Chapter Thirteen
Kit spent most of the following day boxing up the clothes from her grandparents’ room, sorting and folding those items that could go to a shelter or thrift store, tossing the rest. She stopped at noon to eat the lunch she’d brought with her—chicken salad from Ruthie’s—before moving to Maxine’s room, where she’d lingered over every piece of clothing, from the well-worn jeans to the dresses in her closet.
Missing was the wedding gown she’d hoped to find.
She couldn’t stop wondering how Maxine had learned of Miles’s death. Had she seen coverage of the plane crash on the nightly news? Banks said that Miles’s agent had called her once—once that he knew of, anyway. Had that been the call? She felt heartbroken for Maxine all over again.
Funny how you develop feelings for people you’ve never met, she thought as she placed the last stack of sweatshirts and sweaters into a box and closed the lid.
Funny, too, how a place you’d never been to before could suddenly feel like home.
She couldn’t deny the pull of this house from the day she first parked out front and put the key into the lock.
There was no hurry to empty it out of its history as far as she was concerned.
She’d fly back to Pennsylvania in a week or so for Russ’s retirement party and spend a few days, which would give her time to do a proper packing of her clothes, so when she returned, she’d have some change-of-season clothing.
After all, winter had to turn to spring sometime, she mused, and she’d be happy to be here to see it happen.
So far all she’d seen had been snowflakes and icicles and mostly gray skies.
She wanted to see a little sparkle on the lake and wanted to see what had been planted in that garden bed along the front porch.
She went back to Maxine’s room and checked all the drawers and the closet to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.
Old shoes were in the trash bags, but she’d found a fairly new pair of leather boots with heavy soles and sturdy ties.
On a whim, she tried them on, and to her delight, they fit her perfectly.
She and Maxine must have worn the same size.
The boots would come in handy when it came time to walk down to the cabins if the paths were still muddy.
She set them out on the landing so they wouldn’t somehow get mixed up with the discards.
Kit had brought a bag for the old magazines, which she wanted to thumb through to see if she could figure out why Maxine had kept them for so many years, and so close to the chair she sat in to watch TV every night.
Kit was tempted to sit and look through them but she didn’t want to take the time now.
Today she wanted to have as much ready as possible for Liam to pick up and take to the intended places—women’s shelter, thrift store, recycling.
She stood in the doorway, doing a last scan around the room. She’d debated on packing up the lamps on the dresser for the thrift store, but she thought Abby might want them. They were tall white milk glass with pretty floral shades, just the sort of thing her daughter fancied.
Greta returned her call just as Kit stepped back into the room to go through the blanket chest at the foot of Maxine’s bed.
“Sorry I missed your call,” Greta said immediately upon Kit’s answering. “I was watching my grandkids, and I hadn’t had a minute to look at my phone.”
“Thank you for getting back to me. I appreciate it.”
“So, how’s everything going out at the camp?”
Kit laughed. “I’m not sure how to answer that. About the only concrete thing I’ve accomplished is to pack up Maxine’s clothes to donate, and I—”
“Oh, did you happen to see a blue sweatshirt that said Down East above a sailboat?”
Kit thought for a moment, trying to recall. “I think I might have. Would you like it?”
“If it wouldn’t be too pushy for me to ask. I gave that shirt to Maxine on her birthday a few years back, and she always looked so pretty in that shade of blue.”
“Of course you may have it. I’ll go through the box and see if it’s there and I’ll put it aside for you. Is there anything else you can think of that you’d like to have?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Well, you let me know if you think of anything.”
“That’s very nice of you, Kit. Thank you.”
“Of course.”
“So I guess you’re ready for me to bring back the silver and the other things I brought home?”
“Oh, no, no. If you wouldn’t mind holding on to it all for a time longer, I’d appreciate it.
I’m going back to Pennsylvania, and I’d hate to have anything of known value in the house and run the risk of it being stolen after you’ve taken such good care of everything for these past few months. If it’s not an imposition, that is.”
“No imposition at all, dear. You can let me know when you’re back and I’ll bring everything out to you then.”
“That sounds like a plan. Thank you, Greta. Actually, I was calling to see if you’d like to come out to the house and have lunch with me. I thought I’d pick up some things from Ruthie’s and we’d have lunch, and we could get to know each other a little better.”
“Oh, I would love that. I have my grandkids tomorrow yet, but if Wednesday works for you, I’d love to spend some time out there with you. I have something to do for the garden club in the morning, but I can be out there by noon.”
“Wednesday would be perfect, and noon is just right. I’ll see you then.”
Actually, Wednesday would be cutting things really close.
She’d booked a flight to Philadelphia for Wednesday night.
She wanted to be supportive of Russ and accompany him to his retirement bash on Thursday night, but she’d bought a ticket for a flight back to Maine on Sunday.
She wasn’t sure how he’d feel about that quick turnaround, but there was no way she was going to quit the camp at this point.
Maybe she could talk him into coming with her.
Once he’d retired, what did he have to do at home?
He could bring Wally. Mr. Nature Boy wanted to hike?
He could hike here. She bet he’d love it.
Once he got past the fact that neither the house nor the inn was a five-star hotel, nor was there any fine dining to speak of.
Not, at least, any restaurant that would fit his idea of fine dining.
Although the meat loaf at Ruthie’s had been pretty fine, and the chowder had been just as delicious. There was a reason the people in Tolerance ate at Ruthie’s at least once or twice every week.
Kit sighed. There were so many things she still wanted to know, and she didn’t know when she’d have another opportunity to learn. There was no way she’d be leaving Tolerance for good before she discovered what she’d come here for. Russ could just get on board with the program.
The sweatshirt Greta wanted was in a box Kit had already taken down to the first floor, so she located it and put it aside.
She hoped it would give Greta some solace after she’d endured the shock of finding her friend lifeless, slumped in her chair.
Kit knew what it was like to mourn someone you loved, and the comfort of having something tangible of theirs to hold on to.
There were still moments when missing her mother overcame her, and she found herself in tears, clutching a very old sweatshirt her mother had reserved for gardening.
Grief, she had come to understand all too well, had no expiration date.
In the meantime, she could not wait to pick Greta’s brain. Wednesday couldn’t come fast enough.
Kit loaded up with two bowls of Linda’s amazing “chowda,” two roast beef sandwiches, and some of Mary Gail’s homemade cookies after having been advised by Mary Gail that those were items Greta always ordered when they were on the menu.
She drove out to the camp humming a song that had somehow gotten into her head for which the title eluded her.
The sun had broken through the early-morning clouds and the fog over the lake had almost completely burned off by the time she reached camp, all of which she took as signs of good things to come that day.
Once inside the house, she turned on the heater, draped her coat over the desk chair, and took the box of goodies from Ruthie’s into the kitchen and placed it on the counter.
She’d had visions of lunching at a cozy, sunny spot where Greta would feel relaxed and spill whatever beans she might have to spill.
Unfortunately, the kitchen was in the shady part of the house, and the dining room was way too big to be cozy.
But there was a drop-leaf table in the living room that just might work.
Kit half dragged, half carried the table into the alcove that served as a library corner for campers and the family alike.
She set the table between the two wingback chairs and hoped dust wouldn’t fly when they were sat upon.
She flipped through a few of the books on the lower shelves until she found a few with her mother’s name in them.
She found furniture polish under the kitchen sink and polished the table, and brought dishes in from the dining room to rinse off the dust. Coffee cups that matched the dishes instead of the mugs, and napkins from the sideboard.
There was nothing for a centerpiece—the only plants in the house had long since died of neglect—so she stacked the books artfully in the middle of the table.
When Greta arrived promptly at noon, Kit was ready for her.
“Oh my, it’s been a few months since I’ve been here,” Greta exclaimed while she took off her puffy coat and placed it over Kit’s on the chair.
“I used to drive out here, oh, most days. Even before Maxine had her stroke, I visited her just for the hell of it. She was such good company, and you know, she had a great sense of humor.” She looked around from the stairwell to the living room. “We had such fun here.”