The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER SEVEN

ZARA

Richmond, Virginia

Sunday, June 6, 5:30 a.m.

Zara woke before the sunrise, filled her travel mug with coffee, and walked her dogs along the James River. The early-summer drought had left the rocks exposed and the river hungry for water.

She had forgotten how pretty this area was and what a treasured childhood she and Gina had enjoyed here with her grandparents. Despite their age, her grandparents had sacrificed their retirement for parent-teacher meetings, soccer practices, and endless hormonal moody days. Nonna had been the disciplinarian, setting curfews and insisting both girls worked in the shop to earn an allowance. If Zara had a dime for all the garments collected from the changing rooms and rehung, she would have been rich. “You’ll appreciate the money more if you’ve earned it,” Nonna had often said.

Papa had been the soft touch. He had always found a way to charm his wife and get her to soften rules about dating or driving. “Renata, remember when you were that age?”

That had always prompted a raised brow and then a “Very well, Zara, you may have the car until . . .” They had been more like parents to her than her own parents.

When she and the pups returned, she doled out food to each dog and stood between them, watching as Billy gobbled his food and then stared at Gus, who never rushed a meal. When Billy shifted his gaze to Little Sister, she stepped away from her bowl.

“Nope, big fella. Let her eat.” She guarded the little dog. “Keep eating.”

Little Sister continued to nibble as Billy glanced between Zara and the other dogs’ food, as if he were somehow being cheated. When the trio had finished and each had lapped up water from the big bowl, she walked to the phone and the stack of envelopes.

They were all addressed to her grandfather, as all the bills had been. When he had passed, Nonna had seen no reason to change the accounts. The bills ranged from the electric company to the water and various other services that her grandmother had employed to keep this house running. The postmarks on the stack were several weeks old. She opened the first and found the red past-due stamp at the top. The next three bills were also overdue.

“What the hell, Gina? Why aren’t you paying the bills?”

She replaced the invoices in the envelopes and walked her trio to the garage and opened the door. She backed Gina’s blue Mercedes out and parked it on the street. Next, she pushed the trash cans and the unfilled garden pots to the side.

Looking toward the ceiling, she thought about the cramped, growing-hotter-by-the-moment attic space. “Can I trust you three to stay put?”

Gus sat and closed his eyes. Billy did the same, but Little Sister, not used to the nomad life, appeared confused. “You and I don’t know each other that well yet. But sometimes you need to be quiet while I work.” The day would come when her ties ended here, and she would move on to the next job. The thought gave her no joy, but it was her reality.

The dog cocked her head, and Zara saw a challenge. Zara grabbed one of her longest leashes, hooked it to Little Sister’s collar, and looped it around the base of a planter. She set a big bowl of water next to the dogs. “I’ve about an hour to work this morning. Stay tuned.”

On the way to the attic, she passed Gina’s room. Her bed was neatly made, suggesting she had not come home last night. “You’d better come back.”

Zara and Gina’s father had never stayed in any relationship long. He had left Gina’s mother when Gina was seven. Apparently, there had been several women between his first and second wife, who had been Zara’s mother. From what she remembered, her parents had never had a charmed marriage. The fights, the slamming doors, the empty bottles of wine piled in the trash all foretold of the divorce that her mother always claimed she’d never seen coming. Her father moved out when Zara was four, and ten days after his divorce from her mother, he’d died in a car accident.

Papa had driven to Raleigh and picked up Zara so she could attend. They left Raleigh immediately, rain beading against the windshield for nearly the entire drive. Papa did not try to cheer her up, but he was a steady presence that made her believe she was safe.

By the time they arrived in Richmond, snowflakes fell thick on the brick sidewalk from a gray sky. It was past midnight, and cold had sharpened the air. Papa carried her inside and laid her in Gina’s double bed, and her sister hugged her close.

The next morning, when Zara woke, she was confused and did not remember where she was.

“It’s okay,” Gina said, half-asleep. “Let’s find Nonna. She always gets up early.”

After taking Zara by the hand, she led her into the warm kitchen filled with the scents of cinnamon and sugar.

“Girls, are you hungry?”

“I’m starving,” Gina said.

“I made a pot of oatmeal, and there’s fresh bread. I don’t think I’ve made bread since I was a girl. We’ll see how much I remembered, eh, Zara?”

“Where’s Papa?” Zara asked.

“He’s taking care of a few details.” Later she would piece together that he had been making the funeral arrangements.

Nonna opened her stove. “You’ll be hungry, of course,” she said.

The bread, along with soft butter and a cold glass of milk, had been a welcome relief from the fast food and convenience-store chips and candy that her mother loved.

“Has Momma called?” Zara asked.

“No dear, not yet,” Nonna said. “She knows you’re in safe hands.”

Zara’s mother did not call for a week, and then she had shown up and told Zara it was time to leave. Zara had lived with her mother for the next seven years, and though Papa had sent a monthly check, they’d always seemed to have little money. Zara would spend summers with Nonna, Papa, and Gina, and their five-bedroom house seemed like a mansion compared to the two-bedroom apartment she shared with her mother.

Of the two Mitchell sisters, Gina was most like their father. She could never stay in one relationship long, and she was forever casting her gaze to the next horizon.

“You’d better come back, Gina,” Zara whispered. “I’m not doing this alone.”

She checked in on her grandmother, who lay on her side, sleeping. She crossed the room, confirmed she was breathing, and tugged the blanket up before she slipped out of the room.

Zara opened the attic door and climbed the stairs. The heat had abated since yesterday, but it would soon reach one hundred–plus degrees. That translated into surface-of-the-sun kind of hot.

The first few items included a broken lamp, stacked Christmas wreaths, and boxes of red, green, and blue lights. She settled the items in the garage and returned to the attic. Next came several broken tables, boxes containing bolts of fabric, wrapping paper, glass vases once filled with flowers likely delivered after her father’s or grandfather’s deaths, a cane chair with a worn-out seat, three different Christmas trees (green, silver, and pink), and a few small rugs that had been rolled up.

Within an hour, half the floor space of the garage was filled, and she was covered in sweat. She checked her watch, hurried into the kitchen, and assembled her grandmother’s morning meds. As she walked to her grandmother’s room, her phone dinged with a text from Gina.

Gina: Amanda running late. There by ten.

Zara: Where are you?

Gina: About to do unspeakable things to the man beside me in bed.

Zara: Have fun.

Gina: Always.

“Nonna, it’s time to get up,” Zara said, pocketing the phone.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“It’s almost nine.”

“Good Lord, why didn’t you wake me earlier?” she snapped.

“You were sleeping well.”

“I’ll be sleeping forever very soon, so I’d rather not do it now.” She sat up as Zara propped pillows behind her.

“Sleep is good for us all.” Zara handed her three pills and a glass of water. She watched carefully as her grandmother took each. Experience had taught her that not all patients were compliant. As death grew near, some resented the meds and the daily regimen. The fact that her grandmother was still accepting hers without a fuss was a good sign.

“What about my attic?” Nonna asked.

“I spent the last hour cleaning the first section out. There’s a lot more to do, but I put a good dent in it.”

“You haven’t thrown anything out, have you?” she asked.

“None of what I removed is worth saving. It’s a matter of trash versus thrift.”

“I am to make those decisions,” Nonna said. “I must see each item.”

“I can do this for you.”

“I do not wish you to do it for me. Now I must get up and get dressed. Where is Amanda?”

“Running late.”

“And Gina?”

“She’s out right now.”

“Where? She helps me in the morning when Amanda is running late.”

“And now I will.” Zara removed her covers and brought around the walker. “Let’s get you in the shower.”

“You know nothing about hair and makeup.”

“Maybe you can teach me a few tricks. You said enough times I should start trying.”

Her grandmother eyed her. “You don’t smell too good.”

“That would be because I’ve sweat my butt off cleaning out your attic.”

Nonna cocked an eyebrow, followed by an imperceptible lift of her shoulder. In the old woman’s world, that amounted to an acknowledgment that Zara was right.

The bathing process was fairly smooth, and within a half hour, her grandmother was clean, dressed in a fresh gown and a soft yellow bed jacket. As Zara brushed her hair, she noted all traces of Nonna’s signature blonde hair dye were gone. “Your hair is lovely.”

Her grandmother raised her gaze to the mirror and smoothed her hand over wrinkled skin. “I have not had it properly colored or styled in months.”

“Would you like your hair done?” Zara asked.

“I don’t have the energy to go to the salon. Gina does a good job but not like my hairdresser.”

“Who does your hair now?” Zara said.

“Her name is Delores. You do not know her.”

“At the Church Street Salon?” Zara squirted styling gel in her hand and rubbed it into her grandmother’s hair.

“Yes.”

“You’ve been seeing her for years.”

“Of course. She’s good.”

“I’ll call her.”

“Why?”

“To see if she can come here.”

“That’s unnecessary,” Nonna said. “It’s a great deal of fuss.”

“You like it done properly, so it’s necessary. Live a little, Nonna.”

Zara used a hair dryer to get the moisture out and add body to Nonna’s hair. She rubbed cream into her grandmother’s skin and added hints of blush and then eyebrow pencil.

Her grandmother regarded her image. “Thank God I’m not going anywhere today. People would think I’d been run over by a truck.”

“I think you look pretty good.”

Nonna regarded Zara’s sweat-stained shirt and tangled hair. “That is not saying much. Call Delores. Tell her it’s an emergency.”

Zara grinned. “Will do. Ready to see the garage, or do you want your coffee first?”

“The garage and then coffee.”

Using the walker, they made their way very slowly through the house, and Zara guided Nonna to the garage entrance. She pulled a chair from the kitchen and settled her grandmother on it. “We’ll call this game Giveaway and Keep, round one.”

Nonna adjusted her bed jacket. “This is not a game, Zara. It’s my life.”

“Our things are not us,” Zara said.

“Of course you believe that. It’s the nomad in your blood.”

“I travel to work. There is no wandering in my blood.”

Nonna shrugged. “You never know.”

Zara held up a Christmas tree with a broken stand. “Trash?”

“It can be fixed,” she said. “It needs the bottom repaired.”

“How long has it been broken?” Zara asked.

“That does not matter.”

And so it went. Every item, no matter how bent, twisted, or broken, could be fixed, still had a use, or should be put aside for another day.

By the end of round one, the score was Giveaway: zero and Keep: fifty-two. “I need to clear out the garage so I can refill it tomorrow.”

Zara’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. Nicolas Bernard. She had not seen the name in two years and automatically glanced to Gus, wondering if he had decided to reclaim his late wife’s dog. He had dutifully sent money to cover Gus’s vet bills but had never sent a text or note asking after either dog. Instead of answering the call, she let it go to voice mail.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“What are you going to do with all this?” Nonna demanded.

“I’ll handle it.” She helped her grandmother stand and guided her to her room. Within fifteen minutes, her grandmother was seated in her bed, a tray with her small espresso on her lap and The Price Is Right on the television. “Our next adventure is going to be in that wheelchair.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“You fall and break a hip, then it’s game over.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’ve seen it too many times. I’ll make sure your new ride is ready to go in the next hour.”

“Bossy.”

“Wonder who I inherited that from?”

When Zara returned to the garage, she looked at all the junk. There was no point returning it to the attic, and there was no room for it in the house. She called the local junk-collection service and arranged for it to be picked up.

“She’s going to kill me,” she said to Little Sister.

The dog licked her face as Gus let out a loud woof. He rose up off the cool concrete floor, his tail wagging.

A light-blue four-door sedan parked in front of the house, and Amanda got out. Amanda, who had worked for her grandmother for fifteen years, was in her late forties and wore her brown curly hair in a bun, a navy-blue T-shirt, jeans, and white tennis shoes.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Amanda said as she raced toward Zara. “Car trouble.”

Zara hugged her. “It’s okay. It’s all under control.”

“I am so glad you’re here. I’ve been telling your sister for weeks it’s time to get around-the-clock care.”

“The cavalry has arrived, but Nonna’s not too thrilled.”

Amanda smiled. “Your grandmother shows her love by bitching and complaining.”

“Well, then I am adored.”

Amanda patted Zara on the shoulder. “Let me get to the kitchen so I can figure out what I need to buy at the grocery today.”

“Thanks, Amanda. What’s the deal with the bills? They aren’t being paid.”

“I’ve mentioned them to your sister several times, and she said she would take care of it. The checkbook is in your grandfather’s desk.”

“I’ll dig into them.”

“Glad to have you back, Zara.”

As Amanda vanished into the house, a Jeep pulled up. At first Zara did not recognize the guy with shoulder-length hair, deeply tanned skin, and a faded T-shirt and board shorts. But when he raised his gaze to her, she knew him instantly. It was Nicolas Bernard. He was or had been a corporate lawyer, and his late wife had been one of her patients two years ago.

As soon as Nicolas approached the garage, Gus looked up and immediately ran toward him, his tail wagging. Nicolas scratched the dog at the base of his spine, near his tail. Gus bared his teeth in a smile and whimpered with happiness as Nicolas said, “Good boy. I’ve missed you, pal.”

Billy, not to be ignored, followed and nudged Gus aside. “Billy, how are you, pal? Been a while. Both you guys are grayer.” Little Sister wiggled to get down, and when Zara set her on the floor, she ran toward Nicolas. “And who are you?”

“That’s Little Sister. She’s new to the pack,” Zara said.

Nicolas rose as the trio of dogs circled around him. “I should have waited for you to call, but I was in the area.”

“The area? Last I remember, you lived in Atlanta.”

“Job interview with the Washington, DC, branch of my father’s firm. Time to rejoin the world.”

Nicolas had hired Zara two and a half years ago, when his wife, Catherine, had been diagnosed with terminal ovarian cancer. Zara and Billy had parked in their driveway and for the next five months had been daily fixtures in Catherine’s, Nicolas’s, and Gus’s lives. And when Catherine had passed on a day in July, Nicolas had quit his job at his father’s law firm and asked her to take Gus.

“I’m such a shit for giving him up,” Nicolas said. “But I can barely take care of myself now.”

“He’ll be fine with me,” Zara said.

Bloodshot eyes rose to hers. “Catherine said not to trust him with anyone else but you while I’m traveling.”

Zara could minister to the dying, but she had little luck counseling the ones left behind. When her parents and then grandfather had died, she’d discovered there was no path back to normal. It was a matter of stumbling around until the pieces reassembled into the next version of life.

“I thought you didn’t want to work for your father’s law firm,” Zara said.

“It’s what I know. And I’m good at it. Plus, he’s getting older and needs the help.”

Loyalty ran deep in Nicolas. Few spouses had been as devoted. “I’d give you a hug, but I’ve been cleaning out my grandmother’s attic. Smelling a little ripe right now.”

“You look good,” he said.

There was a warmth softening the words, and she supposed he was glad to see an old friend who had seen him at his worst and stuck by him. “So do you. How did you find me?”

“You listed this place as your permanent address for your taxes. I took a chance.”

“You’re clever. And if you’ve come to take my dog, you can’t have him.”