Читать книгу Family by Design - Bonnie K. Winn - Страница 11

J.C. stood in front of his sister’s closet in her far-too-quiet home. Fran’s things were just as she’d left them. Not perfectly in order; she was always in too much of a hurry to fuss over details she had considered unimportant. No, she’d lavished her time on her family, especially Chrissy.

A cheery yellow scarf dangled over an ivory jacket, looking for all the world as though Fran had just hung it up. Anyone searching through the rooms would never conclude it had been a scene of death. Instead, it looked as though Fran, Jay and Chrissy could walk in any moment, pick up their lives.

Fran would be laughing, teasing Chrissy and Jay in turn, turning her hand at a dozen projects, baking J.C.’s favorite apple crumble, inviting friends over.

There hadn’t been an awful lot of time to ask why. Why had they perished? Especially when each had so much to give. Caught up in trying to care for Chrissy, the questions had been shelved.

J.C. was on borrowed time even now. He had thought he could make some sort of inventory of the house so that he could set things in motion, have the important contents stored, the house rented. But he couldn’t bring himself to even reach inside the closet.

Other people survived loss. As a doctor, he’d seen his share and then some. But how did they take that first step, put the gears in motion? Fran had managed when their parents passed away. She had thoughtfully sorted out mementos for each of them, things she had accurately predicted he would cherish. Now, he needed to do the same for Chrissy.

His friend Adam suggested hiring an estate service, one that could view everything with an eye to its current or future value. To J.C., the process sounded like an autopsy. Backing away from the closet, he tore out of the room. Striding quickly, he passed through the living room, then bolted outside. Breathing heavily, he sank into the glider on the porch, loosening his tie.

The breeze was lighter than a bag of feathers, but he drew in big gulps of air. He’d never been claustrophobic, but he felt as though he’d just been locked in an airless pit. He pictured Chrissy’s stricken face. Maybe it wasn’t so illogical that she wouldn’t step foot in the house.

Lifting his head, he leaned back, his gaze drifting over the peaceful lane. School was in session, so no kids played in the yards or rode their bicycles in the street. A few houses down, Mrs. Morton was weeding her flower bed and a dog barked. Not that there was much to bark at. Extending his gaze, he spotted a woman pushing a wheelchair on the sidewalk across the street. The color of her hair stirred a note of recognition.

Maddie Carter? Shifting, he leaned forward, focusing on the pair. It was Maddie, pushing Lillian’s wheelchair. Although Lillian could walk, she tired easily. Combined with the mental confusion, he understood why Maddie chose to use the chair.

They were within shouting distance when Maddie glanced across the street. Recognition dawned and she leaned down to say something to her mother. Walking a few feet farther, Maddie detoured off the sidewalk via a driveway and used the same method to reach the front of Fran’s house.

Trying to tuck his emotions beneath a professional demeanor, J.C. walked down the steps.

Apparently he wasn’t completely successful.

“What’s wrong?” Maddie greeted him, her eyes filled with sudden concern. Today her eyes picked up some of the green of the grass, rendering them near-emerald.

J.C. straightened his tie, but couldn’t bring himself to pull it into a knot. The strangled feeling from being in Fran’s house hadn’t dissipated. “This is my sister’s house.”

Understanding flooded Maddie’s expression. “Are you here by yourself?”

J.C. nodded. “Chrissy won’t come back.”

“What can we do?”

He glanced at the wheelchair. “Your hands are full enough.”

Maddie patted Lillian’s shoulder in a soothing motion. “My mother always enjoys visiting new places.” She met his gaze. Both knew most anywhere other than her own home was now a new place for Lillian.

The older woman smiled at him kindly. “Young man, you need a bracing cup of tea.”

Apparently even his patient could see his distress. “I don’t have the makings for tea.”

“We do,” Lillian replied, craning her head around and up toward Maddie. “Don’t we?”

“Yes, but maybe Dr. Mueller would like to just sit on the porch.”

“Well, now, I’d like that myself,” Lillian replied.

Shedding his own worries, J.C. offered his arm. “Would you care to sit in the glider?”

She giggled, a young, fun sound. “I always have.”

As he helped her rise from the wheelchair, J.C. imagined she’d had a fair share of male attention in her youth. In ways, he could see an advantage in having only partial memories. Hopefully the bad ones faded and only the good stayed.

Once Lillian was settled on the glider, he pulled two rattan chairs close, offering one to Maddie. With the glider set in gentle motion, Lillian’s eyelids fluttered near closing.

“What was it?” Speaking quietly, Maddie tilted her head toward the house. “Inside?”

J.C. thought of a dozen noncommittal answers. “Everything.”

“It was hard after my dad died,” Maddie sympathized. “You said Chrissy won’t come back?”

“Completely freaked out when I tried,” he replied in an equally quiet tone. “Said she never wants to come back, that the house killed her parents.”

Maddie’s forehead furrowed. “Were you thinking of moving in here, so Chrissy would have all her familiar things?”

“That and because we’re two people living in a one-person tent. So to speak,” he explained. “I have a small one-bedroom apartment and it’s not good.”

“And you’re certain Chrissy won’t change her mind?”

“Absolutely.”

Maddie hesitated. “Are you going to sell the house?”

“Thought about renting it out in case Chrissy changes her mind in the future. But right now … I can’t rent it with all of my sister’s belongings still inside.”

“That’s what got to you,” Maddie murmured. “There’s still a sweater and bathrobe of my dad’s in Mom’s closet.”

The dog down the street barked again. And Mrs. Morton crossed the street to talk to her neighbor.

J.C. barely knew Maddie. Funny to be having this conversation with her. But none of his friends could really empathize. Some had lost a parent, but no one had lost everyone. Certainly no one else had the crucial role of caring for the sole survivor.

Maddie swiped at her wayward hair. He liked the way it sprang back with a mind of its own. “Do you have anyone to help you go through your sister’s belongings?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “No one else will know what’s important.”

“Not necessarily,” she objected mildly. “Thinking of things in categories could help. You can decide if there’s a special garment, like my dad’s sweater, you want to save. If not, then it doesn’t take a personal eye to empty closets. Same is pretty much true for the kitchen with the exception of heirloom pieces. Furniture can be sorted through, or just stored for now. Jewelry, papers, other keepsakes can be packed and labeled for when you feel it’s time to decide about them.”

J.C. sighed. “You make it sound reasonable—”

“It is if you’ll accept help.”

“It’s not a job I can ask anyone to tackle.”

“You didn’t ask. I’m offering.” With her back against the cloudy gray exterior of the house, Maddie’s eyes had changed again. But this time the gray held no storm warnings. “Before you mention my mother, she’ll come with me. I’m guessing there’s a comfortable chair and a television. It’ll be an outing for her that isn’t tiring.”

“For her, maybe not. But you—”

“I can’t believe I look that fragile,” Maddie declared. “To hear you talk, I’m so delicate it’s a wonder I don’t blow away in the breeze.” She held out one hand as though testing the air. “Even in this breeze. You, of all people, should know how good it makes a person feel to help someone. I’d like to help. You’re doing Mom a world of good. I can already see small improvements. Besides, you and Chrissy need to be able to move on. Once this house is rented to another family, it won’t seem so scary anymore.”

“A friend suggested hiring an estate service,” he admitted.

“That might be taking it a tad too impersonal. Do you recall grilling me about who helps with Mom? Now, it’s my turn. Who helps with Chrissy? Who can sort through the house? If that’s you, will it be between appointments and surgeries?”

“And I thought I felt bad being inside the house.”

She laughed, tipping her head back, allowing the laughter to gather and spill like a bright waterfall. “Touché.”

Somehow, his dread had disappeared.

Maddie held out her hand, palm side up, her eyes still dancing. “I’ll need a key.”

“I’m a little nervous,” Maddie admitted, fitting the key in the lock.

“You should be.” Samantha rolled her eyes. “I still can’t believe—”

“Other-may,” Maddie resorted to pig Latin to remind her friend of Lillian’s presence.

“Oh, now you remember.”

“I never forgot.” The key to Fran’s house turned easily and Maddie pushed open the door. “Mom, you like getting out, don’t you?”

Lillian smiled. “I like new places.”

Samantha rolled her eyes again. “And it’ll be new for a month of Sundays.”

Maddie elbowed her friend. “I thought you liked J.C.”

“I didn’t expect you to take on organizing his life.”

Maddie flinched. “Do you think he feels that way? And quit rolling your eyes before they fall out of your head.”

“The only one here out of her head—”

Maddie grasped the handles of her mother’s wheelchair and pushed her inside. “How about some TV, Mom? The cable’s still on, so you can watch a movie or Animal Planet.”

Lillian considered. “Have I seen Animal Planet before?”

She watched it every day. “I think so.” Flipping through the channels, Maddie put the TV on an old movie her mother had seen dozens of times. Fortunately, it was new to her each and every time. Uncapping the thermos of tea she’d brought, Maddie poured some in a cup and placed it on the table next to Lillian.

She caught up to Samantha in the hallway, where she stood, leaning slightly on her cane as she studied family pictures grouped over a console table. “Seems hard to believe they just went to sleep and never woke up.”

“I don’t know J.C. well enough to say this, but I think he feels the same way.”

“As though he might wake up one day and find out it was all just a bad dream.” Samantha shook her head. “That’s how I felt about Andy.” Samantha’s brother had died in a plane crash, ending his young life far too soon.

Maddie linked her arm with Sam’s. “What we’re doing, it’s a good way to give back.”

Sam’s voice thickened. “Yeah.” When she had returned to Rosewood paralyzed from a fall, she’d nearly burned down her parents’ entire home. She succeeded in destroying the kitchen. But friends and neighbors had stepped up, rebuilding it, making it even better than before. And in the process, she had reconnected with her old love and now husband, Bret. Sam cleared her throat. “Where do you want to start?”

“Master bedroom, I think. J.C. insists on hiring someone to move the boxes once they’re packed, so I’d like to retrieve the jewelry for his safety deposit box. Then I thought of recording an inventory.” She held up her cell phone. “I can shoot photos of the big pieces to J.C., let him decide what to keep.”

They entered the carpeted master bedroom, feet sinking pleasantly into the deep pile. The four-poster bed looked as antique as the fireplace it flanked. In the curve of the bay window was a cozy reading area.

“Nice,” Sam murmured.

Maddie walked to the open closet, seeing what J.C. had, instantly understanding why it had been so difficult. Although Maddie hadn’t known Fran, remnants of her personality remained.

“What does he want to do with the clothes?”

“Donate them. But I thought we might find one outfit that we’d tuck away for Chrissy.”

“Wonder if Fran kept her wedding dress,” Samantha mused.

“Oh, Sam! That’s perfect! You old softie, I said you’d turned into a romantic.”

Samantha grinned. “Okay. So we’re both hopeless.”

The doorbell rang. A young man sent by J.C. to deliver packing boxes offered his help. Maddie showed him to the dining room where he could assemble the flat cartons.

“Efficient,” Samantha commented, sitting on the bed, folding clothes. “You’re right. Emptying this room first will make it easier for J.C. The longer we put off clearing Andy’s room, the worse it was.”

Maddie crossed the room to the dresser, then slid open the top drawer. A vintage leather jewelry box sat inside. “I’m guessing Fran inherited her mother’s jewelry. Two generations of mementos for Chrissy.”

“Poor kid. I can’t imagine losing my parents now … but when you’re nine years old?” Samantha smoothed the lines of the dress she was folding. “Still, I can’t help worrying about you. Even though you always act chipper, I know the constant caregiving gets to you. And now this …”

Maddie turned to speak, but Sam cut her off.

“I know, I know. Helping people makes you feel better. But face it, even you have to admit this is a depressing chore.”

The jewelry box still in her hands, Maddie stroked it absently. “If you could have seen his eyes …”

Samantha sighed. “It’s my own fault. I just didn’t expect you to wind up …” she waved her hands around “… here.”

Maddie thought of J.C.’s face, the bleak expression, the unexpected spark of hope. Swallowing, she wished it hadn’t meant so very much to her.