Part 17 (1/2)
”I don't know what happened at the home the other day. It was the strangest thing I've ever seen.”
”Ma'am, I came to tell you that you got your leg pulled.”
”What?”
”Those old coots were playin' a joke on you. Pretendin' to fall asleep.”
I raised a hand to my throat. ”Why?”
”I expect because Ingrid Beechum and her gal friends put 'em up to it. Adele Clearwater and the like. Told the old folks to play-act falling asleep after they drank some tea.”
”Thank you for letting me know,” I said tonelessly.
”Ingrid isn't herself these days. She hasn't even started to get over losin' her boy last year. He was her only child. Her husband Charlie Beechum, Senior, he died of some sort of illness so long ago that Charlie, Junior barely recalled him. Ingrid made it up to the boy as best she could. She just lived for Charlie, Junior. I got a son of my own. I understand.”
”Her son died?”
”Oh, yes, ma'am. He was only 'bout thirty years old. Got killed in a car accident.”
”And his wife-she and Ingrid are close?”
”Well, no. Ingrid's been tryin' to keep up with her, though. For Charlie, Junior's sake. Tried to get her a nice home here in town. Offered to set her up with a business. But, from what I heard, the gal's just no-good, just a moocher, you know. It's been hard on Ingrid, tryin' to hang on to her son's memory the only way she can-through that no-account wife of his. So please don't think too bad of Ingrid. Like I said, she's not herself lately.”
”I see.”
He nodded to me. ”I got to go, Ma'am. Got my old dog to feed. Possum. He'll be in the garbage if I don't get home soon.”
”Thank you for coming. And for being so frank with me. Please stop by my shop. I'll let you sample anything you care to try.”
”I'll sure do that. I been hearin' good talk about your place. Eustene Oscar says she's never tasted shortbread so fine. And her old mama likes it, too.” He put a finger to his lips and smiled. ”Now, that's a secret.”
After he left, I pulled on a sweater and went downstairs, then along a wide lane that ran behind the shops. The creek flowed between shallow banks on the far side of that lane. I listened to the soft music of its water before I took a deep breath, walked next door, and knocked on the bakery's service doors. I'd noticed lights at night. Ingrid worked late. When there was no response, I pushed lightly. The thick wooden double doors eased open.
I stepped inside and halted. The light was dim except for a single metal light fixture in one corner. Ingrid sat in the shadows, huddled on the floor of the kitchen area with her arms wrapped around her knees and her back against a metal storage bin. Her eyes were shut. The room was so cold I saw my own breath in the air. Ingrid had wrapped herself in a soft pink-and-blue crocheted afghan. A baby blanket. I ached for her loneliness.
”Mrs. Beechum,” I said quietly. ”It's time we talked.”
She opened her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, and looked at me as if nothing I did surprised her. I stepped closer, into the light. ”I want to apologize,” I said. ”Not just for today, but for every rude thing I've said or done since we met.”
She gave me a sarcastic look. ”Why?”
”Because I didn't know that you and I have so much in common. I understand your pain, now.”
Her gaze burned into me. ”What are you talking about?”
”I heard you lost your son this year.”
”I can't talk about-”
”I understand. I have trouble talking about grief. It's a sh.e.l.l. It's a s.h.i.+eld. Armor. Not talking. When you talk, it opens up all those places where the pain can still seep through.”
She got to her feet, swaying. Tears slid down her face. ”What would you know about loss? You're too young.”
My throat convulsed. ”I know how it feels to lose someone you think you can't live without. To get up every morning hating the sunlight because you just want to stay in the dark. And then there are days when the dark suffocates you, and you know you'll scream if dawn doesn't come soon enough. Because every day takes you further away from the time when that person you loved was with you.”
Ingrid staggered toward me then stopped. ”How the h.e.l.l do you know how I feel?” she yelled.
Warm tears slid down my own cheeks. ”Because my husband died two months ago, and I still don't know how I can go on without him.”
She went very still, watching me. Misery burst inside my chest. I rushed to tell her more before she threw me out. ”Matthew, his name was Matthew. And he was such a good man, and we fell in love during college when he walked into the coffee shop I managed and-” I told her all about him, and why I named my shop The Naked Bean. ”And we visited here a few months ago, and made love in a room at the Hamilton House Inn, not long before he got sick for the last time. I've come back to see if life without Matthew can hold any happiness. Maybe it can't. I've taken my fear of that out on you. You're so successful. You have friends, and so many loving relatives, and a place-this town-that's part of you, that's part of who you are. I'm afraid I'll never have any home like that. Nothing will ever fill up the emptiness inside me. I'm not young and carefree. I'm ancient. Some days I can barely move.”
She studied me as if my whole life showed in my face. Her silent scrutiny dragged on until I couldn't stand it. My shoulders sagged. ”I won't fight with you, anymore,” I said wearily. I turned and walked toward the doors.
”My daughter-in-law is about your age, and I despise her.” Ingrid's fervent, tear-soaked voice stopped me in my tracks. I turned slowly, then halted. Ingrid went on fiercely. ”She cheated on Charlie and spent all his money and lied to him, but he loved her so much he couldn't see through her. Everyone else could see what she was. I saw it from the first day I met her. I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I told Charlie she was no good.” Ingrid paused. Her throat worked. ”He never forgave me.” She lifted the afghan, then let it fall. ”I made gifts for children he never had. Grandchildren I would never get to know. When he died, we hadn't spoken in three years.”
I put a hand to my mouth. She stared into thin air and kept talking. ”After he died in the car wreck, I swore I'd make everything up to him, even if all I could do was take care of his wife. She came to me for help. For money. She had no pride. Neither did I, by then. I told her I'd help her start her own business. A lingerie shop, that's what she wanted. I had it all planned. I'd take care of her, if she moved to Mossy Creek. That's why I wanted your shop s.p.a.ce. I went to Ida to set up the lease. Ida told me I was a fool. That I couldn't bring Charlie back and I'd break my own heart all over again. She wouldn't give me an answer about the shop. Then you came along. You were a good excuse for her to do what she felt was for my own good.”
I felt washed out, defenseless. ”Ingrid, I only have a six-month lease. That's all I could guarantee Ida. My business probably won't last beyond that-not at the rate it's going. If you and I can just keep a truce between us until then, I expect you'll get the lease. Maybe it won't be too late to coax your daughter-in-law to move here.”
Once again, Ingrid went silent. Either I'd stunned her or she'd decided I was still too worthless for words.
”I don't know what else to say,” I went on. ”Except that I do understand how badly you hurt. And I understand how much you loved your only child. Because. . .because I'm pregnant.”
There. I'd finally told someone. ”Three months pregnant. You're the first person I've confessed to. I want my child to grow up here. You see, I'm certain-” I cried quietly-”I'm certain my child was conceived here. In Mossy Creek.”
She looked at me speechlessly. I walked out the back doors and stood in the cold evening air. A majestic purple sunset filled the deepening sky, infinite and painfully beautiful.
Matthew and our unborn child were with me.
It was mid-morning. I dutifully opened my shop, brewed my coffees, arranged my tea bags, and tidied the cafe tables as if crowds of customers would use them. Nothing looked right. I broke out in a cold sweat as I pondered Ingrid's sorrows and mine, the humiliating scene we'd caused the day before, and life in general. Soon my heart was racing, and I felt sick at my stomach and a little dizzy. I filled a coffee mug with cold water at the sink. My thoughts circled endlessly.
You let yourself down. You let Matthew down. Quit now. Give up for the baby's sake. This shop was never going to work, anyway.
I uttered a soft sound of despair and bent over the sink. I couldn't give up. Couldn't stop trying. Couldn't. But how, how in the world. . .
”I have something to tell you. Something I couldn't bring myself to admit last night.”
Ingrid's voice. Dazed, I straightened up. She had come into the shop without my noticing. She stood at my counter looking stern and tired. She gaged my disheveled appearance with her sharp blue eyes.
”Are you all right?” she asked.
I nodded and quickly wiped my face with a paper towel. ”It's just morning sickness. Tell me what?”
Her face began to soften, suffused with sadness and shame, but also determination. ”My daughter-in-law took the money I loaned her to buy inventory for her lingerie shop. She used it to move across the country with her new boyfriend. She won't be back.”