Читать книгу Our Fragile Hearts - Buffy Andrews - Страница 15

Chapter 5

Rachel

The next day, I pulled up to the ornate wrought-iron gate, which looked like it belonged around a cemetery instead of a mansion. The huge house sat on top of a hill overlooking the city. I’d wondered about Mary. What was her story? Everyone has one. What was hers? Why did she live alone in a house bigger than a hotel? From the little I’d learned, her husband, who was at least twenty years older, had died long ago. She had no children but was a huge philanthropist in town. I’d googled her name and found a ton of stories about her donating huge sums of money to the library and various cultural arts organizations. But who was she really? I wondered.

I followed the long private road, which led to a cobblestone circular driveway, and pulled up in front of the massive stone steps leading up to the main entrance. I parked my car, feeling embarrassed my old Honda Civic with rust spots was sitting in front of such a grand house. It looked as out of place as I felt. I glanced left, admiring the beautiful three-tiered stone fountain hugged by pink flowering shrubs in the grassy area, and opened my car door.

I paused, gazing at the stately columns and imposing brick façade. I felt like I was about to enter a castle. I walked up the stone steps and approached the carved mahogany door. Just as I was about to ring the bell, the door opened.

“Hi! You must be Rachel.” Mary smiled.

Mary was elegantly dressed in white slacks and a periwinkle sweater that matched the color of her eyes. She wore her hair in a bob and it was cotton white, sprinkled with strands of gray.

I held out my hand. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

She waved me in. “Now, don’t look too closely or you’ll see why taking care of this house has been too much for me.”

I followed her across the polished marble foyer, crème colored with black diamond shapes sprinkled throughout. We walked past the sweeping staircase, down the hall and into a sitting area. I did see some dust, but it honestly didn’t look too bad for a woman who had apparently been doing all of the work herself.

Mary sat down on the floral sofa and patted it with her long, slender fingers. “Please, sit.”

I chewed on my lip, puzzled by Mary’s strange request. She was paying me to clean, not to sit and chat.

“Are you sure you don’t have a floor that needs washing or a bathroom that needs cleaning?”

She pursed her lips, the color of a faded red rose. “Rachel, please. Sit. I thought we’d get to know each other first.”

I walked over and sat beside her. Mary pointed to the antique tea set on the cherry coffee table. “Would you like some tea?”

I didn’t want to be rude, even though I prefer coffee, and accepted the fine china teacup rimmed in gold and accented with pink roses.

Mary lifted the sugar bowl. “Would you like a cube or two?”

I picked up the tiny sugar tongs and dropped a cube into my cup, stirring it with the silver spoon Mary had handed me.

She sat back and sipped her tea. “Did you hear that storm last night?”

I nodded. “It woke up my sister. She hates storms. When it storms she usually ends up in my bed.”

Mary smiled. “I hate storms, too. Tell me about your sister. Does she look like you?”

I nodded. Despite having different fathers, my sister was a mini me, with her blonde, curly hair that hung in ringlets and framed her heart-shaped faced.

“A lot of people say we look alike, except her eyes are as bright as bluebells. I’d much rather have her blue eyes than my muddy brown.”

“Nonsense!” Mary waved her hand, adorned with a diamond the size of the sugar cube I’d just dropped into my tea. It caught the sun’s rays coming through the large window and glistened. “You have beautiful eyes. And they aren’t muddy. They’re chestnut.”

I sipped my tea. “Thank you.”

“Now, about your sister. What’s her name?”

“Piper Rose. She’s five and in kindergarten.”

Mary’s lips turned up. “Piper Rose. What a pretty name. And did she end up in your bed last night?”

“Yes. I didn’t sleep very well. She moves around a lot and always seems to end up sideways, her tiny toes digging into my back.”

The small smile on Mary’s face grew. “Enjoy those moments. They’re fleeting. One day here and gone the next. Just like the fringe tree in front of the carriage house. Yesterday, it was in full bloom. Then we had that terrible storm last night. Pea-sized hail and wicked wind so fierce it rattled my bedroom windows. And when I walked outside this morning, the fringes were gone. Poof! Just like that they were torn from the tree and scattered all over the ground.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” I said, “when Piper’s tiny toes are scratching my back.”

Mary laughed. “Were you scared of thunder when you were little?”

I nodded. “Actually, my friend Claire and I spent some time living with an older woman. Her name was Evelyn. You remind me a lot of her, actually. Anyway, one night not long after Claire came to live with us there was a bad storm. Claire and I practically ran into each other when we’d both jumped out of bed to go to the other’s room. We ended up in my bed and we played a game to take our minds off the storm.”

Mary smiled. “A game?”

“Yes, sort of. Claire came up with it. She called it the alphabet game. We’d take turns drawing letters on each other’s backs. The one not drawing had to guess what the letter was. E’s and F’s and J’s and I’s were sometimes hard. You really had to pay attention.”

“Sounds like fun,” Mary said. “And are you and Claire still friends?”

“Yes. Miss Evelyn’s was the first foster home we were in together. We only got to stay with her once, though. The foster homes that followed weren’t much better than the places we lived in with our moms.”

Mary’s hand flew to her heart. “Oh, Rachel. I’m so sorry to hear that. Do you live with your mom now?”

“Oh, no. She died. That’s how Piper came to live with me. Or rather, I moved into the apartment she shared with my mom. I didn’t want Piper to end up in foster care like me. That’s why I dropped out of college so I could take care of her. Working for the cleaning agency allows me a more flexible schedule, which I need if I’m going to be there for Piper.”

“It’s great that Piper has you,” Mary said.

“I didn’t even know I had a sister until my mom died. I fled home when I was seventeen, as soon as I graduated from high school. I hated my mom for choosing the bottle over me, for not caring enough to stay sober so my life wouldn’t be a revolving door of foster homes.”

Mary hadn’t taken her eyes off mine. And in those eyes I saw shock and pity.

Mary sighed. “I’m sorry you had such a difficult childhood. I never lived in a foster home, but I didn’t have an easy time growing up. My father was very strict and, to be perfectly honest, he was a mean man. I was always amazed by how nicely he treated Mother and me when we were out in public. Everyone thought we had the perfect family. But they didn’t see what went on behind closed doors.”

“Sounds like we both got shortchanged on childhood,” I said. “So, yeah, like you said. Enjoy the little moments because they don’t last forever. Just like the fringes on your tree.”

Mary smiled. “That tree is probably my favorite spring-flowering tree. I love the Bradford pear trees lining the driveway and the weeping cherry trees circling the gazebo. And the dogwoods and saucer magnolias are pretty, too. But there’s something so dainty and fragile about a fringe tree. What’s your favorite tree, Rachel?”

“I like willow trees. My neighbor had a willow tree in her backyard and we used to play under its draping branches. The shade was nice, especially on a really hot day.”

Mary shifted on the sofa. “Willow trees always reminded me of umbrellas. Or fireworks. What do they remind you of, Rachel?”

“Pom-poms. Like the kind cheerleaders use.”

Mary arched her thin eyebrows, which had been noticeably filled in with brow pencil. “So you were a cheerleader?”

I rolled my eyes. “Fat chance. But I wanted to be. Never made the team. I’m about as coordinated as a moose walking in high heels.”

Mary laughed and returned to talking about trees. “Have you ever seen the giant sequoias in California?”

I shook my head. “I’ve never been outside of Pennsylvania.”

“My, are they big! And old. Thousands of years old.”

Mary’s eyes turned glassy and I wondered if I should change the subject. But she continued.

“Flies might live for days, tortoises and whales for hundreds of years, and trees, like the giant sequoias, for thousands of years. But eventually, they all die. No living thing, no animal or plant, can escape death.”

I listened as Mary poured some more tea. I wondered where she was going with this.

“So often in life we witness beauty too short-lived. Like the fringe tree. We wonder why the fringes can’t hang forever. Maybe what we should ask is why we didn’t enjoy the beauty while we had the chance.”

I mashed my lips together, considering whether to wade into the conversation. “It’s human nature, I think, to believe there’ll always be another day.”

“True,” Mary said. “But sometimes there isn’t. Sometimes wicked weather slams us unexpectedly and we’re caught off guard, standing in the drenching rain and rising water. Oh, I know everything in life has its own season – a time to be born and a time to die. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing the seasons could last longer.”

I sat my teacup on the cherry coffee table. Mary was making me uncomfortable. It was as if she was delivering a sermon meant just for me.

“Would you like more, dear?”

“No, thank you.”

“Rachel, I’m sorry. Sometimes I get carried away in poetic mumbo jumbo. I didn’t mean to be such a downer.”

I held up my hand. “No. You’re fine. Everything’s fine. It’s just that I thought you wanted me to clean.”

“Another day. But today I just wanted to talk, to get to know you a little. Can you come tomorrow to clean?”

“I’m sorry. I have another house to clean tomorrow.”

“Can you come the next day?”

I checked the calendar on my phone. “Yes, that will work.”

“Excellent. We can have lunch together.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. Mary looked like she was about to cry.

“Unless you want to, of course,” I quickly added.

“Well, you have to eat, right?”

I nodded. “But please don’t go to a lot of trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. It’ll be nice cooking for someone for a change. Do you like tilapia?”

“That’s fish, right? I don’t like fish.”

“Oh, you must try tilapia sometime,” Mary said. “It’s mild. Doesn’t have that strong fishy taste. What’s your favorite food?”

“That’s easy. Steak. But I rarely have it because it’s so expensive. I eat a lot of pasta and hamburgers.”

Mary nodded. “I like steak, too. What’s Piper’s favorite food?”

“Pizza and chicken nuggets.”

Mary smiled. “I’ll have to have you and Piper to dinner some evening. I’d like to meet her.”

I held up my hand. “That won’t be necessary.”

Mary’s shoulders sank and her smile flat-lined.

Darn, I did it again. Said something before thinking. “I mean, I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

Mary shook her head. “It wouldn’t be any trouble. Besides, I’d enjoy the company. I hate eating alone.”

“Before Piper came along, I always ate alone. I miss it sometimes.” I looked away, thinking about how I divided my life into two eras, Before Piper and After Piper. I was struggling with the After part.

Mary poured some more tea. “Do you like to cook?”

I laughed. “No! If I could take a pill that had all the nutrients I needed to be healthy I would. I think I was the only kid in my seventh-grade cooking class that burnt the sticky buns. After that, the teacher made sure I was with a more skilled student. Before Piper, I pretty much ate whatever came out of a can or a box. But now I try to cook. For Piper. But she’s sneaky. She hates vegetables.”

Mary sipped her tea. “Was Piper excited for the first day of school?”

“She was scared,” I said. “Afraid she wouldn’t make any friends. But when I dropped her off at school, she met a girl in her class. They became fast friends.”

We talked some more about everything and nothing. I glanced at the antique cherry grandfather clock sitting in the corner. “I’d better go. I have some errands to run before Piper comes home.”

I stood.

“So you’ll come again on Friday, right?” Mary stood.

I nodded.

Mary walked me to the door. “Thank you, Rachel.”

I furrowed my brows. “For what?”

“For listening.”

As I drove away I glanced into my rearview mirror. Mary waved from the crack of the front door. I wondered what she was going to do the rest of the day. It made me sad to think she was all alone in that big old house. It was obvious she loved children and I wondered why she apparently had none.