Page 23 of The Lost Hours
“Poor thing.” Earlene clicked her tongue. “My grandmother had a little dog. He adored her. And when she . . . went away, he missed her so much that he stopped eating.” The door hinges squeaked as Earlene opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in? I’m not quite ready.”
Helen felt Odella push her forward over the threshold, where Earlene took her arm. “Sorry we’re so early. I can never be sure how long it’s going to take to get somewhere when Odella drives. You remember Odella Pruitt, don’t you? She’s the real boss at Asphodel.” Helen smiled in the older woman’s direction. “We’ll be happy to wait until you’re ready to go.”
“Just for a minute. I need to run a brush through my hair and find some shoes.”
Earlene led them into the sitting area at the front of the house and waited while Helen found a seat. Mardi came up to her and settled on the floor on her feet. “So what happened to your grandmother’s dog?” Helen asked.
“He died. Less than a month after my grandmother left. And it was odd because . . .”
Helen felt Odella settle onto the couch next to her as she waited for Earlene to continue. “Because why?”
There was a long pause. “Because I hardly knew that she was gone.” Her voice was soft, as if she hadn’t intended for the other occupants in the room to hear her. “I’ll be right back,” she said, her voice recovered as her footsteps moved across the small braided rug and then to the hardwood floors that led to the single bedroom.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Helen turned to Odella. “What do you see?”
She could hear Odella rubbing her hands on her polyester slacks. “It’s all as neat as a pin and only one place mat on the table, so we know she’s at least been eating alone.” She paused, her tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth. “She’s got one of them fold-up computers sitting on the kitchen table, but there’s something else I can’t figure out what it is. It looks like an old metal box.”
Earlene called out from the bedroom. “I spilled toothpaste on my blouse, so I’m going to have to change it. It’ll just take a minute.”
“Take your time,” Helen answered, then turned back to Odella. Lowering her voice, she said,“Don’t be too intrusive, but could you go over and get a better look?”
She felt Odella leave the sofa, her tread light as she crossed the small room. “I can’t believe the things you make me do for you on account of you being blind. And it’s not ’cause I feel sorry for you, neither. You’ve got more hold of your faculties than most people I know with both eyes.”
Helen, satisfied that Earlene wasn’t finished changing, turned her face toward where she knew Odella was. “So what do you see?”
“Like I said, it’s a metal box—a rectangle one like you see in the banks. You know, like a safety-deposit box. The lid’s closed.”
“Look inside, Odella. Quick.”
“Lordy, Helen. If Miss Lillian finds out, she’s going to skin me alive. And I got to hurry—the corn bread has to go in the oven about now if we’re going to eat at seven. You know how your grandmama gets when her supper’s late.”
“Hurry!” Helen hissed, the fear of being caught reminding her of the time she and Tucker had hidden in the trunk of their parents’ car in the hopes that they might be brought along on one of their trips. They’d figured that after they were discovered at the airport it would be too late to turn back. But they hadn’t even made it out of the drive because their mother had opened the trunk to place one more bag inside and discovered them sweating profusely and almost out of air. It didn’t matter that she’d probably saved their lives by finding them when she did; their disappointment at being left behind seemed to them a much worse fate.
Odella paused for a moment. “It’s a bunch of old scrapbook pages with just a ratty cover. Looks like something the cat dragged in.” Something jangled against metal. “And there’s a necklace in here, too. With a bunch of those little things you hang from a bracelet.”
“You mean charms?”
“Yeah, those. Like that angel Miss Lillian wears around her neck.”
Helen grasped her hands into a fist, listening to Earlene opening the closet door in the bedroom. “Open the pages and read something.”
Odella’s sigh was accompanied by the sound of rustling pages. “There’s a bunch of old pictures—they’re all black-and-white. Mostly of some girls—and one of them looks like she might have been your grandmama from way back when. Lots of pictures of horses, too.”
“But what does itsay?”
Oblivious to Helen’s urgency, Odella said, “Well, on the inside cover it says, ‘This book is the property of Annabelle O’Hare, Lillian Harrington, and Josephine Montet. Unauthorized persons snooping inside this book will be shot.’ ” Odella snorted. “And there’s a loose picture here of three girls—they’re sitting on top of the fence in what looks like the north pasture. On the back it has those same names again and then some foreign language that I can’t read.”
“Can you sound it out?” Helen cocked her ear again in Earlene’s direction, relieved to hear the water running in the bathroom.
Painfully, Odella sounded out the words with her South Georgia accent, brutalizing each one. By the time Odella had reached the fourth or fifth word, Helen sat back against the sofa cushion, recognizing Cicero’s Latin words of wisdom.Dum vita est, spes est.They were the words her grandmother had taught her when a much younger Helen lay in her bed, sick with fever, on the first day she realized she could no longer see.
Helen heard the cover being slapped on top of the pages and then the faint metal sound of the box closing. She felt Odella’s weight shift the sofa cushion at about the same time as she heard Earlene’s footsteps approaching. Mardi let out a bark of warning just in case.
Earlene reentered the room, smelling of soap. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Helen smiled as Odella helped her stand. “No problem at all. I just apologize for being so early.” She turned to Odella. “Oh, and before I forget, we brought some more supplies—paper products and dishwashing soap—that I noticed you were low on when we stocked the refrigerator before you arrived. We left them out on the cart, so don’t let us leave without us bringing them in. And I also wanted to tell you that you should give your weekly shopping list to Odella every Monday. She does a town run every Tuesday for groceries and she can pick up what you need then.”
“Great, thank you. After this morning’s incident I’m not in such a hurry to get back in my car. Odella, while you’re helping Helen back to the cart, why don’t I grab the bags and bring them in?”
