“Oh, really,” Archie said. “Okay, yeah, bye.”
Archie hung up the phone. “John has a friend at the police department. Looks like it was anaphylaxis. She just stopped breathing and her heart stopped. They are testing a soup container. I guess there was an almost empty soup container in the refrigerator and a bowl, still containing some soup, lying on the floor near Robin. There was an EpiPen in the kitchen drawer and in her purse on the counter. It’s crazy that she couldn’t have reached one of those in time.”
“Yes, it is. I can’t believe we lost our friend today,” I said.
Archie nodded and we stared at the TV, both lost in our own thoughts.
THIRTY-THREE2023
Aimee
The next week, we sat in the funeral home on soft cushioned red seats watching the video montage of Robin’s short life displayed on the screen. She had been a beautiful child, with long dark hair, usually up in a ponytail, and big brown eyes. There were so many photos of her on the farm, with the alpacas, grooming them, helping to feed them, showing them at a 4-H fair and winning ribbons. Photos of family Christmases and picnics.
Then the photos moved on to college, showing a bright-eyed girl studying to be a teacher. Photos of her with many friends. Graduation. Then a proud Robin stood in front of Poplin Elementary wearing her lanyard with the school ID card around her neck. Officially a teacher.
The room, filled with people, hung with sadness of the loss, many people crying and mourning a kind, beautiful young woman. This was the second funeral in Poplin in only a few months, although this one appeared accidental. Nevertheless, still a shock.
Her parents stood at the front of the room, stoic and stiff, as they hovered by their daughter’s dark blue casket. Her brother, Mark, stood there too, his hands shoved into his suit pockets. A memorial candle was lit behind him on a shelf, with an image of Robin, the same as they used for the obituary. Flowers filled the space around the casket. My mind traveled back to my father’s funeral. While he wasn’t a great man, or even a good one, he did teach me lessons I’d used throughout my life. I sighed, wanting to push the memories back into the dark recesses of my mind.
The pastor was about to begin, and the family sat down on chairs in the front row, the room hushed. He spoke about Robin and how although her life was short, it was well lived, and how she had found peace in heaven; she would never feel the pain and suffering of this world again. And one day we would see her again.
I didn’t know how to feel about his sermon. Were we supposed to be glad Robin died? No, his well-crafted message was designed to give comfort to those left behind, all of us who mourned Robin’s passing. What else was he supposed to say?
Death was a part of life. Everyone knows this is true, as natural as being born, or falling in love, the circle of life. And like so many things in life, we never know when the unthinkable arrives at our door. How we deal with it is the important part: Does it make us stronger, or push us over the edge?
Archie squeezed my hand. I squeezed back, staring at him. He looked so handsome in his dark suit, black shirt, and gray striped tie. His warm brown eyes, sad but filled with love for me, made me realize how happy I was to be alive and to have him in my life. I had climbed out of my darkness a few months before meeting Archie, but the day I met him I felt an old spark light up in me, stronger than I’d been in years.
The rest of the sermon passed slowly, and I kept thinking of the time I spent with Robin. A brief friendship, but still many good times I shared with her that I would remember. Today we put her to rest, but I would miss my friend for much longer.
Robin’s death was ruled accidental: Traces of peanut were found in her system, along with the last meal she ate, vegetable soup, and traces of peanut were found in the grocery store container, and also in the bowl found on the floor next to Robin that still contained remnants of the soup. The theory was that her allergic reaction was so severe it prevented her from reaching the EpiPen, two in fact, only a few feet away.
As sad as the news was, it was a bit of a relief knowing it was an accident and not a murder. Angela’s death, still unsolved, hung over the town like a cloud. Two murders within a few months would induce widespread panic in the small, rural town. It would expose the truth that any place can be dangerous. There is no location that can truly be called idyllic, because danger is not in locations.
It’s inside people, lurking and unpredictable when it may explode.
Sure, most people have coping skills, abilities to make rational decisions and see what the consequence of their behavior may be in the end. Some don’t have those skills, and some are pushed so far over the edge that coping skills are not even a factor in their thought process.
The one thing I remembered from my brief college experience was my intro to psych class. A brief overview, but nonetheless, fascinating to open the door on all the various theories of the human psyche. Are we in control of our lives? Why do we possess certain thought patterns? And the old debate of nature versus nurture, can it be simply one that determines our destiny or rather a combination of both? Is a person born good or bad? What tips the scales in either direction?
I placed the couple of dishes sitting in the sink into the dishwasher and closed the door. Archie was at school, but today was Monday, so the store was closed. I retrieved a glass of water. I had drunk too much coffee this morning already, and walked out the back door to the covered patio. I got comfortable in the soft, floral, Hawaiian-style cushioned chair close to the fire pit and stared at the open fields now surrounding me. John cut the corn last weekend and now all that was left were nubs and a few stray stalks. Our view, now seemingly endless under vast blue skies and rolling blue mountains in the distance. A gentle breeze kissed my skin, and the call of birds provided a pleasant melody.
The apple trees by the garden, pregnant with fruit, caught my eye. I would have to pick those today to take into the store tomorrow. Maybe I would make homemade applesauce today or apple crisp. There were a few pear trees, too. In the spring, I wanted to plant more fruit trees.
I drank my water and pondered about all the recent events. Life was so unpredictable. Maybe Listening Lark had it right, live in the here and now. You never know when your time is up. Think of all the time you waste on preparing for the future, especially if your future is taken away from you, and it can be at any time.
After I left Listening Lark and moved back in with Aunt Lou I fell into a deep depression. For almost three years, I struggled, sometimes barely getting out of bed for days or taking a shower. I remembered once going weeks without a shower. Finally, I couldn’t stand my stink. Showering and washing my hair felt like a spa treatment that day. Unbelievably good, but I went through the entire cycle again. And again. Aunt Lou tried to help, but she had her own health and mental struggles. She was almost eighty years old, my mother’s older sister.
It happened slowly. My return to the world. I started sleeping less, showering more, and focusing on things that made me feel something. A good book. A good meal. A funny movie. I made sure to practice self-care, exercising, particularly yoga, moisturizing my skin, putting on a bit of makeup, styling my hair. Those small actions made me feel alive. I also began seeing a psychiatrist and the medication she prescribed proved helpful for me. I started going to local farmers’ markets, perusing the fresh produce and other treats. Their vibrant colors and scents made me happy, and I began cooking meals at home, much to Aunt Lou’s delight, and baking tasty treats.
I got a job at a local coffee shop just to be around people my age, and I liked it. I worked with nice people, although none I would call a friend, but pleasant acquaintances to enjoy a conversation with here and there. At that point that was all I needed. Nothing too close.
Shortly after I started my job, Archie walked into the coffee shop and my life changed again. Funny how the people you end up having a strong connection with are the people you don’t expect. They walk into your life, and you realize you’ve been waiting for them to show up. Oh, hello. I’ve been looking and hoping for you for such a long time.
Archie was taking Robin’s death hard. Probably harder than me, which I guess made sense since he worked with her every day. I’m sure it was very strange to go to school every day and have someone else teaching in her classroom. I remembered going into school and helping her set up the bulletin boards. When I thought of it now, it seemed like years ago, not just a couple months.
On the plus side, I hadn’t received any strange gifts or experienced anything unusual in our house over the last few weeks. As thankful as I was for the silence, I entertained the thought that it might only be the calm before the storm. I still thought about that bag of dates in Robin’s refrigerator. Too familiar. Too coincidental for that exact brand to be in there. Did their presence have something to do with Robin’s death? Was it a warning to me, or a prelude to the act? Even though Robin’s death was ruled accidental, a lingering worry inside me thought this may not be the truth. There were no facts I could point to, but only a feeling I could not shake and grew stronger within me every day. For the first time, I was feeling truly scared about what this person wanted. I wondered if I should tell Archie about my past and the odd things that had been happening lately, but I knew that I wouldn’t.
Some secrets shouldn’t be shared.
Even with your husband. Even if you love him very much.
THIRTY-FOUR2023
Aimee
The cool, chilly days of autumn gave the promise of crackling fires, warm holidays, cozy clothing, and the hope of a magical snowfall. Okay, I guess most people didn’t consider a snowfall magical, but I did. When I was a kid, I loved waking up to snow falling outside my window and if it was a school day, hoped and prayed that we would receive a phone call that school was closed for the day, leaving me free to build snowmen and snow forts. As an adult, I loved having a hot cup of something, coffee, tea, hot chocolate, whatever, and watching the snow fall outside my window, covering everything with its magic fairy dust. Snow was the one thing I missed in California.
It was mid-November now, two months since Robin’s death. Business at the store was booming with the fall harvest, pumpkins, gourds, and apples selling out most days. My baked goods were now pumpkin bread, apple and pumpkin muffins, and pumpkin cake with cream cheese icing. Archie made a few more items too, two benches—one sold, one left—and some cute wooden jack-o’-lanterns that sold out the first day I brought them in.
Today I stocked butternut squash, cauliflower and winter squash, the butternut squash quite an abundant crop. The pumpkins lining the front wall were almost all gone now. All the large ones were bought in the Halloween rush for carving pumpkins. Only the smaller ones and some of the tiny Jack B Littles, my personal favorites, were left.
“Aimee, would you like me to put the jams on the shelf?” Rachel asked. She adjusted her black bonnet.
I looked over to her, standing by the cash register. “Yes, that would be great. Thanks, Rachel.”
Hiring Rachel had been a good move on my part. She was a hard worker, always on time and very reliable. If I had something going on and couldn’t make it into the store, she was always willing to step in and cover the store for me. She was also a very nice person.
I missed Robin. I missed having a girlfriend to gossip with and talk about silly things. The closest I had to a girlfriend now was Rachel, but our conversations didn’t go much beyond food and the weather. I didn’t see her going out for drinks or talking about hot cops. She invited me to go to an ice cream social at her church last month. Thoughtful of her to ask, but not really my scene.
The bell jingled. I looked over and smiled.
My smile froze on my face.
John.
I turned to him. “Hello,” I greeted in what I hoped was a friendly tone.
“Hi, Aimee,” he said, smiling widely. He turned to Rachel, still stocking the apple jam. “Hi, Rachel.”
“Hello,” she said demurely.
John walked over to Rachel. “What kind of jam is that?”
She held up a jar. “Apple.”
“I’ll take two of those, please,” he said, taking two from the shelf.
Rachel nodded and went back to stocking.
