Blind Acorn Read online

  I tried to keep the sigh out of my voice but was probably unsuccessful. It wouldn’t matter to Mom, as long as she got whatever it was that she wanted. “I remember her,” was all I said.

  “Well, after her husband died, she started looking at condos, looking for something that she could manage on her own. I mean, that big house would really be too much for anybody all alone. Anyway, the good news is that she found a wonderful place only a couple miles from her house.”

  I had a momentary sensation that she was about to ask for my help with the move and my skin began to prickle. But she took a breath and continued. “Of course, it’s a much smaller place and she won’t be able to take everything with her. She’s already given away or sold much of the furniture. It’s really a shame, though. She had the most gorgeous dining room furniture and it was just too big for the condo dining room. I would have bought it myself, but it was too big for our house, too. It was just gorgeous. She kept just about everything else that was really important, though.”

  At her next breath, I managed to ask, “Why are you telling me about this, Mom?”

  “Oh. Yes. Well, one of the most important things to Sherry is finding the right home for her cedar chest. It has meant so much to her for so long, has always been in a prominent place anywhere she lived. It was a gift from her parents, one of the last ones they gave her. They died so young, she was orphaned, poor thing. I mean, not legally because Sherry was an adult, but children never get over the loss of a parent now, do they?”

  While I mentally debated my generic answer and my personal one, she continued. “Anyway, she would like the chest to go to someone special. And she remembers you and, well, we’re quite close and she’d like you, my daughter, to take a look and see if you’d like to have it. It’s quite an honor, really.” She sounded almost defensive at the end, as if she knew how I’d respond.

  “No. No, Mom. I couldn’t take it. It’s lovely that she’d think of me but, no. No. I don’t need more furniture and don’t want a big chest. No. I’m sure she can find someone else who would love to have it. Please thank her for me but, no.”

  I thought I’d been pretty clear. But Mom, being Mom, pressed on as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “It’s quite neutral in color, so it would go with most décor. It would go nicely with your bedroom furniture, in fact. I didn’t tell her that, of course, but I’m sure you’d agree.”

  “No.”

  “I honestly wish she’d keep it, but she says there is just no room for it. If she knew you had it, it would be like keeping it in the family for her.”

  “No.”

  I heard some muffled noises from the phone before my father said, “Hi, honey. How are you?”

  So, she was calling in the big guns. She knew I couldn’t refuse my father anything. But I was surprised that he was willing to conspire with her on this.

  “Hi, Dad. I’m fine, but I don’t need or want any more furniture.” I knew that, even if I wanted it, I couldn’t take it to the apartment. My mother would want to see it and how would I explain that?

  “Trinity,” he said in his most persuasive voice, “could you just humor us all? Your mom and Sherry are very close, and this would mean so much to both of them. I really think you don’t even need to agree to take it. Just agree to go look at it. Admire it. Tell her how wonderful it is. Then tell her that you don’t have room for it, or it wouldn’t go with your furniture, or however you’d like to refuse it.”

  I could hear my mother disagreeing with all of this in the background. This was not how I had planned to spend part of my Saturday. But, even over the phone, I could feel my father’s arm draped over my shoulders and hear his gentle voice asking me to do the kind thing. And before I knew it, I agreed.

  “Okay,” I said. “Okay. I’ll go take a look but, I’m telling you now, I will not be taking the chest home. I’ll go to look and tell her I’m very sorry, it’s beautiful, but it will not work for me. Dad, please make sure that Mom understands that, okay?”

  “I will, Trinity. I will. And thank you. Thank you from all of us.”

  “So, where and when do I attend the viewing?” I recorded the address in my phone and realized that I had just about enough time to get there by the time I’d said I would. I grabbed my jacket and grumbled my way down the stairs and out to my car.

  Sherry answered the door before the ring of the doorbell ended. “Trinity!” she exclaimed. “I’m so happy to see you. Please come in!”

  I entered the foyer and felt the emptiness immediately. The place felt as if she’d moved out and no one lived there anymore. I doubted that she enjoyed spending time there any longer. This should be a quick mission, I thought. “Thank you, Sherry,” I began. “It’s good of you to show me the chest you have, although I’m sure my mother explained that I probably don’t have room for it. She’s told me how beautiful it is and, well, I thought I’d take a look. Just in case…” I smiled and hoped it looked rueful.

  “I understand,” she patted my arm, “But, just in case, I’d love to see it go with you if there’s any way. It’s upstairs, if you’ll just follow me.” And she began to climb the staircase, her steps echoing in the too-empty hall. I followed, my own steps equally loud.

  In the upstairs hall, she stepped through an open doorway and smiled widely as she waved her arm through the air. “Voila!” she said. “You’ve made it to the only part of the house in which I actually still live.”

  The bedroom was fully decorated and had an undeniably feminine air about it. The curtains and bed skirt were in soft colors and ornately ruffled. There was a mahogany vanity to one side, and it displayed a beautiful art deco hand mirror and matching brush and comb, along with various lipsticks and makeup containers. Pretty as it was, everything seemed dated, even for a woman Sherry’s age. “It’s lovely,” I murmured, wanting more than ever to escape.

  Sherry smiled proudly. “Here,” she said as she moved toward the foot of the bed, “is the cedar chest.”

  The chest was covered by a quilt in a dusty pink, rose pattern. She folded the quilt and moved it to the bed before she looked back at me.

  “My mom was right,” I told her. “It is beautiful.” And it was. The finish gleamed from what must have been years of loving care. The wood was etched with an attractive motif of vines and leaves. Just enough, not overdone. The polished lock, and the key protruding from it, shone in the light of the room. It was beautiful and it was very much not me. I swallowed.

  “You might,” Sherry said before I was ready to comment further, “also be interested in some of the contents. I haven’t opened it in some time, but it always held my treasures.” I didn’t have the heart to stop her when she reached toward the lid and gently lifted it. I managed to suppress a sharp intake of breath when I saw that it was full to the brim with stuff. Not just stuff, but someone else’s favorite stuff. What have I gotten myself into? I could be here for days!

  “Oh, Sherry, I couldn’t dream of taking your treasures!” I even took a step backward for emphasis. I needed to stop this before it got going. “I know I couldn’t bear to part with my own!” Another step back.

  She sat on the edge of the chest and went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “I know that most of it isn’t worth anything really, but there are some nice things that I’ve saved.” She sighed, a wistful noise in the quiet room. “When I’m gone, no one will know what it all meant. No one will know my stories.” She stared into the chest, not moving.

  I fought off the panic rising in my throat. This is not how I’m spending the day! I have things to do! But she seemed to be shrinking before my eyes and I couldn’t stand the sadness emanating from her. “Tell me about some of your treasures, Sherry.” And I sat on the floor beside her, thinking about my mother, and not kindly.

  For the next two hours, I stayed on that floor and listened to her loving reminiscences. The chest held a lifetime of memories, it
seemed. She showed me an Irish lace shawl that first belonged to a favorite aunt. Then she cradled a small stuffed bear in her arms and laughed. One of its eyes was missing and a repair had made one leg shorter than the other. The bear had belonged to her and her sister when they were children. They shared a room and shared the bear as girls. On the night before Sherry’s wedding, her sister had given her sole and permanent custody of the bear, saying that he would always be evidence of the bond between them. Her sister had died many years ago and Sherry handled the bear like he might also disappear if she wasn’t careful. “This,” she whispered, “I must keep.” I wasn’t sure whether she was addressing me or herself when she said it.

  We looked at an assortment of old photographs and greeting cards. There was an old wristwatch, no longer in running condition, that once belonged to her father. An apron made by her grandmother from scraps of repurposed fabric. A small, enameled tea kettle, sporting a couple of rusted chips in its coat. An ancient—and empty—perfume bottle. When she took it from the chest, Sherry just smiled at the bottle and its memory, offering no explanation.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I’d forgotten all about this!” She held up a small evening bag, crusted with crystals and beads in the pattern of a bright yellow pineapple. “This was a gift from a good friend and I’ve always loved it. I’ll bet you could find a use for this, couldn’t you?”

  I hadn’t yet accepted anything that she’d tried to give to me and was feeling badly about that. “It’s lovely, Sherry. Yes, I’m sure I could.” I didn’t feel so badly about this lie. She opened the bag and removed a silver compact, engraved with her initials. “I don’t suppose that you want this old thing, though,” she placed the compact on her nightstand with a small laugh. She was right.

  She pulled more from the chest. A cheeseboard. A flatiron. A set of car keys. Formerly white leather gloves. A baseball mitt. A crucifix, once broken, and glued together. Silver ice tongs. A doll with white hair and a pink crocheted dress. Earrings shaped like tiny ladybugs, one missing its black spots.

  Finally, I could stand it no longer. Before she could reach inside one more time, I grabbed her hand and said, “Sherry. Stop.” Looking surprised, she did.

  “Oh, right. I’ve taken so much of your time. I’m so sorry! I get carried away when I get myself inside this box.”

  “No, Sherry. That’s not it. Just stop for a minute and let’s talk. I know you said you can’t take the chest with you. Can you tell me why that is?”

  “Well, I just don’t have room for it. The condo is smaller than the house and so is each room. If I put it at the foot of my bed there, I wouldn’t even be able to walk around the bed.” She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head at the thought.

  “Maybe,” I was thinking out loud, “maybe there’s another place. Will you have an entryway? A guest bedroom? A den?”

  She thought for some time and then shook her head again. “No. Nothing that would work. There is a guest room but it’s very small. The queen-sized bed and two dressers that are in there now fill it up. There is no entry, the outside door opens into the living room. I do have a den but it’s full already, too.”

  I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “Okay. What if you were to replace the queen-sized bed with a small twin bed in the guest room. Or, maybe you could remove one of the dressers? Would you have room then?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” she mused. “Hmm. I guess maybe that would work.” Warming to the idea, she added, “I could at least go and measure the space and see about that. Yes, that might work after all. And my guestroom doesn’t get many visitors anymore, anyway.”

  I retrieved the compact from the nightstand and put it back into the evening bag. Then I placed both back in the chest. “I think,” I smiled, “that maybe you aren’t ready to part with your treasures yet, after all.”

  She rose and hugged me. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you for spending the time and for giving me a suggestion that just might work.”

  “You’re welcome.” I said. “And I hope that you remember that there is at least one other person who knows some of your stories. They aren’t forgotten.”

  Her eyes glistened and she nodded as I patted her hand and turned toward the door.

  Thirty-Two

  The weather held and the next morning was a bright, sparkling Sunday. I felt as if I’d been given a do-over for giving up much of yesterday to Sherry and it was uplifting. As I rubbed moisturizer into my arms, I considered the many wonderful ways to spend the day. When I heard Thorn’s car pulling into the driveway, it set my teeth on edge.

  Lucy’s bedroom door slammed, and her footsteps hurried toward the stairs. My hands were slick with moisturizer and I barely got my door open in time to block her exit. She came to an abrupt halt inches from me and took a small step back. “I may be late,” she said casually. “Don’t hold dinner for me.”

  “Where are you going?” I thought it was a reasonable response to her announcement.

  She tilted her head toward one shoulder and narrowed her eyes at me. “I’ll be out all day,” she tried.

  “Uh huh. And where will you be?”

  She looked at me pleadingly and suddenly brightened. “Thorn’s friend Bianca, well you don’t know her. But she’s an artist and she’s really talented. She does incredible work and I think you’d really like it. Anyway, she has some pieces in a gallery opening today so Thorn and I are going to go and, you know, support her.”

  Lucy had been spending more and more time with Thorn and rarely saw her other friends outside of school. So, I was encouraged at the thought of her seeing some other people, even new friends. This didn’t sound like a bad way for her to spend a Sunday. I smiled when I asked, “Where is the gallery?” I was thinking maybe I’d take a ride by there myself and see this girl’s work.

  One heartbeat. Two. Three.

  “Manchester,” she said softly.

  “Wait. What? Manchester!” my voice went up in volume with each word. “Lucy! That’s a three-hour drive! That,” I waved vaguely toward the driveway, “won’t make it that far! You’ll get stuck somewhere too far away for anyone to easily get to you. Not a good idea, Lucy.” I crossed my arms and glared at her.

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, impatient to be gone. “Mom,” she said, “you worry about that every time we go out. We have always gotten where we were going. Well, there was that one time, but triple A brought a battery and we were fine. And we’ve always gotten home. It’ll be fine.” She sounded sure of herself, but I couldn’t understand why.

  Of course, I hadn’t known about the dead battery incident. What else don’t I know? I wondered. Shaking my head, I said, “Lucy, you don’t know anything about auto mechanics. If you break down out there,” again the vague wave, “you could really be stuck. It won’t be funny.”

  “Mom,” she said somewhat reasonably, “didn’t you ever have a car that wasn’t new? Did you worry every time you got into it? We’ll be fine.”

  I was agitated, but Lucy stayed calm and self-assured. I wasn’t sure what to do and Mitch was already out of the house so I couldn’t seek backup easily. Finally, I said, “Okay. You can go. But I expect you to text me as soon as you get there and again when you leave to come home. I want to know when you are on the road. No one needs to know that you’re checking in, but I want those messages. Are we agreed?”

  She flashed me the brightest smile I’d seen on her in months and said, “Agreed.” Then she flew down the stairs and out the door before I could reconsider.

  By noon she had texted a picture of the Manchester skyline and a one-word message. “Here,” was all it said. I thought maybe I could still enjoy most of the day. I could resume worrying later when they were on the way back.

  Thirty-Three

  On a raw, windy afternoon still later in that fickle month, as I pondered what leftover food I could turn into
dinner, the doorbell rang. I was surprised to see Lila, wrapped in an oversized sweater, smiling through her shiver on the top step.

  “Lila!” I stepped back and motioned for her to enter, unaware at first that I had crossed my arms. “Come in.”

  “Trinity,” she said, “I’ve been watching for you to get home, so I could try to catch you for a couple minutes. I wanted to talk to you about the way I behaved at the Christmas concert.”

  Dropping my crossed arms, I shook my head. “No apology is necessary, Lila. You look like you’re doing well.”

  “Oh, I’m not trying to apologize,” she surprised me by saying. “And, thank you, I am doing well.”

  “Please,” I said, “sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “I’m not apologizing because apologies are among the things I’ve mostly given up,” she grinned. “But I do want to explain some things.” She paused, suddenly looking unsure of herself. “When I came to you that day, when I so needed your help, I wasn’t myself. Well, that’s not really right. I was myself but a former version of myself.” She sighed, shaking her head. “This isn’t going the way I’d imagined.”

  “Take your time,” I encouraged.

  “When I was very young, seven or eight, I’d guess, I overheard something. I overheard my grandparents talking about someone. She was the wife of my grandfather’s barber. Apparently, she was dying. She had breast cancer, and my grandfather was telling my grandmother that it was very advanced, so much so that her breast was hard and black. She never showed it or told anyone. And now it was too late. They had removed it, but the cancer had spread. In my young mind, the picture that formed was horrific. I imagined scorched, black rib cage exposed and painful. Huge black scar. It seemed to my mind to be the worst thing that could happen to a person. It was the beginning of an unreasonable, lifelong fear of breast cancer. Even as an adult, when I knew better, the emotions for me around that particular type of cancer were overwhelming. A part of me always wondered how anyone could endure it and survive. And that little girl is the one who showed up at your door that day.” She gave me a wry smile.