The Future Memoir of Ann Jones Read online

  “One day, I came home early from an appointment to show a house, where the buyers had never showed up. The front door was open. I panicked. Ran upstairs to our bedroom. My dear Charles lay in our bed with a single bullet shot through his head.”

  Ann was stunned. This was not the happy ending she was looking for. This ending was shocking and disturbing and she didn’t know what to do or say. She couldn’t move.

  “The worst part was the gun used to shoot my Charles was the very gun I had purchased to keep us safe. I wanted to escape the house and the town that held all those memories, so I moved my business to Burrburgh straight away. I ran into Freda, or should I say she ran into me, at the market and she invited me to join this little club. And so, there you have it.”

  Chapter 8

  The morning after the knitting club meeting, Ann tossed and turned in her bed reliving Gloria’s story in her dreams. She knew how difficult it was to lose her husband, but to deal with a murder was too much for Ann to comprehend. When the sun peeked through her bedroom curtain, she went downstairs to make toast. Honey groggily followed.

  “You have no idea how good you have it, Honey,” Ann spoke to her pet in a conversational tone as if Honey would be answering in no time. “You never have to hear other people’s tragic stories. Or live your own. You have all your meals prepared for you. You don’t have to clean the house. You don’t even have to wipe your own butt, though I know as soon as my back is turned you drag it along the rug! And, of course there’s always the fact that you have such a pushover as your owner.” Ann reached into Honey’s biscuit jar and tossed her a treat, then scratched the top of her head.

  Gloria’s recollection of her life story disturbed Ann. Even though she hadn’t known Gloria long, she felt a friendship forming. She wanted Gloria to be the happy person inside that she portrayed on the outside. Ann vowed to herself she would find a way to help her new friend.

  But today was the day to tackle the rest of her boxes; she’d spend the entire day unpacking to get her life in order once and for all. She started with her bedroom and when she unboxed her clothes she realized a West Coast wardrobe was probably not going to bode well for the winter. Instead of hanging up all of her dresses, she chose her favorites and tossed the rest into an empty box. She’d donate them, along with many items she should have let go before she moved, to a local charity.

  By three o’clock she’d had enough of the unpacking and decided to check out Gloria’s list for a suitable charity for her extra summer attire. She found a thrift store, Puttin’ on the Ritz, near the Okey Dokey Corral.

  Ann grabbed her box of clothes and drove to the thrift store.

  * * * * *

  When she arrived at Puttin’ on the Ritz, a crowd milled about the entrance. Ann walked up to the door but was shoved aside by a woman who looked like she’d spent too much time in a tanning salon.

  The bronze woman pointed to the line of about five people. “Excuse me, just who do you think you are, cutting in line like that? I’m next and I’ve been waiting my turn, just like you can. Back of the line, lady.”

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea this was a line. I just have a donation to drop off.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” A tall woman in neon pink cat-eye sunglasses towering behind tanning-woman asked.

  “An appointment? To drop off a donation?” Ann was confused.

  “This isn’t the Salvation Army!” the tall woman said. “You can’t just waltz in here and drop off your stuff. Wilhelmina is particular about the items she accepts and sells.”

  Ann had never heard of a second-hand store where you had to make an appointment, or one that had a line waiting to enter. “So, what is the line for? Is this for donations or purchasing?”

  The crispy-fried woman said, “It’s for both if you don’t have an appointment.” She crossed her arms in front of her as if to say she was done with this conversation and turned back toward the door to wait for, what Ann assumed, was a fitting for a bikini for that island vacation she must be preparing for.

  Ann said, “Just one more question,” she addressed it to anyone in the line. “How long do you think the wait will be?”

  An elderly woman waiting in line holding what looked like a needlepoint carpet bag grinned up at her and said, “Not long, Sweetie. When one comes out, the next goes in. Really. It’s not long if you want to wait. Of course, if you’re in a rush, you can go home and make an appointment, and that’s just swell too.”

  Ann considered her options for a second; stay out here or go back home to unpack. She had seen, tackled, and cut her fingers on enough boxes for today, so she decided she’d wait it out. The back of the line was behind a well-dressed man in a sweater vest and tie who looked to be about thirty. His wavy black hair and brown eyes reminded her of a guy she had a crush on in high school. She took her place in line behind him.

  “Any chance you have a tuxedo in that box?” he said jokingly.

  “Sorry. No. Just some summer dresses. Cleaning out my closet,” Ann said. “Were you looking for a tux?”

  “Well, I’ve heard this is a pretty upscale second-hand store. And you’re likely to find the finer attire here. I need a tux for a funeral my sister’s throwing next week.”

  Throwing? Who throws a funeral?

  But before she could ask, he explained, “It’s for her cat. He’s not dead yet.”

  “But she knows he will be? By next week?” Ann wondered aloud, seeing the resemblance to her high school crush dwindling rather quickly.

  The man moved forward a few steps as tanning girl entered the store. “She’s putting him,” he moved closer as he whispered, “down.”

  Ann leaned in to him and returned his whisper, “Oh.” Still, she thought it odd that anyone would throw a funeral. “And she’s planning the funeral for that time?”

  “Yes, she’s going to be pretty upset about it. So, she thought if everyone got all dressed up and brought their pets, we could have an old-fashioned wake and get all that emotion out at once.”

  Since when did folks wear tuxes to a wake? “Well, I’m sure that will do the trick,” she said, not wanting to hear any further details.

  “You see, my sister, she’s a bit on the eccentric side. Me, on the other hand, I would have thought more of like… a reception for a wedding—that would have been nice. Color coordinate the linens and napkins, bring the funeral sprays with us and use them for centerpieces on the tables. A nice touch.”

  Suddenly, the man with the black wavy hair who was looking less and less like Ann’s crush, became heated, “But she can’t see reason. Has to have things her way.” His voice grew increasingly louder as he spoke. “Since we were young, she’s been a control freak, always having to have her say! Like the time she wanted to play mummy and made me get all wrapped up in sheets.” His hands flailed like a conductor in an orchestra. “She left me right there, in the tree house! How was I supposed to get down when I was bound like a Chinese woman’s foot?” He leaned over and peered into Ann’s face for an answer, his eyes on fire.

  She wondered if he was actually looking for an answer and started to worry where this was going as his voice rose in tandem with how annoyed he became talking about his sister. She wondered how she could escape before he totally went off the deep end. His eyes bugged out, making him look like Gollum with hair.

  He was practically shouting about the funeral, as the tall woman and her glasses entered the store. “And how dare she tell me I have to wear a tux because I will be the only pallbearer. She has her nerve! What if I refuse, what if I wear a 3-piece suit instead?” He took a step closer to Ann as he shouted, “That would show her! That would show all of them!”

  “Well, gee, it’s really getting late. Don’t think I can wait after all. Better be on my way,” Ann called over her shoulder as she ran toward her car. She glanced back. The remaining customers waiting in line were oblivious to the entire ordeal. Or perhaps, they were singing their favorite song inside their head.
Very loudly!

  * * * * *

  When she arrived home, Ann made the call, and left a message for the owner of Puttin’ on the Ritz for an appointment to drop off her items and got back to unpacking boxes.

  The phone rang shortly after and she stumbled through her bedroom, dodging open drawers, and empty boxes, and flung herself onto her bed and picked up the phone, just in time. She certainly didn’t want to miss the call to make her appointment. “Hello?” she called out of breath.

  “Ann?” It was the familiar voice of Ben, the car dealer.

  She was disappointed when it wasn’t the owner of the thrift store; she hoped to get rid of at least one box! “Oh, hi, Ben.”

  “Excited to hear from me as usual. No, no, don’t worry about my feelings getting hurt. It’s quite alright.”

  “Sorry, Ben, I was just expecting someone else.” She tried to catch her breath.

  “My competition?”

  “Not unless you’re a thrift store and you’re able to take some boxes off my hands.” Ann wished she hadn’t answered the phone. She was far too busy to make idle chit-chat with Ben.

  “Well, how do you know I’m not? You don’t know everything about me.”

  “Ben, look—”

  “No, I didn’t call to give you a hard time. This is actually a business call,” he said in a dignified tone.

  Since he couldn’t see her through the phone, she waved her hand as if motioning him to hurry and get to the point.

  “When I was going through the paperwork for your new car, I noticed you hadn’t signed the form for the extended warranty you purchased. So, I’m going to need your signature.”

  “Yes, I did. You made a huge deal about it at the time. You said if I didn’t sign it at that exact moment I’d never be able to get the deal,” Ann argued.

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. Ann wondered if Ben had hung up on her or got cut off. “Ben?”

  “Yeah, I’m still here,” he said in an irritated tone. “Sorry. I guess we misplaced it. I’ll hunt around the office and see if I can come up with it. If not, would you be willing to sign and back-date another copy?”

  “Or what?” She finally had the upper hand with Ben.

  “Or the extended warranty is void. I told you not to buy it in the first place, but you wouldn’t listen to me, so now we have to go through this.”

  “Never in my life have I ever met a salesman like you,” Ann barked.

  “Why, thank you. I guess that’s why I’ve been the most successful salesman on the East Coast for the past ten years.” Ben snickered.

  She clenched her fists, “Ooooh, Ben Jallopenson you are so irritating! You know that’s not what I meant!”

  “How about you explain to me what you did mean over dinner? Free tonight?”

  “I’m not free tonight. Or any night. I told you, I don’t date. Now, I’ve got to get back to my drawers,” she was flustered and didn’t want to hear an inappropriate remark from him about her drawers, so she quickly changed it, “my boxes.”

  An hour later, she was still aggravated from the phone call, and the only way she knew to fix it was to find and unpack her boom box and blast it as loud as she could. Her kids had tried talking her into getting rid of it, ridiculing her because no one owned a boom box anymore. But she just couldn’t part with it. She searched the boxes in the spare bedroom. She found her tennis racket and balls, her Stephen King novels, and her knitting needles; but her CD player remained elusive.

  The needles distracted her enough to make her forget about the radio and instead, got her thinking about the knitting club. It had been a strange encounter to say the least. She had a strong feeling she was being urged to return. Something about the women drew her in. And the story Gloria told was heartbreaking. Ann wanted to make sure Gloria was feeling okay after the emotional story, so she decided to give her a call and see if Gloria would like to meet up sometime.

  “Hi, this is Ann Jones,” she said after dialing the realtor’s number.

  “Yes?” the voice on the other line announced. “May I help you?”

  “I’d like to speak to Gloria Stonehenge please.”

  “One minute, please.”

  “Hello Ann,” Gloria said cheerfully. “Everything alright?”

  “Sure. Everything’s great. If you call living in a sea of boxes great. But I was just calling to see if you’d like to have lunch sometime. So we can talk.”

  “Absolutely love to! How about tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good. I hope you know a good place?” Ann was happy to get out for some fun and to escape the mess.

  “I most assuredly do. I’ll be round to give you a lift at noon.”

  * * * * *

  When the doorbell rang, Ann was happy for the interruption and eagerly opened the door. Her face fell when she saw Ben standing tall and looking mighty handsome in his gray suit in the late afternoon sun. A small tuft of hair hung on his forehead. The mom in her wanted to reach up and put it back in its place, but she controlled the impulse. He held out a manila folder.

  “Sorry, couldn’t find the form. I know how badly you wanted that warranty. So, to make it happen, I’m going to need your signature again.” Ben handed the folder to Ann with a smirk plastered across his face. “Can I come in, or do you want to have all your neighbors witness your signature?”

  Stepping aside, Ann was so irritated by his presence, she tripped over Honey, who had come to see who was at the door. Ben caught her with one arm, just as she was about to hit the hardwood floor.

  For the moment that he held her, she had a feeling of complete and overwhelming joy. And at the same time, she was mortified he caught her fall. She didn’t want him there, and definitely didn’t want him to save her from anything, except maybe from her embarrassment.

  “Nice floors,” he snickered as he righted her and let go. He reached over and gave Honey a hearty pat.

  “Thanks, I rather like them myself,” she mumbled more to herself.

  Honey jumped up on Ben and her paws landed squarely on thighs.

  “Down, Honey,” Ann commanded.

  “It’s okay. I love dogs.” Ben rubbed Honey’s coat.

  “It’s not okay. I don’t want her to think it’s okay to jump on the next visitor who comes over.”

  “So, you’ve got them all lined up and ready to come calling, have you?”

  “Where do I sign?” she asked in a huff, “I need to get back to this mess.”

  Ben searched her house for as far as he could see, which was the living room and kitchen. “I don’t see a huge mess. It looks remarkably in order for someone who just moved in.”

  What does he know. He’s a man. “You haven’t seen my bedroom,” Ann regretted it as soon as it slipped out.

  “Is that an invitation?”

  “Just show me where to sign, Ben.” She opened the folder and flipped through the papers.

  He stood behind her and pointed to the form requiring her signature. His strong arm grazed the top of her shoulder. As small and insignificant as the touch was, it sent chills up her spine. She shuddered, then shook off the feeling.

  She removed the form, searched around for a pen and then slapped her hands to her sides. “I don’t even have a pen unboxed. Or if I do, I surely don’t know where to find it.”

  He reached inside his suit jacket, pulled a pen from his pocket and handed it to her. “Here you go.”

  But before Ann could take it out of his hand, he snatched it back and said, “Under one condition.”

  Not this again. She eyed him suspiciously. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  “You know the deal. It’s simple. Have dinner with me. How difficult is it for you to just say yes to a free meal?”

  Ann shrugged. “I told you. I don’t date. It’s too soon to think about that.”

  “Not a date,” Ben wrinkled his nose. “You eat. I know you do. I’ve seen you eat.” He reached toward her mouth to remind her that he’d wiped cream off her face
. She swatted his hand away, this time hitting him. “Think of this as just eating. Not a date. No dating involved. Just eating. What do you say?” Ben cocked his head to one side, raised his eyebrows, and waited expectantly for an answer.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Looking disappointed, he handed her the pen.

  She scribbled her signature on the form and handed it back to him.

  “Thanks Ann,” he said matter-of-factly, “That’s all I need.” He turned to leave, then stopped and said, “For now.”

  As Ben closed the door, the phone rang. Ann ran to the kitchen phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Ann? This is Wilhelmina Rapaport, from Puttin’ on the Ritz. You called earlier looking for an appointment for a donation?”

  “Oh yes, hi, Wilhelmina. I have some things to donate. Just moved in and well, to be honest, I should have gone through my closet before moving. But, I was in such a hurry to get out here, that—”

  “That’s fine, Ann, how about tomorrow. I open the doors at noon on Fridays, so I have one appointment available in the morning. How about eleven?”

  “Sure, that would be great, thanks. See you then.” Ann headed back upstairs to make sure everything she wanted to donate was in boxes, because the process of donating was too cumbersome and she didn’t want to have to go through this again.

  * * * * *

  The next day, in the pouring rain, Ann carried a box into the thrift store. It didn’t look like a thrift store on the inside. It looked like the swankiest boutique shop she’d ever seen. It had several large rooms, with mannequins and vintage busts displayed in glass cases dressed to the nines. There was a wall of mirrors with tiny hanging lights highlighting certain outfits.

  Ann set the box down and ran back out into the rain to grab the next box. At that moment, she regretted having been so diligent in her search to lighten her load.

  This time, Wilhelmina met Ann at the door and held it open for her. She set the box next to the other wet one and stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Ann Jones.”