The rest of our meal goes off without a hitch, and soon, I’m following behind her as we head to her house. When we get there, I park underneath the carport that’s off to the side while she pulls into the garage. She gets out of her Jeep and walks over then asks, “Why aren’t you parking inside?”
I shrug as I get off my bike then pull my duffel bag out of the hard shell. “No reason to, Shelly. It’s not raining and even if it was, the carport will work.”
“If you’re sure,” she replies, doubt heavy in her tone.
Taking her hand in mine, I sling my duffel over the opposite shoulder then tug her toward the door I can see in the garage. “Are you gonna give me the five-cent tour or what?” I ask.
She lowers the garage door then inputs the code required to open the door and enter the house. As I notice the various security measures, I grin, knowing that Mack wasted no time ensuring their home is a fortress.
“Okay, so as you can see, this is the mudroom and it bleeds into the laundry room,” she teases, holding her arm out like Vanna White does before she turns an illuminated tile. “Now, follow me into the heart of the home,” she continues, grinning up at me.
“Damn,” I whistle as I take in the homey kitchen. The wood on the cabinets is a dark cherry grain, but instead of making the room seem dark and gloomy, the frosted glass inserts and light green paint make it appear to be twice the size than it actually is, which is impressive.
I’m not wholly in the know as far as top-of-the-line kitchen appliances goes, but I’ve heard of the brand of stove I can see, as well as the sub-zero refrigerator. A large island delineates the cooking area from the table, before the room flows into the living room. I wander around as she points out various aspects, giggling a little as her descriptions become more and more outlandish.
But I stop moving when I see the curio cabinet that is obviously a shrine to what she lost. The top shelf has a picture of a woman about Mack’s age, and I know instinctively it’s his woman, Marcella. A beautiful urn sits there, along with one of those flameless candles, sending a soft glow on the small placard that’s on the bottom.
“She didn’t have any family except for us,” Shelly murmurs, her voice quiet and somber. “I honestly don’t know why they never got married because she was it for him and vice versa, but I never asked. She was the only mom I ever knew, though, and I miss her a lot.”
“I know, baby, I know,” I murmur, gently tugging her into my side. I lean in and kiss her temple and say, “The cabinet is a beautiful tribute, Shelly.”
“Uncle Mack had it specially made,” she admits. “Before, we had shelves.”
I shake my head as I imagine Mack doing just that. I look at the next shelf which is bigger than the top one and my mood instantly changes. There’s a picture of a man holding up a sonogram whose grin is so big, it’s obvious that it’s James, her former partner. A smaller urn, with his name and information on it sits to one side, while another one with Amberlea’s name is opposite. A small picture of her is slightly off to the side andeven knowing what I’m looking at, I can honestly say that her daughter was beautiful.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I murmur as I pull her in front of me and wrap my arms around her. “She was perfect.”
“Yeah, she was,” she whispers, reaching out to touch the glass. “Some of my friends tried to make me feel bad because I had pictures taken with her, but Abyss, it’s becoming more common these days. Both Uncle Mack and Marcella thought it would help me and it did, it really did. If I had woken up and she was just gone, I don’t think I would have handled it all that well.”
“I get it. I’m sure it’s not possible for everyone, but I’m glad you were able to have that time with her, sweetheart.” Looking around, I see a sketchpad on the coffee table. “What’s that?”
She glances over her shoulder and her smile brightens again. “Oh, I’ve been toying with an idea, but I’m having problems getting it to come together. Come and look.”
We sit next to each other on the couch, and I can tell what she’s trying to do as ideas start flooding my mind. “You’re trying to create an urn to hold both of them,” I state.
“Yeah, but I’m having a hard time getting it just right,” she admits.
Looking at the sketchpad, I ask, “Can I?” When she nods, I grab the pencil and turn the page, my initial idea quickly coming to life. It’s rudimentary, of course, but my hope is that it’ll give her some peace. “What do you think?” I question when I’m done.
She takes the pad from me, and I watch her finger lightly stroke the lines the pencil made just moments before. “I love it,” she murmurs as her gaze catches mine. I can see the sheen of unshedtears in her eyes, but they don’t fall. Instead, a tremulous smile now stretches across her face. “I was having a hard time with the profile, but you nailed it. And while I’m still not positive there’s an afterlife of any kind at all, I’d like to think that the two of them are together.”
The picture itself is simple; a man sitting in profile, a baby cradled in his arms with ‘Together Again’ in flowy script beneath it. “What were you thinking of using to create this?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” she says. “Wood would get dusty, but I feel like resin or porcelain would look cold.”
“Maybe you could do a combination of both,” I reply. “Let me think about how that might work and I’ll let you know. I’ve got quite a few contacts out there who may be able to create what you’re looking for.”
“Okay, thanks, Abyss.”
Setting the pad back on the table, I lean in and kiss her. When I pull back, I murmur, “No, thankyoufor trusting me with this.”
“You’re welcome. Um, so, let’s carry on with the tour, shall we?” she asks, a shy smile on her lips.
“Lead the way, sweetheart,” I say, waving my arm in front of me.
“It’s really not all that exciting,” she muses, grinning.
After she finishes the tour and we end up back in the kitchen to grab some drinks, I say, “I think what I’m most impressed with is that y’all have your own sides of the house upstairs.”
