Carry the Light (5 page)

After a round of hugs and kisses, Charlene walked to the elevator with her husband. “Thank you,” she murmured as they waited side by side for the elevator.

He nodded, but kept his gaze on the arrows over the elevator. “Sure. Nothing else made much sense.”

The down arrow lit up, a bell sounded and the elevator doors opened. “It won't be for long,” Charlene offered as they stepped into the empty elevator, saddened to think Aunt Dorothy's days on this earth were nearing an end.

He shrugged and pressed the button for the lobby.

“Maybe it might do us both some good to spend a little time apart during the week,” she said, giving voice for the first time to the fear that the indifference that had marked their marriage these past few years might be too great to overcome.

He let out a long, deep sigh. “If that's what you want,” he said hoarsely.

And her heart trembled.

Maybe that's what he wanted, too.

S
till shaken by the notion that living with Aunt Dorothy might also be an odd, unexpected trial separation of sorts, Charlene walked up the slate walk to her aunt's house on Lady's Creek Drive. Dwarfed on either side by a copse of majestic oak and maple trees older than Welleswood itself, the one-story cottage looked sadly neglected.

Using the set of keys retrieved from Aunt Dorothy's purse, Charlene unlocked the front door and stepped into the living room. Memories of happier times assailed her, and she swallowed hard, praying there might be more time to share with her aunt and more memories to create.

Once her eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight to the dim interior, she pulled up the shades on the windows to let in more light. The living room was dated, yet neat, and was obviously in need of a good cleaning, just as she had suspected. Before she could continue walking through the house, however, there was a sharp rap at the front door.

She recognized the visitor standing on the porch and wished she had not bothered to answer the door at all. “Hello, Mrs. Withers,” she murmured, and managed a smile for her aunt's elderly next-door neighbor.

A pair of curious brown eyes tried to see past Charlene into the house. “When I saw your car in the driveway I came right over,” she said, holding her buttonless coat together with both hands. “I heard poor Dorothy has passed. Is it true?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears.

“No, it's not true. Not at all. Aunt Dorothy is recovering from a slight heart attack. She's coming home tomorrow, we hope,” Charlene said, anxious to correct the woman, who had a well-earned reputation for gossip and exaggeration.

Agnes Withers furrowed her brow. “Really? I heard she had a real bad heart attack. Then I heard—”

“I'm sure my aunt will tell you all about it when she's home and up to having visitors,” Charlene interrupted. “I just came by to straighten up a bit for her.” She decided not to share more, for fear of adding to the gossip.

The neighbor leaned forward a bit. “You need to move in. That's what you need to do,” she whispered, as if someone might be lurking behind the overgrown bushes to overhear her. “Dorothy won't admit it to anyone, not even her doctor, but the poor dear can't see well enough these days to take her insulin right. Half the time I'm here, she either fills that needle with too much or too little, and I have to fix it for her. Sooner or later, if that heart of hers doesn't give out first, she's going to take an overdose or go into one of those diabetic comas, all because she can't see to get her dose right.”

“I hadn't realized it was a problem,” Charlene admitted.

“Well, it is a problem, but you can't tell her I tattled. She'll get mad at me, and I couldn't bear losing my very best neighbor.”

“I won't say a word.”

“And don't mention I heard she was dead, either. She'd really get mad at that,” the woman added.

“No, I won't,” Charlene promised, eager to send the woman on her way.

Mrs. Withers apparently had other plans in mind, and took a step closer. “I'd be glad to help you straighten things up for Dorothy,” she offered.

Charlene tightened her hold on the door frame. “That's so kind of you, but I don't want to impose. I'm sure I can take care of things here, but maybe you could do something else for me…and for Aunt Dorothy.”

“Of course,” the woman replied, although disappointment laced her words.

“Considering the rumor that she had passed on, maybe you could call your friends to reassure them that she's doing much better and that she'll be coming home very soon.”

“Absolutely. I will. I'll make the calls right away.” Good as her word, she turned and walked away.

Relieved and convinced Agnes Withers would put the rumors to rest, Charlene went into the dining room, where more memories greeted her. Then she headed into the sun-drenched kitchen, where light poured onto the cracked red-and-green linoleum floor through a pair of windows facing the overgrown backyard. On the red Formica countertops that had faded to pink, Aunt Dorothy had new hypodermic needles and used ones. The room itself was orderly, but like all the other rooms, it needed a good cleaning.

Charlene opened the refrigerator and found a few Styrofoam boxes of leftovers on the shelves, beside all sorts of single-serving condiments. The freezer was packed with more Styrofoam containers covered in ice crystals and frozen meats dating back as far as two years.

She inspected the bedrooms on the other side of the house. She poked her head into Aunt Dorothy's bedroom, where she detected the stale smell of Tabu, but instead of going inside to pull up the shades, she flipped on the light with the switch near the door. As she expected, the room was as tidy and as sadly worn as the others and just as needy of a cleaning.

Sighing, she turned out the light and bypassed the bathroom to look in the spare bedroom, where she would be staying alone during the week and with Daniel on the weekends. When she flipped on the light, she gasped and stepped back. There had to be a bed in this room somewhere, but she couldn't see past the three tall dressers and the dozen or so tall tin cabinets and wardrobes huddled together, leaving only a narrow aisle.

Charlene groaned out loud.

There was no way she could get all this stuff up into the attic as Aunt Dorothy suggested. Dismayed, she closed her eyes for a moment to concentrate on positive thoughts. Unfortunately, they were as thin as Aunt Dorothy's bedspread.

Charlene let out another groan and opened her eyes. Cleaning the house would take hours and hours. She would probably be up half the night, which meant she could barely spare time to drive home to pack some clothes for herself, let alone think about spending her last night of freedom with her husband.

Worried that he might think she was overeager to be apart from him, she inspected the spare bedroom again to figure out the quickest way to make the room habitable.

If the wardrobes and cabinets were not too heavy, she might be able to shove them closer to the wall, along with one of the dressers. She opened one cabinet and found it stuffed with bags: grocery bags, shopping bags, plastic store bags, garbage bags and even a few small white bags from Sweet Stuff.

She tried one of the wardrobes. It held so many blouses there wasn't room for one more. Another cabinet was filled with recycled glass jars that her aunt had labeled for flour, sugar, pancake mix and more. Charlene opened one jar, saw the remains of several brown critters and promptly screwed the lid back on.

The other four wardrobes were packed with clothing, just like the first, and the remaining cabinets held a variety of rusted canned goods, laundry products, cleaning supplies, string, rubber bands and what looked like several years' worth of newspapers.

Charlene's first impulse was to pick up her cell phone to call and order a Dumpster; instead, she simply closed all the drawers and doors. She had heard that many people who had lived through the Great Depression in the 1930s never recovered from the deprivations of that era, and Aunt Dorothy's spare bedroom held proof that it was indeed true.

From what she was seeing Charlene suspected that Agnes Withers's concerns about Aunt Dorothy's competence were valid. Charlene was going to need to monitor her aunt much more closely than she had thought. She also had to do something to repair her troubled marriage, or she would spend the rest of her days with a heart as weak and broken as Aunt Dorothy's had been found to be.

A
t six-thirty on Saturday morning, Ellie laced up her sneakers and tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen. She slipped the spare key into the waist pocket in her walking pants and zipped the pocket closed. Another pocket held her cell phone and a mini change purse. She tapped in the security code on the alarm pad, opened the back door then quickly reset the alarm and slipped outside.

Setting the house alarm reminded her that her cell phone was still programmed to vibrate. She hadn't used that mode much until her mother had gotten sick and Ellie had needed her cell phone on when she was teaching. Rather than resetting the cell phone now, she moved it into a smaller pocket so she could feel the vibration if someone called.

She drew in a huge gulp of crisp, fresh air, feeling her spirits lift with joyful thoughts of total freedom. For the next forty minutes or so, she would be completely alone with her thoughts on her first power walk since her mother became ill and moved in with her. Fortunately for both of them, their body clocks were as different as their personalities. Ellie liked to go to bed and get up early. Her mother liked to watch late-night TV and spend her mornings sleeping in. Once Ellie returned to work next Monday, she expected to see precious little of her mother. She hoped to build a more positive, loving relationship between them in the few hours they would have together.

Ellie stretched her muscles for a few minutes, then headed across her small backyard to the alley behind the house. As usual, the neighborhood was quiet at this hour. She quickly covered the two long blocks to the avenue and turned right toward the center of town. With virtually no traffic to worry about, she walked in the street close to the curb, avoiding the nuisance of going up and down the curbs at cross streets.

Block after block of residential homes, a mix of single-family Victorians, converted duplexes and World War II-era twin homes now called town houses soon gave way to the revitalized business district. New brick sidewalks had replaced cracked and broken concrete. Planters on each corner had recently been filled with fresh dirt and mulch, and sat waiting for volunteers to plant colorful flowers that would bloom from next month through the end of summer.

When a sparkle in the street caught her eye, Ellie smiled and stopped to pick up a dime. She started walking again as she slipped the coin into the mini change purse she carried for her funny money—change she found on the ground and had fun collecting in a cookie jar at home before donating it to a local charity. She had given nearly forty dollars to the new girls' crew team last year, but she hadn't yet decided on this year's recipient.

She kept her pace quick. When a pair of early-morning joggers passed her, she didn't feel a twinge of envy. Walking briskly was a good way to strengthen her post-menopausal bones and heart without adding stress on her knees.

She passed the town's newest restaurant, La Casita, and the ice cream parlor, Scoops, where a good number of her tenth-grade students would probably congregate tonight after the basketball game. With her heart and her feet hitting a steady rhythm, she passed other storefronts: The Deep End, an eclectic gift boutique; the unisex beauty salon; The Purrple Palace, a pet shop catering to felines. All the stores were new to the avenue.

When she spied Pretty Ladies, a hair salon that had survived in the small town's shopping district through the mall-building era and now thrived in the boom of the revival, she made a mental note to call later today. She needed to make a home appointment for her mother to have her hair done.

Growing traffic on the avenue in the heart of the business district forced Ellie onto the sidewalk in front of The Diner, where the air was heavy with the smell of sizzling bacon. Inside, seniors who shared her habit of rising early were taking advantage of the breakfast special and the owners' policy of encouraging the patrons to linger long after they finished eating.

Beyond The Diner, she stopped to pick up a penny, crossed the street and passed Sanderson Realty, the only real estate office in town. The closer she got to McAllister's Bakery—voted best of South Jersey for the past seven years—the harder she found it to concentrate on anything but sugared pastries.

She didn't slow her pace, but she did take several good whiffs of air, savoring the luscious aromas of butter, cinnamon and apples that drew the line of people waiting to enter. She deliberately didn't carry money with her on her walks so she wouldn't be tempted to stop and take home more calories than she would burn. She had another plan for where her calories would come from today.

To avoid the line outside the bakery, she returned to the street and hugged close to the parked cars until she reached the bank, which was the one-mile mark from her home. She used a pedestrian walkway to cross the street and start the return mile toward home. She had one destination in mind—Sweet Stuff.

Before the day ended, she needed to replenish her candy stash, at home and at work. Although it was way too early for the candy store to be open, she wanted to check the store's hours on Saturdays and see if they had been extended for the Easter holiday.

When she had to stop at the corner for a turning car, Ellie spied two quarters in the street and gleefully added them to her mini purse. Approaching the candy store, which shared an entryway with a recently opened health-food store, she was convinced this was the oddest pairing of businesses ever to grace the avenue.

At the door of Sweet Stuff, she read the sign listing the store's hours. Saturday, noon to five. She sighed. Charlene Butler had not extended the hours yet.

Disappointed, since her free time was so limited, Ellie turned away to resume her walk home. She had taken only a few steps before the sound of insistent tapping made her turn around. The rapping was coming from inside the candy store. Ellie looked closer and saw Charlene standing at the window, waving her back to Sweet Stuff.

Ellie met Charlene at the door.

“You're up early as usual, I see. Come on in.” Charlene's smile came straight from the good spirit everyone in Welleswood had come to know and love. Charlene was Ellie's favorite store owner on the avenue.

Ellie hesitated. “I only stopped to see if you'd extended your hours yet for the holiday. I had no idea you'd be here this early.”

Charlene chuckled. “Neither did I. The high-school crew team ordered a whole slew of chocolate, oar-shaped taffies for their fund-raiser. I promised Ginger King I'd meet her here at nine to help finish them before she opened up for me. And since I haven't been in all week, I thought I'd come in extra early to catch up.”

“Then I shouldn't interrupt you,” Ellie said, remaining outside. “I'll come back when you're officially open for business.”

Charlene frowned for a moment before reaching behind the door to flip the Closed sign over. “There. For you, we're open, and don't think for a moment that I'm being patronizing. There are a couple of boxes I need to bring up from the basement, and I can't do it by myself. I should have known better than to have the delivery guys put them down there. Since you're here, I could really use your help before you pick out your candy.”

Ellie chuckled, inhaling the gloriously decadent smell of chocolate as she stepped into the store.

Charlene shut the door and flipped the Closed sign back into place.

“You're one of the few people who doesn't lecture me about having a sweet tooth,” Ellie said. “How has it been for business to have a health-food store open next door?”

Charlene grinned. “The owner, Andy Johnson, is nice enough, I suppose, and I can't argue with the idea that we have to take good care of our bodies. Heck, I stock low-calorie, dietetic treats here for anyone who needs them. I just prefer to celebrate my customers' lives with old-fashioned sweet stuff. It's as simple—and fun—as that.”

“Hence the name of your shop,” Ellie said. “Sweet Stuff.”

Charlene's grin widened. “Exactly. I just try to make sure my customers don't overindulge. ‘Seek moderation in all things.' That's what my pastor always says.”

She led Ellie past the glass-fronted display cases filled with the usual variety of chocolates and a dazzling array of chocolate Easter specialties. “From the moderate amount of candy you buy, I'd guess you were a kid who could make a box of candy last through an entire movie.”

“I usually saved some to take home, too,” Ellie admitted, fully aware that she'd had the candy-stashing habit from an early age.

Charlene shook her head. “And I usually ate all my candy before the movie started, which might be why I haven't been able to find my waist since grammar school and you're so trim.”

“Exercise helps me keep the weight off,” Ellie said. “I started walking along the avenue every morning right after my husband died six years ago. I've found it's a great way to clear my mind and forget my troubles before the start of the day.”

Charlene sighed and tugged her blouse back down over her hips. “I probably should take up walking. But I'm having a bit of a problem just squeezing in the time I need to be at the store and at home.”

“I know you commute to Welleswood, but I don't know where you do live.”

“Actually, I'll be living here in town for a while,” Charlene confided, pausing to straighten a display of chocolate-covered Easter eggs. “Do you know my aunt, Dorothy Gibbs?”

Ellie nodded. “She's a darling. She lives over on Lady's Creek Drive, doesn't she?”

“Yes. I'm staying with her temporarily,” Charlene replied. She explained about her aunt's recent hospitalization as she led Ellie toward the workroom and down the basement steps.

Ellie listened to the sad tale, and shook her head in sympathy. “I'm sorry. I hadn't heard your aunt was in the hospital, but I'm glad she's home now.” She was surprised that she and Charlene hadn't bumped into each other at the hospital, but she assumed her mother's private room explained that. As they crossed the basement, Ellie told Charlene about her similar situation. “Caring for my mother is going to be a lot more difficult and more time-consuming than I ever expected,” she finished, not mentioning anything about the added challenge of living day to day with constant criticism or the idea that if she had the support of a loving husband, as Charlene did, the challenge might be less difficult.

“I'm finding myself facing much the same with my aunt,” Charlene offered. Then she pointed to two large cardboard boxes stacked against the wall. “The boxes aren't all that heavy. They're filled with little stuffed Easter animals, but as you can see, they're a bit unwieldy for me to handle by myself.” She looked back at the staircase and shook her head. “I'm not even sure how the two of us are going to manage getting up those narrow steps with them.”

Ellie eyed the boxes and studied the staircase for a moment. “Having four hands instead of two will help, I think. That's what I could have used raising my children—or trying to control twenty-five students in a classroom when I first started teaching. There were days I wished I'd been born an octopus.”

Charlene chuckled. “I think I had a few days of my own like that. Still do, as a matter of fact.”

Ellie bent to pick up an end of one box. “If you take the other side, I'll try backing up the steps, and you can direct me,” she suggested.

Working together, they managed to get the first box upstairs with only a few stumbles—and lots of giggles along the way.

Before Ellie followed Charlene back to the basement for the second box, she set her cell phone, which had almost fallen out of her pocket, on a shelf near the worktable for safekeeping. “If you're going to be in Welleswood for a few weeks, will you be going back home on Sunday mornings for church?”

“I don't really want to be that far away from Aunt Dorothy, although the price of gas alone would be reason enough not to travel back and forth. I've really been feeling the pinch commuting lately,” Charlene replied. With her back to the steps, she hoisted up the end of the second box. “I'll go first this time. I've got a bigger cushion to land on when I fall back and thump down on a step or two.”

“You don't have a security camera anywhere recording us, I hope,” Ellie teased as she grabbed the other side of the box.

“Me?” Charlene giggled and started walking backward toward the steps. “Trust me, you're safe. Adding a dead bolt to the front and back doors was one big concession to store security.”

“Careful,” Ellie cried. “The bottom step—”

“Whoa!” Charlene tripped, plopped down on the third step and started giggling again as she struggled to shove the box away from her chest to get back to her feet. “That's it. Here's an idea. Unless you're directing me, there's no conversation until we get this box upstairs. Then I'll make us both a big mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and some Belgian chocolate shavings that are so decadent you could almost swoon.”

Ellie's mouth watered. “Okay, but first, let me invite you to come to church with me tomorrow. Services start at ten o'clock.”

“I accept. Ready?”

Ellie adjusted her hands to get a better grip on the box, and nodded. This time they managed to get the box upstairs without either of them stumbling again.