A Fool Stumbles Into Love Ch. 06

Maureen asked, "Why are you showing me all this?"

Andrea could see the anger in her daughter's face; she heard it in her voice; the plaintiff's cry of stop, desist, but also the plea for more, something still unsaid, some kind of closure. Maybe this was a mistake?

She handed her daughter another picture.

The next snapshot Maureen saw was of that same little girl sitting in the old gazebo, a blanket of some sort wrapped around her legs. The girl had on some kind of hat, a crown, maybe a tiara. She had something in her hand, a wand perhaps, or a child's scepter. She knew who the girl was.

There was more! There was somebody else in the picture, not an adult. She saw a little boy! The boy was small; he had sandy colored hair. In his hand there looked like what might be a stick or a sword. In his other hand there was something else; something odd, really too big for the boy. The thing was shaped like some medieval shield. The boy was holding a sword and a shield.

She couldn't see the boy's face. He seemed to be bending or twisting down and around; standing at the bottom of the gazebo steps. He might have been saying something, maybe talking to the little girl, talking to her. The boy was certainly small; he couldn't have been much, if any, older than the girl.

Yes she could see they were talking. She wondered what they might have been saying.

Maureen put the picture down. She looked accusingly at her mother. OK, she knew she was the girl, so what about the boy? She didn't dare ask. She was afraid she already knew.

Andrea felt sick at what she was doing, but she knew now this was the right thing. There was only one more picture. She handed it out to her.

Maureen was at first disinclined to accept what she saw as her mother's last offering. She didn't want to know. She took it.

This was ghastly! There were five people; her father and mother she recognized immediately. The little girl in the wheel at the center of the group was wearing a little tiara and holding up a scepter. God she looked so weak, so pitiable.

The little boy was there too; sandy hair, bright shiny eyes, sad but encouraging smile. He was gripping the sword in one hand and holding the shield in the other. He was holding the sword down; blade tip pointing at the ground. He had a gentle but protective look. He wasn't looking at the photographer; he was looking at the little girl.

Oh God! Maureen saw the girl had her hand on his right arm! She knew it was she and Cal! He was the little boy! He was standing guard! He was pretending to be her protector!

Maureen, still staring at the picture, trying to make out everything else whispered, "Oh mom."

Maureen saw how tired her father looked. She saw the fatigue and the fear in her mother's countenance. Her mother, like the little boy, was looking at the little girl She could see the fear, the uncertainty; it was written all over her mother's face.

She glanced down at her strong muscular legs; at the many thin slivers of white scar tissue. She looked up at her mom. What horrors, what torments had her mother gone through during those awful days, "Mom." She couldn't get anything else out.

There was one more person in the picture; a young looking woman, quite pretty. She had a very reassuring, confident look.

Maureen asked, "Who is the other woman?"

Her mom answered, "That's Cal's mom."

Maureen was confused, "Who took the picture?"

Andrea smiled, "Jared."

Maureen burst into tears. She sobbed uncontrollably. She fell into her mother's arms. She wrapped her arms around her mother, "Oh mom, oh mom, mommy."

Andrea held her daughter tightly, she consoled her with soft words, she wiped her hand down the back of her head, straightening her hair. She pressed her cheek against her daughter's, "There, there. I know, I know. It's all right. Everything's all right."

But for Maureen everything wasn't all right. Nothing was all right! She couldn't remember any of it. All the pictures did was show her who she was. They didn't bring anything to life. She whimpered, "Mom I can't remember. I can't remember any of it. Mom, why can't I remember?"

Andrea kept stroking her daughter's head. She kept whispering nothings in her ear. Then she said, "I have something else."

Maureen leaned back a little, "Oh no! What now?"

Andrea leaned down and around and reached under the sofa. She'd had an old shopping bag stored away in the top of her closet for twenty years. Earlier, while Maureen was out, she'd found it and brought it down. She pulled the old bag from under the sofa. It was old, dried, and brittle, ready to disintegrate.

She pulled several small items from the bag. First she pulled out a paper tiara, a tiny little cheaply made paper crown. Next came a tiny wooden scepter. One end had several Popsicle sticks glued together. It looked like the glue was so dry any sudden movement would cause the tired old sticks to fall off. There was still the residue of old sprinkle material, barely any, on the end of the wood. Third, she pulled out a cardboard sword. Last out came the shield.

Maureen just sat and wept. Every new artifact was like a fossil, the three dimensional proofs of a life she couldn't remember.

Andrea told her daughter, "Read the names on the tiara and the sword."

Maureen knew what names were there. She held each object up; on the tiara was printed in small neat letters 'Princess Maureen', on the sword 'Prince Cal'.

She put the old toys down and buried her head in her mother's breasts. She wept, she cried, she sobbed, over and over and over, "Oh mom, oh mom. "

Andrea lay the child's things aside. She lay back on the couch, pulling her daughter back against her, "Let me tell you a story."

Maureen wrapped her left arm back behind and around her mother's waist. She lay her right arm on her mother's ap. She laid her head on her breasts. She was a little girl again; her mom's little girl.

Andrea held her daughter's head tightly beneath her chin. She kissed the top of her head while she used her left hand to caress her face. She closed her eyes; 'my little girl, my precious, perfect person.'

Over the next half hour Andrea told her daughter of the little girl, the big maple, the terrible accident, the brush with death, the inexperienced nurse, the little boy, the long months of suffering and insecurity, the uncertainty right up to and through the spring, summer and into the fall. She talked about the charity, the separation, the heartbreak, and then the hospital, the operations and therapy. She explained about the little boy too, his helpfulness, his loss, his heartache, his anger, his loneliness, and the eventual loss of his mother.

Maureen listened to the like it was a lost fairy story, which in fact it had become. She wondered if she'd ever really remember any of it. She kept thinking about the little boy.

Maureen knew who the boy was, but she still needed reassurance, "The little boy was my Cal wasn't he."

Andrea, still holding her daughter tightly, "Who would have dreamed the two of you would find each other again?"

Maureen felt better. This really was like a fairy tale. There were no deep dark dangerous secrets; no terrible or hidden dangers, only a story filled with love, lots of love. It was a story that had been shelved for twenty years, but never discarded, never trashed or thrown away. It had been a story long saved, waiting for the right time to resurface.

A lot more made sense to Maureen now. It helped explain her immediate attraction to Cal; her willingness to see him differently from the ways she'd seen other men, her easy empathy for his suppressed anger and unhappiness.

To her it was like the parting of the waters. Cal was exactly who he was, her meant to be, that one and only special someone. Theirs was that unique, that special love, a relationship that had, could have only, been made in heaven.

She understood too, it didn't have to happen that way; any twist, any turn, any misstep could have taken everything and everyone in a dozen different directions. But those things didn't happen. Everything twisted and turned the right way. She remembered that first night at the tavern; Sandy's insistence that she go. She almost didn't, but she did.

She looked at the pictures of her injury time over and over again; she kept looking at the pictures of the little boy. He really had been her guardian angel, her rescuer, her dragon slayer. She realized she loved him now more than ever!

Maureen asked her mom. "Does he know?"

Andrea answered, "No he doesn't know."

Maureen looked at the scars on her legs. She looked at the old picture of her mom. She smoothed her fingers over the old toys. She pressed back against her mother again, "Mom?"

Her mother responded, "Yes honey?"

"Mom will you sleep with me tonight?"

Andrea kissed her daughter's cheek. They hadn't slept together in years, "Oh course darling."

Together mother and daughter got up and went back into Maureen's bedroom. It was the same tired old bed a crippled little girl had slept in, but that had been a long time ago. The mattress was new; the sheets were new too, satin, stained in places, but the love wasn't, the love was old, enduring.

Neither slept well that night. Andrea lay awake most of the night listening to her daughter; not a new thing for her. Maureen wept and dreamt. Andrea guessed the pictures, the old toys, and their shared talk might be stirring some old long forgotten memories. She hoped and prayed most of those terrible old days stayed buried, but she was glad the idea of those days had at last been brought out.

Andrea had done a lot of praying in and beside this old bed. She prayed again tonight.

Cal got home shortly after 12:00. He was dead dog tired, bushed. Pulling into his short drive he saw his grandfather's car; a very late model Chevrolet. There were a few things Cal's grandfather prided himself on. Cal always tried to live up to the same standards. One was his grandfather believed in honesty and fair dealing; for Jared a handshake meant something. He was a devoted believer in the Calvinist work ethic, and he believed a person didn't just throw things away. If it could be fixed, it could be kept. Granddad's truck was proof of that; a sixteen year old Chevy Silverado, four wheel drive, long bed, extended cab.

Cal recalled when it was time for his first vehicle it turned out to be a used Silverado just like Grandpa's except for the long bed. That was the same truck whose transmission died the other night. Cal bet grandpa was dropping his car off to so he could claim his truck, and he just bet the transmission in Cal's truck had already been pulled.

Cal figured his grandpa was there because he wanted his truck. Cal also bet grandpa was a little put off having to come get it; especially since Cal said he'd bring it back.

Cal got out. Walked up his steps, opened the screen door and his house door. He got inside and saw his grandfather sitting at his kitchen table having a cup of probably warmed over coffee.

Once Cal got inside Jared said, "Sit down a minute son."

Cal didn't wait for the sermon, "I'm sorry about not bringing your truck right back. I..."

Jared waved his grandson off, "Forget it, that's not why I'm here."

Cal said, "Oh."

Jared asked, "You feeling all right?"

Cal replied, "Yes sir."

Jared asked, "Job going OK?"

Cal nodded and answered, "Yes sir."

Jared, "How's the gazebo coming."

Cal responded, "Good."

Jared hesitated then added, "Found a used transmission for your truck."

Cal replied, "Thanks grandpa." It was grandpa now. The old man was being fatherly, Cal could never remember not thinking of his grandfather as being anything but old; it was like the man was born old.

Jared went on, "You want me to put it in?"

Cal answered, "Yes sir."

The younger man knew there was something on the older man's mind. He hadn't come down just to tell him he had a transmission, and if he really wanted the pick up all he had to do was call.

Jared asked, "How are you and the girl doing?"

That was another thing that annoyed Cal. The old man hardly ever took an interest in Cal's social life before. In fact the only time he ever really interfered with anything he did was when Cal said he was getting a motorcycle. He remembered it was the only time he ever saw Jared blow up. He'd thrown Cal up against a wall, and threatened if he wanted to get killed he'd kill him himself and get it over with. Cal never brought up buying a motorcycle again.

Another thing that got to Cal was how his grandfather seemed to know so much about this girl and her family. He knew his grandpa wasn't a snoop, but where did he get all his information?

Cal gave him the news, "I asked her to marry me. Is that all right with you sir?"

Jared answered, "It's not up to me Cal. If you love her, you don't need my approval."

Cal retorted, "No sir, but it would be nice."

Jared actually smiled, "She's a good girl. You could do a lot worse."

Cal thought, 'there he goes again. How does he know she's a good girl?' He said, "Thanks grandpa."

Jared had come down because there was something he wanted to do. He had begun to get cold feet, but the marriage comment gave him more courage. Still he wasn't quite ready to bring up why he was there, "The transmission I got is a good one."

"Thanks grandpa," Cal knew damn well this visit wasn't about any transmissions. His grandfather had something on his mind, it was important, and it couldn't or wouldn't wait. He wished the old man would come to the point. He was tired, he wanted to get to bed, he'd promised Maureen an early start in the morning.

Jared started fumbling around in the pockets of his overalls. He pulled out a napkin and un-wrapped whatever was in it. He had something in his hand, but wasn't ready to show it to Cal. Not yet.

The old man looked at the junk in his napkin covered hand. He almost decided to put the damn things away and just leave. Then he said to himself, 'crap, get them out.'

Cal sat quietly waiting, getting impatient.

Jared opened his hand.

Cal could see there was something there; it looked like old jewelry, rings.

Jared took the rings he had in his left palm, and held them between the index finger and thumb of his right. He put them on the table, "Thought you might like to have these."

Cal saw what they were; two old and clearly inexpensive rings, an engagement and probably a wedding ring. He knew his mother never got married. A light blinked on in his head. They were his grandmother's rings!

Cal nervously picked them up. Yeah they wouldn't bring much money, but he knew right away they would be the most valuable jewelry he'd ever own. "These are grandmother's." That wasn't a question; just a statement.

Jared answered, "She never had them long, five years I guess. She died; I put them away after we buried her. They've been in the attic most of forty years I guess."

Cal held them in his hand. He turned them over and over in his palm. These rings were priceless. No amount of money could buy anything like this. He thought of the graves down by the river; the people buried there, their dreams, what they must have wanted for their kids. He looked at his grandpa; it was like looking at those graves, only this time he knew things. Just what he knew he wasn't sure, but he knew things. Sometimes it was like that; a man could know something, and not be able to explain what it was he knew.

Cal said to Jared, "Would it be all right if I gave these rings to Maureen. I mean if we used them the way way you and grandma did?"

Jared's fear, his reluctance to share the rings had been completely without merit. He would have liked to say something; tell Cal how much the rings meant, how important they were, how pleased he was Cal accepted them, he just couldn't find the words.

Jared answered, "You can if you want, but if she doesn't like them or wants something fancy I'll understand. They're old, and they didn't cost much money."

Cal kept looking at the rings, there were tiny scratches on the band. He was afraid to look up at his grandfather; afraid he'd embarrass himself and his grandfather, "I think she'll like them."

Jared stood up, "Well they're yours." He pretended to look at his watch, "Got to go. Call me tomorrow afternoon. I should have your transmission in by then."

Cal walked his grandfather to the door, "I'll call." As Jared made his way down the steps Cal called after him, "Thank you grandpa."

Jared turned, raised one hand, and shook the boy off like it was no big deal.

Cal went back inside, put the rings on the counter above the microwave, scratched Maggie's head, and waited for his grandfather to pull away. He turned out the outside light, and started up the steps to bed. On the way up the steps he started doing something very unmanly. He might have laughed had he known Jared was doing the very same distinctly unmanly thing.

Maureen went to bed with her mother, but sleep had become that quintessential delectation that was always just one deep breath, one weary sigh, one more toss, one more curled pillow out of reach. She tossed, she turned. She curled into a fetal ball, nothing worked.

She rubbed her hands over her muscular thighs, feeling those slight escarpments that had taunted her all her life. The images of that poor sickly girl, the sad little boy haunted her. Was that she? Was that Cal? Were they once those two tiny urchins clinging to some fantasy world only a child would understand?

The pictures were the proof. She had her mother's testimony. There had been the immediacy of the link between her and Cal, and as she lay there bits and pieces of long suppressed events did start to resurface.

Maureen remembered that same one time smarmy teacher who'd tried to seduce her. He'd talked about 'Freud's Iceberg'. She thought that's what he called it. How did that go? There was the tip of the iceberg; that which was on the surface, the things people saw and noticed in the moment. There was the tidal zone, the area that was partly obscured, partly exposed as the waves sloshed by; that was everything one could readily remember. Last there was the submerged iceberg; all the things experienced but forgotten, trapped and filed away someplace. Those things he said could be brought back with the proper cues. Well she had the pictures, she had the old toys, and she had her mom; why couldn't she pull the stuff back up?

She was going mad! She couldn't sleep. She couldn't think. She couldn't remember. But what had impelled her to want to build a gazebo? Why not a shed, a screened in porch, hell a merry go round, anything but a gazebo? Had the idea for a gazebo been some long lost messenger from the past crying to get out; fighting its way back to the surface?

Why had Cal been so ready to build it, and even pay for it? Was there something pulling at him too?

Everything made sense! Nothing made sense!

One thing stood starkly clear! She loved Cal. She loved him with all her heart, and all her soul, and all her might. He was everything to her.

What had he said at the little graveyard? She remembered, he'd said,' What you think I saved your life or something?' She didn't know it then, but she knew it now. Once upon a time he had saved her life. Right now he was Cal Burkheim, dolt, clumsy, caring, lovable Cal, but once he'd been Prince Cal, hero, guardian, and protector. Did he know any of this? How was she going to tell him? Should she tell him? And what prompted him to bring up the 'did I save your life' thing anyway?

Eventually Maureen would find sleep. She'd dream. Once fast asleep, her deepest memories would come flooding back. In her dreams during those darkest hours of the morning just before dawn, all her child's memories would come streaming back. Regrettably, the brain chemical that affords long term memory retention isn't produced for dreams. She'd awaken, sort of remember, but as somnolence died, so would the memories.