Letting Go
By Stephanie Decker
Virginia minced down the hall, leaning a little to the left or, as her ex-husband and Pelican Bay’s former yacht club president always referred to it—listing portside, the lingering result of an otherwise not too serious stroke she’d had after the birth of their third child. Her gnarled arthritic, but freshly manicured hands pushed the sliding closet doors closet open to display a buffet of coats.
“Sally,” she called toward the kitchen. As Sally’s blondish head rounded the corner, Virginia said, “Sally, which do you think I should wear—the lavender or the blueberry cashmere?”
After a year of working for Mrs. Wellington, Sally understood the rhetorical question. She knew Virginia had planned for this event for months. She had known for weeks exactly what she would wear, right down to which pair of hose and the color of her lipstick.
“You look fabulous, Virginia. So elegant. Probably most of the others from your graduating class have let themselves go, but you still have your figure.”
This pleased Virginia, as Sally knew it would. She helped her on with the darker coat Virginia had slipped off its hanger. When she’d first starting working for Virginia, the woman’s vanity had been a source of annoyed amusement. Oh Sally, you’ve pressed a crease in the sleeves. Men wear creased shirt sleeves, but ladies blouses aren’t to have them. You’ll need to bring me the butter cream with the scalloped collar. Oh Sally, the duvet covers must be put in the duvet cabinet there, not in the linen closet. Her old-fashioned ideas, her perfectionism, her giving colors the names of fruit or flowers or candy—it had seemed so silly. She gradually saw the heart behind Virginia’s quaint veneer, and now found Virginia and her ways charming. The woman did look amazing for 81, with the help of a good plastic surgeon and weekly trips to the day spa. Money can’t buy you heaven, she thought, but it can sure help you look good while you’re walking this side of it.
Virginia headed back toward her room. “Sally, I almost forgot something. Go ahead and warm the car, will you?”
Sally waited from the doorway as Virginia slowly made her way back down the hallway to the garage door as if leaning against a strong west wind. She helped ease her into the worn leather seat of the old black Lincoln. Virginia’s son had tried to talk her into buying a new car, but she wouldn’t consider it. The Lincoln had been the last anniversary present from Geoffery, and she couldn’t possibly part with it.
“The weather has been so disagreeable lately but it’s nice out tonight, not too cold.”
“Channel 7 says it will stay nice until about Monday, then we could get a little sleet. I’m glad it’s not bad tonight so your hair will stay nice for the reunion.”
Virginia cast out several more lines of conversation, all directed away from The Event they were heading for. After each casting, Sally took the bait, using it to try pulling Virginia back to the rocky shore of her nervousness. She knew if she could just get her to talk, it would help her relax a little.
“Is this the first reunion you’ve gone to since you graduated, Virginia?”
“No. I went to a few, up to the 40th year, but not since. Everyone started looking so old and that was when…” She trailed off and looked out the window.
“When what?” Did something happen? I don’t want to pry, but...”
Virginia pulled a photo from her purse. “I wanted to give you this, Sally. It’s a photo taken at my college graduation party. Geoffrey and I were already an item then, though we didn’t get married until he passed the bar exam.”
Sally took the old photograph from her, squinting under the street light to see it. “That isn’t you, is it?”
“No. It’s Amelia. She was my best friend. My Uncle Arthur gave me a camera, I think a Kodak Rainbow HawkEye. I kept it for a long time but can’t remember now what happened to it. Anyway, he gave me the camera for graduation so I took a picture of Geoffrey and Amelia—their first photograph together.”
“Why are you giving this to me?” Sally tried to catch a quick look at Virginia’s face, but she’d turned to stare out the side window again. Traffic was picking up so she fastened her eyes back on the road. “Wouldn’t you rather save it for your kids?”
“Sally, listen to me. When I die, I want you to give this photo to Amelia, I’ve written her phone number on the back. Promise me you will.”
“But why me, Virginia. Why not have one of your kids give it to her?”
“They wouldn’t.
“Why?”
“Sally, for heaven’s sake. They just wouldn’t. They wouldn’t because Amelia is the woman who took their father away. They were grown then, but away from me, I mean.”
“Oh.” Sally nibbled at her thumb nail. “Is Amelia going to be at the reunion tonight?” They were within a block of the new Dorothy Carver Pavilion. She could see taxis and cars forming a line in the semi-circle drive in front of the entrance. The string of headlights looked like a double strand of pearls gracing the building’s broad neck of white steps.
“Yes, she’s going to be there. I want you to give her this photo when I’m gone.” Sally kept her eyes on the car in front of her. “She’ll know what it means. Amelia will know I’ve forgiven her.”
The old car nosed closer to the entrance. Sometimes Sally felt like the car was an old carriage horse—mellow, proud, divining the wishes of its master and always knew the way home. “What if she should die before you do? Why don’t you give her this tonight?”
Virginia straightened herself in the seat. “The door please, Sally.”
Sally opened the door and helped Virginia up the wide shallow steps. Just before they reached the door, Sally slipped the photo into the left pocket of Virginia’s coat. She knew the last thing Virginia would do before relinquishing her coat at the check-in counter would be to reach into the left pocket for a tissue to be clutched like a tiny security blanket. She was never without one. Virginia would then do what she came to do.
“I’ll see you at ten.” Sally gave her shoulders a little hug and smiled reassuringly. Back in the comfortable old car, she put the keys in the ignition and knew that when Virginia was ready to let go of this car, she will have forgiven her husband, too. The car eased back onto the street and made its way back home.
About the Author: Stephanie Decker
Stephanie has a B.A. in English with a Writing minor. She recently published in Einstein’s Pocket Watch, Fear of Monkeys, Gloom Cupboard, and Sangam.. Stephanie lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest.