trees stood a small dark metal statue of a dog with a ring in its mouth, and between the other two, a stone birdbath. СКАЧАТЬ