Gift of Friends

Chapter Three

Donna downshifted with care as she eased her car up and over the dip at the foot of their driveway. The convertible’s top was down and it was starting to sprinkle, but she had to be careful. The small trench between the drive and the road allowed for excess water to run off in the spring and summer months, but it also raised havoc with the undercarriage of her 2016 Mini Cooper.

She pressed the button on her garage door remote. Nothing. The door to the last stall on the right didn’t budge. A slap against the yellowed plastic box of the remote did the trick, and she waited while the old door rattled open. A crack of thunder split the air above, startling her. She shoved at the gearshift and punched the gas hard. Her tires squealed as she shot under the door and into the stall.

Another bolt of lightning ushered forth a sheet of rain, and Donna dropped her forehead to the steering wheel in relief. If she’d carelessly hit Lynette’s bicycle in her haste—again—the younger woman would surely threaten to take her keys away.

Unlike Lynette, Donna loved to drive. She’d missed the freedom of being behind the wheel during their years in New York City. She knew her daughter considered her purchase impractical when she bought the bright aqua convertible with her sliver of proceeds from the sale of their company. But a lifetime of practicality had left Donna craving a little excitement.

The color of her Mini Cooper reminded her of warm ocean waters. Her dream of tropical living might be out of reach, but the sight of her car could trick her mind into thinking she was at the ocean instead of driving the quiet streets of Ruby Shores.

Her ears picked up on the increasing noise of the storm beyond the open garage door, and she straightened in her seat. She hoisted and wiggled herself out from behind the wheel, thankful no one was there to witness the struggle.

Despite her car’s inconveniently small size—not to mention its inability to adequately traverse the roads during their first Minnesota winter—she refused to follow Lynette’s advice and sell it. Lynette seldom drove her Audi. Donna could have asked to use her car in the winter, but she already felt too dependent on her daughter. Maybe one day she could buy a second, more practical car for those days when the Cooper wasn’t up to the task.

She slammed her driver-side door. She’d wait till tomorrow to wrestle with the car’s finicky top. A quick glance around the stall reassured her that she hadn’t clipped anything this time when she’d shot into the garage.

After retrieving her purse from the backseat, she wandered over to the open garage door to look out. Tiny pebbles of hail bounced off the driveway as the heavy downpour continued. This kind of weather made her wish their garage was attached to the house, but that wasn’t the way they built homes back then.

She could either rush to the house and risk getting wet, or even hurt, or stay where she was and wait for the storm to subside.

It wasn’t really a decision. She wouldn’t melt, but she couldn’t afford to break a hip if she slipped on wet pavement.

She set her purse on the hood of her convertible, smiling at the contrast between the automobile’s white leather interior and its deep aqua body, bringing to mind frothy ocean waves lapping against a white beach. Two of the women at her bridge table had recently discussed an upcoming trip to Bermuda, and Donna listened with a mixture of envy and apprehension. Her nightly dreams often whisked her away to sandy beaches kissed by sparkling waves. But she knew she wasn’t ready to board an airplane yet, and flying was the only practical way for her to travel from the landlocked Midwest to an oceanside beach.

With a sigh, she realized her biggest fear was coming true. She’d waited too long, setting her dreams aside in order to handle the more immediate demands of life.

She should have listened to Sybil.

Years ago, in this very town, she’d come to know and care deeply for Sybil Wall, an elderly woman on her assigned wing at the nursing home where she’d worked. Though Sybil had died in 1994, she was the reason Donna now stood in this dark, musty garage, protected from the storm. This had once been Sybil’s home, before it passed to her granddaughter, Raven Black.

The wind shifted direction, pushing rain into the garage and again threatening the pearl-colored leather interior of her Cooper. She hurried to the wall-mounted button to close the garage door, hoping the hail’s size and velocity wouldn’t increase. It could potentially wipe out the back garden, where she’d spent an inordinate amount of time this summer bringing the roses back to life. The colorful bushes had once been Sybil’s pride and joy.

The rain and wind weren’t letting up, so Donna flipped on a light inside the garage. Did Lynette even know she was home? She had no doubt her daughter was inside. She seldom left the house these days, except to go for walks.

This weather was not conducive to a stroll.

With the shadows banished from the garage, she picked her way around an old lawn mower and an even older wooden bench that didn’t even appear salvageable. They should have thought to drag it out to the curb during the spring cleanup week. Now they’d have to wait another year.

Would she still be here next year?

Donna did her best to banish the unwelcome thought from her mind. She should check on the backyard, but a rough wooden ladder blocked the window. When she moved it out of the way, a sliver stabbed into her left thumb. She ignored it as she squinted through the rivulets of water streaming down the outside of the old windowpane.

A cold droplet of water smacked her forehead. She swiped it away. They really needed to consider replacing the garage roof at some point. There was a reason people referred to these one-hundred-year-old homes as “money pits.”

She rubbed at the fog her breathing caused on the glass. With a start, she spied someone standing in the middle of her rose bushes.

“Who in heaven’s name is out there in this weather,” she whispered.

Lynette had better sense than to stand outside in the pouring rain. The water streaming down the window slowed, and she realized that it wasn’t a person at all. It was that statue.

The statue she’d thought still existed only in her nightmares.

“Why is that cursed statue standing in the middle of my rose bushes? I thought that thing was long gone,” Donna said through chattering teeth as she dropped her purse in the middle of the kitchen table.

Lynette didn’t look up. Donna wasn’t even sure her daughter had heard her.

“Where did that come from?” she asked, temporarily forgetting about the disturbing sight in the bushes as she watched Lynette try to pry the lid off some kind of old wooden box.

When she still got no response, she rapped her knuckles against the tabletop.

Lynette jumped. “Hey! Donna, don’t sneak up on me like that. You scared me!”

Donna pulled a chair away from the table and sat, ignoring the outburst. She took a closer look at the box and realized it looked vaguely familiar. She shivered as cold water meandered down her neck. The rain had stopped, but water still dripped from the trees. The large pine that Lynette had trimmed up the day before had splattered her with droplets when she’d passed under it on her way into the house.

“Where did that come from?” she repeated, staring at the box.

“I found it in the potting shed when I started cleaning it out today,” Lynette said. “Why would someone keep a locked box out there? I can tell it isn’t empty. I’ve been curious about it all day, but didn’t want to quit working out there until the rain chased me inside. Say, I heard you screech the tires again. Good thing I had the sense to move my bike. You didn’t run into anything this time, did you?”

Donna sighed. The fact their mother and daughter roles seemed to be reversing was tiring. Lynette scolded her much too often lately. She started to remind her daughter to watch her tongue but bit her own instead. Always the peacekeeper. She didn’t want to fight.

“Can I see that?” she said, laying her hand on the lid of the box.

Lynette pushed back with a sigh. “Be my guest. Maybe you can figure out how to open it.”

“This looks kind of familiar,” Donna admitted, pulling the box closer.

“Really?” Lynette stood and took an empty glass to the sink, filling it with water. “It’s pretty old. Do you think it might have belonged to Sybil?”

Donna considered the question. Lynette had spent a little time in this house as a teenager, back when Donna used to help Raven with her grandmother. They’d bring Sybil home from the nursing home so the woman could enjoy a home-cooked meal or read in her small library off the sitting room.

It was unusual, even back then, for an aide to leave the property with one of the patients, but Sybil wasn’t your typical resident. One wing of the nursing home bore Sybil’s last name, thanks to the sizable donation she’d made to the facility when she retired. She’d come into the money years earlier, when she’d been widowed at thirty-one.

Once a college professor of archeology and ancient religions, Sybil remained a formidable woman until her death, despite the childhood polio that had eventually weakened her legs until she’d become wheelchair-bound in her eighties.

Donna remembered when Lynette used to say that if she ever had a daughter of her own, she’d name her Sybil. Both of them had enjoyed the old woman immensely.

She shrugged. “If it did belong to Sybil, there’s no telling what’s inside.”

“I was hoping for pirate gold when I first found it, but it isn’t heavy enough to be filled with booty,” Lynette joked.

Donna didn’t find the comment amusing. It wasn’t the first time her daughter had hinted about wishing she could find money stashed away in this old place.

When Lynette was working hard on the sale of the business, she had to choose between two very different buyers. Donna had warned her to be extra thoughtful. The decision had ultimately fallen to the younger woman as the majority partner. Lynette picked the underdog, which hadn’t surprised Donna.

But it had worried her.

After more than a year, Lynette refused to discuss the tenuous situation anymore, but Donna suspected the required payments were either late or short. She’d noticed her daughter no longer spent money as lavishly as she had when they’d first moved back to Ruby Shores and started renovations on this house.

“Any ideas about how to open it?” Lynette asked, taking her seat again. “I tried everything on that big ring that holds all the other house keys, but none of them worked. Those look like keyholes, though, don’t you think?”

Donna agreed, and an idea popped into her head. She stood. “They do. Let me run up to my room. Remember the old jewelry box we found in the library closet? The one engraved with Sybil’s initials? I thought it was empty at first, but there was a set of tiny keys in one drawer. I always wondered what they might open. Maybe they’ll fit your mystery box. Besides, the back of my shirt got wet when I ran in from the garage. I need to change into dry clothes.”

Once upstairs, Donna changed quickly, then rummaged through the many narrow drawers in the vintage jewelry box. Most now contained a jumble of Donna’s silver rings, bangles, and pendants she’d collected over the years. One of her duties while helping to run the online business had been to search out talented artisans. Even when they’d failed to establish an official partnership, Donna often purchased unique signature pieces for her own collection.

The set of small keys was in the bottom drawer. She took them back down to Lynette. As she stepped into the kitchen, a flood of old memories poured in, much like the earlier deluge that had held her captive in the garage.

The overhead fluorescent lighting flickered and Sybil’s bony fingers twitched against the armrests of her wheelchair. Donna held her breath. A power outage would mean trouble for the residents on oxygen. Her shift was almost over, but they would ask her to stay if this storm wreaked havoc and emergency procedures had to be initiated. She groaned when she remembered she’d left her driver’s-side window open.

Sweat dampened Donna’s neck. Despite intermittent rain showers throughout the afternoon, the oppressive heat continued. Their tiny house would feel like an oven tonight if this weather pattern didn’t break.

At least Lynette was away at a fast-pitch softball tournament with her friend Jackie and the girl’s family. They were playing in the fifteen-year-old division, and while Donna hated to miss it, no one had been willing to take her weekend shift. Lynette wouldn’t be home until Monday morning.

“Why isn’t Raven here yet? She’d never be afraid to go out in a little storm,” Sybil said, her voice warbling as she pointed with a gnarled hand at the ceiling. Sybil’s voice was getting weaker, but it didn’t sound like the storm outside was abating at all. “I need to be home today. It’s important. I must read.”

Donna dropped to her knees so she could be eye to eye with her favorite resident. “Raven hasn’t called to say she isn’t coming, so something is probably holding her up. If you want to read while you wait, I’d be happy to go down to the library here and grab one of your old favorites.”

The elderly woman waved away her offer with that same gnarled hand in frustration. “I don’t want to read some silly paperback I’ve read a thousand times before,” she snipped.

Donna smiled at her spunk. She knew Sybil enjoyed books, but the woman loved her usual routine every Sunday of a noon meal and a few hours spent in her old home with her granddaughter even more. Maybe she had a particular book in mind, back in the cozy library that occupied a front corner of her house’s main level.

Finally, with only ten minutes remaining in Donna’s shift, Raven hurried down the hall toward them. “I’m so sorry I’m late, Gram! My car battery died and I was home alone. I had to wait until my neighbor got home to give me a jump.”

“That husband of yours works too much. Who travels for business on a Sunday?”

Raven met Donna’s gaze. “She seems more agitated than usual.”

Before Donna could respond, Sybil grabbed hold of her granddaughter’s hand. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. Of course I’m agitated. I had plans for today. You know what today is. Or did you forget?”

Her question surprised Donna. At eighty-six, it wasn’t like Sybil ever had much in the way of plans, aside from her regular Sunday excursion. But Raven didn’t look surprised. Instead, she looked irritated.

“I most certainly did not forget,” she said, frowning down at her grandmother. “You’d never let me forget the anniversary of my parents’ drowning.”

Sucking in a breath, Donna turned to leave. This was not a discussion she wanted to be a part of. Sybil was usually a delight to spend time with, but today wasn’t one of those days.

“Wait, Donna,” Raven said, the distress clear in her voice. “I know I’m really late today, and you like to spend Sunday evening with your daughter. But with my husband gone and this terrible weather, there’s no way I can get Grandma up the back steps and into the house by myself. I know I’m asking too much, but I could really use a hand. It’s important for her to be home today.”

Home,Donna thought. Did Raven have any idea how lucky she was to have a home with so much history?

Sybil had told her how her husband had opened the first lumber company in Ruby Shores in the 1920s. He’d built a house for his young bride as a clever way to showcase their high-quality products and his extensive carpentry skills. Before landing in the nursing home at eight-four, Sybil lived her whole adult life in that house, and even raised her twin grandson and granddaughter there, after their parents tragically died. Now Raven and her husband called it home.

Donna worked hard, often juggling more than one job, but would she ever be able to give her daughter, Lynette, the kind of home both Sybil and Raven had enjoyed?

Remembering how hot and musty her little rental would be, and that Lynette wouldn’t even be home, Donna decided it might be nice to spend time in Raven and Sybil’s beautiful old house.

She checked her watch. “My shift is about over.”

Raven hoisted the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder. “I could pay you.”

Donna shook her head. “I’d never take your money. I just meant that it probably wouldn’t be a problem to give you a hand tonight. Lynette is away with friends.”

Raven breathed a sigh of relief. “You have no idea how much I’d appreciate that.”

Sybil dropped her arthritic hands to the wheels of her chair, pushing off toward her room. “I’ll grab my purse. There’s still so much to do!”

Donna noticed a commanding quality to Sybil’s voice that had been missing a short time ago. She glanced questioningly at Raven, but a shrug was her only response.

Thirty minutes later, Donna held a sweating glass of ice water against her forehead. The years had whittled away at Sybil’s body, but it still took both women to transfer her from Raven’s car, up the back stairs, and into the kitchen without the wheelchair.

Raven didn’t look as winded from the exertion as Donna felt.

Once they’d cleared the table following a meal of roast and potatoes, Raven announced that it was time for Sybil to go back to the nursing home. Sybil’s anxiety returned. “I must do a reading,” she’d insisted, her bony, swollen fingers turning white as she gripped the edge of the dining table with both hands. “Bring me my cards.”

Donna jumped at the loud crack of a cupboard door when Raven slammed it shut in frustration over her grandmother’s stubborn declaration.

Lightning flashed and a deep rumble of thunder caused the glass windowpanes to vibrate. For a moment, Donna was disoriented. Her recollections of that long ago day included weather almost identical to today’s. Had the storm wrapped back around?

Her eyes skipped from the dusty old box in front of a now adult Lynette to the still-damaged cupboard door that Raven had slammed so long ago. The hairline crack in the wood was barely noticeable, but anytime she opened or closed the door, Donna’s fingers often worried over it, much like she was doing now with the irritating sliver in her thumb.

She closed her eyes, remembering again how Sybil had sat up straighter in her chair over her granddaughter’s impertinence. She’d cleared her throat and released her grip on the table’s edge, demurely folding her hands across her lap. Disapproval was obvious in her unwavering stare. Donna suspected that must have been the same look Sybil had given her unruly college students, decades earlier, if they’d foolishly refused to do her bidding.

“Get my box, Raven,” Sybil had ordered.

It was a side of Sybil that Donna seldom saw. She remembered the palpable shift in the energy in this very kitchen. That Sybil was no longer an old, frail woman, reliant on her grown granddaughter to help her escape back to the life she used to live before age had forced her into a small, soulless room, surrounded by other, equally dependent men and women.

“Yes, Grandma,” Raven had replied, like a disobedient child.

Once only Sybil and Donna remained in that long-ago kitchen, the same yet different space where she now sat, the old woman had turned her gaze to Donna. Sybil’s eyes had looked different, as if the film of the infirmed had been swept away, allowing the older woman to see straight into Donna’s soul.

“I need to read your cards,” she’d declared, leaving Donna more confused than ever.

Raven wasn’t gone long, and when she’d returned, she’d carried a box very much like the one on the table in front of Lynette. It had to be the same one. She could still see the disapproval in Raven’s expression as a satisfied grin stole across her grandmother’s features. Raven was out of sorts over whatever was inside the box Sybil was slowly opening.

“Did you find the keys?” Lynette asked, the words cutting through Donna’s memories, pulling her back to the present yet again. “While you were upstairs, I ran down to the basement to make sure that new sump pump they installed two weeks ago was working.”

“Is it?” Donna asked, doing her best to reacclimate herself to the partially renovated kitchen of today. Now she, not Sybil, was the old woman in the room.

“What, working? It is. We’re lucky the contractor thought to check it when I complained about the mustiness down there.”

Donna drained her water glass, then placed the set of tiny keys she’d retrieved from her jewelry box in front of Lynette. “Here. I bet these will work. I’m sure they’re the same ones Sybil used.”

Lynette picked up the keys, then paused. “Hold on. Did you decide that you have seen this box before?”

Nodding, Donna pushed away from the table to put her empty glass in the dishwasher. She still felt a sense of unease whenever she allowed herself to think back to the conversation that followed on that long-ago day. And not only the conversation, but how that stormy evening had ended.

“I remember seeing Sybil with it.”

Lynette pulled her reading glasses down from the top of her head and bent over the dusty box with the keys. “So this belonged to Sybil. Do you also remember what she stored in here, then?”

Donna had a pretty good idea. “Maybe.”

If the same tarot cards Sybil had pulled from this very box all those years ago were still inside, her daughter was going to flip. Things like that had always fascinated Lynette.

Donna had walked away from Catholicism after her fallout with her parents. Leaving the only religion she’d ever known had left Donna feeling lost. It was probably why the discussions she’d had about various religions with Sybil over the years had intrigued her so. Sybil had lived in the largest unit in the nursing home, and it overflowed with books and other items the woman had collected over the years. Sybil often sent books home with Donna, and Lynette would sometimes read them, too.

Had this exposure to other religions fueled her daughter’s intrigue with tarot?

Donna had received reprimands from her supervisor for spending too much time in Sybil’s room. Her boss complained it was to the detriment of other patients, but since Sybil was a significant benefactor to the nursing home, Donna’s job was never truly in jeopardy.

But according to the reading Sybil did for her all those years ago on that stormy Sunday, her life might be.