Left to Chance Read online

  My thoughts shuffled. I didn’t know if I was supposed to correct her. I looked back down the street in search of help. No one was coming from either direction.

  “Is anyone home?” I asked.

  “You know Melvin passed more than twenty years ago.”

  Okay, Cousin Melvin had died when I was in high school. Maybe Maggie was coming around to the present. With my arm around her, I led Cousin Maggie toward the front door, suddenly relieved it was me who she yoo-hooed to help her, and not some stranger.

  “I’m not Joyce, Cousin Maggie. I’m Teddi, her daughter. My parents moved, remember? You were at their going-away party. You broke the bottle of champagne on the back of their Winnebago.”

  Cousin Maggie looked at me and blinked a few times as if snapping her own mental pictures, or perhaps, scrolling back through her memories. “The trailer. They drove off in that god-awful trailer.”

  My mother preferred the term “mobile home.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you’re Teddi.”

  “I am.”

  “I always thought that was a silly name.”

  Now I remembered why my mother didn’t like Cousin Maggie very much.

  To me, Cousin Maggie had been like a fairy godmother in sensible shoes. She seemed to know what I needed, and when I needed it. It was Cousin Maggie who handed me Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret two months before I got my period when I was eleven. Cousin Maggie also gave me my first real camera for Hanukkah when I was fourteen.

  “You can make the world look however you want it to look with this,” she’d said.

  Not sure that was the best advice, but it was the best gift.

  Just then, a petite black woman stepped out of the front door. She was dressed in bright coral capris and a sleeveless white blouse, with a short scarf tied around her neck like she was a character in Grease. Her hair was wide and loose and bounced with each step. Cousin Maggie was wearing seersucker Bermuda shorts, a royal blue polo shirt, and a visor. They both were dressed for a day out, though it didn’t seem as if they were going anywhere.

  “You okay out here, Maggie? Who’ve we got here?” Her voice contained remnants of an island accent. She pursed her lips and stared at me.

  “I’m Teddi Lerner, I grew up here. My mother is Maggie’s cousin, I mean, I’m Maggie’s cousin. I’m here—”

  “For the wedding.”

  I sighed.

  “Well, Cousin, I’m Maggie’s friend.” She looked at my hand, still on Maggie’s shoulder.

  “Should she really be out here on her own? Washing windows?” I touched Maggie’s arm with my other hand.

  “Oh, she’s fine.”

  “I’ve known her my whole life. She doesn’t seem fine to me.” More words bubbled up but I swallowed them.

  “When was the last time you saw her? When was the last time your mother saw her?”

  I said nothing.

  “When was the last time you talked to her?”

  I said nothing.

  “How about your mother?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I do know, and nowadays, this is how Maggie is, Cousin Teddi.”

  They walked into the house and the door slammed behind them. I stood there and pictured the Cousin Maggie I’d known, with a short bob and a little bounce, her feet slightly turned out like a duck’s, wearing shoes that made her feet look like paddles. She’d always had a book in her hand and another under her arm, and had been the only relative my mother tolerated, even with the digs about my name and the Winnebago. Cousin Maggie never had children of her own. She had handed me an envelope with ten one-hundred-dollar bills the day I left for college.

  “For your books,” she’d said.

  It was the only time I’d hugged her.

  I turned, snapped a picture of the double-hung window, the bucket still on the ground, a squeegee beside it. I wished I’d asked that woman to take a photo of me and Cousin Maggie.

  * * *

  I sat on Maggie’s steps and scrolled through e-mails. I didn’t reply, I just read. It was time to let Annie steer the ship. If she needed help, she’d call.

  When I finished, I stared at my home screen, at my favorite shot of the Golden Gate Bridge I’d taken from Hawk Hill. I hadn’t even shared it on Instagram or Facebook. My social media was all work related, all the time. Sharing personal photos like this one would be too, well, personal. I held my breath at the thought of my worlds colliding and exhaled when I realized it wasn’t possible for my two worlds to collide.

  I was only part of one world.

  The door behind me opened but I didn’t turn around. I’d been reprimanded enough in the past twelve hours.

  “I’m leaving.” I flagged another e-mail and stood.

  “Don’t go on account of me.” The woman sat on the steps. “She’s asleep. Sit.”

  “I didn’t mean to trouble her. Or you.”

  “You’re not. And she might not even remember.”

  “No one visits her?”

  “No.”

  “I’m surprised.”

  “Why? You’re related and you don’t. I’m not trying to be mean. If her family took care of her, I’d be out of a job.”

  “I thought you said you were her friend.”

  “I am. But I’m also being paid to ‘watch her.’”

  I bobbed my head, not knowing what to say.

  “We have a copy of the San Francisco magazine you were in. Where they wrote that article on your boss.”

  “You do?”

  “Absolutely. I showed it to Maggie online and she wanted a real one. So I ordered it from their Web site.”

  “It has been really good for business.” There was just one part about how I’d photographed Gretchen Halliday’s mountaintop wedding in Aspen, and our bookings tripled nationwide. Of course, Simon had failed to mention Gretchen’s business manager was his cousin.

  “That’s in part to you, I bet.”

  “Well, the article was about Simon.”

  “Yes, but there was a whole sidebar on the weddings there. And a photo of you.”

  “I wasn’t the only one in that photo.”

  “You might as well have been. At least to the people here.”

  “You’re too kind. It was just part of my job.”

  “Would you autograph it?”

  “Autograph what?”

  “The magazine. I’ll go get it.”

  “Me? No, that’s silly.”

  “It absolutely is not silly. You should be proud of your accomplishments. Own them. And I can’t think of a better way of owning something than to scribble your name right on top of it.” The woman rose and walked into the house and right out again with the magazine and a pen. She sat and opened it to the page with my photo.

  “I’ve never done this before.”

  “First time for everything.”

  Indeed. I clicked the pen. “I’m so embarrassed, I don’t know your name. I’m sorry.”

  “My name is Lorraine, but sign it to Maggie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lorraine.”

  “Likewise.”

  Dear Cousin Maggie,

  All of this was made possible because of the Canon X40.

  Love,

  Teddi

  Lorraine looked at it and smiled. “She’ll love this. Sorry I barked at you earlier. I’m just protective of Maggie.”

  “Is Maggie the only person you’re ‘friends with’?”

  “She’s enough.”

  I laughed. “Seems like a hard way to spend your days. Have you always done this kind of work?”

  “No. I just needed a change.”

  “I can relate to that.”

  “I think we all can at some time or another, don’t you think?”

  “Do you think she’s happy? Maggie, I mean.”

  “I think so.” Lorraine lifted the magazine from my lap and placed it on hers. “The doctor says the glitches in her memory are normal for s
omeone her age. She’s tired a lot, and ornery, but otherwise she’s good company. She can still talk about books for hours. Or until she dozes off. I consider it an honor to spend time with her. With anyone this age, really. I don’t have family of my own nearby, and neither does she. I hope I’m blessed enough to be washing windows when I’m her age.”

  “Me too.”

  For months after Celia died it was hard for me to look at any woman older than she would ever be, wondering what she would have been like at forty, at fifty, at eighty-two. I had envied those women and their families and friends with such fervor that sometimes I’d turned away and counted to ten, or one hundred, before I could turn back, tell them to smile, and fake my enthusiasm as I snapped their picture. I never thought about what these women’s lives might have been like on an ordinary day.

  “I should go. It was nice to meet you. Thank you for taking such good care of Cousin Maggie.”

  We stood, hesitated, and then hugged. “You’re very easy to talk to,” I said.

  “So are you, Cousin Teddi.”

  I stepped away, still clutching my phone, then laid my other hand on Lorraine’s arm.

  “How about we take a selfie?”

  * * *

  I was heading back to Nettie’s on Lark when my phone buzzed.

  This is Violet. See you at 2? Would you like to stay for dinner?

  I stared at the last part of the text.

  Would you like to stay for dinner?

  Celia’s replacement was inviting me to eat dinner in Celia’s house with Celia’s husband and Celia’s daughter. It was zero degrees of separation from all things Celia.

  “Teddi?”

  I jolted and looked toward the street. “Josie?”

  She pulled out an earbud and bounced in place, jogged over to me, and continued bouncing. Her Lycra running shorts and top glistened from the sun. Or maybe from sweat.

  “I heard you were back! You should’ve called me!” She hugged me tight, disregarding the fact that sweaty people shouldn’t hug. She swayed from side to side as if she didn’t want to let go. I hugged her back. I could shower off the sweat later.

  “It’s so good to see you,” I said as I pulled back.

  “It’s amazing!” Josie hugged me again.

  She looked the same as she had six years ago, and the same as she did in every online photo. Josie had one world too. Josie’s World.

  Her bright white teeth shone through an uncomplicated smile. Josie was trim, but curvy, with big boobs and long, dark blond hair. She always looked good, which would have been annoying had it been anyone but Josie. She may have looked like one of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, but her big heart was all Chance, Ohio. You didn’t see that in those photos but I remembered that now.

  “You look great,” I said.

  “Have to stay fit. But obviously I don’t have to tell you that. You look amazing, Teddi.”

  I shifted my gaze from Josie’s glowing face and looked down the street, as if my finish line was in sight.

  “What do you think?” Josie asked.

  “Of?”

  “Of Chance. It’s changed, hasn’t it?”

  “It sure has. I can’t believe how many people were out and about. And a coffee shop? And a trendy café.”

  “No more Manny’s Luncheonette,” Josie said.

  “It’s kind of sad.”

  “Really? I don’t think it’s sad. Why would you think it’s sad?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just different.”

  “The outside is different. Not the inside.” Josie stopped bouncing and placed her hands on her hips. “We’re attracting a lot of young families because of all the development in the county. The mall, the rec center, the pool. And the whole park around the pond has been redone.”

  “I read about that.”

  “I guess you know about Miles. What am I saying? Of course you know.”

  I grinned with my lips closed. That was my I-have-no-idea-what-to-say grin.

  “Oh!” Josie yelled, and bounced faster.

  “What?” I yelled too, and swiveled my head from side to side. Who did she see? What was the matter? Josie had always been a well-meaning alarmist.

  “You have to come for book club at my house tonight. All the girls will be there!”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet but … I haven’t read the book.” It was the best excuse I could think of on the spot.

  “Oh, none of us reads the book, silly. Well, maybe some of us. But that’s not the point. The point is to have a set time to get together. It’s more of an excuse than anything else. You’d be surprised how easy it is to lose touch with someone who’s just around the corner.” Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. “C’mon, it’s just the girls. Casual. Good food. Better wine.” Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

  “I can’t impose.”

  “You’re not imposing—you’re invited. Come at seven. Once everyone knows you’re back they’ll want to see you.”

  All of a sudden six years didn’t seem like enough time to get ready. “Tonight at seven. Got it. I’ll definitely try.” My voice shook.

  “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  I didn’t think she would.

  I held my camera away from my chest. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later. I’m just off to take some pictures.”

  “Of course you are. Think of that! The same photographer Gretchen Halliday had for her wedding is taking pictures of our town. Could I come along? What are you taking pictures of while you’re here? Besides the wedding, I mean? Are you scouting locations for a new hotel? For a destination wedding? I won’t tell a soul, I promise. Maybe I could help.”

  “No, nothing like that. I just … it’s just what I do.”

  I hated people watching me while I worked. Civilians always chimed in with “helpful hints.” Don’t you think you should move a little to the left? You’ll see better from here. Or they tried to see what I was looking at by nearly resting their chins on my shoulder for perspective. I wish I had your eye. I wished they’d take their chins off my shoulder. Take a picture of this, of her, of him, of me!

  One minute I wanted to be a townie again, and the next I missed being on my own at a hotel, where I could nod and smile and keep on going to the beach or a deck or a pool, unencumbered by expectations, and unaware of exclusions. I’d been on my own for six years, without too many personal demands. Perhaps I’d forgotten how to be part of something.

  Josie glanced at her Fitbit. “Got to fly!”

  “I don’t really…”

  Josie held up one finger and I stopped talking, as directed. “Later, okay? We’ll be expecting you tonight. It’s casual, come as you are. You’re welcome to bring your camera, of course.” Josie winked. “Have to finish my run before the kids wake up. Although teenagers could sleep all day. Welcome home, Teddi. You were missed.”

  Josie didn’t wait for a response. She waved, pivoted, and her bounce turned into a run.

  I headed in the opposite direction from Josie and from Lark Street. That’s when I realized I was running too.

  * * *

  West End Cemetery was at the west end of Chance. The town’s founders had been nothing if not literal.

  I paced back and forth in front of the closed iron gates. Then I walked to the far corner, toward the residential streets, and back to the cemetery gate. I shuffled my feet and looked down the street as if waiting for a ride, my heart pounding harder than it should have been for the walk/run I’d taken to get there. I exhaled to slow my pulse, then sipped lukewarm water from the bottle I’d bought at the Fat Chance Café.

  “Tomorrow would probably be a better day,” I said aloud to no one. “Cee wouldn’t care either way.”

  I remembered Celia every day, but in third person. She would have liked, loved, or hated. (Although Celia didn’t hate.) I never thought of her as or said “you.” Maybe that was my problem. Maybe well-adjusted people fashioned invisible companions from their dead loved ones, talked to them aloud, set a
place at the table, continued where they left off, at least inside their own minds. I saw my and Celia’s friendship like a movie that ran on a loop and watched it as if I were an observer. Today, Celia would have been glad I was here at the cemetery, but only because I hadn’t been coerced, because it was my idea. She never would have begrudged my absence; guilt wasn’t her MO.

  It was mine.

  Without leaving the comfort of the sidewalk, I could see that the grass in the cemetery was audaciously green. Stones, pebble sized to golf ball sized, were layered atop the headstones and placed sporadically on the ground. Jews didn’t leave flowers. Flowers died. Stones remained. Like memories.

  I didn’t subscribe to all the customs of my religion, but this one was dead on.

  I chuckled and covered my mouth even though no one was around to hear me. Celia would have laughed too.

  I felt the stone from my pocket, its ancient water-worn curves, smooth and cool. I’d chosen it with care more than five years before and carried it with me everywhere.

  I was going to do it. I was counting to ten, and then going in.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four …

  I reached the gate.

  “If you’re waiting for someone to come out, you’re going to wait a while.”

  I turned my hand into a visor and saw a tall man with a square, clean-shaven jaw. He wore khaki shorts and a blue T-shirt with a yellow bear silhouette I recognized as Oski, the Cal mascot. The man neither smiled nor frowned, but he did nod. His face said I am being respectful because I am in a cemetery. My face most likely said I am a chicken shit. He took a pen from his ear and scribbled into the notebook in the palm of his hand. Then he poked the pencil back through his brown hair that looked intentionally tousled. Or styled. He tucked the notebook into his sock.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was there.” God, that was stupid. There are hundreds of people in there. Maybe thousands.

  “Seems to me you wanted to come in, but thought if you stood there long enough someone might come and get you. Or, I could help you find who you’re looking for.”

  This was a solo mission.

  “No, I don’t want to come in, but thanks for the offer.” I spoke firmly while looking at the ground. Who was this gatekeeper anyway? Couldn’t someone go to a cemetery unattended and uninterrupted? I reached into my pocket and rolled the stone between my fingers. The stone and the cemetery would still be here tomorrow. Hopefully the man would not. I raised my head to say good-bye.