The Ring Final Chapters

 

 

MARGO LOUD POWERS

 

MARGO TURNED HER key and reached for the light switch to the left of the door. By now, she was getting around on one crutch combined with a hippity hop movement.

She looked around her home, her studio, her tiny home and felt good. There was the table with her paints and brushes, the couch covered with a blanket to hide the holes in the upholstery.

Daylight Savings Time had gone into effect while she was gone. Late afternoon sun streamed into the window over the table.

She had no grass deliberately, preferring flowers that came up every year without wanting any care.

Who was she kidding? Bethany had planted the mutti-no-work garden. Somewhere in her desk was a notebook that her daughter had made for her so she would know what the flowers were called. The left page was the flower in color, the right a pencil sketch.

When Margo turned the page, Bethany had given her the history of the flower. Her daughter had artistic talent, but no desire to use it. Shame, but Margo wanted to make sure her daughter never felt guilty for following her own path as she had done herself.

Even when she used flowers in designs she never named them. How many times had she thumbed through florist sheets and copied flowers never learning or caring for what their names were. Then again, she made up flowers, too.

None of it mattered. She was home. She could begin working again.

Hans-Peter and Henry Willis followed her in with the suitcases.

Margo found it hard to believe that she was glad that Hans-Peter came for the summer. She still needed help.

They had laid out the ground rules. He was editing his documentary. They had arranged for him to rent studio space in Boston, and he would take the train each day into the city. He was also using time to work on his book.

Margo started on her orders. She had written to all the people who had placed orders, who had been understanding about her accident. With the exception of the woman who Margo had called the Duchess. She had cancelled.

Until the cast was off Hans-Peter would do most of the household chores and run the errands.

There was one double bed and one air mattress. Both were upstairs on the mezzanine. The toilet was on ground level along with the shower.

In Stuttgart for their last three weeks together they had shared a bed in greater and greater intimacy. The idea of him sleeping in the double bed upstairs with her or on an air mattress downstairs seemed weird but as Margo pointed out, “I need to be near the toilet.” When the cast was off, she would reclaim half the mattress.

“I can’t offer you anything to drink or eat.” Margo said to Henry. “Hans-Peter can run to the store though if the car still starts.”

“I started your car several times when you were gone. No problems as of two days ago. And if you check the fridge there’s eggs, milk, orange juice, hamburger. Bread too.”

For the first time Marge noticed the bowl of apples on the countertop. She hopped over to Henry and hugged him. “Thank you.”

“Now sit down for a moment.”

She did.

“I’m not telling you what to do, but you should know Heather wants that damned ring back.

*****

THE BIRDS SANG a chorus in the trees just beyond the flower garden. Margo had missed the melodies when she woke. The traffic and streetcar melodies just weren’t the same.

She stretched as best she could on the couch with her ankle in a smaller type of cast. Granted she was more mobile than she had been, but it still wasn’t easy.

With the exception of a bluejay, robin and crow, Margo couldn’t identify one bird from another anymore than she could identify different flowers. She had done a bird series of dishes that had sold well featuring robins. Okay males had red chests, but the female of the species remained a mystery to her. Her blue jay collection sold well too.

As she stayed listening to the bird song, she felt happy. Today she was going to be back at work full force. Yesterday she had spent part of the day reorganizing her materials.

Some of her paints and brushes had dried out. Hans-Peter had driven her to the art store for replacements. It was not a quick trip because Becca and Richard, who owned the art store, wanted to know all about her accident and the exhibition, in that order.

Hans-Peter had set up his working area also, although he would need the equipment at the studio to do some of the editing of what they had filmed in Sweden. When he was back with Margo in the evenings, he would work on the book that would accompany the documentary unless they decided to watch a film on Netflix.

Back when they were newlyweds, a lifetime ago, they didn’t have the money to go to the movies.

Margo lay on the couch, savoring the last minutes before getting up; she could hear her ex-husband’s snores floating down from the mezzanine. Unlike many women snores didn’t bother her.

She twisted herself out of bed and hopped over the counter started the coffee. Hans-Peter had brought his favorite coffee from Germany, saying although American coffee had improved over the years, German coffee was better. The aroma of coffee percolating must have woken him up because he came down the stairs.

He had put on a few kilos over the years, but he’d been so skinny when they were married that the extra weight looked good on him just as the sprinkling of gray in his hair looked good.

“Coffee?”

“Almost.”

“I appreciate it, but you should be saving your energy for your work. I’ll make us some Kartoffelpuffer.”

Margo loved the potato dish which Hans-Peter had made for them when they were married and again when she’d been recovering. She tried to ignore how the years of separation had brought them closer together, but she didn’t want to think about what that meant. All her life Margo had created a path to somewhere, but she would abandon the goal when something new came along that seemed a better choice. Overall, it had made her life work better than sticking to one path.

While he was cooking, Margo maneuvered in the shower then hippity hopped from the bathroom to find her paint splattered jeans and T-shirt.

As she finished dressing, she heard a truck drive into the driveway followed by a door slam then a knock on her door.

Hans-Peter answered it, signed for the UPS package. “The ring is here.”

Still declaring she didn’t believe in curses, Margo had not wanted to fly on a plane to the United States with the ring. She was happy to admit nothing had happened good or bad on her flight to France, but she told Hans-Peter wasn’t going to tempt fate. She was a nervous flyer, anyway, why let her overactive imagination work overtime on an eight-hour flight.

“I could kid you about letting the ring damage the UPS plane, the pilot having five kids that will be left half orphans. . .” he had said.

She’d stuck her tongue out, a behavior that she had given up years ago. In reality, she checked if there was any news of a UPS plane from Stuttgart to Boston having problems. There had been none, and now the ring, the beautiful ring, was back in her tiny home.

How silly she had been thinking of curses. There were no such things. There was bad luck and bad luck was not caused by rings.

After breakfast, before she brought out the clay that would make the tea set, she put the ring next to her potter’s wheel. She couldn’t wear it when she was working with the clay. When she was busy with orders or just busy giving birth to her ideas, she couldn’t wear it. If she left it on the work table, it could, would get lost.

Hans-Peter had said more than once, “Give the damn ring to your sister.”

Was she being childish holding onto a ring to stop her sister from winning? She and Heather would never agree on how to live their lives. They didn’t agree on what to wear, what books to read, how to pass their free time. So what?

The phone rang. She was able to wipe enough clay off her hands to pick up the phone and nestle it between her head and shoulder. “Hello.”

“Hi Margo. Henry here.”

They exchanged the usual meaningless sentences.

“I thought I’d drop the dog off tonight on my way home from work.” With Hans-Peter still with her, there would be someone to give poor Camille regular walks until next month. As much as Margo had liked the dog from puppyhood, and as much as she had not wanted the dog to be put in a cage until the powers that be could find a home for her, if they could find a home for her, she wasn’t sure she wanted her full time. Camille was too sweet to be shuffled back and forth.

“I bet you’ll miss her.”

“More than you’ll ever know. She’s become a part of my office. The sales staff, never mind my admin, fight whose turn it is to walk her and play with her.”

Margo took a deep breath. “Henry how would you feel about keeping her?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

So much for that idea, Margo thought. She would be a loving owner, but she was more suited to cats who needed less work.

“Are you sure about that?”

“It just came into my head, but . . .”

“I know you love the dog, and you could have sleep overs, or maybe doggy sit when I have to go to a conference or something.”

That settled it. Henry would keep the dog. Margo would have visitation rights. She'd be like a grandma to the animal. 

*****  

HEATHER LOUD POWERS

TENSION STILL FLARED between Grayson Heather, although less than earlier, but it was a subject that bubbled under the surface.

Heather and Grace sat in the living room on face-to-face matching couches. Grace was in Jeans, but Heather was wearing linen slacks.

Even around the house Heather dressed in ironed, color-coordinated clothes. Even her underwear was color-coordinated.

With Grace home for a long weekend, Heather was trying to get her daughter on her side of what she had come to think of as The Great Ring War.

They had just finished lunch, baloney sandwiches, a Saturday tradition for the family. Heather thought she would give it another try.

Grayson was in his leather chair, color-coordinated of course to the rest of the furniture. “No, absolutely not. Waste of money. You don’t need the stupid ring. No lawyer.”

Heather did not say she would be spending her own money.

“I keep telling your mother to forget it,” Grayson said. His feet were on a matching hassock as he played with his mobile.

“Who cares about the ring?” Grace asked

“I do. It was my mother’s. Granny’s and Great Granny’s. I want it to go to you, stay in the family.”

“Margo is in the family. And it can go to Bethany.”

“I’m the older.”

“I’m going upstairs. This isn’t what I came home for.” Grace had perfected her stomp-out-when-annoyed walk long ago. She had not used it for years, but she employed it now.

“Really, you should leave this alone,” Grayson said as the doorbell rang.

Heather stood up and walked to the door. “Margo,” she said. “What are you doing here? And Hans-Peter. Come in.”

“We’re not staying. I came to give you this. I’m finished with this stupidity.” She handed Heather a small blue velvet box. “Good luck, you’ll need it.” She turned and walked back to her car that was parked in front of the house.

Heather opened the box to see the ring and then slipped it on her finger. She held it to the light to make sure all the diamonds were in place.”

“Looks like your sister is the better person,” Grayson said.

“Or realized the ring belongs with me.”

Heather wore the ring the rest of the day, stopping to admire it regularly.

At dinner, the subject of the ring did not come up. Heather didn’t want to spoil the remainder of Grace’s visit. They had the traditional baked bean and hot dog supper. Had Heather known Grace would be home, she’d have made the beans in Great Granny’s beanpot rather than open a can. The pot had served Saturday night supper for four generations. No one could say that Heather didn’t care about family tradition.

“I think I’ll go to Rosi and Ralph’s,” Grace said. “I haven’t seen them since the baby was born.”

Heather bit her tongue rather than say how Rosi was not married and had produced two babies within three years.

“Don’t be too late.” Grayson kissed his daughter.

“Drive carefully,” both said.

The couple sat down to watch an episode of Bones on Netflix. They hadn’t watched it first time it had been on television. They both enjoyed binge watching rather than wait a week for new episode.

“I think I’ll go to bed,” Grayson said. He kissed Heather on the forehead. “Don’t put the chain on the door unless . . .”

“. . .unless Grace is in.” Heather stretched out on the couch.

“OH SHIT!” Grayson’s voice came down the stairs. Heather ran up.

Her husband stood outside the bathroom. Water was running into the hall. The toilet had flooded, ruining the new bathroom rug that Heather had just put down.

THE END