Dawn rose. “Why don’t we go through the boxes from the garage?” She went into the living room, not waiting for them to follow. “They should be full of memorabilia.”
Carolyn’s mother studied her. “You don’t seem particularly enthused.”
Carolyn hadn’t moved from her seat. “Are you?”
Her mom pushed her chair back, but didn’t get up. “Maybe we should talk about the past, Carolyn. God knows, you’ve been weighed down by it for years. And so have I.”
Was that how she saw it? “There are some things I don’t want Dawn to know.”
“Do you think anything could change how much Dawn loves you?”
“What about you?”
“Me?” Her mom searched her face, comprehension seeping into her eyes. “I’m your mother.” She shook her head. “I wonder if we know one another at all.”
“Are you two coming?” Dawn called from the living room.
Dawn had already opened a box and pulled out a navy blue dress with white cuffs, faded red buttons, and a red belt. “Wow! This looks like old Hollywood, Granny.”
“Your great-aunt Cloe designed and made that for me when I went away to nursing school.”
“You’d get a small fortune for it on eBay now. Clotilde Waltert Renny first design…”
“Hardly the first.”
Carolyn opened the Pictures box and found all the pictures that had once hung inside the front door of the Paxtown home: Charlie in his football uniform, in his cap and gown, with his Army buddies; his Army portrait with the ribbons mounted below. A dozen pictures of Charlie, all framed beautifully. Not one of her. Carolyn rocked back on her heels.
“What’s wrong?” Carolyn’s mother looked from her to the box. “What did you find?”
“Pictures of Charlie.”
Dawn lowered an ashes-of-roses dressing gown. “Are you okay, Mom?”
The hurt rose, squeezing tight around her heart. “I’d better get the presto logs. Just in case the generator goes out.”
Dawn put the dressing gown aside and pulled over the box her mother had opened. “Pictures of Uncle Charlie.” She took out a high school graduation picture. “I remember these. They were on the wall in the Paxtown house.” Every picture was of Charlie, a few of Granny and Papa with him.
“Our memorial wall.”
Granny used to tell her stories about her uncle: how well he played football, baseball, basketball; how popular he had been, how handsome. Mitch had added to her uncle’s legend by telling stories about their teenage angst and antics, things Granny and Papa wouldn’t have known. “Did he and my mom get along?”
“More than got along, honey. She idolized him. They were polar opposites. He always watched out for her. Charlie was outgoing. Your mom was shy. He had lots of friends. She was a loner. Charlie was like my brother, Bernie. Everyone was so taken with him they never noticed his little sister.”
“Mitch told me he had a crush on Mom in high school. He wanted to ask her out, but never got up the nerve. That’s why he came back to Paxtown-to look her up.” Dawn set Uncle Charlie’s picture on the coffee table. “Did you ever meet Mom’s friend, Rachel Altman?”
Granny tilted her head. “So she told you about her.”
“A little.”
“Carolyn brought her home once, just before Charlie went to Vietnam. They were both still attending Berkeley at the time. Rachel came from wealth. She rented a house. That’s when things started to go downhill. They dropped out and disappeared. We didn’t hear from your mother for two years, and then one day, I came home and there she was sitting by the front door.”
Dawn sat on the couch and curled her legs up under her. “Were you angry with her?”
“Angry?”
“She was gone so long. It must have been awful for you and Papa.”
“You can’t even imagine how awful.” Granny sounded distressed. “Don’t ask her about those days. She was worrying just now in the kitchen, thinking it would make a difference in how you feel about her. She doesn’t want to talk about it. We tried a few times to open the subject, but learned to leave well enough alone.”
Dawn wasn’t convinced. “Maybe if she talks about it, it won’t haunt her so much.”
“She put it all behind her and moved on with her life.”
“I’d like to know who my father was.”
Dismayed, Granny shook her head. “Did you ever think she might not know? And asking would just make her feel worse about it.”
“I love her, Granny. No matter what she tells me, that’s not going to change.”
“So do I. That’s why I don’t ask.” Granny’s mouth worked, as though she fought tears. “Just leave things alone. I lost her once; I don’t want-”
The back door clicked open. Mom came in with a box of presto logs and set them beside the fireplace. She gave Dawn a questioning glance. “Is something wrong?”
Dawn shook her head and couldn’t think of what to say.
Mom looked at both of them and headed for the back door again.
Dawn struggled to her feet. Pain stabbed into her side. Sucking in her breath, she went outside and leaned over the rail above the stairs. “Mom, wait.”
Mom glanced at her, expression bleak.
“You don’t have to leave.”
Her mouth curved in disbelief. “You should go back inside and stay warm. You don’t want to catch cold. ” She went down the steps and disappeared around the corner.
55
Carolyn stepped inside the storage area under the garage and pulled the string attached to a swaying overhead light. She hefted another box of presto logs and set it near the door. She’d take it up in a little while. She wasn’t in any hurry to go back upstairs and walk into another private conversation.
She could use an AA meeting right now. She felt at home among others who had struggled with life. She felt Jesus’ presence there. He’d come to redeem sinners, hadn’t He? He’d raised her up from out of the mire and planted her feet on His sacred ground. Sometimes, she forgot the past entirely, until something or someone reminded her again.
Carolyn breathed in slowly and exhaled. She had other things to think about… and no time to feel sorry for herself.
Most of the stuff under the house would have to be hauled away, like the red vinyl and chrome kitchen stools from the Paxtown house. Why had Mom and Dad hung on to them all these years? The metal frames had rusted and the seats cracked. Dad’s fishing poles, net, creel, and box of flies hung on one wall, along with his brown chest-waders, two pairs of hiking boots, and an old backpack. An old AM/FM radio sat between stacks of National Geographics bound in bundles of twelve. Dad said they’d be worth something, someday. Water-damaged and worthless now, the whole collection would have to be lugged up to the road and taken to the dump. She wondered what Dad would say if he knew the entire collection was now available on CD-ROM.
Removing a canvas cover, Carolyn found a fertilizer spreader and push mower. The Jenner house didn’t have a lawn. She opened a coffinlike chest and stepped back from the stench of molding blankets and towels. Not even a rat or mouse would make a nest in there. She found Charlie’s old Lionel train, complete with engine, cars, caboose, tracks and railroad signs, station house and town buildings. Christopher would have enjoyed setting this up when he was a little boy. Had Dad forgotten about it or left it in storage because it hurt too much to be reminded of Charlie?
Another box held Charlie’s high school yearbooks. She sat in the red Adirondack chair she’d given Dad for his sixtieth birthday and opened the 1962 Amadon yearbook. Leafing through the pages, she found his senior picture, hair neat and short. She found Mitch’s picture. She loved his smile. She found other pictures of Charlie and Mitch: kneeling in the front row of the varsity football team, helmets on their knees; standing with other members of the basketball team; Charlie, head back as he laughed while hanging out on the senior lawn with friends. Friends had scrawled notes everywhere.