The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER THREE

ZARA

Richmond, Virginia

Saturday, June 5, 8:00 p.m.

The drive should have taken five hours. But big dogs had big bladders, and little dogs had tiny little clocks in their bodies that went off about every two hours, requiring additional pee breaks. And once you let one dog out, the other two were not going to be left behind, so every two hours, they stopped, peed, received a snack, and walked around.

It was eight when Zara pulled into the driveway of her grandmother’s house. Made of white stucco, it was one story and crafted in a Mediterranean style of the 1920s. When her grandfather had died, his will had stipulated that his wife would remain in the house until her death, and after that the house would be jointly inherited by Gina and Zara.

Out of the car, she lifted a sleeping Little Sister and attached her leash to her pink rhinestone collar. Next, she hooked the boys’ leashes and grabbed a plastic bag tucked in the door pocket. Then the four of them walked the tree-lined street toward the small park that stretched along the James River.

The evening breeze had thinned the humidity, and the air had softened. She had often jogged or biked this trail as a kid, and it reminded her that belonging somewhere did have perks from time to time.

The boys tugged on their leashes with their noses pressed to the ground. Little Sister walked at a slower pace and was more particular about where she peed.

It took fifteen minutes before everyone was ready to return, but Zara kept walking, needing a few more minutes of peace before the inevitable.

A man rode by on a bike and paused to look at her, and she stood a little straighter. He was midthirties, attractive, and fit, looking like he cycled a lot. There was interest in his gaze, but it quickly dwindled when he inventoried all the dogs. He pedaled faster.

“That’s right; crazy dog lady has come home,” she said.

Shifting Little Sister to her left arm, she turned around, and the four of them strolled along the winding path. At the van, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the driver’s-side window. Her hair was sticking up, her mascara was smudged, and her favorite T-shirt, which she had changed into in the rear of the van after the funeral, was inside out.

She poured water into each of the boys’ bowls as well as into Little Sister’s pink rhinestone-studded dish, which she had snagged from the colonel’s house before the funeral. She had expected the bowl and the dog would be staying with Kelly, but here they were. The trio lapped up their water, and then each accepted a small piece of a Slim Jim she had bought at a gas station an hour ago.

“Ready or not, here we go.”

With Little Sister tucked under her arm and the boys following, she walked up the brick herringbone sidewalk toward the large arching front door painted a dark green and adorned with a bullnose door knocker. There was a time when she would have pushed through the door and made herself at home, but since her grandfather’s death, she had drifted so far away she did not feel like she belonged.

She rang the bell.

Nerves jangled in her belly, jacking up her adrenal system. Her heart beat faster. “This is silly,” she said to Little Sister. “We’ve nothing to worry about.”

Inside, the click of Gina’s high heels echoed in the foyer. The sound reminded her of the younger version of their grandmother, who had worn heels until the orthopedist had exiled her to flats ten years before.

The door opened to a flutter of green fabric mingling with the soft scent of expensive Italian perfume. The perfume’s name escaped Zara, but the sweet, faintly spicy scent was her sister’s trademark. Gina had cut her blonde hair into a stylish pixie cut and had accented her green eyes with black liner and mascara that transformed pretty eyes into mesmerizing.

When Zara had been in high school, she’d had her share of boyfriends, but Gina, then in her late twenties, had had the ability to hypnotize all males the instant she walked into a room. Gina was never coy about her sex appeal, but to her credit, she embraced it, and the woman worked it.

Gina’s A-line dress nipped at her narrow waist, and the off-the-shoulder sleeves drew attention to milky-white skin that she relentlessly protected with sunscreen and umbrellas. The heels were black leather and, naturally, Italian. Again, the brand escaped Zara.

“You made it,” Gina said. “I was worried.”

“Traveling with three dogs takes longer than I figured. Sorry about that. I like the haircut.”

“Thanks. Needed a change.” Gina leaned in to kiss Zara on the cheek, only to have Little Sister growl softly. Her sister straightened, shooting the dog a disapproving look. “The newest of the pack?”

“Her name is Little Sister. And you can’t tell me anything I haven’t already told myself. It’s a little excessive.”

Gina reached to pet Little Sister, but the dog growled. “She has an attitude.”

“She’s had a rough couple of days. Lost a family, gained a pack of traveling companions. She’s on edge.”

“Little Sister and I should start a club,” Gina said. “It’s been no picnic here either.” She stared at the boys. “Have they done their business?”

“Yes.”

“Because the oriental rugs in this house are handmade.”

“I remember. It’s why I could never have a dog as a kid.”

“The carpets are works of art, not scattered newspaper.”

“You sound like Nonna. And the pups will be fine. Where is Nonna?”

“She’s in her bed, sleeping.”

“Good, that will give us time to talk about her, because when I spoke with her three nights ago, she was fine.”

“You know Nonna. She’s always fine. But she hasn’t been for a long time.”

The pups and Zara followed Gina through the house, and a couple of times the boys paused to sniff. She coaxed them along, knowing the last thing they all needed was a hiked leg and a puddle.

The kitchen was large, and though it had not been renovated in twenty-plus years, it had an old-world charm, including a large brick fireplace, a white AGA stove, and a large rustic wooden table that could seat ten. The floor was made of wide-plank hardwoods, well worn by years of foot traffic. The sink was white porcelain and the backsplash handmade yellow-and-blue Italian tile, and in the center of the long farmhouse table sat a large wooden bowl filled with red apples and lemons.

“This hasn’t changed. Thank God,” Zara said.

“The world might come to an end one day, but this kitchen will remain untouched. Too many good memories in here.”

Their grandfather had been a talented cook, and the family had shared endless meals around the big table. Papa had always sat at the head and Nonna at the opposite end. Gina had taken the east side, closest to the kitchen, and Zara had sat across from her. She smoothed her fingers over the table’s polished wood and was certain she could not enjoy a meal at the table unless she sat in her chair. The universe would basically be unbalanced.

Gina rested a large brass teakettle on the stove burner and set out two porcelain cups.

This was all very civilized, and each was pretending that the world was not shifting. But it was all changing. Nonna’s dying meant the last of their family was crumbling.

The boys settled on the floor. Each was clearly glad to be free of the van and sitting in one stationary place. Little Sister closed her eyes, and her head drifted against Zara’s chest.

“What did the doctor say about Nonna?” Zara asked.

“She has advanced heart failure.” Gina carefully laid a tea bag in each cup.

“She’s ninety-seven and has had to be mindful of her activities for years. That’s nothing new.”

“It’s more than that. She has twenty percent heart capacity, and that’s not going to last. The doctor has given her a few months.”

“You said six weeks.”

“Six or twelve weeks,” Gina said, shaking her head. “Basically, she’s running out fast.”

Nonna had been the rock of their family. Always unflappable, weathering the storm of her son’s passing and then the arrival of his two daughters. Nothing had seemed to trouble her until their grandfather had died. Then the foundation under her feet had crumbled. Nonna had grown angry and bitter after her husband’s death, and it seemed only Gina could charm her out of her bad moods.

“Is Amanda still coming in and helping?” Zara asked.

“Yes. She’s still here from eight to two, and she’ll return in the morning. But Nonna is requiring more care at night.”

“If you need more in-home medical care,” Zara said, “I can get top-notch nurses in here.”

“Nonna doesn’t want a home nurse. She likes Amanda, but she wants you in charge of her care.”

“Why would she want me? I irritate the hell out of her, Gina. She makes that clear every time I call.”

“She wants you home.”

“I’ll stay, but it’s not going to last. She’s going to get pissed off at me, her blood pressure is going to spike, and then it’ll be a 911 call and off to the hospital.”

The kettle whistled, and Gina poured the hot water into the cups. She stirred the tea gently and dropped a sugar cube into each. “Believe me; I tried to tell her that. But she won’t listen.”

“I’ll be nice. I’ll try not to ruffle her feathers.”

Gina set the teacup in front of Zara. “Good.”

Zara sipped the tea, wishing it had a shot of whiskey. “How is the shop?”

Their grandparents had wished for more children, but their hopes had never been realized. Nonna had become restless and bored when their only child had entered middle school, and it had been their grandfather who’d suggested Nonna open a dress shop. She had been working in a couture salon in Rome in the 1940s when she’d met their grandfather, who had been serving in the US Army. The way they’d told it, it had been love at first sight, and they’d met and married immediately. Zara’s father had been born in 1945.

Gina and Zara had often pressed their grandparents for details about their love affair, but both had never really answered their questions. The local dress shop, Renata’s, had opened in 1957 and had been a staple for women who liked vintage and couture fashion. Hers was a small, exclusive clientele.

“We’ve several commissions for spring weddings. And the vintage items always sell well.” Her grandmother had taken Gina and then Zara to several estate sales, searching for vintage designer dresses. Whereas the fashion gene had skipped Zara, Nonna and Gina lived and breathed Valentino, Saint Laurent, and Prada. “I’ve been ignoring the shop badly lately. And I really need to spend more time there.”

“I get it. It’s my shift now. I have it covered,” Zara said.

Gina smiled, and for the first time Zara noticed her makeup was not quite hiding the shadows under her eyes. A bell rang from the other room, and the boys raised their heads and barked. Little Sister’s head popped up, and before her eyes were fully open, she was also barking.

“Please,” Gina said. “Can you stop the noise? It cuts through my head.”

“They’re dogs. That’s what they do,” Zara said. She never yelled at her dogs, knowing each had endured enough trauma. She reached in her pocket and handed treats to them all.

“Now you’re encouraging the behavior,” Gina said.

“They’re quiet. Goal achieved.” Zara handed Little Sister to Gina. “You hang out with the guys, and I’ll go talk to Nonna. Better to introduce the crew slowly but surely.”

Gina held the little dog out, as if she had been handed a live hand grenade. “Does she bite?”

“Only exquisitely dressed women who smell nice.”

“Then you’re clearly safe.”

Chuckling, Zara waved away the retort and headed toward her grandmother’s bedroom. She paused and looked in the room that had been hers for ten years and noted since Christmas it had been stripped of her furniture and turned into a storage room for gowns. Down the carpeted hallway, she noted the other spare room was also packed with gowns. However, Gina’s room was as she had left it.

“That’s right; erase Zara,” she muttered.

She reached the last door and pushed it open. For a brief second, she was twelve years old, and she could hear her grandmother singing as she sat in front of the window. Yards of lush fabric had draped her lap as she’d sewn one of the many thousands of gowns she had made in her life.

Today, the blinds were drawn, and her grandmother lay in the center of her four-poster bed. She looked small and fragile and was buried under a mountain of quilts. The room was warm, but a constant chill was the sign of a failing heart. Nonna’s body was not pumping enough blood to her extremities. Her grandmother’s face was pale, and her hair was as white as the lace pillowcase. The lines in her face, traces of a life well lived, were deeper and more pronounced.

Everyone died. Everyone came to this earth with an expiration date. Zara counseled her patients about this moment and warned them about the stages of grief. But in this instant, all her wise words sounded empty and did nothing to change that this sucked.

“Nonna, it’s Zara.”

Silence hovered in the room, and her grandmother did not open her eyes. Her breathing was so shallow it prompted Zara to move closer. Jesus, had the woman died? Panic swelled.

“Nonna!” Zara took her thin wrist, held two fingers against the pale-blue lines, and searched for a pulse.

Nonna’s eyes remained closed, but finally she drew in a deep breath. “I am not dead yet.”

“Damn it, Nonna. You scared the hell out of me.”

“Language, please, Zara.”

Zara laid her grandmother’s wrist on the soft bedsheet. “Sorry.”

Nonna’s eyes fluttered open, and sharp brown eyes stared at her. Slowly a thin pale brow arched. “My God, girl. What happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” Zara asked.

“I thought perhaps you’d been ill or attacked by a band of marauders. And what is that smell?”

When Zara’s patients became ill, their loved ones often treated them differently. They patronized them, agreed when they normally would have argued. People were trying to be kind to their loved ones, when all the dying wanted was to hang on to the last shreds of normalcy left on this earth.

Zara owed it to Nonna to treat her as she always had. “Ah, Nonna, an insult about my appearance. Now I feel like I’m really home.”