Love Shadows. Catherine Lanigan
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to Curls and Combs and no matter what the weather, rain or snow, Mrs. Beabots made the trek—even if she had to dress in rain gear and galoshes.
Sarah had given up trying to drive Mrs. Beabots to the grocery store, hairdresser or the post office. Mrs. Beabots was a walker. In her younger years, she used to ride a bike all over town and even out to the farms to buy whatever vegetables were in season. However, at seventy, Mrs. Beabots was told she had osteoporosis. She was warned that, should she ever take a spill on her bike, her injuries could be serious. Mrs. Beabots chose right then and there to walk. She bought a rolling grocery cart and hauled it up and down Main Street. What she couldn’t carry home, she had delivered.
“You look very pretty today, Mrs. Beabots,” Sarah said with a smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this dress.”
“It’s new. I got it at the Goodwill for a dollar. My guess is that the pink rosebuds and apple-green buttons aren’t quite the cup of tea for today’s fashionable types. But it suits me just fine. One should always wear flowered dresses in the spring and summer.” Mrs. Beabots nodded, more to herself than to Sarah. She glanced over at Sarah’s ice-blue silk skirt and double-breasted jacket. “You look lovely, as well, dearie,” she said.
“Thanks.”
Mrs. Beabots looked up at Sarah’s face, frowned and then focused her eyes on the sidewalk.
“What’s wrong?”
“Well, if you must know, I don’t much like your lipstick shade.”
“My what?” Sarah touched her finger to her lips reflexively.
“Well, maybe that isn’t it, after all,” Mrs. Beabots retracted.
“It’s not the lipstick?”
“It’s you, dearie. I’m very worried about you.”
“Why?”
“You’re too young to look...well, careworn.”
“I look...” Sarah felt the prick of tears at the corners of her eyes. She had no idea her sorrows and fears were this evident.
Mrs. Beabots had always possessed a certain crafty wile. As sweet as she’d always been to Sarah, loving her like a grandmother, she had no qualms about delivering a sucker punch when she felt it necessary.
Sarah was silent.
Mrs. Beabots squeezed her arm. “I think you should take a vacation,” she said with conviction. “Always does a body good to get away from the office. Mr. Beabots often said those very words to me.”
Sarah rolled her eyes heavenward. “How did you know?”
“Know what, dearie?” Mrs. Beabots stopped dead in her tracks, and with more strength than Sarah believed the elderly woman to have, she yanked back on Sarah’s arm, causing her to stumble a bit. “You aren’t sick, are you? Real sick? Not like your mother, are you?” Mrs. Beabots asked, fear flinging itself through her words.
Sarah patted her hand reassuringly. “No. No, I’m not sick at all. But something did happen on Friday that I haven’t told you.” Sarah paused and glanced up to see that they were nearly on the steps of St. Mark’s Church. “Apparently, my boss seems to feel the same way you do.”
“She fired you?”
“No, but she did give me a forced leave of absence. Essentially, I don’t have a job for the summer.” Sarah didn’t feel the tear escape her eye until it slid off the edge of her jaw. “I have no place to go every day. I won’t see my coworkers or have lunch with them. They’ll be too busy. But I won’t be busy, and I have to stay busy.”
“Why?”
The tear was joined by a legion of the same. “Because then I’ll have to listen to the emptiness in the house. Then I’ll have to think about the fact that I’m all alone.”
Mrs. Beabots patted Sarah’s hand. “No, you aren’t, dear. You have me. You have lots of friends in Indian Lake. Don’t forget your aunt Emily and uncle George are here. They’re your family. You should talk to Emily. She’s always got good advice.”
“You think I need advice?”
“I think you need time to sort it all out. Sometimes, pumpkin, we all need to step back and think about what it is that we really want for ourselves.”
Sarah wiped her tears away as they started into the church. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”
Mrs. Beabots squeezed Sarah’s arm again as they entered the nave. Lowering her voice, she said, “And get a new lipstick.”
* * *
ONCE INSIDE ST. MARK’S, Sarah sat up front on purpose. As Mrs. Beabots had once pointed out, no one likes to sit in the front of the church. Therefore, the seat pads in the front pews were used less than those in the back, and were still firm and thick with plush foam and down. Sitting on the green, tufted cushion, Sarah had to agree with Mrs. Beabots.
Sarah found her mind wandering during Father Michael’s sermon, and for the first time since she’d moved back to Indian Lake from Indianapolis, she realized that Father Michael’s voice did not sound as strong and as vibrant as she remembered. Cocking her head and peering at his face, she saw none of the passion radiating from his eyes that he’d once had.
He coughed several times during his delivery and faltered with his words. Then it hit her. He was sick. She truly hoped it wasn’t anything serious.
Father Michael was saying something about not being afraid. Reflecting on her personal life, she realized with a shock that she was deeply afraid. She had no job, at least for the moment, and the idea of her life without her work was absolutely unacceptable. She didn’t know how to be on vacation, as Mrs. Beabots put it.
I can’t vacate my life!
Her job as her mother’s caregiver was over, and that meant there was no need to rush home at night after work. There was no one else to cook for or clean up after. There was only her laundry to do and a few dishes to wash. The garden still needed tending, but other than Beauregard, there was nothing that needed her.
And no one.
I have no husband. Not even a boyfriend. No children. There’s no one to need me, want me or love me.
She looked down at her folded hands and realized they were shaking. Perhaps Mrs. Beabots was right after all, as she usually was. Sarah was careworn.
Dwelling on her problems caused her to slip into deeper despondency. Sarah had always prided herself on her cheery, happy nature. She’d never been depressed that she could remember. Not even after her breakup with James. Yet here she was, feeling unnaturally sorry for herself.
With her mind wandering, Sarah looked around at her old church, which had been built just after the First World War. It was odd how the windows didn’t let in the same sunlight they had when she was a child. The floors and carpets were dull and worn. The plaster on the ceiling was chipped and cracked. The paint on the walls was a murky brown that did little to uplift anyone’s spirits. She couldn’t help but wonder when or how it had fallen into such disrepair. If the plaster was cracked, what condition was the roof in? Did the brick need tuck-pointing? Her architecturally oriented mind went to work.
As the sermon ended, Sarah noticed how few people were in attendance. She especially noticed the fact that most of the congregation was nearing old age, and there were fewer than two dozen children present.
Sarah wasn’t sure if the summer season had brought on this decline in patronage, or if she just hadn’t been paying attention all these weeks and months while her mind had been focused on her mother. She guessed the latter.
Sarah flipped her bulletin over and read the back for announcements. She noticed that the Indian Lake Hospital was sponsoring a free bereavement group on Wednesday nights. The sessions were to last six weeks and were being held in a meeting room at the Indian Lake Public Library. As if a