The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society (40 page)

“I’m sorry.” Ava sniffs. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting …” Her nose starts running and she wipes it with the back of her hand.
Pull it together
, she tells herself.
Don’t let this be Isabel’s last image of you, crying next to a stack of towels
.

But then Isabel reaches for a large box sitting on top of the dryer. “This is for you. Well, Max mostly. It’s some things of Bill’s I thought you should have.” She pushes the box toward Ava.

Ava sniffs again as she looks inside. It’s a random assortment of things, but Ava feels her heart catch in her throat. Bill’s old yearbooks, a cufflink, some sweaters, a paper he’d written in dental school. There’s an antique razor and brush with mother-of-pearl handles.

“Bill loved that set,” Isabel tells her. “It used to be his father’s but we had it stored up in the attic. I know Max has a ways to go, but in case, when he’s older …”

Ava throws her arms around Isabel and starts crying in earnest. It’s all so wonderful, and there’s so much of it, things that she knows Max will treasure forever. “Thank you, Isabel!”

She feels Isabel stiffen at her touch, but she’s not pulling away, either. Ava feels a mechanical patting on her back.

“Okay, okay,” Isabel says awkwardly, and Ava is surprised to hear a catch in her voice, too. “I’ll probably have a few more boxes later. I have some albums somewhere with Bill’s baby pictures—they look a lot alike.”

“They do?” Ava releases her and steps back, wipes her eyes again. She’s a mess. “Really?”

“Let’s just say you can tell they’re father and son. Without a doubt.” Instead of looking angry or uncomfortable, Isabel looks sad. “Anyway, this whole scrapbooking thing with Bettie, and the fire … I want Max to know his dad. You too.” Isabel looks at her. “There’s a lot about Bill that you probably never got a chance to know. Good things. Funny things. You’ll find some of it here.” She touches the box.

“But …” Ava looks through the box again, sees Bill’s graduation certificates, letters from his parents, golf balls, music CDs, an expired
passport. Small and personal mementos that she knows they’ll treasure. “Don’t you want any of this?”

Isabel shakes her head. “I have all the memories I need, including those I wish I didn’t.” She gives a small shrug. “But Max doesn’t have even that.”

Ava lifts a paperweight from the box. It’s a glass penguin with a silly expression on his face, and it makes her smile. “So will you be moving far away?” The thought of Isabel leaving is almost unbearable, but Ava doesn’t know what else she can say.

Isabel shrugs. “I have no idea. I’ll be staying with Yvonne as soon as the house sells, until I figure out what to do next.” Isabel nods at the paperweight. “That’s classic Bill. The occasional random kooky thing. He loved that penguin. I almost can’t believe he left it behind, but I don’t think that was what was on his mind when he left.”

Ava’s voice is a whisper. “Thank you,” she says again.

Isabel starts to head back to the house, then hesitates at the door. She turns to face Ava. “The scrapbooking meeting is this Thursday at the tea salon. Bettie has her good days and her bad days, but either way I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you were there.”

Ava nods. “We’ll be there. If that’s okay with you.”

Isabel doesn’t say anything, just gives a small, silent nod before returning to the kitchen.

Whatever unseen embargo had been on Yvonne is now lifted. It’s been less than two weeks since the incident at Hugh’s house, but news has a way of traveling fast in a small town. Yvonne’s days are packed again and her client list has swelled. She’s scheduling jobs out over the next month, unable to fit everyone in at once. She’s even received a résumé from another plumber new to town, a young guy still figuring out the ropes. He’s interested in apprenticing with Yvonne until he can get his feet on the ground. Yvonne’s never considered this, always content to work on her own, but if things continue like this some help might be nice.

One of her clients made a comment that she should teach classes.
Nothing too hard, the woman had quickly added, but a basic introductory class.

“A do-it-yourself class,” her client had said. “It’s empowering to know that we can do it ourselves. And we’re women, to boot!”

Yvonne likes the idea, and maybe in the new year she’ll look into it. She knows that there’s a lot of talk right now because she stood up to the Hillshire bullies, but she knows it might have gone differently if she hadn’t been involved with Hugh. Maybe she would have filed a complaint or written a letter to the editor of the
Gazette
. A weak, most likely ineffective means to get her point across, to save her business. There was a chance that by the time everything got addressed and resolved, she’d be on her way to the next town, hoping it wouldn’t happen again.

No, under the circumstances she’d acted just right. She didn’t back down. The charges were dropped, though Yvonne doesn’t know if it was Sergeant Overby or Hugh’s influence over Joan Hill. Sergeant Overby, most likely. Hugh’s not likely to stick his neck out for anyone, least of all Yvonne.

Yvonne wrinkles her nose as she drops her keys into the small bowl by her door. Talk about a coward. She can’t believe she was so taken by him, and maybe that was the problem. She was so enamored by the possibilities that she couldn’t see him for what he was. She saw only what she wanted to see—someone who might be able to step into her heart and be a part of her life.

Yvonne strips out of her work clothes and tosses them into the laundry, then goes to take a shower. When she emerges, fresh and clean, she walks to her jewelry box, drops her rings and earrings inside. She pauses when she sees the silver turquoise hearts resting on their sides, patient. Yvonne touches them, feels a rush of emotion.

Sam
.

She never bothered to look for him, and she only heard about his marriage when Claire, her other sister, had called five years ago with the news that she was pregnant. It had been a subtle bomb, dropped at the precise moment when Yvonne thought that things might have changed enough for her to go home for Claire’s baby shower.

“They were here visiting Sam’s father,” Claire reported, delighting in Yvonne’s stunned silence.

Yvonne knew then that the call really wasn’t an invitation to the shower, but an opportunity to make sure that Yvonne knew her family was always watching, always ready, for any chance to show her who was in charge. They would always be one step ahead of her, quashing any chance of Yvonne’s happiness.

Yvonne picks up the earrings, twirls the posts between her fingers. “Good luck charms” was what Sam had called them. The turquoise was a symbol of friendship. Yvonne was wearing them on her wedding day, a day where she suddenly found herself without a fiancé, without a friend. Hardly the good luck charms he’d promise they’d be.

But it did get her out of the Tate family dynamic once and for all. Even if she goes back now, it’ll be on different terms, not because she knows her family’s agenda better, but because she knows herself better. Yvonne gets to call her life her own, which is more than she can say for her mother or sisters, both of whom married men who are now working for her father. In a way, Yvonne was set free.

Yvonne unscrews the back posts and carefully slips the turquoise hearts into her ears, one at a time. She tucks her wet hair behind her ears and gazes at herself in the mirror, then smiles at the woman smiling back.

“Sweetheart, I think you’re being hasty,” Madeline is saying. “And under the circumstances, leaving probably isn’t such a good idea right now.”

“I’ll be back,” Connie says. She can’t look Madeline in the eye so she pretends to be absorbed in folding a sweater and then adding it to the pile. “I think some space would be good for me, that’s all. Suddenly this town feels too small. Everyone’s looking at me funny, like I’m a criminal or a hoodlum or something.”

“I can understand that,” Madeline says. “Except that you’re not packing for a small trip, Connie. You’re packing everything.” She
gestures to the empty drawers in the dresser, the dangling hangers in the armoire.

“I feel better if everything’s with me,” Connie says. “Old habits die hard.”

“But …” Madeline’s eyes look sad.

“And I don’t want you to worry about everything that’s happened with Serena. I mean, Daffodil.” Connie begins to clear the shelves, stacking her journals in a box. She sees her black scrapbooking album, the one adorned with lace and graffiti, the silver tags still new, the pages still empty. She decides to leave it. “I’m going to take care of it.”

“Connie, do you honestly think I care about that? Things will get sorted out one way or another, of that I am certain.” Madeline perches on Connie’s bed, anxious. “I know everything must be so distressing right now. Are you sure you don’t want to talk? Or maybe I can find someone neutral for you to talk to …”

“A therapist?” Connie shakes her head. She’s had her fair share of them and she’s done. “No, I’m all right, Madeline. I just need a little time away. And I don’t want to be here when they have the scrapbooking meeting this week—I’ll feel like a sideshow freak. You know everybody will be looking. There’s already a drop in business because I’m here.”

“That’s not true …” Madeline begins to say, but then her voice trails off.

Connie wishes she could tell Madeline the truth, that she is leaving and that she isn’t coming back. That she has taken all of her savings out of her bank account, savings that have grown substantially over the years, and that a check is already on its way to Rayna Doherty to pay for all the damages to the farm and some, even though it’s not Connie’s fault. She doesn’t want it to end up in Madeline’s lap and she wants to make sure Serena’s taken care of. Her baby, too.

Madeline might be sad at first, but she won’t miss Connie for long. Connie has already called Hannah, saying only that she’d be grateful if Hannah could help out for a while. She and Madeline will establish
a new rhythm in the kitchen, and they’ll be able to talk about music and art and all the fancy things that Connie knows little about. It’ll work out better for everyone if she’s gone.

“I’ll be fine, Madeline,” she promises, and she hears the strength in her own voice, her own words. She will be all right, come what may.

Madeline leaves, reluctant, and again Connie has to refrain from running to her and throwing her arms around her, telling her everything. But she doesn’t.

When she’s finished packing, she stands in the doorway and looks back at the room. Her room, her refuge for the past year. It’s by far the nicest place she’s ever lived, a place that feels as close to home as Connie’s been able to get. She turns to leave.

Hannah is in the foyer, an apron already tied around her waist. She looks at the two suitcases in Connie’s hands. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Connie looks away, blinking rapidly.

“Need a hand?” Hannah asks. Connie shakes her head but Hannah has already grabbed one of the suitcases from her.

They walk in silence out the door. Connie pops the trunk and Hannah helps to load the suitcases.

“So, I guess this is it,” Hannah says. It’s clear she knows exactly what’s going on.

“What?” Connie says, trying to laugh. “I’ll be back.”

Hannah looks at her. “Promise?” she asks.

Connie swallows, unable to answer.

Hannah touches her arm. “Don’t leave. It’ll crush Madeline and you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Connie looks at Hannah, at her earnest face, at her perfect clothes. She knows it’s not Hannah’s fault, but Connie still can’t help but feel a little resentful. “Maybe it’s all true, Hannah, that I stole Serena because I’m lonely. I’m obviously reckless because of the way I’m dressed and the fact that I grew up in a bunch of foster homes.” She slams the trunk closed and gives Hannah a defiant look.

Hannah isn’t fazed. “Connie, nobody believes that you took Serena, and if they do they obviously don’t know you. Look at what
you’ve done with your life. You’re smart and creative. You have this uncanny ability to take a good thing and make it better. There are a lot of people who believe in you. And you’re going to throw it all away because of this little bump in the road? That doesn’t sound like the Connie I used to be so jealous of.”

Connie gapes at her in disbelief. Hannah? Jealous of her?

Hannah laughs. “Oh, don’t be so surprised. You showed up last year and took over everything in the tea salon, came in at a time when Madeline needed help. Everything changed for her after that—you helped make her dreams come true. And you were the one that made the Amish Friendship Bread drive last year a success. I was filled with admiration but envy, too. You’re so young but you know who you are. I’m still trying to figure that out for myself. I look at you and think, I want that courage for myself. And I know I’m not alone in thinking that.”

“Then why is everyone being weird?”

Hannah shrugs. “Because the whole thing is weird. It’s not you, it’s the situation. Plus with the fire—everyone is on edge. But people who believe in you are looking to you for how to react. If you’re anxious or nervous, they will be, too. If you’re okay with it …”

“They’ll be okay with it, too. I get it.”

“I hope so,” Hannah says, and then she catches Connie in an unexpected embrace. “Because this town won’t be the same if you’re not in it.” She steps back and gives Connie a smile, then turns to head back into the tea salon.

Chapter Eighteen