Belle's Story

Chapter Nine

My mind went to simpler days. When I was little girl, our family joined thousands of other New Yorkers in the weekly Friday-Sunday sojourn out of the City. Our destination was the foothills of the Berkshires in rural Connecticut. In the summer, Mom took the kids there for three solid months. Dad would meet us at the train station on Friday evening. Victoria, Will and I liked to place pennies on the track so the train could flatten them. Mom thoroughly disapproved. Destroying US currency was a federal felony. She also didn't like that we were running into the path of moving trains (even though none were in sight). If we were able to sneak down there, Mom would never make us go back to pick them up out of fear. I doubt Mom actually believed we'd be squashed by some speeding locomotive. We all knew the train schedule. The fear that kept her from making us collect our Abe Lincolns was a deep seated need not to look like a safety hypocrite. After the train let off its passengers and left the station, we'd scramble down to the tracks while Mom and Dad engaged in what I felt was a mushy re-acquaintance routine. Dad would then also feign disapproval of our penny smashing, but he'd have a gleam in his eye and he always inspected the coins to see which one had been the most flattened.

At the farmhouse, there'd be a vase of freshly picked wildflowers waiting for Dad in an old coke bottle or milk jug, or whatever container I grabbed to take out in the field. Dad warned me against picking Queen Ann's lace. "It'll give you chiggers," he used to say. That was okay, there were plenty of others to choose. My favorites were black-eyed Susans. I was certain the only insects attracted to those lovely yellow petals with their deep black centers were butterflies and honey bees (the non-stinging kind).

Dad always said, "Look at that beautiful bouquet. Who could they be for, not me?"

I'd grin a shy, but proud grin.

"They are for me?"

I'd just nod.

"Thank you Cookie Cat. What a nice surprise." He'd sweep me up in his arms and give me a kiss. I truly believed he was actually surprised by his weekly gift.

My mind turned to other rituals my father and I once shared: magic rubs when Dad had a long day at work, spitting cherry pits off the porch in Louisville, putting on fashion shows for him after Mom took us shopping for new clothes. A single tear ran down my cheek, reminding me of the giant hole in my heart. I quickly wiped it away.

I had more important things to focus on, like speaking to Lawrence and figuring out when to tell Mom to come. I wasn't quite sure how to calculate the number of days Belle's story would take. I was hoping it would be no longer than a week. I'd have to convince Mom to wait, but waiting a week wouldn't hurt anything. I needed to call her.

There was only one person I wanted to call. I looked at my watch, nine o'clock; eight in Chicago. Ben's day was just starting. I looked at the phone for ten minutes then picked it up and dialed. When Ben answered the phone, I started pouring out everything that had happened in the past forty-eight hours.

"So, Belle's in the hospital. Is your mother coming up?"

"She says she is, but I don't know. Can you imagine two invalids plus two other adults in that apartment? My head spins just thinking about it. I wish there were a way to keep her from coming until I go home."

"If she wants to come, she gonna come. I'm not sure you can stop her. You can get a hotel if you think it would help."

"I don't. First, can you see either my mother or grandmother letting me stay in a hotel? Second, I could never do that to Molly. How would she manage all by herself?"

The call wasn't heading in the direction I wanted. Maybe moving the phone to my other ear would help. I shuffled the receiver around while Ben spoke.

"Okay, let's take these one at a time. First, your grandmother and mother do not own you. Last I checked you were thirty years old and able to make decisions for yourself."

"But..." I tried to interrupt.

"Second," Ben continued, ignoring my protest. "If your mother comes later, Molly is still going to have to do all the care giving alone."

"But, Ben I could never stay at a hotel. They'd guilt me to death the entire time I'm with them.

"If they throw a guilt trip at you, just be a duck and let it roll of your back. As I see it, you hold the trump card there anyway."

"What trump card?"

"You could come home."

"I don't want to come home."

"Well, you could. And, I miss you." Ben's voice softened.

"I miss the smell of your soap after you've taken a shower. I miss how your razor always gets in the way of my toothbrush. And, I miss all the flowers you place around the house. Your orchids are getting ready to bloom. They miss you too."

My orchids. Were they getting over watered? I knew the answer was "yes." For a brief moment, I wondered if Ben was right and that I should come home. I remembered Belle's story, I had to stay.

"There's one other thing about me being up here and Mom coming," I said, turning the conversation back to its original topic.

I told Ben that Belle was telling me about her trip to America and that I'd been appointed the Keeper of the Legacy. He told me to do what I thought was best that he'd support whatever I decided and more rot that I'd expect a loving spouse to babble when he didn't have a good answer to a problem. That was fine because in my head, I had the solution. I didn't really need another one. Mom would want to rush up to New York to see her mother. It wasn't an option, she'd just have to wait.

I steadied myself to prepare for the call to Louisville, picked up the phone and dialed.