Mary Granfield
The Boots
Caroline peered through the window into the dawn, the air an inky blue. An absurdly full moon hung in the sky; two squirrels dashed across her field of vision, chittering. Amidst the snow striping her driveway glistened a plastic sheath: her newspaper. She reached for her lace-up winter boots, then hesitated. Pulling them on was a challenge, and she had only to walk across the driveway and back. Slip-ons would be easier.
Her eyes went to the pair of brown ankle boots that had been sitting there for … how long? A sheen of dust coated them. They were more than a few sizes too big for her, but even so, she slipped her feet inside, hand braced against the wall. As she made her way down the front steps, an icy wind slapped her face. Caroline moved cautiously toward the newspaper.
Down the street, a dog barked. She wondered if it was Tessie, a neighbour’s beautiful fox red Labrador. For some reason, Tessie had taken a shine to Caroline and always trotted to her excitedly upon seeing her. Caroline had come to enjoy their encounters; her fingers itched to stroke Tessie’s sleek fur. She stepped over the newspaper and went to the end of the driveway, looking down the street. I’ll just go by her house in case she’s coming out for her morning walk. Her feet slid around inside the boots, so she walked slowly.
She shuffled past the first house, where the awful neighbours lived who’d poisoned her favourite cherry tree, keeping her eyes straight ahead as if glancing their way could infect her, only slowing down when she was in front of Tessie’s snug home. As if by magic, the door opened and the Lab bounded towards her, followed by her family’s thirteen-year-old son, Bard, who shambled after her with the laces of his untied sneakers trailing behind. ‘Wait up, Tessie, wait,’ he called, then seeing Caroline, he grinned, slowing his pace. ‘Oh, hey there, Mrs. Romer.’
As Bard drew nearer, he looked her up and down, a crease appearing between his dark eyebrows. ‘Are you, uh, okay?’ She was bent over Tessie, arms wreathed around her neck as the dog wriggled ecstatically inside them. ‘Oh, I’m more than okay when I’m with this sweetie,’ she replied, straightening up again with difficulty. For a moment, she listed sideways, so Bard grabbed her arm to steady her. ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said. ‘How are you?’ The boy’s face opened like a daisy. ‘We made it to the state championship!’
Caroline searched her mind for his sport; was it basketball or soccer? She was transported back to a crisp fall day in the bleachers, watching breathlessly as a ball blasted toward the goal cage where her son Rory stood, arms raised. Had he caught it? She couldn’t remember. He’d loved soccer and was a decent, if perhaps not stellar, goalie. ‘That’s wonderful news,’ she told Bard. ‘Just wonderful.’
As Bard attached Tessie’s leash, Caroline gave her a parting pat. She felt a stab beneath her ribs: why hadn’t she allowed Rory to get a dog? He’d pleaded with her for years, but she’d always been dead set against it. Her late husband, Graham, said he’d gladly take care of a pet, but he often travelled on business, which meant the burden of care would fall on her. Their daughter, Bella, wasn’t an animal lover, so she’d have been no help. Was it too late to apologize to Rory? It made her terribly sad that his childhood didn’t include a lovable dog like Tessie. I’ll mention it to him next time we talk, she thought.
‘Well,’ Bard said, giving the leash a tug, ‘we should go. Have a good day!’ As he and Tessie moved off, Caroline called after him, ‘You’d better tie those laces!’ Without looking back, Bard gave a thumbs up. However, he didn’t stop to tie his sneakers. She shook her head with a sigh.
As she reached the town centre, she inhaled a delicious aroma. She smiled, remembering her family’s Sunday morning ritual. Graham would time his stroll down to Arise to get there just as they unloaded their first tray of fresh donuts. Caroline would watch the children caper around the front door, occasionally peeking out its window as they waited for their father to return with his paper bag laden with donuts, warm and fragrant.
Inside, the shop looked oddly different and the person at the counter stared at her, not understanding her order of two glazed crullers. Maybe this young man was an immigrant who was still learning English? But that would be strange as she recalled that this bakery was run by an Armenian family who’d been in Massachusetts for generations. Why would they put someone at the counter who couldn’t grasp a simple order? ‘Oh, never mind,’ Caroline told him, turning away. As she reached the door, she noticed an ATM machine. How strange, she thought. I wonder when that got put in.
As she continued down the street, she passed the orthodontist’s office where Bella and Rory had gotten their braces eons ago. The sign caught her eye: Laszaris Orthodontics. She stopped, staring at it. Something was wrong. The dancing tooth was gone! As was the “& Son.” Caroline tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. She envisioned the missing cartoon tooth, whose fruity attire telegraphed Carmen Miranda.
The morning after Rory got his braces, he’d shown up for breakfast muttering, ‘My teeth are definitely not dancing right now.’ It had become a joke in their family for all manner of complaints, like Graham after his beloved ‘old-guy’ basketball games moaning, ‘My knees are definitely not dancing right now.” Caroline made a mental note to mention it to both children, though she thought Rory would care more. She knew in her bones that, silly as it was, he’d mourn the dancing tooth as much as she did.
To her left was the cemetery’s entrance; so, ignoring a pulse of dread, she went inside. Caroline’s sockless feet, sore from chafing, brought her to the plot she hadn’t visited in a long while. The poinsettia—wilted now, of course—lay on its side as if trying to nap. I need to bring fresh flowers, she thought. How long had Graham been gone? A drawn-out illness had whittled him down to a shadow by the time he died in his sleep. It hadn’t even been ten years, though it felt to her like decades. In the trees above, crows made their harsh, pitiless cawing. She shivered and hustled toward the exit.
On the path ahead of her gleamed a small, pale shape. A baby bootie. She chuckled, envisioning little Bella in her stroller, pulling off one of the booties, Graham’s mother, an avid knitter, had made, and dropping it onto the sidewalk. Bella lost so many booties that by the time Rory came along two years later, there were no more matching pairs for him. Caroline reached for it, her fingers grazing the soft wool, then pulled back, thinking, I’ll leave it in case the mother comes back.
Her smile collapsed as she recalled the fight she and Bella had had over the phone. Bella kept insisting she move into one of those ‘residences’ where wrinkled oldsters pushed cage-like walkers along endless hallways or vegetated in small rooms, staring off into space. ‘Mom, you shouldn’t have to deal with all these headaches,’ she had said, ‘like mice in your attic, snow shovelling, roof repairs. Wouldn’t you love to be free of all that?’ Caroline privately agreed that her daughter had a point, she would love to be free of all that, especially the mice skittering in the ceiling above her bed at night. But there was no question of her leaving this house, something Bella would never understand. She was a good daughter, but there was so much about Caroline’s life that she simply couldn’t comprehend.
Another thing gnawed at her. Bella was coming for a visit soon, wasn’t she? Along with her wife Geeta, a lovely woman with a big job in bio-something. Caroline felt she was a good match for Bella, but thought it strange that women could have ‘wives’. Shouldn’t there be a better word? Something more … elegant. When the children were young, Caroline often played ‘The Game of Life’ with them. Bella was only eight or so when she chose a pink peg for her ‘spouse.’ Caroline had gently reminded her that it was supposed to be her husband, that is, a blue peg. But the girl had just shrugged, saying, ‘I like the pink better.’ Had she already known at that early age? Their wedding was something else; Caroline had never seen so many flowers in her entire life. She clicked her tongue: the drab ‘wife’ did stylish Geeta no justice.
Caroline allowed herself a quick glance back at the grave with the wilted poinsettia and felt, as she so often had in recent years, a flash of fury toward Graham’s bossy twin sister, who’d demanded he be buried in their family’s old plot in the Berkshires, a three-hour drive away. Why had she agreed to that? He should be here, in this place, where she could easily visit him. And where he belonged, especially now.
As soon as she stepped out of the cemetery, a weight like a dentist’s lead apron dropped away. That sense of relief ironically made her realize that her bladder was about to burst and there was no chance in hell she’d make it to the library with its public restroom, only a block away. Her frantic eyes fell on a large yew bush, and it was all she could manage to shuffle behind it and crouch down with her feet spread wide before a torrent of pee erupted. Still squatting, she dug around in her bathrobe pocket, relieved to find a tissue, only lightly used, to wipe herself.
A pair of bulging brown eyes ogled hers and she yelped, nearly toppling over. The little boy, who was kindergarten age, screamed and scrambled back toward the house this bush belonged to. Caroline read the alarm on the face of his mother, who was emerging from the front door with her coat on. Lord almighty, she thought, standing up to face the woman, who was fast approaching with her boy tagging behind her, clutching the hem of her unbuttoned coat.
The woman’s expression softened as she drew nearer, and Caroline noticed that her protruding brown eyes looked prettier on her than on her less fortunate child. She felt a twist of sorrow for this mother and her son, whose froggy face would never inspire the swoons Rory’s angelic one had on trips to the supermarket.
‘May I help you with something?’ the woman asked kindly, her eyes snagging briefly on the soiled tissue Caroline had, in her shock, dropped into the puddle of urine.
Caroline, cheeks aflame, couldn’t locate her voice.
‘You’re welcome to use our bathroom, if you still need one,’ the woman added.
‘No, no,’ Caroline blurted. ‘Please forgive me, an emergency, so very sorry.’
As she turned, limping toward the sidewalk, acutely aware of angry blisters forming, she heard the woman say, ‘Ma’am, do you need a ride home?’
Caroline mumbled over her shoulder, ‘No thanks, I’m fine, have to catch a bus …’
She’d used that as an excuse to escape, but as the bus shelter came into view, she headed straight for it. There was a bench and she had to rest her screaming feet. A teenager with earbuds snaking out from his watch cap shot Caroline a look of alarm before sliding over, making room. I must look a fright, Caroline thought, aware that she’d left the house without brushing her hair. She sat, looking down at the boots that were causing her so much agony, rubbing the skin of her toes raw. I need to remind Rory, she thought, that he left these behind.
How long had it been since she’d talked to him? He called her without fail every Sunday afternoon at four o’clock. Such an attentive, loving son. When she’d left the house earlier, the garbage cans were all out, so it must be Thursday. Just a few more days before she’d hear his low, raspy voice. Her unleashed mind wandered back in time. Opening her door to a police officer, a short, wiry woman whom, if it hadn’t been a balmy day in June, she’d have mistaken for a trick or treater. Hat slightly too big, tilting over one eye. Giving Caroline news she didn’t want to hear, news that drove daggers through her chest, news she was still trying to erase. Phrases flew at her like shards of glass: T-boned at intersection, 90 miles per hour, fiery wreck, no survivors, remains at morgue.
Her face was wet and she became aware of how parched she was, and cold, so she plunged her hands into her pockets to warm them. A man standing nearby took a water bottle from his backpack, and noticing her stare, twisted off the cap and gave it to her. She smiled her thanks and drank it down in a few gulps. He gently took the empty bottle from her and held up an energy bar. How did he know she was famished? She nodded and he unwrapped it, presenting it to her with a flourish. It was delicious, crunchy with chocolate chips and walnuts, just sweet enough.
Someone tapped her shoulder and Caroline jolted awake. Had she fallen asleep? She glanced around; the man who’d given her the water was gone, as was the earbuds teenager. A solemn face haloed by frizzy golden hair loomed over her. ‘Are you waiting for this bus?’ the girl asked. ‘It’s just arriving.’ Caroline got to her feet, wincing as her blisters caught fire. These buses all stopped at her destination in the next town. The driver gave her a sceptical once-over, and, watching her dig worriedly around in her bathrobe pockets, waved her on, grumbling, ‘Pay me next time.’
At the third stop, Caroline got off, thanking him. Although her feet were killing her, she said aloud, ‘C’mon, you can do it. It’s only one block away.’ Somehow, she made it to the house she hadn’t seen in a very, very long time. She stood in front of it, smiling faintly and remembering. Before long, a police cruiser pulled up next to her. Caroline was relieved this officer wasn’t the prankster with the overlarge cap and frightful news, but a tall, polite young man with a dimple in his cheek. He would bring her safely back home, to the home she would never leave except feet-first, no matter how much Bella badgered her. No, she had to stay where her dear boy could find her.
As the officer murmured into his phone, she gazed fondly at the small “starter” house her expanding family had lived in once upon a time. Its tidy sign with the black 24, a pleasingly even, and one could say, optimistic number. With plenty of room for a shiny future. Caroline was gratified to see that the exterior paint was still yellow, with green shutters. She wondered if the family who’d bought the house from them ever used the badminton set they’d left behind in the shed.
Ah, those summer evenings of kiddie pools and badminton! The children, of course, were small, so they’d crawled around in the grass while Caroline and Graham smacked birdies over their heads, carving white arcs through the darkening blue air. A soundtrack of soft thwacks and trilling crickets. A baby laughing. The cruiser pulled back onto the road with Caroline gazing through its rear window. On the horizon, the sun bobbled like Rory’s tiny face on the day he arrived, bright as a new buttercup. AQ