The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society (27 page)

Bettie stamped the snow from her boots and closed the door. She squinted at the shoe rack by the door, labeled
INDOOR
,
OUTDOOR
, and
SPECIAL OCCASION
.

“I had no idea you were so organized,” she said.

“I’m not,” Adele told her. “My children and grandchildren were here. They cleaned up everything.”

“Yeah, I saw everything being hauled away,” Bettie said. “I wondered if you were moving or dead.” She came over to where Adele was sitting and pointed to the magazines, fanned in alphabetical order. “This is like my dentist’s office. Do you have the latest issue of
Time
?”

Adele managed to lift her shoulders in a shrug.

Bettie ran her fingers over the magazines, selected one at random and began flipping through it. “So, seeing how you’re still alive, and how you seem to have some time on your hands, might I interest you in any scrapbooking supplies? I just got a new shipment and I over-ordered. It’s not worth sending back so I’m offering them to anyone who might be interested.”

Adele shook her head.

“I have some wonderful new borders and paper stock.”

Adele shook her head again.

“I’m offering them for
free
, Adele.”

This got Adele’s attention. She’d seen the scrapbooking kits in the store and knew they could be expensive. It seemed unnecessary when you could buy a set of three photo albums from the drugstore for half the price. But Adele didn’t say anything, just sat there shivering even though Bettie had long closed the door.

Bettie arched an eyebrow, frowning. “It’s a fifty-dollar value, Adele.
Even if you don’t want it, you could give it as a gift. I’ll go get it.” She left before Adele could protest.

Bettie returned fifteen minutes later. In her hands was a lovely woven bag filled to the brim with paper, ribbons, fancy scissors, all sorts of jars and canisters. Adele didn’t know much about scrapbooking, but she knew the value of things. This was certainly worth more than fifty dollars.

“What a relief to get rid of these,” Bettie said. “I’m running tight on room myself. You’re doing me a favor, Adele.” She placed the bag in Adele’s lap and it was deliciously heavy.

Adele reached inside and pulled out a sheet of stickers. They were travel stickers, similar to the ones on her suitcase, some even in the shape of a suitcase. She touched them carefully and suddenly felt overcome with emotion.

“How about some coffee?” Bettie asked. “I noticed you got some fancy new machine on your kitchen counter. From your kids, no doubt. Come, let’s give it a whirl.”

It took them a while to figure out how to get the new coffee machine to work, but they did. Afterward they sat at the kitchen table and Bettie spread everything out, explained what each item did. They took out Adele’s stack of photo albums, so numerous that she rarely looked at them, and selected photos that could go into a single book that would capture the moments Adele wanted to remember most. Her wedding day. Coming to America. The day her children were born. Her husband’s graduation. Their home. The grandchildren. Anniversaries. Birthdays. Family vacations. Bettie Shelton helped her do this, and when Adele finished her first album a month later, her children wanted a copy and then asked her to help them make their own. So she did.

Adele and her children never talk about that day, because there’s nothing to say. She knows they were doing what they thought was best, just as she had always done for them all these years. Whether they were right or wrong did not matter, because Bettie showed her another way to save the things that mattered most, the memories she wanted to keep. Adele became an avid scrapbooker, and Bettie Shelton became her good friend.

Chapter Twelve
 

Isabel keeps one eye trained on the small clock in the upper right-hand corner of her computer. In ten minutes she’s home free, another workday over. She doesn’t know what’s worse—staying here in this poor excuse for a job or being home and waiting until it’s time to go to bed.

They’d had another ridiculous sales meeting, one in which her recently graduated twelve-year-old boss (really closer to twenty-five but you can hardly tell the difference) set new sales goals. Either the kid’s on drugs or his daddy, founder of KP Paper & Son, offered him a bump in his allowance if he could figure out how to get more corrugated paper products out into the world.

Why is she even here? It had started as a part-time job, a way to keep busy while Bill was at work, an attempt at a career she wasn’t interested in. Bill wanted her to work with him at the dental office doing administrative paperwork, but aside from sounding dull and unnecessary, Isabel thought that having her own thing, her own job, was somehow important.

What did she know?

So now she’s here, having her own thing and doing her own thing, and hating it. She would have quit except she needed the money after
Bill died, and she doesn’t know what she would do if she ever left this job. Work for another paper company? Get another job in sales? In the end it just seemed easier to stay.

Isabel sees Jimmy Beall sauntering over, making stupid paper jokes along the way. By the time he makes it to her desk, everyone in his wake is shaking their heads.

“Hey,” he says, leaning into her cubicle. He pretends to fiddle with her stapler. “What did the paper say to the pencil?”

Isabel keeps her eyes on her computer screen. “I don’t know.”

“ ‘Write on!’ ” Jimmy guffaws. “I use that all the time with my clients—they love it.”

“I doubt it,” Isabel mutters, but Jimmy doesn’t hear her.

“Hey, I got another: Knock knock!”

Isabel stares up at him. “Jimmy, I think someone’s calling you. From
way
over there.”

“One more,” he begs, not falling for it. Obviously Isabel isn’t the first person to try that one on him. “Come on. Knock knock!”

She sighs. “Who’s there?”

“Jimmy.”

Argh
, she thinks, but goes for it anyway. “Jimmy who?”

“Jimmy your number, let’s go out for pizza!” Jimmy grins, tossing the stapler back onto her desk and knocking over a pencil cup in the process. “Oops, sorry. But do you get it? Jimmy sounds like gimme …”

Isabel retrieves the runaway pens and pencils. “Yeah, I got it.”

“So, what do you think? Do you wanna grab a pizza after work?”

Jimmy, with his thinning hair and pronounced gut, twice divorced. How is it that a guy like this even gets to get married twice?

Isabel feigns regret. “Gosh, Jimmy, I’d love to but I already have plans.” She offers him her brightest, fakest smile and decides her workday is officially over.

Jimmy looks disappointed. “Shoot, really?”

“Yup.” Isabel grabs her purse and her car keys. “I’m attending the opening of my garage door. See you tomorrow, Jimmy.”

Isabel makes one quick stop at the grocery store, where she picks
up something for dinner and dessert. When she pulls into her driveway, she’s surprised to see a man standing on her lawn, looking up at the house. A woman is sitting in the car, which is still running. She’s checking something on her phone, her face a mask of tolerant impatience.

“Can I help you?” Isabel asks as she pulls the grocery bag from her car.

The man walks over. He’s in his mid-thirties. “Hi, is this your house?” He’s dressed as if he’s come straight from work.

Isabel nods. “Yes.” She slams the trunk shut.

The man motions to the sign on the lawn. “How much?”

Isabel tries to remember. “It was on clearance, so I think it was $4.99. It’s metal, which is great, because it holds up well in the weather …”

The man gives a smile. “No, I mean for the house. We’d like to take a look if we can.”

“Oh.” For a second Isabel is stunned into silence. Someone is interested in her house? Her first reaction is to lie, to tell him that her house is no longer for sale. But why would she do that? So instead she tells him the first number that comes to mind, a number slightly higher than even she had originally considered.

The man gives a small nod, thinking. “How many bedrooms?”

“Three,” Isabel says. She tries to remember the state of her house. Underwear on the floor? Kitchen sink full of dirty dishes? “And two bathrooms. There are two roomy living areas, though, and a small sun porch out back. If you want to give me a few minutes to straighten up, I can show it to you now.”

“That would be great.” He turns to call to the woman in the car. “She can show it to us now!”

The woman snaps her phone closed and turns to give a long look at the house. She gives a halfhearted shrug, then reaches over to cut the engine.

Isabel hurries into the house. Prospective buyers! He hasn’t said anything about the front porch yet, or the lack of it. Maybe she won’t have to bother with it at all, just knock a few hundred off the sale
price and let him take care of it. All she’d have to do is pack and move.

As she quickly wipes down counters and picks up stray trash, Isabel feels her spirits rise. It’s a sign that things are about to change, she’s sure of it. When she’s satisfied that the house is in fairly decent showing shape, Isabel goes back to get them and brings them inside.

Isabel has never considered herself much of a salesperson, which is one reason she hates her job. But suddenly she finds herself pointing out small features in the house that she knows will appeal to them.

“Furniture,” the man is saying, surveying everything carefully. “Will any of it be for sale?”

It only takes Isabel a moment to answer. “It’s all for sale,” she tells him. “Even the towels and linens, if you want them.”

“I’d rather get our own,” the woman says. “We already registered for them, anyway.” Isabel sees a diamond ring on the woman’s hand but no band, and notices that the man’s not wearing a ring. Yet.

“It’s a straightforward plan,” Isabel says. “Everything on one floor, no stairs. Fenced backyard, too. Great for kids … I mean, if you’re planning on starting a family.”

There’s a silent exchange between the couple and finally a small smile breaks out on the woman’s face.

“Yes,” she says. “We are.”

“What about the porch?” the man asks. “Was there a problem?”

“What? Oh, no,” Isabel says, blithely waving her hand. “A couple of boards were old and I decided to replace the whole thing. Although if you’d prefer to finish it up yourselves, I could take that off the sale price.”

The woman is shaking her head. “I definitely want that fixed before we move in. It’s not going to work for me if we have to do it ourselves.” She frowns.

“No problem,” Isabel says brightly. “I was planning on having someone come out and take care of it soon anyway.” She’ll flip through the Yellow Pages the minute they’re out the door.

She walks them back to their car, answering a few more questions
about the neighborhood. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Bettie moving throughout her house.

“The neighbors are great,” she adds hastily. “And everyone is always around to lend a helping hand.”

“It’s a great house,” the man says, nodding. “We’ve relocated to the area for work and have been looking for the right place. If you want to send me the papers, I’ll take a look and we can go from there. I can get you whatever information you need if you’re running a credit report.” The man holds out a hand. “I’m Dan Frazier. My girlfriend—I mean, fiancée—is Nina.”

“I’m Isabel Kidd.” They shake hands. Then Dan and Nina get into their car and leave. Ohio plates are on their car.

The minute the car turns the corner Isabel lets out a squeal. She sold her house.
She sold her house!
Isabel can’t quite believe it and of course nobody’s signed anything yet but for all practical purposes, she’s sold it.

She can quit her job. She can tell her boss and Jimmy Beall to shove it, she can take a cruise around the world. Isabel is ready to dance a jig right there on her lawn.

Next door Bettie Shelton’s front door opens. Perfect timing. Isabel can picture how it would have gone down if Bettie had come out a moment earlier. Well, there’s no point in worrying about that. It couldn’t have gone any better than if she had planned it.

She watches as Bettie steps onto her porch, an electric fan hat on her head, gardening shears in hand. On her feet are green plastic clogs.

Other than that, Bettie is buck naked.

Bettie does a stretch and gives Isabel a solemn nod. “Finally starting to cool off!” she hollers. “This October air is bracing, isn’t it?”

Isabel claps a hand to her mouth. On the one hand, she could pretend everything is normal and let Bettie make a fool of herself. It would certainly be fair payback after all these years. But as Isabel watches Bettie whistle and begin to clip the hedge near her front door, she realizes that at any second Bettie is going to bend down and treat
them all to a posterior view of her privates. Before she knows what she’s doing, Isabel has crossed the lawn and draped herself over Bettie’s naked body.

Bettie tries to fend her off, annoyed. “Isabel Kidd, what in the world …”

Isabel looks around. Everyone is home now, the work and school day over, milling about as they take care of their lawns or prepare for an after dinner walk. Isabel grabs the welcome mat and uses it to shield Bettie from the view of passersby who are gawking from the sidewalk. “Bettie, did you forget something? Like clothes?”