“The Flawless and the Flawed”
Sydney stretched a bejeweled hand across the diner table.
“My grandmother had a ring exactly like that.” Rosamond squinted, examining the emerald ring pushed under her nose.
Sydney’s outstretched fingers recoiled.
“Lee bought it at Smithfield’s antiques. It’s flawless. It’s vintage,” she said.
“Jeez. What’s with the service here today?” Rosamond signaled for the waitress.
“There’s no other ring like it. And, if and when YOU get engaged, if we’re still friends, I’ll be happy for you.”
“I’m getting eggs, that’s what I’m getting. Do you know what you’re getting?” Rosamond said, placing her menu to the side.
***
Of course Rosamond was jealous. The two of them-friends since kindergarten-mid thirties-had been single for so long. Rosamond and Lee’s courtship had been fast, furious, magical. The night they met she hadn’t even heated up the curling iron or dabbed on the usual makeup. She was all stringy hair and acne scars when Lee emerged from the crowd, white smile, dark suit dazzling.
“Are you the daughter of the deceased?” he said.
“It’s my uncle. My Uncle Sal.”
He lingered there, looking out at the crowd. She shifted from foot to foot in too-tight loafers.
“Let’s have coffee sometime.”
He handed her his business card - Lee Crampford, Funeral Director-disappeared.
Of course Rosamond would resent all this change, of course she would.
***
“I swear, that ring is not that unusual-it’s exactly like my grandma’s,” Rosamond said again, raising her voice over the diner’s rush hour.
“I doubt hers was flawless. If it was, why’d she be buried with it? You’re just jealous because Lee’s given me lots of nice stuff.”
“Oh please. I am not jealous of you and creepy Lee. Who made the best speech ever at the engagement party? Me, that’s who.”
Sydney managed a smile, layered her hand over her friend’s.
Rosamond soon ran off to dog sit or whatever she was busy with that weekend. Sydney sat alone at their usual table, the conversation swirling in her head like coffee creamer in coffee.
***
Sydney entered the dark space - heavily scented with old flowers, burned, candles, sadness-through the delivery door. Her lit phone guided her passage through the main hallway and reception room before reaching Lee’s office. He fancied himself too old fashioned for computerized records, so Sydney easily opened the unlocked the filing cabinet standing solemnly in the corner. Her fingers passed over many names until she stopped at what she was looking for: Rosamond’s grandmother, Elaine McMasters.
Underneath the desk, inside the safe, she found a box full of jewelry, rosaries, lace handkerchiefs, even letters with the words Grandma, Daddy, or My Darling on the envelopes. Sydney wasted no time. She twisted the flawless emerald off her ring finger, placed it inside with the other stolen items, their not-so-final resting place. She passed through the shadows to her car, returned to the life she knew before.
“Victorious”
The light shifted, the office growing darker as afternoon progressed. I am looking for new experiences in the retail market. The sentence trailed through his mind like one of those biplane banners across the ocean at the shore. Alan conjured the sensations of summers past: the fine sand stuck to his lean body, the smell of cigarette smoke and old beer.
The snow fell.
Back in his Jersey days, Alan saw Karin from across a crowded room, the car dealership showroom where he worked since high school. On the test drive - a Chevrolet Malibu- he noticed her quick laugh, not to mention her bare knee that moved slightly as she pressed on and off the gas.
Karin had a plan and Alan followed it. They married, packed their suitcases, and moved here, her hometown. She’d accepted an assistant principal position for the super great school district. Returning victorious, she had a degree, a husband, and a job to boot. Of course, Alan knew there were problems. He knew she made excuses, she spun the car dealership to her family and friends so it sounded like some great entrepreneurial act. He knew her love had its limits.
But still, somehow, he didn’t expect what happened. Alan whistled, he whistled, as he came through the door that day, the day he found out. He remembered his wife’s down-turned mouth. “You can’t be surprised. Please,” she said, hands on her hips, like he should be ashamed for not guessing, for needing to be told about Phil.
He was surprised. In that moment of realization, he even felt woozy, like he could faint. But he didn’t. Alan’s newly toned emotional muscle pushed the dark thoughts away.
The Coffee Klatch across the street beckoned, glimmering lights persisting in the snowy blur. His grandmother went to what she called coffee klatches. Alan missed his grandmother.
Susie, who worked the counter, wrapped in snow gear, stood in the lot across the way. Noticing Alan in his window, she waved through the dusky snow screen. He waved back, shook on his heavy coat, not bothering to lock the office door.
Alan turned the key in the ignition. The cold engine choked to life. The wipers pushed thick snow from the windshield. The humming engine felt like an old friend, a comfort for him as he turned out of the lot, onto the highway.
Maggie Nerz Iribarne is 53, living her writing dream in a yellow house in Syracuse, New York. She writes about teenagers, witches, the very old, bats, cats, priests/nuns, cleaning ladies, runaways, struggling teachers, and neighborhood ghosts, among many other things. She keeps a portfolio of her published work at https://www.maggienerziribarne.com.
