The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society (47 page)

“Okay, fine.” Isabel looks up at her. “I don’t think that preschool is the right place for him. He doesn’t seem happy there at all. I don’t know how you can stand here, chatting away, while he’s … 
there
.” Isabel’s cheeks redden, and she looks down and starts doodling on the page again, her lips tight.

Ava feels like she’s been slapped. “He likes his school,” she says, but her voice wavers, giving herself away.

“I don’t think so,” Isabel says. It’s not her words but the tone in her voice that says it all. That Ava is a bad parent. That Ava doesn’t know what’s best for her son. That Ava would be willing to compromise his happiness or well-being because she can’t afford to do better. Ava feels herself tremble in anger, not because Isabel is wrong, but because Isabel might be right.

“You don’t know,” she says to Isabel, her teeth clenched. “You have no idea about me or my life, and you don’t have any right to comment about Max. You are not his parent—
I
am. Me. And I’m doing the best I can, Isabel. Do you think I like having him there? Do you think I didn’t try to have him home with me? Don’t you think I wish I had more money to send him to someplace nice, where they actually care about him?”

“Plenty of places offer financial aid …” Isabel begins.

“Oh, right! Why didn’t I think of that?” Ava pretends to knock the side of her head. She glares at Isabel. “When I said I was hoping you’d be a part of Max’s life, I didn’t mean I wanted you to criticize it, too.”

Isabel points her pen at Ava. “So let me get this straight: you sleep
with my husband, have his child, expect me to be a part of his life, put me on your emergency call list …” Everything Isabel says is like a stab, making Ava cringe.

“Really?” Bettie breathes. “That’s gutsy.” She turns to Imogene, who looks equally enthralled.

Isabel raises her voice, her eyes on Ava. “… and after all that, I can’t make one comment about where he goes to school?”

“Yes … no … I mean …” Ava suddenly feels confused. She wants Max to have a connection to Isabel, but she didn’t think it would be like this. She was thinking more about shared reminiscences about Bill, stories, that sort of thing.

“Why are you still here, Ava?” Isabel demands. “That’s what I don’t understand. What do you want from me?”

Ava can feel everyone’s eyes on her. She straightens up, blinking rapidly, holds on to her purse strap for support. “Nothing. I don’t want anything, Isabel.”

Isabel looks down at the notebook, at the key resting on the table. “Well, then, I guess you should leave.”

Bettie is looking between the women, not quite sure about what’s happening. Ava can see that her eyes have gone slightly vacant, the confused look returning. “You’re leaving?” Bettie asks, perplexed.

“I am,” she tells Bettie. She turns to Isabel, who won’t look her in the eye. “I came by to give you the key, and to tell you we’re moving. We were evicted from our apartment, so Max and I have to be out by the end of the week. I came to say goodbye. And thanks. For everything.” When Isabel doesn’t say anything, Ava gives Bettie’s hand one last squeeze and leaves.

Chapter Twenty-one
 

Charlotte Snyder, head teller of Avalon State Bank, greets Isabel and Bettie in the lobby.

“So exciting!” she exclaims, leading them to the back of the bank. “When I got your call, I wasn’t sure what to think. Lost safe-deposit keys! It’s like something out of a movie.”

Isabel just feels weary. She’s had to take more time off from work, much to the chagrin of her kid boss who’s still managing to somehow keep KP Paper & Son afloat. She’d expected that he would complain, possibly even fire her, but instead he surprised her by saying she’d been given a raise. Apparently her sales numbers have been at an all-time high, something Isabel hadn’t been paying much attention to. She credits this to not really caring about her job, which makes handling rejection all the more easy. She keeps at it until she gets a yes, and then keeps at it some more.

But keeping at it is starting to take its toll on Isabel. She’s been running on caffeine and adrenaline since the fire, and it’s finally caught up to her. Even with Bettie now living at Abe and Imogene’s, Isabel still doesn’t seem to have enough time to tie up all the loose ends. There are too many to count.

And now, this. Bettie’s box, not to mention the surprise safe-deposit box that was held in Bill’s name. Isabel had to get a court order to get permission to open the box, and while it wasn’t all that difficult, it just makes everything feel more serious, more formal. Whatever Bill was hiding, Isabel is about to find out.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” Yvonne comes up behind them and gives Isabel’s arm a squeeze. “Have you opened the boxes yet?”

Isabel shakes her head. “I’m thinking maybe we should leave Bill’s alone. There must have been a reason I didn’t know about it, right? And I’m not so sure I want to find out what’s inside.”

“I sure hope I stashed some goodies away,” Bettie tells Mrs. Snyder. “I could go for a nice surprise. Say, are you still serving free pastries?”

“Every day before ten,” Mrs. Snyder titters. “Though we’ve replaced the doughnuts with Amish Friendship Bread. So delicious!”

Bettie turns to Isabel, eager. “What time is it?”

Isabel looks at Yvonne. She doesn’t have the energy to even lift her wrist to look at her watch.

“It’s ten,” Yvonne confirms.

Bettie lets out a whoop. “Charlotte, I tell you, there is nothing sweeter than free Amish Friendship Bread.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Mrs. Snyder says, nodding her head fervently. “Today was my baking day, so I brought in chocolate-dipped Amish Friendship Bread biscotti—it has a touch of coconut. Perfect with your morning coffee!”

“I can’t stand Amish Friendship Bread,” Isabel mutters, “but coffee?” Her tired eyes perk up.

“Try water,” Yvonne says. “You could fuel a rocket with the amount of caffeine in your system.” She turns to Mrs. Snyder. “So, what now?”

“Well, we have Bettie’s box ready. And if you have your key”—she nods in Isabel’s direction—“we can have yours brought out right after. Since you got that court order, the box is all yours. It’s a shame you didn’t know about it earlier.”

“I don’t think I could have handled it earlier,” Isabel says. She
turns to Yvonne. “I’m not even sure I can handle it now. Bill probably meant to give someone else power of attorney after the divorce was final. Ava, maybe. She should be here, not me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yvonne tells her. “At this point you need to see what’s inside. It could even be empty, Isabel, and all your worrying will be for nothing.”

Empty? Isabel’s not sure what’s worse. Finding something she didn’t know about or wondering what Bill had been planning to put inside.

“Enough chatter,” Bettie declares excitedly. “I want to see what’s in my box—I have no idea what’s in there!”

Mrs. Snyder’s face is washed in pity. “Because of your … condition?” She whispers the last word like it’s a secret.

Bettie gives her an exasperated look. “No, Charlotte. Short of having it deducted from my checking account once a year, I haven’t bothered to touch it in almost fifteen years. I forgot I even had it.”

Mrs. Snyder nods. “It’s funny how people tend to forget what they have. Okay, have a seat and I’ll be right back!”

Bettie and Yvonne sit down, but Isabel is pacing. Bettie is considering the possibilities, running through each one with Yvonne.

“What about gold bars? Wouldn’t that be something? Or a wad of cash!”

“Diamonds,” Yvonne adds. “Rubies from Madagascar.”

Isabel gives her friend a look. This is definitely not helping. “Bettie, whatever is in your box is something that
you
put in. Did you have gold bars or a wad of cash?”

“No,” Bettie says, her face falling for a moment. “But you never know, right? If my brain’s no longer reliable, who knows what I might have done over the years?” She turns to Yvonne, her face bright once again. “Stock certificates! Lottery tickets!”

Isabel resumes her pacing. Regardless of whatever is in Bill’s safe-deposit box, what’s troubling Isabel the most is that she can no longer trust
what
she knows. She’s starting to doubt her own memories about her life with Bill, because there is clearly so much that she didn’t know about.

Ava, obviously. She hadn’t seen that one coming but once it happened, she could see it for what it was—a series of chance and missteps, a fork in the road, his ultimate decision to choose one path over another. She knew her marriage had issues, and while she hadn’t expected he would ever leave her, she knows why he did.

But this is different. It’s deliberate, intentional, premeditated. Bill came to the bank, signed his name to the form, put money down for a box that neither she nor Ava knows anything about. He came here with the express intention of putting something into that box that he didn’t want to keep at home.

So what is it?

Mrs. Snyder reappears with a long metal box. She slides it onto the table. “Here you go, Bettie. Buzz me when you’re finished and then I can take you back to the vault, Isabel.”

Isabel and Yvonne flank Bettie as she stares at the box. “It’s bigger than I remember,” Bettie says, fingering the numbered plate on the front. She takes a deep breath and pushes back the metal lid.

It’s full of plastic bags, old magazines. Bettie pulls out a few Ziploc bags filled with documents folded in half. Isabel reaches for them, opens the first bag. The original deed to the house, the pink slip for her car, insurance papers, Bettie’s birth certificate, social security card, medical records. Isabel’s relieved to see them, because it makes a lot of things easier. She’ll make copies as soon as she can.

“Wow,” Yvonne breathes, and Isabel looks up to see her holding up a bundle of cash, mostly twenty- and hundred-dollar bills, also in a sealed Ziploc bag. “So you do have a wad of cash in there after all. It looks like there’s a few thousand here, Bettie. Is this yours?”

“Yes,” Bettie says, her voice hollow. She glances at it, uninterested. “Twenty thousand, I remember now. Proceeds from the first five years of my scrapbooking business.”

“Why didn’t you deposit it?” Isabel asks. She knows Bettie has both a savings and checking account at the bank, as well as an IRA.

“I did deposit some,” Bettie says absently. “I was saving the rest for …” Her voice trails off as she pulls out a Ziploc from beneath the
magazines. Inside is something soft and rectangular wrapped in white tissue. Fabric? A sweater? Bettie’s face suddenly crumples.

Isabel slides into the chair next to her. Bettie’s hands are shaking. “Do you want me to help open it?” she asks.

Bettie’s eyes are wet. She shakes her head. “No. I’ll take it home with me.” She clutches it to her chest. “I want to go now.”

Isabel nods. She puts everything else into a bag and closes the lid of the empty safe-deposit box. They all stand up.

“Wait,” Yvonne says. “What about Bill’s box?”

Bettie’s face is drawn and pale, and Isabel wants to get her back to Imogene’s. “I’ll do it later,” she says, but Yvonne shakes her head.

“Do it now,” she says firmly. “I’ll take Bettie to the Garzas’. Call me later.” Yvonne puts an arm around Bettie’s shoulders and leads her out.

Isabel watches them leave, tempted to run after them. She’d been counting on having some company when she opened the box and hates that she has to do it by herself.

“How are we doing?” Mrs. Snyder enters the room and looks around in confusion. “Oh, did Bettie leave already?”

“She wanted to go home.” Isabel holds out Bill’s key. “So do I give this to you?”

“Oh, no, dear. You hold on to that. Follow me.”

They walk into a small room filled from floor to ceiling with three walls of safe-deposit boxes. Mrs. Snyder lifts a ring of keys as she scans the wall. “Two-one-five, two-one-five … here it is.” She motions for Isabel to step forward. “You put your key in there. I’ll put the master here … and turn.”

Isabel does as she’s told and the small door swings open. Mrs. Snyder briskly removes the long metal box inside and hands it to Isabel. They walk back to the small table outside.

“Usually when a safe-deposit box is dormant we turn it over to the state treasurer’s office,” Mrs. Snyder tells her. “But Mr. Kidd paid for it in advance, twenty-five years! You still have nine years to go, isn’t that nice?”

Isabel counts back the years. That would have been right around the time they got married.

“Let me know when you’re finished,” Mrs. Snyder says, pointing to the small button on the wall. “Don’t you run off on me, too!” She gives Isabel a wink and disappears.

Isabel slides into the chair and stares at the box. It’s gunmetal gray, just like Bettie’s, but smaller. She looks for a clue as to what might be inside, but there’s nothing. It’s a standard-issue safe-deposit box.

Isabel puts her hand on the cover and hesitates. The last person to open this box would have been Bill, his fingers in the same spot as hers. She wonders what he was thinking, if he knew that someday she would be the next person to touch this box. She suddenly feels anxious, unsure if she should look inside. After all, there must have been a reason that he didn’t tell her about it.