Читать книгу Carry The Light - Delia Parr - Страница 10

S till shaken by the notion that living with Aunt Dorothy might also be an odd, unexpected trial separation of sorts, Charlene walked up the slate walk to her aunt’s house on Lady’s Creek Drive. Dwarfed on either side by a copse of majestic oak and maple trees older than Welleswood itself, the one-story cottage looked sadly neglected.

Using the set of keys retrieved from Aunt Dorothy’s purse, Charlene unlocked the front door and stepped into the living room. Memories of happier times assailed her, and she swallowed hard, praying there might be more time to share with her aunt and more memories to create.

Once her eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight to the dim interior, she pulled up the shades on the windows to let in more light. The living room was dated, yet neat, and was obviously in need of a good cleaning, just as she had suspected. Before she could continue walking through the house, however, there was a sharp rap at the front door.

She recognized the visitor standing on the porch and wished she had not bothered to answer the door at all. “Hello, Mrs. Withers,” she murmured, and managed a smile for her aunt’s elderly next-door neighbor.

A pair of curious brown eyes tried to see past Charlene into the house. “When I saw your car in the driveway I came right over,” she said, holding her buttonless coat together with both hands. “I heard poor Dorothy has passed. Is it true?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears.

“No, it’s not true. Not at all. Aunt Dorothy is recovering from a slight heart attack. She’s coming home tomorrow, we hope,” Charlene said, anxious to correct the woman, who had a well-earned reputation for gossip and exaggeration.

Agnes Withers furrowed her brow. “Really? I heard she had a real bad heart attack. Then I heard—”

“I’m sure my aunt will tell you all about it when she’s home and up to having visitors,” Charlene interrupted. “I just came by to straighten up a bit for her.” She decided not to share more, for fear of adding to the gossip.

The neighbor leaned forward a bit. “You need to move in. That’s what you need to do,” she whispered, as if someone might be lurking behind the overgrown bushes to overhear her. “Dorothy won’t admit it to anyone, not even her doctor, but the poor dear can’t see well enough these days to take her insulin right. Half the time I’m here, she either fills that needle with too much or too little, and I have to fix it for her. Sooner or later, if that heart of hers doesn’t give out first, she’s going to take an overdose or go into one of those diabetic comas, all because she can’t see to get her dose right.”

“I hadn’t realized it was a problem,” Charlene admitted.

“Well, it is a problem, but you can’t tell her I tattled. She’ll get mad at me, and I couldn’t bear losing my very best neighbor.”

“I won’t say a word.”

“And don’t mention I heard she was dead, either. She’d really get mad at that,” the woman added.

“No, I won’t,” Charlene promised, eager to send the woman on her way.

Mrs. Withers apparently had other plans in mind, and took a step closer. “I’d be glad to help you straighten things up for Dorothy,” she offered.

Charlene tightened her hold on the door frame. “That’s so kind of you, but I don’t want to impose. I’m sure I can take care of things here, but maybe you could do something else for me…and for Aunt Dorothy.”

“Of course,” the woman replied, although disappointment laced her words.

“Considering the rumor that she had passed on, maybe you could call your friends to reassure them that she’s doing much better and that she’ll be coming home very soon.”

“Absolutely. I will. I’ll make the calls right away.” Good as her word, she turned and walked away.

Relieved and convinced Agnes Withers would put the rumors to rest, Charlene went into the dining room, where more memories greeted her. Then she headed into the sun-drenched kitchen, where light poured onto the cracked red-and-green linoleum floor through a pair of windows facing the overgrown backyard. On the red Formica countertops that had faded to pink, Aunt Dorothy had new hypodermic needles and used ones. The room itself was orderly, but like all the other rooms, it needed a good cleaning.

Charlene opened the refrigerator and found a few Styrofoam boxes of leftovers on the shelves, beside all sorts of single-serving condiments. The freezer was packed with more Styrofoam containers covered in ice crystals and frozen meats dating back as far as two years.

She inspected the bedrooms on the other side of the house. She poked her head into Aunt Dorothy’s bedroom, where she detected the stale smell of Tabu, but instead of going inside to pull up the shades, she flipped on the light with the switch near the door. As she expected, the room was as tidy and as sadly worn as the others and just as needy of a cleaning.

Sighing, she turned out the light and bypassed the bathroom to look in the spare bedroom, where she would be staying alone during the week and with Daniel on the weekends. When she flipped on the light, she gasped and stepped back. There had to be a bed in this room somewhere, but she couldn’t see past the three tall dressers and the dozen or so tall tin cabinets and wardrobes huddled together, leaving only a narrow aisle.

Charlene groaned out loud.

There was no way she could get all this stuff up into the attic as Aunt Dorothy suggested. Dismayed, she closed her eyes for a moment to concentrate on positive thoughts. Unfortunately, they were as thin as Aunt Dorothy’s bedspread.

Charlene let out another groan and opened her eyes. Cleaning the house would take hours and hours. She would probably be up half the night, which meant she could barely spare time to drive home to pack some clothes for herself, let alone think about spending her last night of freedom with her husband.

Worried that he might think she was overeager to be apart from him, she inspected the spare bedroom again to figure out the quickest way to make the room habitable.

If the wardrobes and cabinets were not too heavy, she might be able to shove them closer to the wall, along with one of the dressers. She opened one cabinet and found it stuffed with bags: grocery bags, shopping bags, plastic store bags, garbage bags and even a few small white bags from Sweet Stuff.

She tried one of the wardrobes. It held so many blouses there wasn’t room for one more. Another cabinet was filled with recycled glass jars that her aunt had labeled for flour, sugar, pancake mix and more. Charlene opened one jar, saw the remains of several brown critters and promptly screwed the lid back on.

The other four wardrobes were packed with clothing, just like the first, and the remaining cabinets held a variety of rusted canned goods, laundry products, cleaning supplies, string, rubber bands and what looked like several years’ worth of newspapers.

Charlene’s first impulse was to pick up her cell phone to call and order a Dumpster; instead, she simply closed all the drawers and doors. She had heard that many people who had lived through the Great Depression in the 1930s never recovered from the deprivations of that era, and Aunt Dorothy’s spare bedroom held proof that it was indeed true.

From what she was seeing Charlene suspected that Agnes Withers’s concerns about Aunt Dorothy’s competence were valid. Charlene was going to need to monitor her aunt much more closely than she had thought. She also had to do something to repair her troubled marriage, or she would spend the rest of her days with a heart as weak and broken as Aunt Dorothy’s had been found to be.