Troubled waters, p.23
Troubled Waters, page 23
Good question.
Macey blew air into her bangs and turned around, leaning against the table as if to catch her breath. Evelyn stepped forward and said in almost a whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“No, Mom, I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I know you’re trying.” She pulled out a chair and sat down. “I just feel like I’m trying to teach a foreign language to someone in two days. I mean, I’m attempting to show you the bare necessities. Mom, these are just the basics. I don’t think you understand.”
Evelyn sat down next to her and patted her on the knee. “You’ve been so kind to take the time to help me, dear. I’m sorry I’m not learning faster. Maybe we should just cancel that interview. God’ll take care of me. You don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”
An angry glare swirled in Macey’s eyes. “Mother, please stop being so naïve, okay? I have yet to see God drop a chunk of change down here for you to live off of. So until He does that, we’re just going to have to make our own way.”
Evelyn noticed her daughter’s hands shaking.
Their eyes met and then Macey stood suddenly. “We obviously need a break, don’t we? Why don’t you make some coffee, and I’ll . . . um, I need to go upstairs and splash some cold water on my face.”
Evelyn watched Macey sprint up the stairs and close her bedroom door behind her. The heat of the afternoon was beginning to get the best of her, and she thought she could use a good nap. She yawned and started the coffee, hoping that would get her wound up again.
She’d bake a quiche later and then she would talk to her daughter. It would be her last chance. Then her daughter would be gone, for how long was anyone’s guess.
As the coffee spilled into the pot and the aroma awakened her senses, Evelyn decided it was doing no one any good for her to just stand around and wait for it to finish. She walked over to the table and looked down at what once was a printer and now was a fax machine. She took the piece of paper off the table.
If it took all day, she was going to send this paper to Dallas.
———
It had gnawed at her all morning and into the afternoon. Macey opened the door to her room, then shut it rather hard. She’d hidden the box at the back of the closet, not really knowing why. Maybe she was hiding it from herself. It hadn’t mattered, she realized, if she had buried it out in a field. It seemed to call her name, and it was almost all she’d thought about in the last nine hours. Regrettably, it had caused her to be short-tempered with her mother.
She listened carefully for her mother’s activities downstairs. She heard sufficient enough evidence to lay the box on the bed again and open it. Her hands clasped behind her back, and her posture straightened like a soldier’s. She had something to prove to it, but she didn’t know what. She didn’t even know why it was there or what it meant.
A yellow tag barely sticking out from underneath the gown caught Macey’s attention, and she carefully moved the material aside to read it. She hadn’t noticed it before. In dark blue lettering across a yellow background, the word Madeleine’s was written in overly fancy cursive. Could this be from. . . ?
She placed the lid back on the box and walked around the room in circles. Her heart thumped with every pace she took. If she didn’t go, if she didn’t attempt to find out, it would haunt her forever. She knew this for a fact, because she was so easily haunted.
Stepping lightly out the door of her bedroom, she stood at the top of the stairs, attempting to see what her mother was doing. She wasn’t at the table. Maybe she was in the kitchen. Why wasn’t she at the table? She was supposed to be practicing her faxing.
“Yes . . . yes, I’m practically a modern woman,” she heard her mom say. She was on the phone. Perfect. She could run downstairs with the box, throw it in the car, and come back in with an excuse on why she had to quick run into town for something. She returned to her room and grabbed the box, tucking it under her arm. At the top of the stairs she could hear her mother’s continuing conversation. “No, I actually did it myself. I never thought I’d ever touch a computer!”
She carefully placed each foot on the carpeted part of the stairs as she made her way down, hoping not to draw any attention to herself. At the bottom, she could see her mom’s back and one shoulder, the cord of the phone swaying with her movements. She just had to make it to the front door.
Macey tiptoed across the entryway and to the door, turning the handle quietly. She glanced back to find her mother still had her back turned. But, at four o’clock in the afternoon, the humidity swelled everything from wood to fingers, and the door wouldn’t budge. Macey tried both hands, and it moved half an inch but made a dreadful rubbing sound that caused Evelyn to turn around. Macey froze, but it was too late. Evelyn dropped the phone to her shoulder and said, “You have to bump it with your hip once or twice and then pull. Don’t know why, but that’s the only thing that’ll do it.”
Macey smiled and nodded. She knew this door usually required a hip check to open it but had hoped that just this one time she could open it the normal way.
“Are you going someplace?”
She held up her index finger, indicating she would explain in a moment. That seemed to satisfy Evelyn, who resumed her conversation on the phone. Had she seen the box under her arm? Had she even cared? Macey quickly turned to the door, bumped it twice with her hip, and pulled. The door opened as smoothly as if it had just been oiled, and Macey hurried outside. She threw the box into the trunk of her car and walked back in. What would she say if her mom asked? Did her mom even know what was in the box?
“Okay, yeah, call us later. We’ll be here. . . . Quiche, I think. . . . Sure. . . . Okay, bye.” Evelyn hung up the phone and turned to her daughter, smiling. “Patricia might join us for dinner tonight, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.” Macey looked at the table. “How’s the faxing going?”
Evelyn shook her head. “Beijing’s the capital of China, isn’t it?”
Macey frowned. “Uh, yeah.”
“Well, that’s all I know about China, and I know more about China than computers.” Evelyn walked back to the fax machine. “I must be doing something wrong.”
Macey felt her face tense up. “Why do you say that?”
“Because, every time I put the paper in, instead of going where it’s supposed to go, it comes out the other end. I have yet to get anything to Dallas.” Evelyn threw up her hands and shook her head.
Macey couldn’t stop herself from chuckling. Did her mom actually think the little paper rolled itself up and shot through the phone lines to Dallas? If she only had an ounce of her mom’s naïveté, maybe Macey’s life would simplify to a tolerable level.
She smiled and said, “Mom, you’re not going to believe this, but if the paper’s going through the other side, that probably means you’re doing it right.” Macey walked over to the fax machine. “It takes a picture, sort of, of what you’re sending, then transfers that into data it can send over the phone line. The paper doesn’t actually go anywhere.”
Evelyn’s brows pinched together above the bridge of her nose. “Is that so?”
“Yep,” Macey said. Pressing the black arrows, she retrieved the last few actions, revealing her mother had actually done it right. “Mom, I think you’ve got it.”
Evelyn squealed and clapped her hands. “By golly, that’s just a miracle.” She looked at Macey. “What a feeling.”
Macey patted her on the back. “Why don’t you take a break from all this, maybe start working on dinner or something. I need to run into town for a bit.”
“Oh, okay. Do you want me to go—”
“No, no. That’s okay. It’s just a quick errand, and you don’t need to be out in the heat of the day anyway.” Macey pressed her lips together and waited for her mother’s response.
“Well, you’re right about that. It feels like eighty degrees in here. Our air-conditioner never has worked all that well. I’ll go fiddle with the thermostat.”
“I’ll be back shortly,” said Macey. She walked to the door, bumped it twice with her hip, and as it opened she said, “And, Mom, I’m proud of you.”
Evelyn grinned, her face as bright as Macey had seen it since returning. She quietly shut the door behind her. She hoped to find nothing significant about the little gown. But something told her not to hope too much.
Twenty-One
Macey turned onto Main Street and drove slowly, looking for the little store. If she remembered where it was, it should be only a block or two away. She approached each intersection with caution. She wasn’t used to all the stoplights, and she’d almost floated through one. Back when she lived here, there were only two stoplights in the whole town.
Everyone seemed to be driving at her pace, so she wasn’t too concerned with backing up traffic. After another block, she saw it. Madeleine’s. Not far away was a parking space open on the side of the street. She wasn’t terrific at parallel parking, but luckily the space looked quite large, and she cheated her way into it. The correct way to parallel park had never made much sense to her.
Adjusting the air vents so they all blew toward her, she waited until her nerves settled. What was she doing? Beckoning old ghosts? Was this an old ghost? She had no idea what this was, and perhaps that’s why she had to find out.
She turned off the engine and fumbled in the ashtray for quarters. She didn’t intend on staying long enough to get a parking ticket, but she wasn’t about to risk having to stay in this town any longer than necessary. She paid the meter, opened the trunk to retrieve the box, and walked back to the store.
From the windows it looked almost exactly the same, except the clothes were more modern. In her day it had been a clothing boutique—a little expensive but the place to go when wanting the best. Macey doubted the woman who ran it, Madeleine Chester, was still alive. She’d been in her sixties when Macey was in high school.
A little bell chimed when she opened the door, and Macey pushed hard against it, the air from the inside giving resistance. The smell of potpourri filled her nostrils, and as she stepped farther in, so did that of berry candles. In the back of the store she could see racks of clothing and shoes, while the front displayed picture frames, figurines, gift items, and a single stand of Hallmark cards.
A familiar classical melody was piped through the cheap sound system, something from Swan Lake she thought, the notes coming through flat and tinny. The floor tile was the same, kept presentable with a fresh layer of wax. The atmosphere struck Macey as serene, and she found herself strolling down each narrow aisle, her eyes inches from fragile crystal ballerinas and porcelain kitty cats.
She’d only been in the store a couple of times when younger, but she recognized that the layout was different. The checkout counter was closer to the door now, and on it sat a modern cash register. To her left, Macey looked at the dazzling watches and other jewelry inside a revolving showcase. She moved along the glass counter and then stopped at the wedding ring sets. “Look but don’t touch,” her mother’s kind voice rang in her ears. Not to worry, Macey thought. All I’ve done my whole life is just look. As the gold glimmered and the diamonds glinted in the fluorescent light, Macey sighed heavily, not wanting to accept the idea that marriage was never going to be for her.
“May I help you?”
Macey spun on one heel and found herself staring into the light hazel eyes of a very old woman, who leaned on a cane and looked up at her.
“Hello. Yes. I’m visiting my mother and I found this little . . . gown, and I wanted to know if you remember anything about it.” Macey held the box in front of her. “It has a tag from your store on it.”
The petite woman smiled at Macey, and Macey immediately recognized her as Madeleine Chester. She was still alive. In her eighties now?
“Well, let’s see what we have here.” Mrs. Chester took the box and set it on the counter, her shaky hands fumbling with the box top. She finally loosened it and pulled it off, a joyful gasp following. “Oh! How precious! A baptism gown.”
Macey stood back a few feet as the woman picked the gown up and held it in the light. She turned it over and examined every inch of it as if she’d sewn it herself. Macey held her breath.
“What do you want to know?” Mrs. Chester asked, studying Macey’s face with curiosity. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“Not at all. I found it in my closet at home. I just wondered if—” Macey paused. This was where it was going to get tricky. How could she get the information she wanted without revealing who she was? She couldn’t, she decided—“if you remember selling it to my mother or father.” She spoke the words carefully. “Jess or Evelyn Steigel.”
The woman’s eyes enlarged as she peered up at Macey. “My goodness’ sakes!” Her shaky finger pointed at Macey’s face. “You’re their daughter, aren’t you? Dear, I can hardly remember my own name, I’m sorry. You’re. . . ?”
“Macey.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. How are your parents?”
“I’m afraid my dad died last week.”
“Of course. I’d heard that. Oh, goodness me, I’m sorry. Your poor mother.”
“She’s doing fine. It was expected.” Macey directed Mrs. Chester’s attention back to the gown. “I was just wondering if you remember anything about this purchase. I know it was a long time ago. But I was wondering . . . if maybe my mother or father bought it.”
Mrs. Chester laid the gown on the glass counter and removed the tissue from the box. “Ah, yes. Here it is. The receipt.” She smiled at Macey. “I always tape it under the tissue so it isn’t apparent that it is there, but handy if someone needs an exchange. I never minded exchanging things. I always wanted my customers to be happy.”
“You’ve run this store a long time,” Macey said. “Looks like you know how to keep your customers happy.”
Mrs. Chester smiled again, her yellow crooked teeth showing only for a second before she self-consciously covered them with a bony hand. “How kind of you to say.” She looked back at the receipt, and Macey realized how important this receipt would be.
“May I?” Macey said, reaching for it. Mrs. Chester gladly handed it over. Macey’s eyes hung on six numbers at the top. She had to concentrate hard to keep her composure, and even that didn’t much work. The numbers seemed to leap off the page and scream at her.
“Are you okay? Dear me, sit down over here,” the old woman said as she guided Macey to a comfortable chair close by. “Sit, sit. Let me get you a glass of water.”
Macey’s body felt numb, the same way it felt when she’d heard her father died. The receipt trembled in her hand, and she found the courage to look at it one more time. There at the top, in faded handwriting, was the date, May 24, 1983.
Mrs. Chester’s feet shuffled along the tile, the sound accompanied by the soft fall of her cane. She returned quickly with a paper cup in her hand.
Macey used both hands to steady it, looking up to see Mrs. Chester’s warm eyes filled with concern. Macey tried to smile.
“It’s the heat, I think. I must be dehydrated.”
“You’re pale as a ghost,” Mrs. Chester said, then reached up to feel her forehead. “At least you’re not burning up. Drink more of that water.”
Macey obeyed. She closed her eyes, hopefully to regain control of her emotions. A thick lump rested in her throat. May 24, 1983.
Mrs. Chester took the cup from her. “My goodness, we haven’t had this much excitement in this store in years. Can I get you more water?”
Macey waved her hand and answered, “No . . . thanks” with a strained voice. She took several deep breaths before asking, “So, um, do you remember anything about the purchase of that gown?”
Mrs. Chester returned to the counter, leaned on her cane, and looked at the gown again. “Why, yes.”
Macey sat up in her chair. “You do? What do you remember?”
“Well, my mind’s a little fuzzy these days, and maybe I’m just making this up, but as I recall it was your father who came in. I suppose it stands out in my mind because my store never saw a lot of male customers, as you can imagine. Occasionally we’d have a husband come in looking for a gift for his wife, and I remember your father, I think, because he just seemed so out of place.”
“I can imagine.”
“But he knew what he wanted and picked it out himself. Chose the most expensive one we had. See? It’s trimmed in pure silk.” Mrs. Chester felt the edge of the sleeve. “I also remember that he wasn’t very personable.” Mrs. Chester glanced at Macey. “I’d mentioned that this must be for a very special occasion, but he didn’t seem too interested in carrying on a conversation. He wasn’t rude, by any means. He just seemed a little tired. He paid for it and left.”
Macey gripped the side of the chair and rose to her feet.
“Dear, you’re still quite pale. Why don’t you let me get you more water.”
Macey shook her head. “I’m fine. Thank you. And thanks for your help.”
Mrs. Chester placed the gown back in the box, but before putting the lid back on, she said, “Well, you have the receipt. It was quite a long time ago, but I’d be happy to exchange it for something else if you’d like.”
“No. That won’t be necessary.”
Mrs. Chester smiled and handed her the box. “Of course not. What am I thinking? You’ll want to keep this for your own child someday, won’t you?”
A horrible burning sensation crawled up Macey’s throat. She turned and walked briskly to the front of the store, pulling the door open. The bell rang again, only this time it sounded louder and more aggravating. Without looking back, she gave Mrs. Chester a little wave. In a near daze she returned to her car, tossed the box in the backseat, started the engine, and stared out the windshield, unaware a car had stopped and was waiting for her to move.
