Coming Apart

  Mary looked at one photo after another of her father. Her father grinning at the camera; her father with one shirtsleeve rolled up, showing off his muscles; her father pushing baby Catherine on a swing. At last she said, “And my father never … mentioned me?”

  “He didn’t,” replied Catherine. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m just trying to put the pieces together.”

  “You said he sent you money after he left you and your mother?”

  “Regularly, until he died,” said Mary. “Although, of course, I didn’t realize that the reason the money stopped coming was because he had died. I didn’t even know who was sending the money. My mother knew, but she didn’t tell me. And she allowed me to believe that he had died in the fire at the factory where he worked.”

  “A lot of family secrets,” commented Richie.

  “I didn’t know that Dad had had another wife until after his death,” said Catherine. “Then I was curious to find out if I had half brothers and sisters, but I had almost no information to go on. And then I received your letter.” She smiled at Mary. “Thank you for searching.”

  Mary looked around at her guests and said, “Perhaps you could tell me about yourselves.”

  “You mean, who are we people?” said Gil with a laugh. “I’ll start. I met Catherine not long after she had graduated from college. I’d grown up in Rhode Island, but Catherine and I settled here, and I started my own business, a packaging company.”

  “I’m going to law school,” said Cassandra.

  “I’m a writer,” said Marc.

  The conversation continued, the daylight began to fade, and when Mary looked at the clock, she was astonished to see that the afternoon was nearly over.

  “We have something for you,” said Catherine as everyone stood and stretched and began to put on their coats. She reached into the bag once more and handed Mary an album with a fabric cover and the words Mary’s Family spelled out in brass letters.

  “I tried to find a photo of each of your relatives — all the nieces and nephews and in-laws, everyone. They’re all in here.”

  “She labeled them so you can keep us straight,” said Gil.

  “Thank you,” whispered Mary.

  “Remember,” called Missy as she climbed into the van a few minutes later, “we’re going to get together at Easter, okay? You aren’t rid of us.”

  “We’ll get together at all the holidays,” added Catherine.

  As the van drove off, Mary closed the door to her little house and said to Daphne and Delilah, “That was the best gift my father could have given me.”

  “Hi, Aunt Allie! I’m here!” Flora poked her head around her aunt’s front door. She had hurried there as soon after school as possible, which wasn’t terribly soon since, thanks to the storm, she could no longer ride her bicycle around town and instead had to pick her way along slushy sidewalks.

  Allie hurried into the hallway from her study. “Flora? I didn’t know you were coming today,” she said in a hushed voice. “Janie’s asleep.”

  “Sorry.” Flora lowered her voice. “I hope I didn’t wake her.”

  Allie ducked back into her study and listened to the baby monitor for a few moments. “All quiet,” she announced.

  “How long has she been sleeping?”

  “About fifteen minutes.”

  “Oh.” Flora couldn’t hide her disappointment. “So she just went down for her nap.”

  “Sorry, honey, she seems to be on yet another schedule. The last few afternoons she’s been falling asleep between three and three-thirty — and not waking up until nearly five.”

  “Oh,” said Flora again. “Well … what would you like me to do? I’m here to help. Hey, maybe she’ll just take a short nap this afternoon!”

  “I hope not,” said Allie. “She’ll be awfully fussy tonight if she doesn’t get enough sleep now.”

  Flora looked around the house, which appeared quite tidy. “Do you want me to start the laundry or something?”

  “You know, I’m really in pretty good shape. Thanks to you,” Allie added quickly. “I’m caught up with the housework and I’m meeting my deadlines.”

  “So …” Flora was now searching desperately for a job that might need doing, preferably one that would keep her occupied until whenever Janie awoke. She had planned to wheel her cousin casually by Mr. Barnes’s house a few times that afternoon, hoping he might come outside to chat. At which point Flora would have made sure to bring up Aunt Allie.

  “Honey,” said Allie, “let’s go sit in the living room. We need to have a talk.”

  “Did I do something wrong?” asked Flora, and she could feel her face begin to flush.

  “Oh, no! Of course not.” Allie led her niece to the couch and patted the cushion next to her. “Flora, you have been the biggest help I could have imagined. Truly. I don’t know what I would have done without you these last few weeks. But the truth is, I’m feeling more confident now, and since you helped me get so organized, I’m not behind with my work. I feel I can manage things much better than I could in the beginning.”

  “So you don’t need me anymore?” said Flora in a very small voice.

  “No, that isn’t it at all! I just think I need you less often and at different times. However,” (Allie paused) “I don’t want your talents to be wasted.”

  “My talents?”

  “You are one of the most giving, generous, and helpful young women I know.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I think maybe other people need you now more than I do. I heard that Three Oaks is looking for volunteers, and I was wondering if you might consider working there, maybe once a week. You could come by here on the weekends, at times when Janie’s awake. What do you think?” When Flora didn’t say anything, Allie continued, “I know how much you want to spend time with Janie, and believe me, Flora, we’re all going to spend plenty of time together, you and Ruby and Min and Janie and I. When you’re just a little older and Janie is just a little bigger, I hope you’ll be able to baby-sit for your cousin while I go out. But right now, while she’s so little and I’m staying at home most of the time, well, as I said, I think other people need you more than I do.”

  “I do like Three Oaks,” said Flora, examining a button on her shirt and recalling the many visits she’d paid to the Willets. “But what do you think I could do if I volunteered there?”

  “You’ve already helped teach a sewing class,” Allie reminded her. “And they must need volunteers to do a hundred different things: run errands, read to people, maybe help teach other classes, make holiday decorations, even work in the mail room. I don’t know for sure, but you could find out easily enough.”

  “How would I get all the way out there, though? It’s too far for me to ride my bike.”

  “I’m sure something could be arranged. Someone will be able to drive you. Three Oaks has shuttle service, too.”

  “Yeah,” said Flora.

  “And then on the weekends you can visit Janie.”

  “When she’s awake.”

  “When she’s awake,” agreed Aunt Allie.

  Flora turned and looked mournfully across the street at Mr. Barnes’s house, but her aunt had a point. There really wasn’t any sense in Flora’s hanging around every afternoon, waiting for Janie’s naps to end. She stood and reached for her coat. “Okay. I think I’ll go home and call Nikki. Maybe her mom knows about volunteering at Three Oaks. Or maybe I’ll call Mr. Willet. I’ll be able to talk to him right away.”

  “Excellent,” said Allie.

  Flora made her way slowly back to Aiken Avenue, her mind on Three Oaks. She recalled that once or twice when she’d visited the Willets she’d seen people walking through the halls wearing blue smocks, each with a large yellow handprint on the front and the words Helping Hand on the back. Maybe Flora could become a Helping Hand. She’d seen Helping Hands in the Three Oaks library and gift shop, behind the reception desk, and pushing wheelchair-bound resident
s to appointments or meetings. Allie was right. There were probably a hundred things Flora could do to help out.

  By the time Flora reached the Row Houses, her heart was lighter. She opened her front door with a flourish and called, “Ruby?”

  “Upstairs!” Ruby replied. “Writing my composition!”

  “What composition?”

  “‘My Imaginary Pet,’” Ruby called back. “I’m inventing a little tiny fur-covered human called a Babbler.”

  Flora sprawled on the couch in the living room and dialed Nikki’s number. When no one answered, she called Mr. Willet.

  “Well, if this isn’t a treat,” said Mr. Willet. “How are you, Flora?”

  “I’m fine. How are you? How’s Mrs. Willet?”

  “I’m fit as a fiddle, thank you, and Mrs. Willet’s holding her own. What can I do for you?”

  “I was thinking,” said Flora, “about volunteering at Three Oaks. Is there anything for kids to do there?”

  “Hmm. Well … I have seen kids volunteering here from time to time.”

  “As Helping Hands?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “I’d be happy to do anything. Teaching the class with Min was fun, but I could run errands or visit people.”

  “You know,” said Mr. Willet, “there are a lot of group activities here for people like Mrs. Willet who have Alzheimer’s. Music programs and art projects and even cooking projects. The group leaders might need volunteers. Why don’t I make a couple of phone calls and see what I can find out about the Helping Hands?”

  “That would be great,” Flora replied. “I’d really appreciate it.

  Two days later, Saturday, the phone rang just as Flora was getting ready to walk to Aunt Allie’s with Ruby.

  “Don’t answer it!” cried Ruby. “Janie’s awake. Come on!”

  But Flora looked at the caller ID and said, “No, wait. It’s Mr. Willet. I want to talk to him. Hello? Mr. Willet?”

  “Hi, Flora. I have good news for you. I spoke with a very nice woman here last evening named Mrs. Jasper. She’s the volunteer coordinator, and she said she’d be happy to meet you and that she can always use another Helping Hand.”

  “Yes!” cried Flora.

  “She’ll be in her office on Monday. You can call her then. I’ll give you her phone number.”

  Flora wrote the number down, feeling very professional, and when she hung up the phone, she turned to Ruby and said seriously, “I have a job. I mean, a real job, with a boss.”

  “Really? You do? What is it?” asked Ruby, who politely refrained from saying that personally she preferred to be her own boss.

  “Well, I don’t actually have it yet,” Flora admitted. “I’m supposed to call this volunteer coordinator on Monday. But I’m pretty sure I’m going to become a Helping Hand at Three Oaks.”

  “Cool. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who’s going to drive you to Three Oaks?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet. But I will. And I’m going to arrange everything by myself.”

  On Monday, Flora hurried home from school, running a good part of the way, and the moment she’d put her things in her room and caught her breath, she found the piece of paper on which she’d written Mrs. Jasper’s phone number and dialed it. She realized her hands were shaking.

  “Eleanor Jasper,” said a warm voice, and Flora relaxed because she could tell, just by the sound of those two words, that Eleanor Jasper was the sort of person who could make things right, repair frayed nerves, and solve any problem.

  “Hi, Mrs. Jasper,” said Flora, and she had to pause to stop her voice from squeaking with excitement. “My name is Flora Northrop. I think Mr. Willet talked to you about me?”

  “Oh, yes! Hello, Flora. I’m so glad you called.”

  Flora and Mrs. Jasper spoke for several minutes, and by the end of the conversation they had agreed that Flora should come to Three Oaks for a trial day of work the following week.

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Jasper,” said Flora, remembering various things Min had told her about applying for jobs — manners (good ones, obviously), using people’s names in conversation. She hung up the phone, dialed Mr. Pennington, and told him her news. Then she said, “I just have one problem, and Min said I could ask you about it. Is there any chance you could drive me to Three Oaks next week? I know it’s a lot to ask.”

  “I’d be happy to do that,” Mr. Pennington replied. “I’ll visit with the Willets and take you home when you’re finished.”

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Pennington,” said Flora soberly, as if she were applying for a job with him, too. But after she had clicked off the phone, she scooped up King Comma and twirled him around the room in celebration.

  Ruby was pleased. Her self-improvement plan seemed to be working. Many very nice things had taken place as a result of Ruby’s stick-to-itiveness (a favorite phrase of Min’s). And Min seemed to be quite taken with the change in her granddaughter.

  “Ruby, I’m mighty proud of you,” she had said several times in the past couple of weeks. (The third time she’d said it, Ruby had noticed a slight frown cross Flora’s face.)

  “Thank you,” Ruby had said modestly.

  “Your teacher has only called once so far this semester, and that was to tell me that not only have you been handing in all your homework on time, but you got an A on your geography quiz.”

  “Give me a blank map of the U.S. and I can tell you where every state goes,” Ruby had told her proudly.

  “That’s fabulous, honey. You certainly are growing up.”

  Not long after this conversation, the phone had rung and Flora had announced to Min that Ms. Angelo was on the line.

  Ruby’s eyes had widened. In the past, calls from Ms. Angelo had not brought good news. The worst call had been the one on the day after Thanksgiving when Ms. Angelo had informed Min that she’d decided to put Ruby on probation.

  “What did you do now?” Flora had asked Ruby as she’d passed the phone to Min.

  “Nothing! I swear!” Ruby had exclaimed, frantically trying to figure out whether this was actually true.

  But when Min had hung up the phone, she’d been smiling. “Congratulations, Ruby,” she’d said. “Ms. Angelo just told me that you’ve been doing beautifully recently, and that if your hard work continues, she’ll take you off probation.”

  “Really? Off probation?” Ruby had cried.

  “Off probation. Truly, honey, I can’t … I can’t get over the change in you.”

  (Ruby suspected that Min had been about to say that she couldn’t believe the change in her, but that was okay. Ruby couldn’t blame her, all things considered.)

  So … Ruby tallied up the good things that had happened lately. Her teacher had noticed the improvement in her schoolwork and had called Min. Min had praised Ruby. Ms. Angelo had also noticed Ruby’s improvement and had called Min. Min had praised Ruby again. Best of all, in Ruby’s estimation, was one thing that hadn’t happened: Min had not noticed that the owl was missing. And (speaking of the owl) Ruby had located a replacement and was socking away her hard-earned dollars as the Doer of Unpleasant Jobs in order to be able to purchase it as soon as possible.

  Now it was late on a Saturday morning and Ruby, her weekend homework already started, was off to do several chores for her clients. The first stop was at Mr. Pennington’s house, where she was to shovel his walk and his front stoop. Since the blizzard, snow had fallen regularly in Camden Falls, and Ruby and her friends had even had a snow day at last. The most recent snow — four more inches — had fallen the night before, and Ruby wanted to tackle Mr. Pennington’s walk before lunchtime.

  She arrived at his house with her own snow shovel (well, one of Min’s) and announced, “Here I am!”

  “Wonderful, Ruby,” said Mr. Pennington. “Just in time. I need to go into town.”

  “I’ll be done in a jiffy.”

  Ruby huffed and puffed and chopped ice
and piled snow. When the cleared walk gleamed behind her, she ran back to Mr. Pennington’s stoop, collected her pay, and continued to the Fongs’, whose walk she had also agreed to shovel. She stuffed several more bills in her pocket as she left the Fongs’ house later and, as she walked to her third job, tried to calculate how much money she’d earned altogether, and how much she still needed before she could walk back into the snooty man’s jewelry store and show him that she had enough to buy the crystal owl. She envisioned herself dumping a bag of change and dollar bills onto his pristine counter, quarters rolling in every direction, and made a mental note to have the money converted into larger bills before it came time to make her purchase.

  Whistling, Ruby made her way through the neighborhood to the home of Min’s friend, Mrs. Angrim.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Ruby,” said Mrs. Angrim when she opened the door. “You don’t know how long I’ve been putting off this project.” She led Ruby into her kitchen. Every single cabinet door was open, and every item from every cabinet was piled on the table and the counters. Mrs. Angrim handed Ruby a roll of shelf paper. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? It’s a hideous job.”

  It was hideous, but lining the shelves with paper, each piece of which had to be cut to fit its space, would also take a long time, which meant that Ruby would earn a lot of money, and that was fine with her.

  “I’m ready,” said Ruby. And she set to work.

  Several hours later, when the job, which in fact had been rather hideous, was at last finished, Ruby was grubby, tired, and most of all, hungry. But she felt very pleased with herself when Mrs. Angrim looked at her neat-as-a-pin kitchen and her cheerful polka-dotted shelves and said, “Ruby, this is wonderful. Thank you!” And she paid Ruby handsomely for the job well done.

  Ruby walked back to the Row Houses, whistling a tune that she thought was from one of Min’s Gershwin CD’s and might be called “Walking the Dog.” Images of grilled cheese sandwiches and chocolate cake floated through her brain.