Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [28]
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Tillie rocked quietly. I gazed at the candy dish, wishing for another piece.
Finally Tillie said, “I suppose one more won’t spoil your supper.”
She lifted the lid and offered me yet another butter mint.
“These are good,” I said.
“They’re my favorite.” Tillie nodded. “I got this dish as a wedding gift, and it’s been filled with butter mints ever since. Fifty years of butter mints.”
“Did your husband like them too?”
“Oh my, yes. He’d eat a fistful at a time.” She smiled at the memory.
“Tillie?”
“Yes, Roz?”
“How long ago did he die?”
Tillie took a deep breath, let it out. “A little more than a year ago.”
“You miss him?”
“More than I can say.”
I don’t know why, but her confession made me think of Daddy sitting on the front steps crying. I looked at Tillie. Her eyes were moist. “I’m sorry, Tillie,” I said.
She nodded slightly, tried to smile. “You always know you’re going to lose your loved ones in the end, but even so, you’re never prepared for it. Not really.”
The last bit of butter mint melted between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. I swallowed, savoring the taste. I didn’t know what to say to Tillie; I’d never lost anyone other than my grandmother, who’d died when I was six.
Instead of finding something comforting to say, I asked, “He died in this house, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.” She nodded toward the wall. “Right there in the master bedroom. It was unexpected. He slipped away peacefully in his sleep.”
I looked over my shoulder at Tillie’s bed, splendid with its shiny brass frame and colorful wedding quilt. He must have died in that bed. “Tillie, do you believe in ghosts?”
“Goodness no. I believe in heaven.”
I turned back to look at her. She was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, which she stuffed back into her skirt pocket. I decided to get off the subject of her husband. I’d been wanting to talk with her about something else anyway.
“Tillie?”
“Yes?”
I pursed my lips. Finally I said, “Do you know anyone in Mills River who wears a fishing hat?”
“A fishing hat?”
“Yeah.”
She frowned in thought. “Not that I can think of. Why do you ask?”
I wanted to give her an answer. I wanted to tell her I thought I’d seen Daddy twice, but I couldn’t do it. If I let the words out of my mouth, I didn’t know what kind of harm they would do, especially to Mom. Surely, I decided, I was seeing things. Or maybe there were plenty of men in Mills River who wore fishing hats like Daddy’s. Why not? Daddy wasn’t the only man in the world who liked to fish.
I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”
“You look worried,” she said. “If something’s bothering you, you can always tell me.”
Valerie woke up from her nap then and began to cry. I was glad for the interruption.
“Well, there she blows,” Tillie said. “Best get her up and start supper.”
Tillie rose from the rocking chair and headed for the door. I followed, popping another butter mint into my mouth and momentarily swallowing my fears about Daddy.
chapter
9
Late on a Saturday morning in mid-September, Tillie sent me into town to deliver some aspirin to Mom. She rolled a couple of tablets in a napkin, stuffed it into my shorts pocket, and sent me off with instructions to go straight to the store and not get sidetracked. As I walked the streets between our house and Marie’s Apparel, I felt immensely important. Mom had a headache, and I was the one who was going to stop it. I was the chosen one, the only one who could accomplish a dangerous mission like this. The secret formula, the reliever of pain, had been entrusted to me, and I would brave anything to get it into the hands of my suffering mother: snow, sleet, hail, lightning, hordes of thieves, packs of wolves . . .
A car honked just as I was about to cross Grand Avenue, bringing me back to the serenity of downtown Mills River. I felt my shoulders hunch and my face turn red. The only dangerous thing about this town was my own imagination. If I was killed on the way to the store, it would be because I wasn’t paying attention.