Previously Loved Treasures Read online

  Ida called two more friends, but Deb Vaughan had to work and Ilene Goldberg had a bridge game. In a last-ditch effort to find someone to come along, she asked Laricka.

  “So sorry,” Laricka replied, “but today is my day with the boys.”

  The boys, Ida knew, were Laricka’s two noisy grandsons who banged in and out of the front door a dozen times a day. “Can’t you skip seeing them for one afternoon?”

  “No, no, no,” Laricka replied. “Children grow up too quickly. Miss one day of being with them, and by the next day something’s changed.” She told Ida of a time five years back when she’d missed seeing the boys, and it turned out to be the very day one of the lads lost his first tooth. “I’ve never forgiven myself for missing that,” she said with a sigh.

  “Okay.” Ida shrugged; then she walked off. Laricka’s comment had struck a nerve and resurrected thoughts of all the things she herself had missed, all the days of being together that could never be recaptured. At that point, Ida was no longer interested in having company. She climbed into her car and drove cross-town alone.

  ~ ~ ~

  Peter Pennington stood in front of the store, almost as if he was expecting her. “Welcome, welcome,” he said and took her hand in his.

  As they walked into the store, Ida said, “I’m hoping you have another beautiful bed.”

  Peter stopped, turned, and looked at her with an expression of puzzlement. “Bed? You don’t need a bed, you need a lace coverlet and a lamp.”

  While it was true that she’d need a new coverlet, Ida replied, “I do so need a bed.”

  Peter shook his head. “The four-poster you have is fine. All it needs is a coat of polish.”

  Ida’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know…” Before Peter could answer she shouted, “Roberta! Roberta Maslowski told you, didn’t she?”

  “No one told me.” Peter gave a mischievous grin. “As I’ve said before, I have a gift for understanding what customers need and don’t need.”

  “So you’re an expert on what people need?” Ida said facetiously.

  “Actually, yes. People often confuse wanting and needing. It’s my job to make that distinction. When a person says I need this, that, or the other thing, they honestly believe if they get what they’re asking for they’ll be happy.”

  Ida, a practical woman not easily tricked, found herself drawn into the conversation. “And are they?”

  “Once in a while,” Peter said, “but more often than not they simply move on to wishing for something else.”

  “Well, you may be right about other people,” Ida replied, “but I really do need a bed. My granddaughter is coming to live with—”

  “I know,” Peter interrupted. “But once it’s polished the four-poster will look fine, and she’ll appreciate that it was her father’s.”

  Ida crinkled her nose and began thinking. There was a possibility Peter could be right. Maybe the bed could give Caroline back a tiny piece of her daddy. Maybe it would—

  While she thought it over, Peter said, “There’s no maybe about it.”

  Having him give voice to her thoughts was a bit scary. “Are you some kind of magician? A mind reader, maybe?”

  Another mischievous grin and a shake of the head. Peter reassured Ida that what she needed was a lace coverlet, which he happened to have. While Ida stood there wondering how he came by such information, Peter grabbed his bright yellow stepstool and reached for a number of things on the higher shelves. In less than five minutes he’d gathered them into a grouping that he placed on the counter.

  “How’s this?” he asked.

  The lace coverlet was one of the most beautiful Ida had ever seen, and the silk pillow with its threaded tassels was the ideal complement. The globe lamp was delicate and feminine, a far cry from the old lamp with a broken switch. But the teddy bear was something she didn’t understand.

  “I guess you don’t know everything,” she said to Peter. “My granddaughter’s twenty-eight years old.”

  “I know,” Peter replied, “but I’ll bet she had a bear just like this when she was a child.”

  Ida gave a big hearty chuckle. “And you’re going to tell me it will bring back good memories, right?”

  Peter came back with a shrug that suggested it couldn’t hurt to try.

  Ida bought almost everything Peter offered, but she again said no to the young man’s picture. “I’ve no place to hang it.”

  “Seems to me it would be perfect above the bed,” Peter replied.

  Ida again shook her head. “This time you’re wrong. It’s not something I need.”

  Before Ida left she found a snow globe that played “Silent Night” and bought it for herself. She had always longed to see a snowy Christmas, but in southern Georgia such a thing almost never happened.

  As she gathered up her things to leave, Peter suggested he could deliver them. “That room also needs to be painted,” he said. “I’m thinking a pale lavender.” He promised to pick up the paint and stop by later in the afternoon.

  ~ ~ ~

  When Peter Pennington arrived at the house it was four in the afternoon, and he was still wearing that same black suit.

  “Afternoon,” he nodded. Then without any direction he walked up the stairs and set the brown bag and a can of paint in what was to be Caroline’s room. “Nice,” he said. “Very nice.” He pushed open the window, removed his suit jacket, and rolled up his sleeves.

  Ida, who followed behind with the crocheted coverlet, asked, “What are you doing?”

  “I’d think it rather obvious,” he replied and pried off the lid of the paint can.

  “I can’t afford to have you—”

  “No charge,” he said and continued working. He unfolded a long handle and attached it to the end of a roller he’d pulled from the bag. As he started pouring paint into the tray, he turned to Ida. “I’d love a glass of milk and a slice of that peach pie you’re baking.”

  “Well, of course,” she said and hurried down the stairs. She wasn’t gone long, perhaps long enough for him to have a single wall half-done, certainly not more than that, but when she returned Peter had finished painting the entire room and he’d already slid most of the furniture back in place. She gasped. “How on earth…”

  “Mmm, that pie looks good,” Peter said and took it from Ida’s hand.

  She turned to take in all he’d done, and when she turned back the pie was gone and the milk glass empty.

  “This is just marvelous,” Ida said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “That delicious pie was thanks enough,” Peter answered. By then he was back to wearing the black jacket. As he headed down the stairs Ida noticed that there was not a single splash of lavender paint splattered on it. “Unbelievable,” she said.

  After supper that evening, as everyone lingered over coffee and peach pie, Ida told the story of what happened.

  “He did it in twenty minutes, maybe less,” she said, “and without getting a drop of paint on anything but the walls.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Louie laughed. “And nobody but you saw this Peter Pennington, right?” He gave another loud guffaw.

  “No one else was here,” Ida explained. “I was going to introduce Peter and looked for y’all, but there was not a soul around. Honestly.”

  “Well,” Laricka sighed, “If I’d have known ahead of time, maybe…but I’d promised the boys I’d treat them to a movie.”

  Louie guffawed even more loudly. “Don’t ya get it? She’s pulling our leg. My bet is she had a painter here all day.”

  “No,” Ida argued. “It’s the truth.” But she might as well have saved her breath, because the more she protested the louder they all laughed.

  When everyone rose from table and headed to their rooms, Wilbur stayed behind. “How about I give you a hand with these dishes?” he said, and before she could answer no he was on his way to the kitchen with a stack of dirty dessert plates.

  Ida followed behind balancing four mugs a
nd a handful of silverware.

  She washed, Wilbur dried. When Ida finished the last of the cups, she turned to him and asked, “You believe my story, don’t you?”

  Wilbur gave a gentle smile. “If you ask me to, I will.”

  Traveling South

  On Wednesday morning thirty minutes after Greg left the apartment, Caroline loaded two suitcases and her computer into the trunk of the car and headed crosstown. Ever since he stopped coming home for dinner and started finding fault with most everything, she’d thought about leaving him. But it was a thought she was afraid to move past. She imagined the emptiness of a life with no one and pictured her heart so heavy it would have the weight of a bowling ball in her chest.

  Oddly enough, that wasn’t the way it was.

  Caroline felt lighter than she could ever remember. Lighter than when she ran through the streets of New Orleans, lighter than when she spent long months caring for her mother, and much lighter than when she pretended not to notice the cloyingly sweet perfume that clung to Greg when he came home late.

  She didn’t just feel lighter, she was lighter. She’d rid herself of the things that made the days seem dreary and the nights seem long. Gone was the apartment with its windowless walls and empty bed. Gone was the thankless job with no future. Gone was the man she once thought she couldn’t live without.

  When the afternoon mail arrived, letters would be dropped on each person’s desk. Short letters that said for personal reasons she found it necessary to leave town. She’d given no mention of where she was headed but stuck to succinct paragraphs stating that she was resigning the job, giving up the apartment, and leaving the man who in truth had left her a year earlier. Although the letter to Greg was longer than the others, she left many things unsaid. She’d thought about the words for a long time and in the end decided that detailing each and every heartache would pain her more than it would him. It would be twisting the knife he’d stuck in her heart.

  She snapped on the radio and eased into the line of cars headed south on Route 95. The traffic was sluggish going through Philadelphia, but once the skyline faded into the distance she picked up speed.

  As she crossed into Delaware Caroline tried to picture the woman who would be her grandma, but there was nothing. She could barely remember her daddy; how could she possibly know what his mama would look like? Caroline thought about the conversation with Ida Sweetwater and remembered the sweetness of the woman’s voice. My son James is your daddy, she’d said. Not maybe or perhaps, but with certainty. The call had come at a time when Caroline was feeling alone and empty, and she’d rushed into believing such a thing could be true…but what if it wasn’t? What if she got there and Ida Sweetwater asked for proof that James was her daddy?

  The only thing she had was one small black-and-white photo taken with the man who’d been her daddy. Her mama claimed the picture was taken the Easter Sunday before he left, but couldn’t say for sure. Caroline had smiled when the picture was snapped, but the man standing next to her did not. He wore a brimmed hat that shaded his eyes, but you could see the sense of annoyance tugging on his expression. Was it something she’d done? Was it because of her he’d left? A thousand times Caroline had pushed deep into her memory trying to recall that day, but she couldn’t.

  My son is your daddy, Ida Sweetwater said. She’d claimed it openly and laid an offer of love on the table. Caroline accepted it without question. The issue of whether the rebellious son who left Ida and the angry man who left her mama were one and the same was of no significance. Ida Sweetwater was now her grandma, and despite any questions or misgivings that lingered in her thoughts, Caroline had decided she would be the granddaughter Ida wanted.

  As she drove through Maryland, hunger pangs poked at Caroline’s stomach. She continued driving for a while longer, then exited and went in search of a place to eat. Three miles from the highway she found a roadside stand with outdoor tables. She pulled in and parked the car.

  Before she’d taken two steps, a brown dog darted from behind the garbage cans and ran to her wagging his tail. “Well, hello there,” she said and squatted to pet him.

  The dog lapped her arm.

  As Caroline ran her hand along his back, she felt the protruding rib bones. “Aw, poor baby,” she said. “You look like you could use a meal. Where’s your mama?”

  The dog seemed to understand—whether it was the words or simply the act of kindness there was no way of knowing—but he stood on his hind legs and nuzzled into her neck. “Well, now, aren’t you just the sweetest thing,” Caroline cooed. She played with the dog for a few minutes, then stood and walked toward the building. The dog followed along. As she entered the restaurant, he squeezed through the door behind her.

  The guy behind the counter looked up. “Hey! You can’t bring your dog in here!”

  “He’s not my dog,” Caroline answered.

  “I don’t care whose dog he is, he ain’t allowed in here!”

  Caroline looked toward the couple sitting in the back booth. “Is this your dog?”

  The man and woman both shook their heads.

  The only people in the restaurant were Caroline, the counterman, and the couple. She looked back to the counterman. “Well, then, who does the dog belong—”

  “I don’t know or care!” the counterman snapped. “He came in with you, so get him out!”

  “Okay, okay,” Caroline answered. She turned back to the door, and the dog followed. She pushed it open and pointed a finger. “Out.”

  The dog lowered his head and started toward the door. He stopped halfway through and looked back at Caroline.

  “Go on,” she said, trying to sound firm. Once the dog was outside, she stepped to the counter and ordered an egg sandwich and coffee to go. A moment later she added, “Also, give me a hamburger and a cup of water.”

  “The half-pounder or the quarter-pounder?”

  “Half-pounder,” she answered. “No pickles.”

  The dog was waiting at the door when she left. “Come on, scruffy,” Caroline said, “I bought you lunch.”

  Before she ate her food, Caroline unwrapped the hamburger. Afraid a dog that hadn’t eaten in a while would get sick on a big meal, she broke it into bite-size pieces and slowly hand-fed them to him. When the hamburger was gone, she set the cup of water on the ground. The dog lapped the water then curled up at her feet, not sleeping, but attaching himself to her.

  Earlier in the day Caroline had been in a hurry—a hurry to get going, a hurry to move beyond Philadelphia, a hurry to get to Georgia. But now, like the dog, she was content to sit and let the sun warm her back. When she finished her meal she bent to pet the dog. His fur was matted in spots, and he had the smell of day-old rain. She felt for a collar, but there was none. No collar. No tag. “You poor baby,” she murmured and continued to pet him.

  The dog nuzzled closer.

  After almost two hours, Caroline stood and scuffed the dog’s head one last time. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but I’ve got to get going.” She dropped the lunch wrappings in the garbage can and started toward her car. The dog followed.

  “You can’t come with me,” Caroline said sadly. “I’m sure you’ve got an owner who’s going to be looking for you.”

  The dog whined.

  “I don’t even have a place of my own,” she explained. “How can I give you a home when I don’t have one?”

  The dog sat back on his haunches and raised his front paws.

  “Oh, sweetie,” Caroline said, “you’re begging, aren’t you?”

  The dog gave a short yap and held the position.

  “But I don’t have a home to give you,” she reiterated.

  The dog remained in position.

  Twice Caroline turned toward her car, and twice she turned back. Each time the dog was still begging. She opened the car door and turned back one last time. The dog was still begging. “Oh, all right.” She laughed. “Come on.”

  The dog darted across the lot and jumped into the car.r />
  As Caroline pulled back onto the highway, she glanced at her new friend. “If we’re going to be traveling together, I suppose I should give you a name.” She drove for miles trying out names like Max, Fido, Buster, and even Scruffy. Nothing was right. Like her, the dog was getting a new start and he needed the right name. She was passing through Richmond when it came to her clear as day.

  “Clarence!” she exclaimed.

  Caroline was a firm believer in Providence. Just when she’d begun to feel low the dog had come along, an angel of some sort, scruffy perhaps, but a sure sign she was headed for a wonderful life.

  When she crossed into South Carolina they stopped for the night. After they’d scarfed down another round of hamburgers, Caroline found a K-Mart and spent twenty-six eighty-one on dog supplies. That evening they showered together, and afterward she spent nearly two hours combing the tangles from his fur. That night they slept in the bed together, and, unlike Greg, Clarence pressed his body close against hers.

  Caroline

  I never had a dog before and never really wanted one, but now that I’ve got Clarence it makes me realize what I’ve been missing. He isn’t the cutest dog that ever lived, but he’s sweet as pie. Last night when he was leaning up against my thigh, I started wondering what kind of person would run off and leave a sweet dog like this. After a long while, I figured it out. Whoever left Clarence there with nothing to eat and no place to go is probably a lot like my daddy.

  The truth is you’re better off without people like that, whether you’re a kid or a dog. In life there’s good people and bad people. Mama wasn’t either one, she was just plain unlucky. She used to say, “Caroline, if I hadn’t met your daddy, I could’ve lived my life a happy woman.” She said it in a sort of joking way, but I think it was probably true. Once in a while Mama would forget missing Daddy and she’d be happy as a kid. It didn’t happen all that often, and when it did it didn’t last very long. We’d be joking and having a good time, then she’d spot some little thing that reminded her of Daddy and slide right back inside her misery.