Chapter Forty
Forty
A Pearl of Wisdom
from Evanthe Kilburn
“It’s never too late to start a new chapter.”
Tallulah
It had been nearly a year and a half since I moved into the Library House, and Christmas hung in the air. The scent of pine, of cinnamon, of cloves.
The tree was up in the living room, protected by a paneled baby gate.
Not only to keep a toddling Mary Joy from yanking shiny bulbs off the branches, but to prevent our cat, Evie, from doing it as well.
I’d just finished setting up the barrier and stood back, wondering how long it would keep them out of trouble since both were smart and clever.
Evie stared at me from the arm of the couch, her blue eyes accusing me of violating her basic feline rights. I scooped her up, cuddling her, and she allowed it, forgiving me.
She’d shown up at the back door one chilly morning last December, meowing pitifully, absolutely filthy. The vet estimated she was about four months old, and once she was cleaned off, she was a picture of beauty. Her fur was pure white fluff, except for the tip of her tail, which was black.
Because that dark tip reminded me of Evanthe’s hair, we decided to name her Evie. Evanthe had pretended to be outraged, claiming no comparison, but she’d been smiling the whole time.
When she suggested I bring the kitten with me to work so Evie could play with Deckle, I didn’t even mention how it violated regulations she’d put in place. If she was willing to break the rules, then so was I.
As I scratched Evie’s chin, listened to her purr, I watched Mary Joy sleep on the other end of the couch, never tiring of seeing her so at peace.
She’d fallen asleep while watching one of her favorite TV shows, featuring a perky host who had the magical ability to captivate babies and toddlers worldwide as she performed catchy songs and taught lessons with an emphasis on language development.
I hadn’t the heart to move her. Not until I had to—I glanced at the clock—which was in approximately fifteen minutes.
We had a wedding to go to.
I adjusted the blanket draped over her legs.
Her round cheeks were flushed from the heat of the house and the long nap.
Wispy bangs had been pulled into a tiny ponytail atop her head that looked like a waterspout.
She’d turn two years old next month and I could hardly believe how fast the time had gone by.
She’d had allergy testing done when she was nine months old, and in addition to eggs, she was also allergic to chickpeas and mango.
The allergist was optimistic she’d outgrow some—if not all—of these, and I hoped so.
Her allergic reaction that day in the park still haunted my dreams. So much so that I was often tempted to borrow the dream catcher that hung in Katy’s bedroom window, because she hadn’t had a nightmare since it had been gifted to her by Juliet. A miracle if I ever saw one.
Laughter came from the kitchen, and I peeked in at Katy and Zoe, who sat at the table making bracelets from the kit that Scott had given Katy the last time she’d seen him.
He’d kept his word.
He’d found a job in Birmingham and had moved into a condo near our old neighborhood, which allowed Katy to have a sense of familiarity when she visited and also allowed her to easily see old friends.
It had taken half a year of brief visitations with Mary Joy before she spent the weekend with him as well. Not only because I had trust issues, but because they didn’t really know each other. They’d needed that time to form a bond.
I’d cried the first time he’d driven away with both the girls for a whole weekend visit. I was still working on being able to let them go without a knot of fear in my stomach, but I didn’t know if that fear came from them being with Scott, or if it simply came from me being a mother.
I suspected the latter.
The girls were oblivious to me watching them, but Daisy had noticed. Her head came up; her tail thumped the floor. As sure as the sun rose every day, if Katy was home, Daisy was at her side.
When my phone buzzed in the pocket of my dress, I backed away from the kitchen. Balancing Evie in the crook of my arm, I pulled the phone out and saw a text from Juliet.
Running late—hit traffic on way home! Save us seats just in case?
I sent back a quick Of course. She and Callum had gone to pick out their Christmas tree this morning. She’d wanted a living one that they could decorate, then plant, and the nearest farm that sold them was an hour away.
In the living room, I set Evie on the top tier of her cat tree so she could look out the window at the birds in the side yard.
I glanced at Baby Bill, checking on him.
He was still such a small thing, only three feet tall.
But he was still growing. One day, I hoped, I’d see my grandchildren or great-grandchildren reading in his arms.
As I turned away, my gaze lingered on the built-in bookcase to the right of the fireplace. Specifically, on the wooden checkerboard displayed there.
My heart panged as I thought about Uncle Renny, and a fit of nostalgia spurred me down the hall toward the office. I gently pushed open the door, trying to be quiet.
But Jake heard me anyway.
He spun his desk chair toward me and took off his headphones. On his computer monitors, someone’s bones were on display.
It was dark in the room, thick curtains blocking any daylight. It was easier for him to read the X-rays that way. The bookshelves were filled, mostly a mix of his books and mine. Some belonged to the girls. A few had belonged to Renny, but not his Walt Whitman book. He’d bequeathed that to Juliet.
He’d been gone now for more than a year, passing peacefully, surrounded by the people who loved him most.
Aunt Maeve. Papaw. Me. Callum. Juliet.
The first cookbook club without him had been a mix of tears and laughter. Probably just the way he would’ve wanted it.
“Is it time to go?” Jake asked, reaching for me, pulling me onto his lap for a kiss.
My heart gloated, saying, I told you so.
Technically, Jake and I were still newlyweds. We’d married this past summer at a small ceremony in the sun garden at the end of Papaw’s street.
“We have a few more minutes,” I said.
He gave me a look that heated me to my bones.
I laughed and pushed off him, a little weak-kneed. “Definitely not enough time for that.” Then I stopped, thought about it, and shook my head. “The girls…”
It was his turn to laugh.
“I didn’t mean to bother you.” I crossed the room to the small secretary I used as a desk, pushed aside the textbooks for my current postgrad courses and my notes for the next Trivia Night at the library, and picked up my spiral-bound Pearls of Wisdom book. “I just wanted to grab this real quick.”
“You’re never a bother, Tallulah.”
And that was just another reason why I loved him. I gave him another kiss, then backed out of the room. “I’ll see you in a few.”
I took the book into the living room and sat down in one of the overstuffed armchairs near the fireplace.
I ran my finger over the cover. It was a limited edition, this book, sold only at this past summer’s Flour Festival, with proceeds benefitting the library—a donation made in the name of my grandmother.
In it were hundreds of wisdoms I’d collected from Isabel, Vera, Nettie, Papaw, Aunt Maeve, Renny, and Evanthe, among others. I thumbed to one of Renny’s wisdoms, his very last, issued a few days before he left us.
DON’T CRY BECAUSE IT’S OVER.
NO, WAIT. GO AHEAD AND CRY.
Then he’d added, “If there’s a dry eye at my funeral, I’ll haunt all y’all.”
I shook my head and smiled. There’d been no dry eyes.
With tears shimmering in my eyes now, I held the book to my chest where my compass rose pendant lay near my heart and glanced up at the mantel. Hanging from individual hooks were six stockings, the names on them embroidered with golden thread. Just like I’d seen in my dreams.
Tallulah, Jake, Katy, Mary Joy, Daisy, Evie.
My heart.
My home.
Juliet
By some miracle, Callum and I made it to the wedding ceremony with a few minutes to spare.
He held my hand as we made a run for the doors, the whooshing sound familiar and welcome.
Winter sunlight spread a golden glow across bookshelves and the gathered crowd.
All the couches, chairs, and tables had been cleared from the main reading area, and now it was filled with cushioned folding chairs, twenty on the bride’s side, twenty on the groom’s, with a satin-covered aisle dividing them.
In front of the chairs, near a flowered arch, a string trio was warming up, and a preacher was smiling at the groom, who didn’t look nervous in the least.
This wedding had been a long time coming.
Nettie and Isabel had someone cornered at the front desk, a man I didn’t recognize, mid-thirties, blond hair, tattooed arms. I heard Nettie say, “Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?”
“Neither,” he said, looking left, looking right. “I just came inside to wait for a tow truck. My car broke down.”
“Oh?” Isabel said. “Was there a plume of smoke perchance? And if so, what color was it?”
“Purple.” His eyebrows dropped low. “How’d you know?”
Purple, I knew, meant his heart was lonely.
Nettie tutted. “That tow truck is probably going to take a while, considering the proprietor of the garage is attending a wedding. You should make yourself comfortable. Did you know weddings are a great place to look for love?”
Isabel added, “The reception will have an open bar. You can’t beat free when asking someone if they’d like a cocktail.”
I almost laughed at the man’s dumbfounded expression.
Nettie turned him slightly, aiming him toward the bride’s section of chairs. “See the pretty lady in the pink dress? You should go sit next to her. Her name’s Georgia, and she’s friendly as can be.”
With a bewildered nod, he scuttled off to sit down next to Georgia, whose wide smile bloomed almost immediately.
I glanced at Nettie, and she winked.
She was matchmaking.