Chapter Seven --
“Oh, baby!” I groaned, expecting the teen to be tech-savvy. “You have been spending too much time out of the loop! We’ll transfer your contacts to your new phone, so you’ll have every number on it.”
Trong agreed, explaining that he had a device that allowed him to copy everything that was on her current phone, including photos.
“And if you have your friends’ email addresses, we’ll send out an announcement, so they know how to reach you in the future.”
“My mom bought me this phone.” It was such a poignant statement. I looked to Kenny for some wisdom. After all, he understood this kind of loss.
“Tell you what,” he said carefully, glancing at the Verizon clerk. “Why don’t we get you a new phone and then you can keep this one in your memory box?”
“What do you mean? What memory box?”
“You don’t have a memory box, a special place to keep all the things you care about?”
“Do you have one for your wife?”
“Of course I do. And we’ll get you one, for your important memories.”
“I’d like that,” Jenny decided.
“Great. Now the question is which phone and accessories do we get you? What can you show us, Trong?” The Verizon clerk steered them towards the Smartphone display, while I hung back a bit. Wasn’t it interesting that Jenny wasn’t afraid of Kenny? It was like they had that bond between them, both still mourning their losses. Mind you, I know that Captain Peacock is a very trustworthy guy. He was like that even in high school. Still, for a girl who had been burned so badly by relationships, someone somewhere had been her chivalrous protector. Was it her grandfather?
Kenny dropped us off, promising to check on that backpack in Bay Head and to return to us at the weekend. I felt that little flutter of excitement at the news. He and I had been getting together twice a month for the last six months. To have him back in Connecticut in just a few days was an added thrill.
Jenny seemed to settle in quickly, eager to learn the ropes of working at the Four Acorns Inn. I showed her how to prepare a guest room -- changing the sheets, sweeping and vacuuming, and finishing with the bathroom, which was scrubbed and cleaned daily. I showed her the supply closet, where we stored everything right down to the tiny bottles of hair products and body lotions. By three, we were ready for a break.
“In the mood for a hike?” I asked her. I saw a slight hesitation. Too many memories of the past? I added, “The dogs need a good, long walk and when it’s this hot out, we always head for White Oak Hill. It’s almost a mountain.”
That got her attention and interest. We harnessed the pooches and set off. I decided to back off a bit on the questions, and just let her speak her mind as she chose. We headed up the blue trail, over to the pink, where we stopped at the summit to admire the view of Hartford in the distance. It was a clear day, so I pointed out the Heublein Tower in Simsbury.
“It’s really pretty here. It reminds me of my grandparents’ house in Maine. They lived near a mountain. I was really sad when we had to move.”
“I can understand that. Change can be tough.”
“After Grandpa died, Grandma was very sad.” Jenny seemed to be remembering. “Mom got a new job in Burlington, at a hospital there. And then she met a doctor who moved to New Hampshire three years later.”
That explained the male bonding. He must have been a positive influence on Jenny. “Your mom didn’t marry him?”
There I went, spoiling it all, even after I decided to let the girl direct the conversation. Her crestfallen face indicated trouble for the relationship. I wasn’t expecting what came next.
“They were supposed to get married, but he was in the Army reserves. The military sent him to Germany, to work at that big hospital there.”
“Did he come back after your mom was diagnosed with cancer?” A slight shake of the head bespoke the heartache.
“She didn’t want him to know. She said he’d feel like he had to come home and take care of her, and he really should be taking care of the wounded warriors.”
“No one ever told him?”
“No.”
“How sad.” I made a mental note to tell Kenny. Someone really should get in touch with the man. He probably never understood why Vivian Mulroney broke it off with him, and it would be healing to know the truth. At least I hoped it would.
“That’s when Steve came along.” Oh, is there anything sadder than a soldier getting a “Dear John” letter while stationed overseas, I thought to myself. And then I decided there was. Marrying Steve after saying farewell to a good man who loved her. What might have happened if Jenny’s mother had been honest with her doctor boyfriend? Would Jenny have had a decent stepfather to look after her? The decisions we make in life so often have ramifications and rewards. All the more reason to choose wisely, I reminded myself.
We headed back down on the yellow trail, winding up at the back of the property. As I led her through the woods and into the yard, I pointed out the blueberry bushes, raspberry canes, and vegetable garden.
“Is it organic?” she wanted to know. “Pesticides can kill you. That’s probably how my mother got cancer.”
“Cancer is over two hundred different diseases, Jen. Many of them have roots in your genes, and those genes get passed down through the generations. The environment can have an impact, but it’s not really likely that the cancer only happened because your mother didn’t eat organic fruits and vegetables.”
“Does that mean I’m going to get cancer?” Nice going, Miz Scarlet. Now you’ve really done it.
“That’s not at all what it means. Your mom got sick because she got sick. Sometimes there’s a predisposition to a particular disease in your family, so you take steps to make sure you’re not encouraging problems. For example, my dad had heart disease. We didn’t know it until after he died. Later, we found out his father had a massive heart attack when he was 58. This allowed us to tell our family doctor we’re at risk, so he keeps an eye on us, for signs that we might be getting symptoms of heart disease.”
“Don’t you worry that you’ll just keel over someday?”
“Once in a blue moon. But then I remind myself that I am careful to eat healthy foods, I get plenty of exercise, and I watch my weight.”
“Oh.”
“And to answer your question on organics, there are some things I do in the garden to keep the fruits and veggies healthier to eat. I don’t normally use pesticides or insecticides unless I have no other choice, and when I do spray, I’m very careful not to do it when I will be harvesting any produce.”
“Does that mean I can eat the blueberries off the bush?”
“Knock yourself out, kiddo.”
“Awesome. Can I pick some and make a fruit smoothie?”
“Absolutely.”
“My mom loved smoothies. They were her favorite treat.”
We walked back to the house along the winding garden path, Jenny nibbling on the handful of berries she grabbed as we passed the bushes. January caught the scent of something under the garden bench and wanted to dig.
“What’s she doing?” the teen wanted to know.
“Best guess? Chipmunk or mouse.” Huckleberry caught the same scent and scooted into the bushes in pursuit. “He’s a trained ratter. Yorkies were bred to go into tunnels for rodents.”
“No way! That cute little puppy?”
“It’s in his genes,” I laughed.
Hilda Blevins was in the living room, watching Dr. Oz discuss the intricacies of the bowels in great detail, when we passed by. She hailed us with a request.
“Any chance I could get something to drink? Water, soda....”
“Ice tea?”
“That would be lovely. And if you could put it in a plastic cup, rather than a glass, I would appreciate it.” I saw that trembling hand and knew exactly what she meant.
“Jen will be right back with it.”
In the kitchen, I grabbed a tall blue tumb
ler and filled it with ice and tea, added a lemon wedge, and popped on a lid with a built-in straw. The girl took it from me and smiled.
“That’s a good idea, Scarlet. She doesn’t have to worry about spilling anything.”
“No, she doesn’t. Would you like a glass of something?” I got down a matching tumbler.
“I get it. If I have my own drink, she won’t think you’re using this because her hands shake. Clever.”
“You’re going to make a good nurse, Jenny.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.”
As the days passed, we settled into a routine. Mornings we spent cleaning the inn. Just before lunch, we headed to the third floor, to tackle the new bedroom for the teen. Two coats of lavender paint and some colorful fabric shades cheered up the space nicely. We painted the antique pine floors and added a thick, shag rug. In the afternoons, I tutored students and Jenny took driving lessons. We often went hiking around three, and when we returned, she helped me in the kitchen while I prepared dinner for the inn guests and the Googins girls. At night, she gravitated to the living room, where the adults played Scrabble, watched TV, or chatted.
For some reason, she took a liking to Bur. Maybe it was that he teased her. Maybe it was because he reminded her of someone. Maybe it was because she didn’t have a sibling and thought it was hilarious that we still went at it, even at our advanced ages. The truth came out the day we finally got a new mattress for the bed we found at a yard sale. Bur was helping us move the furniture around in her new room.
“What time you want to hit the road today, squirt?”
“Can we do it in an hour?”
“Sure. Fine with me.”
“Hit the road?” I looked at the pair of them, surprised. “Where are you two going?”
“Practice time,” my brother announced.
“Bur takes me driving,” she explained. No wonder she tolerated him. She wanted that license.
“How did that happen?” I asked. It’s not like my brother is known for being kind to children or animals, at least not normally.
“Lacey offered,” said Bur, “and I told her that she didn’t have the right car insurance for that. She wanted to know what it would take to get the girl behind the wheel and I said I’d take her in the Focus.”
“Where was I when all this was going on?”
“Teaching.” Of course. Wouldn’t you know that my brother would take my car and let a teenager wreak havoc on the road while I was otherwise engaged? This is why we shortened his nickname from Colonel Grey Poupon to just Poup. Sometimes he was just a royal stinker.
“Very clever, colonel. When did you intend to tell me?”
One look at Jen and I could see she was nervous. “It’s my fault, Scarlet. I asked him to keep it a secret. I wanted to surprise you by getting my license.”
“Really?”
“Really.” No one had ever thought to do something like that before. Made me think there was more to it than that. “Did you fail the first time around?”
“How did you know?”
“Tell you what. You and Bur keep doing what you’re doing. And when you do get your license, we’ll all celebrate. How does that sound?”
“Aw, great.” There was that big grin. It broke the tight tension around her eyes and made her look like a kid again.
Of course, in the meantime, it meant she had to be driven everywhere, or rather escorted. We were headed out to the grocery store one morning, in my Ford Focus mind you, and on impulse I tossed her the keys.
“Oh, I couldn’t!”
“Because....”
“Um, ah...well, I guess I could.”
After that, she took it for granted that I would let her drive everywhere we went, and for the first time in my life, I had to trust a teenager not to get me killed. Was this what every parent went through? Lucky for me she was a pretty good driver, once she let go of all that anxiety.
The last days of July turned into August, and Kenny suggested we take another trip, this time with Jenny in tow.
“Where?” I asked.
“New Hampshire. We have a court date.”
“We do?”
“Oh, yeah. It turns out that at the time Stevie took over the house from Jenny’s mother, he had already had her declared non compos mentis, because the cancer had spread to her brain. In fact, when he married her, she was barely able to communicate, let alone make rational decisions.”
“You’re saying the guy stole the house out from under Jenny and her mother?”
“I’m saying Stevie is a cheese weasel who took advantage of a dying woman and robbed the daughter. John Vignone, the lawyer up in Salem, has decided to challenge the probate claim and file a lawsuit against Stevie to recover the house, the car, and even a savings account that was supposed to help pay for Jenny’s college expenses.”
“Captain Peacock, you’re the best!”
“I am. And you can kiss me now, fair lady!”
We stayed at a Holiday Inn near Salem. Jenny, Kenny, and I showed up in court with the New Hampshire attorney hired for the hearing by Gayle Fulsom, Bur’s legal friend at the Hartford office of Winnow, Smith, Quinlan. Within an hour’s time, John Vignone had presented the medical records of Vivian Lorraine Mulroney. Any sensible person could see Vivian was in no shape to make decisions about her own future when Steve was transferring all of her property into his own name.
It also turned out that Vivian’s boyfriend, Dr. Jason Smith, was back in New Hampshire, and he was a great witness, telling the judge about the lengthy discussions he had had with Vivian about Jenny’s future. It turned out that he was the one who advised her to put more money each month into the college fund. The reunion between teen and mother’s lover was bittersweet. They had both loved Vivian and both lost her. Jason was now married, with a child on the way. He seemed at a loss as to what to do about the young woman he had once considered adopting.
Three of Jenny’s high school teachers provided testimony on Vivian’s conversations during parent-teacher conferences, her interest in sending Jenny to college, and even Jenny’s consistently good schoolwork. Kenny had first contacted them when he ran a background check on Jenny, and he was impressed with what they had to say about her. The judge was equally impressed.
Kenny also managed to track down Vivian’s relatives, who had, it seems, been told that she moved without leaving a forwarding address, right after Steve transferred the property into his own name following the marriage. They testified their cards and letters had been returned to them as undeliverable, and their phone calls rebuffed, all part of Steve’s plan to make Vivian and her daughter disappear from public view. Before the distant cousins left the judge’s chambers, they made sure Jenny knew of their desire to remain in touch and even invited her to visit whenever she felt inclined.
But best of all? With medical charts and scans in hand, the oncologist detailed Vivian’s illness for the probate judge. Jenny looked stricken as the doctor pointed out the locations of each of the tumors and explained the erratic behavior of his patient over the last few months of her life. Listening, my heart ached for the teen. She had been the one at her mother’s bedside during those long months, not Steve.
The final nail in the wicked stepfather’s legal coffin was hammered in by the three visiting nurses, who had provided the hospice care to Vivian. They swore that Jenny was the one who changed her mother’s adult diapers, tended to her personal hygiene, and even spoon-fed her when she was too weak to feed herself.
“I’ll make my ruling after I have reviewed all of the material,” said the probate judge. “But first I would like to consult with the district attorney and the Pelham Police Department about criminal charges in this matter.”