Patchwork to Healing, page 6
Ben sat while the car warmed up and ran his work schedule through his mind. The timeline of what he would need to do if he were to take on this project that he had no desire to do. I’m a diver, not a friggin’ caretaker! He slammed his fist on the steering wheel out of frustration because he had no choice but to settle things about Mrs. G’s will. He couldn’t stay, but he also couldn’t leave Becky to handle the entire project on her own.
We have to do it together, but how?
Chapter 7
Rebecca was grateful that she had the day off work. Her goal was to finish straightening up Mrs. Getchel’s house by emptying the fridge, doing some laundry, taking out the trash, and doing whatever else she felt should be done. It was the least she could do after everything that her dear friend had done for her over the years.
As she took the corner, Mrs. Getchel’s Victorian home stood to her right. The large porch and the handsomely curved archway above the staircase were a welcoming sight, even though Mrs. Getchel wasn’t there to greet her.
Inheritance!
In that instant, it hit her like a ton of bricks, and she hit the brakes. Rebecca pulled over and stepped out of the car. She stood with the impressive home before her. This is mine now. She thought gaining a place to call home would make her happy, but all she could think about was how huge of a house this was. She couldn’t manage, maintain, and live in. The taxes alone would empty her bank account. Somehow, she and Ben had to make the foster care venture work, or she’d lose the only home she had left. Her brain couldn’t register all that had happened in just a few days. Having this home seemed like a dream a few hours ago, but now, she had absolutely no idea what to make of it all.
Rebecca lay a handful of tote bags on the porch swing and opened the door with the hidden key that had its place under one of the stones in a flower bed. Norma’s house had rarely ever been quiet, and the eeriness of the silence didn’t escape her. She meandered through the living room, remembering the voices of the children that had once occupied the room. Four other kids had lived there when she’d moved in. Benjamin, who was the oldest; Jason, who’s birthday closely followed Ben’s, then her, and two much younger kids: Frida and Amy. Rebecca smiled at the memory of Ben playing the piano while the two little ones played Candyland on the coffee table.
A loud car drove by, snapping her out of her thoughts, and so she traipsed to the kitchen. Rebecca started with the fridge. Handling food didn’t seem as intimate of a task. She dumped leftovers and opened containers into the trash. She gave pause when she’d seen the chicken and rice soup they’d shared. Mrs. Getchel had wanted her to take the leftovers home that evening, but she’d insisted that she leave it there, that they’d finish it together. Rebecca swallowed the lump in her throat. There would be no more sharing of meals.
She placed the now-empty containers into the dishwasher before removing any items she could still use. Okay—good—making progress. Becky reached to retrieve one of the totes before realizing that she’d forgotten them on the front porch.
She worked her way around the full trash bags, skidded to the porch, then opened the storm door with a burst, pushing it directly into Ben Daly’s forehead.
“Oh, my gosh! What are you doing—I didn’t even see you there?” Becky said with a start. Ben, who now rubbed the crease that was forming down his forehead, stood dazed for a second.
“I was just about to knock when you—”
“Sorry about that, but I guess the better question would be. Why are you here?” She said propping the door open with her foot and crossed her arms.
“I wanted to—well, I guess you could say—I wanted to…”
“Spit it out for crying out loud.” Rebecca’s patience was waning, and she had better things to do than stand there listening to Ben stammer.
“I was just being nostalgic. Wanted to see the place, you know. I intended to just drive by, maybe even park for a minute.” He shrugged. “But I saw your car there, and figured I—”
“Oh, you just figured you could just waltz in here and—”
“I was about to knock, remember? It wasn’t like I was just going to let myself in, you know, Rebecca. I don’t know what has happened over the years, but you sure as hell have a pretty big chip on your shoulder. And for your information, my being here has nothing to do with you.” His steely gaze glared at her with the intensity that she’d seen years ago. He was no longer playing Mr. Nice Guy, and that calmed her down. Being furious with an ass was easier than being angry with someone she thought she’d once loved.
“Well, since you’re here already, I suppose you may as well come in.” She stepped aside, and with a wave of her arm, he stepped through the door. Ben stood in the entry, his mouth taught and his hands stuffed in his pockets.
He glanced around the living room. “Hasn’t changed at all, has it?”
“Not really.” Becky hadn’t really thought about changes because she’d visited so often over the years. She, too, looked around the room, taking it in. She pointed to the spot in front of the fireplace. “I remember you burning the rug over there.”
“Becky, I told you then, and I’m telling you now, it wasn’t my fault. The log fell out onto the floor.”
“Yep, but it wouldn’t have happened if you’d listen to Mrs. Getchel and not built the fire in the first place.”
“I guess you’ve got a point there.” With a sideways smirk, he took a few steps, stopping in front of the piano. He touched a few of the portraits of Mrs. G’s “kids” that hung on the wall. “There’s a lot more of those though,” he said with a bit of tenderness when he found the one of himself.
“Not too shabby for such a geek,” Becky teased, but secretly she thought he’d been the most handsome boy she’d ever known.
“Takes one to know one.” Ben pulled the one of her off the wall, hiding it close to his chest.
“Yes, it does, okay? What can I say? It was during my awkward phase.”
“Sure was!” Ben laughed.
Becky gave him a punch in the shoulder before taking the frame from him and hanging it back on the wall.
“Do you still play?” he asked, lifting the lid over the keys, then tinkering out a tune.
“I haven’t played in years,” Rebecca said as she ran her hand along the curve of the piano, “even though she said I could come and practice anytime I wanted. It just didn’t feel right. Besides, I’d really just gotten started with my lessons, anyway.”
Ben patted the bench next to him, inviting her to sit. She hesitated, then scooched to the edge of the bench while his fingers tapped the keys, testing each one with expertise.
“Not too bad. I figured it’d be out of tune,” he said with a nod, then he began to play. The melody took her back to another place and time. She’d always loved the tune as it was thought provoking and stirred in her what she’d considered a spiritual awakening.
“I remember that song,” she said in a hush. “It’s from the movie The Piano.”
Ben turned to her while he played. “Sure is,” he said, with a glimmer in his eyes. “I’ve always liked the name.”
“What is it, I forget?”
“Big, My Secret, by Michael Nyman.” He continued to play, and for a while, she thought he’d forgotten where he was. He seemed lost in the music. She happily moved there with him, until he stopped abruptly, then shut the lid, and stood. “Not sure Mrs. Getchel would approve, though.”
Becky sat astounded by his turn-of-a-switch attitude, but tried to brush it off as best she could. “I don’t think she would’ve minded. She loved to hear you play. She taught you well.”
“Sure, but not that one. Remember, she always said it was an adult song, because of the movie.”
“You’re right, I forgot about that!” Becky stood up and pushed the bench back into place. “Of course, we had to watch the movie to see why we shouldn’t.”
The lightheartedness settled in momentarily until a silence fell between them. Rebecca shifted her feet and pushed her hair behind her ear. She walked toward the kitchen, then turned back toward the front door, nearly bumping into Ben. “Forgot my bags on the porch.” Rebecca, do-si-doed around Ben’s sturdy frame. “Do you think you could carry some trash out for me?”
“Absolutely.”
Before long, they wrapped up the kitchen, and Rebecca felt satisfied with their teamwork, other than they’d barely spoken as they’d gone to task. She imagined what it would be like being in business together. Would they be this in tune with each other’s movements, and succinctly and instinctively tackle what was needed doing? At this point, being in business together was a big stretch. He was leaving.
She couldn’t get over how tall he’d grown. He’d reached the top shelves with ease. She thought for sure that he’d caught her checking out his biceps. Rebecca had a million questions for him--like where have you been, what are you doing, and are you happy? But the questions would have to wait, if she ever got to ask them at all.
Ben took the last load out to her car. She pulled back the drapes from a living room window to watch him. He’d taken care to organize the packing efficiently, then shut the trunk. Rebecca quickly backed away from the window.
“We’ve been at it all afternoon,” Ben said. “Would you like to grab some dinner?”
Rebecca hesitated before responding. She desperately wanted to say yes, but to what end? He’d just leave her again, and the more she thought about that, the more the pain of his leaving all those years ago plunged her right back into her bitter mood.
“Nope, I’m good. I think you should just go.”
Ben’s questioning gaze penetrated hers. Why did you have to grow to be so darn good looking? His stare continued as she shifted her feet and cast her eyes toward the floor; stuffing down her mixed emotions.
“Um, I’m not hungry,” she said, lying through her teeth. In fact, she was absolutely famished. “I still have things I want to get done around here. But, hey, thanks for your help.”
“Okay, well, since you’re going to be awhile, why don’t I go get us something and bring it back here? That way, by the time I’m back, you might be ready to eat, and I could help some more.” Before Rebecca could think of a response quickly enough, Ben added, “Yeah, I’ll do that. Be back soon.”
He grabbed his coat and was gone, leaving Rebecca standing there feeling like her head was spinning.
What just happened? She shook her head. Why can’t I ever say no to that man?
She plunked on the sofa, the same worn sofa, and afghan that adorned the back since heaven knows how long. She pulled the afghan over her lap and a warmth grew through her. He’s coming back.
Rebecca’s mind drifted off to the first time she’d sat there. She’d placed her small laundry sack, containing all her worldly possessions: a few items of clothing that others had donated to her, some toiletries, a pair of slippers, a robe, and a small, treasured quilt that her mother had handmade for her. Rebecca absentmindedly rubbed her shoulder and arm as if the pain still existed, then shut her eyes, recalling more.
She’d been so afraid. Oh, the house was pretty from the outside. It offered a large porch with a swing, table and chairs, and a doormat with the words, “Welcome Home” at its center, but none of those details brought her comfort. As she’d learned, the outside can be lovely. What was on the inside held the truth. This place had been the fourth such place in just a little over a year. If her first three were any indication, she’d run from this one as well.
Mrs. Getchel had greeted her warmly, then led her to the sofa. Her large, plump frame sat down next to her, and she kindly offered her a cookie from the decorative plate that sat in the center of a frilly doily on the coffee table. The voices of other kids drifted from upstairs and more distant ones came from the backyard. She wished she could see them to know if they seemed happy. They were probably just as good at masquerading reality as her former foster parents had been.
Mrs. Getchel had called a boy named Benjamin into the room. She’d asked if he’d fetch a glass of milk to go along with the cookies. He’d been tall and scrawny, his black hair stuck out in every direction, but he was otherwise well dressed and groomed. What calmed her more was Mrs. Getchel’s soft touch on his arm, and the thank you she’d given him when he’d handed over the milk. His bright smile was contagious, and Rebecca, for the first time in a long time, smiled in return. She’d remembered feeling hopeful, but still cautious.
Rebecca’s thoughts went back to the decorative plate. She got up stiffly from the sofa, feeling her achy muscles from squatting and lifting Mrs. Getchel’s belongings, then walked to the hutch in search of the plate. It had resided there since she could remember, and hoped it was still there. Yes! She carefully opened the glass-framed hutch door and removed the plate. Its inscription was almost worn off by now, but she could still read the words. She ran her fingertips across the lettering.
In this home…
We do real.
We do mistakes.
We do I’m sorry.
We do second chances.
We do hugs.
We do together the best we can.
“Thank you, Mrs. Getchel,” Rebecca whispered and quietly wept. A tear trickled down her cheek and fell on the plate. She wiped the moisture from its surface with her sleeve and reluctantly put the plate back in its proper place, but made a mental note that if she couldn’t live up to Mrs. Getchel’s expectations about the project, and lost the house, she would keep the plate as a treasured memento.
Out front, a car door closed, then Ben’s familiar footsteps took the stairs two at a time. She smiled at this memory, but it faded quickly for all the times that she’d wished she’d hear them after he’d left her.
“I got you an Italian sandwich from the pizza shop,” he blurted out before the door finished shutting behind him. “Hope that’s okay.”
“Actually, that sounds perfect. Thanks.” Rebecca gestured toward the kitchen, then an uncomfortable feeling crept up her spine, recognizing that she was already acting as if Mrs. Getchel’s home was her own, and stopped before moving. “Ben—where do you think we should sit? Feels kinda funny—doesn’t it—just making ourselves at home here without her?”
“I doubt Norma would see it that way. Besides, I think of this place as home, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she said hesitantly. It was exactly that when we were all sitting around the table together. She pushed the thought aside. “It’s just that eating a meal at her table seems a bit—I don’t know—like we’re overstepping.”
“Tell you what, would you feel better standing at the counter? As I recall, you spent more time sitting on the counter eating than at the table, anyway? Would that make you feel better?”
I loved sitting there. Mrs. Getchel would cook and we’d talk while I nibbled. She’d swat at my hand and tell me to get down, but it was all part of the charm. Oh, how I miss you, Norma.
“I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “Sorry, but all this just seems so strange.”
“I hear you,” Ben said with a shrug. “The table then?”
“Yeah, I kinda think she’d rather me be sitting at her table than on the counter. I used to get reprimanded for that.”
“True story. So the table wins?”
“Table it is.”
Ben set the bags ceremoniously down on the table. They unwrapped their sandwiches and sat in silence. Rebecca, occasionally, watched him as he tucked the salami into the bread, picked fallen black olives off the paper, took large bites, devouring it at a ravenous pace. She realized she had only eaten about a third of hers. I’ve missed you, Benjamin.
Rebecca marveled at the changes in his now adult appearance. She’d thought him so mature when he’d left as an eighteen-year-old. Rebecca had perceived him as so worldly. She grinned at her own naivety. His jaw was strong, and she couldn’t get over the facial hair that framed his bright smile. Even when he was brooding, she’d found him attractive. His hands gathered up the paper and crunched it into a ball before he looked in her direction.
“I guess I was hungry.” He laughed lightheartedly, before stuffing the balled-up paper into his plastic bag.
“I guess so.” Rebecca wrapped up what she had left of her sandwich and placed it back into the bag. “Ben . . . who told you about Mrs. Getchel’s passing?”
“Jason Fischer.”
His response cut like a knife. Jason had been one of the older kids that had lived in this house. The kind of kid that kept to himself and more or less just blended into the woodwork. She had no idea that they’d kept in touch. Sure, Jason tagged along with Ben back in the day, but that was about it. She didn’t think they were that close. What bothered her the most was that the handful of times that she and Jason had run in to each other, he’d never thought to mention anything about Ben, and Ben had, obviously, never asked about her.
“Oh.” She could feel the heat rise on her chest and up her neck. The realization that Jason would know how to contact him was crushing, but the last thing she wanted was for Ben to see her get all teary-eyed over it.
She got up abruptly from the table and pushed in her chair. “I’m calling it a night. I think it’s best if we head out,” she said in a calm yet cold tone.
She could tell by his tightened mouth that he was perplexed, but she didn’t care and didn’t feel she owed him an explanation, so she just picked up his coat and handed it to him. His eyes pleaded with her as he backed away from his coat.
Not this time. This time, I say no.
She responded by pushing it into his chest. He continued to stand there as she retrieved her handbag and dug out a ten. “Thanks for your help and the sandwich.”
