A Box Called Hope. A Short Story

Jesse watched her two reasons for living climb into an aged Buick and rattle toward the airport. Her daughters would be gone for a month, but Jesse knew they would never come back. Not really. This long chapter of her life had reached a conclusion. After this trip, the girls would start their careers in different cities.

With a lump in her throat, Jesse wandered back into the house. Everywhere she looked, reminders mocked her. The photographs on the walls, Lily’s athletic trophies on the shelves, the quilt Rosa had made for her last birthday draped over the back of the sofa. When had the house become a shrine to the people they had once been?

Jesse plopped onto the sofa and flicked through the TV channels. She and the girls liked to watch Pretty Little Liars and The Vampire Diaries, but without her daughters beside her, she felt silly watching the angsty, monstrous teens. She padded up the stairs to find a book to keep her company.

Cursing floated through the window and Jesse stopped to peek through the curtains. Dave Davenport, her neighbor, stumbled off his front porch. He shouted a few obscenities to the sky. A microwave came flying after him and crashed onto the brown and patchy lawn near his feet. He jumped as if a firecracker and been lit beneath his feet and stared open-mouthed at his wife who had emerged through the open door.

Yikes. Could Lisa really pitch a microwave?

Could she, Jesse, throw a microwave? Out of curiosity, she went to the kitchen to see. She could lift it, but could she throw it? She caught her own reflection in the mirror and realized how ridiculous she looked cradling the microwave in her arms. This is what boredom and loneliness can do, she thought. And she returned the appliance to the countertop, embarrassed, even though there was no one to see.

A crash sounded and Jesse scampered back to the window. Oh dear. Dave was flinging rocks at the house and shattering the windows. Lisa had disappeared, but the McKinney’s children from across the street, a girl and a boy with skateboards tucked under their arms, had stopped on the sidewalk to watch.

Jesse wanted to tell them to go inside, but didn’t want to turn Dave Davenport’s attention to herself or the kids. Dave looked like a poster child for an anger management class. Besides, this wasn’t the first fight she’d witnessed at the Davenport’s. After only a moment’s hesitation, Jesse called the police.

She spent the rest of the evening hiding in her house, occasionally peeking out her window at the officers with their patrol cars and flashing lights.

#

The next morning when Jesse arrived at Lorraine’s, Marlene, the nurse, met her at the back door. “She’s had a doozy of a night. She’ll probably sleep all day.”

“Nightmares?” Jesse bustled into the mudroom, hung her jacket up on the rack beside Lorraine’s Hermes scarves and Burberry coat, slipped off her shoes, and slid her feet into a pair of house slippers.

“I don’t think so.” Marlene shrugged into her sweater. “She seems pretty lucid, except she keeps going on about that lost box. We need to keep an eye on her, or the next thing we’ll know she’ll be out in the canyon with the coyotes looking for that thing.”

Jesse had heard Lorraine talking about the box a few times before but she hadn’t paid much attention. “What do we know about it?”

“Only that it’s very valuable and quite old.”

“If it’s so priceless, why take it into the canyon?”

Marlene laughed. “She claims it walked there.”

Jesse pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “What does Kelly say about it?”

“She’s tired of listening to her mom go on and on about it.”

“She doesn’t know what sort of box it is either?”

Marlene shook her head and shouldered her purse. “Good luck today.”

“Thanks.”

To her surprise, when Jesse carried in Lorraine’s breakfast, she found Lorraine sitting up in her bed with a needle, thread, and an embroidery hoop in her hands. Her glasses had slid down her nose and her swimmy eyes greeted Jesse with a smile.

“I’m glad to see you’ve picked that back up,” Jesse said. Lorraine had been working on the same bit of needlework for as long as Jesse had been working there—twenty two years. Her girls had been just babies when she’d first been hired as a personal assistant. Her responsibilities had shifted over the years as Lorraine’s civic involvement and social engagements had largely faded away and her calendar had filled with doctor appointments. For a while, Jesse had wondered what purpose she served in Lorraine’s life, until she realized she was a much needed friend and companion.

“I’ll finish before I die, if it’s the last thing I do.” Lorraine shook the hoop with so much force, the needle attached to a string danced in the air.

“Maybe you’ll have more energy after breakfast,” Jesse said gently. She placed the food on the nightstand.

Lorraine eyed the tray. “I don’t want eggs. I hate eggs.”

“You have eggs every morning,” Jesse said, surprised. Lorraine had always had a sunny, easy-going personality.

“That’s why I hate them.” Lorraine pulled a face.

Jesse fought back a smile, balled her hands into fists and planted them on her hips. “What do you want?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Lorraine quipped back. “What are you going to do with your life when I’m gone?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Jesse said with more harshness than she intended. She softened her tone. “We’re discussing breakfast, and I already had mine.” She wasn’t about to get into a philosophical debate this early in the morning.

Lorraine leaned back onto her pillows and addressed the ceiling. “Crepes with raspberry and cream filling.”

Jesse glanced out the window at Lorraine’s garden, a blossoming patch twice the size of Jesse’s yard. The raspberries would be hard and green little balls this time of the year. She sighed. “I’ll go and talk to Clive about the raspberries.” Maybe they still had some in the freezer from last season.

Lorraine snorted. “Useless gardener,” she said with fondness her words belied. “He doesn’t know a trowel from a hoe.”

Jesse wanted to argue, because she thought Clive did an amazing job on Lorraine’s enormous piece of property, but she knew better than to engage Lorraine in an argument. Besides, she also knew if she stayed away long enough, Lorraine would forget about raspberry crepes and eat the eggs.

#

The next few days passed quietly. Jesse received a few texts from Lily and Rosa. Pictures of the Tower Bridge. A video clip of the changing of the guard. A snapshot of someone who looked like Daniel Radcliff. Jesse cradled her phone in her hand. It had taken her months to save up the money for their trip. She offered up a silent prayer that the girls would meet their paternal grandmother and be welcomed into her home, if not into her life.

Jesse ran a critical eye over her own home. Without the girls, it seemed like a tomb. She sniffed and considered her own mortality.

The neighbor’s door slammed. Jesse looked up to see Dave Davenport storming through the back gate.

Oh, dear.

Trouble had returned.

Jesse stood and gathered up her purse. She would not spend another Saturday listening to her neighbor’s war. She would go the grocery store and splurge on food. Maybe she’d prepare a picnic for the Fourth of July and invite Marlene to join her. She couldn’t afford much, but maybe some fine chocolates, a roasted chicken, grilled vegetables, and a bottle of hard lemonade. Her imagination began to spark, and she imagined her fare spread out on the quilt Rosa had made at the lake to watch the fireworks exploding over the town. Even if Marlene had other plans, Jesse promised herself she’d go.

Jesse enjoyed poking around the gourmet grocery store, tasting the store samples, and selecting colorful fruits and vegetables. She came home with bags of produce and even a bouquet of fresh flowers. She was about to call Marlene when she caught sight of Lisa sitting on her back porch, her shoulders hunched, crying.

You should give them your picnic, a voice that sounded suspiciously like her grandmother’s spoke in her head.

“No,” Jesse said out loud, even though her grandmother had been dead for ten years. Jesse took the flowers, chopped off the stems and put them in a glass vase. They were a bright, happy spot of color on her kitchen counter.

Go and give Lisa the picnic, the voice insisted.

“Not happening,” Jesse told her empty kitchen. She picked up her phone and noticed she had more texts from her daughters. A picture of Lily and a boy sitting on a red scooter atop a rolling green hill. An ancient cathedral stood in the background. Rosa, wearing riding gear, astride a giant Arabian horse.

Her thoughts went back to the brief years she’d spent with Torrance. They had planned to go to England to meet his family, but they kept putting it off until it was too late.

Love comes and goes.

Her gaze drifted back to the window and she wondered when Dave and Lisa had fallen out of love. She considered the bouquet. Could she just give them the flowers and maybe a card? She slowly shook her head. Neither of them deserved a thing from her. They had been keeping her awake with their shouting for years.

Squaring her shoulders, Jesse called Marlene and asked if she had plans for the Fourth of July. They arranged to meet at the lake at dusk on Monday night.

But that night, when the moon was near its zenith, Jesse collected all her lovely food, the vase of flowers, and even the quilt Rosa had made and placed it all on the Davenport’s front porch with a note she’d penned, Love comes and goes.

#

On Monday when she returned to work, Lorraine insisted Jesse spend the day in the canyon looking for the lost box.

After an eye roll and collecting her sweater and donning a pair of gardening clogs, Jesse banged out the back door and stomped across the expansive lawn.

“I don’t even know what it looks like,” Jesse complained to Clive when she met up with him in the lavender field. The sea of blue flowers shifted in the summer breeze.

Clive leaned against his shovel. “Sounds to me like you’ve been given the day off.”

“She’ll be upset when I come home empty handed.” Jesse pulled her sweater tighter, despite the rising, warming sun.

Clive lifted an eyebrow. “Will she though? Or will she even remember?”

“There are coyotes and mountain lions down there,” Jesse groused.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Clive looked over the lavender. “Things won’t get too out of control if I take the morning off.”

Jesse considered Clive. They’d been working together for ten years and all that time, she’d thought of him only as a friend.

Of course, he was married, as all good men are. “What will Helen say about you cavorting in the canyon when you’re supposed to be working?”

“She’d say I hope you find that box.” He paused. “Helen died of Covid in twenty-twenty.”

Jesse gasped. “Clive! Why didn’t you say anything?”

How could she not know this? She considered Clive, Marlene, Kelly, and Lorraine her family. A small, tight bond of friends all bound together with one objective—to keep Lorraine happy and alive.

He shrugged. “What’s to say? In the beginning, it hurt too much to talk about, and then as time went by…well,” he paused and looked at his shoes. “I’ve never been one to share.”

“Was there a funeral?”

Why hadn’t she been invited?

“Covid, remember?”

Of course, how could she forget those long months of house arrest?

“I’m so sorry.”

He gave her a sad smile. “Me too.” He motioned toward the path and matched his pace to hers. “Losing someone you love to death hurts, but losing the love of someone you care for hurts much worse.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Jesse said. “My husband died so young. So long ago.”

“I know,” Clive said softly.

Jesse stopped on a bluff overlooking a tangle of oaks and a burbling stream. The soft morning light shone through the trees. Birds wheeled over their heads and a pair of squirrels chased each other up a pine tree. “It’s so gorgeous.”

“Yes,” Clive said, looking at her and not the beauty before them.

“It’s sad I almost never come down here and it’s right in the back yard.”

“We could make it an after-work ritual.”

Jesse considered her empty house waiting for her. “That would be lovely.”

“How long have you been with Lorraine?” Clive asked.

“Decades now,” she answered. “Two of them. My daughters were just babies.” Her voice broke. “I was hired as Lorraine’s personal assistant—a mix between a gopher and a secretary. She doesn’t really need me anymore.”

He gently elbowed her. “I disagree. I think she needs you more now than ever.”

“That’s what Kelly says, too.” Jesse wrapped her arms around her waist. “But I’m afraid I spend the majority of my time watching her sleep.”

“And keeping her happy.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll make a confession. Sometimes when you’re reading to Lorraine, I’ll linger outside the windows to listen.”

She laughed. “That sounds…”

“Stalkerish?”

“Well, yes.” Jesse slid him a glance. He was only at Lorraine’s a couple of days a week. Where else did he go? “Do you have other gigs?”

“My father owns Rancho Farms, but he’s mostly retired now. He designed Lorraine’s gardens, and I’m filling his shoes.”

“Are you a landscape artist, too?”

He nodded.

“Will you show some of the gardens you designed sometime?”

“I’d love to.”

They walked down the shaded path. She told him how she first met Torrance. To Jesse’s surprise, it didn’t hurt as much as it usually did. He, in turn, told her about his long marriage to Helen, her bout with uterine cancer that had left them childless.

“Do you think they can hear us?” Clive asked.

Jesse sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t know. I like to think they’re still close by.” To her surprise, she told him about hearing her grandmother’s voice the other night. “It wasn’t like a ghost in my kitchen, or anything. More like a thought that seemed to come from outside of myself, if that makes sense.”

“That makes perfect sense.”

“Do you hear voices?”

“If I’m listening.”

“At first, I was able to ignore it. But eventually, Grandma won.”

Clive turned to her, his mouth an O of surprise. “Did you give away your picnic? And a vase of flowers? And a quilt?”

Jesse stopped on the path. “How did you know?”

“Lisa Davenport goes to my church, and I’m good friends with our pastor who told me that when Dave lost his job, they worried he might…” he paused. “Anyway, Dave was in a bad way and Lisa was too, but then, according to Dave, an angel delivered them a second chance at romance. He said they hadn’t been on a date, just the two of them, in years.” He touched her cheek. “You were that angel.”

“I’m not an angel. I didn’t even want to do it. And money has always been so tight.” Her voice hitched. “And the quilt—that’s something money can’t buy.”

“And you gave it away anyway.”

“I don’t think my grandmother’s voice was going to leave me alone if I didn’t.” She grabbed his arm. “You can’t tell anyone it was me who gave them the picnic.”

“I won’t.”

She dropped his arm, suddenly uncomfortable about touching him. “Promise?”

He gave her a soft smile. “Of course. Can I call you angel?”

“No, because I’m not.”

“If you say so.”

They resumed walking, this time in silence, but with the birds chirping around them, it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, but peaceful. A movement near the creek’s bank snagged Jesse’s attention. She pointed. “Look!”

Clive’s gaze followed her finger, and he laughed. “You found it!”

“I found what?”

“The McCord Box turtle!” He bounded through the tall grass, his boots smashing bracken.

“You’ll scare it away,” Jesse warned.

He shot her a quick glance over his shoulder. “I’m faster.”

Jesse watched him carefully hoist the turtle into the air. It wagged his head from side to side and rotated his fat, funny legs.

“Do you have any idea how valuable this guy is?” Clive asked.

“Valuable?” Jesse echoed. “A turtle?”

Clive nodded. “And old. Miss Lorraine said she lost him more than thirty years ago.”

The information clicked in Jesse’s head. Here was the box Lorraine had said had walked into the canyon!

“Let’s take a picture!” He held the turtle out to her, but Jesse didn’t want to touch it.

She pulled out her phone. “Let me take a picture of you.”

“No.” He sidled up next to her, holding the turtle. His warmth radiated through her. “Take a picture of the three of us.”

Jesse did as he asked and stepped away. Clive immediately closed the distance to peer over her shoulder at her phone. In the photo, they looked like a happy family of three on a hike in the country. Jesse stared at her own image. She looked younger than she sometimes felt.

“We need to get this guy to Lorraine,” Clive said, heading toward the house with his long legs.

“How long can they live?” Jesse trotted to keep up with him.

“I’m not sure.” Clive studied the creature as he walked. “Kelly told me I could keep it if I found it. I’m sure she will say the same to you.”

Clive stumbled on a loose stone, and Jesse shot out her hand to steady him. When he regained his balance, she tucked her hands into her pockets.

“Whatever will I do with a turtle? Make turtle soup?” Was it her imagination, or was the creature kicking more vigorously than before?

“You can sell it to the zoo,” Clive said. “We have a contract there, and I know the director. What would you do if you suddenly had ten thousand dollars?”

“Ten thousand dollars?” Jesse snorted. “For a turtle? Surely not…”

“Why not? Nothing is impossible. McCords are extremely rare.”

Just this morning, if someone had told her she won ten thousand dollars, she’d have bought a plane ticket and followed her daughters to Europe, but now, looking at Clive, taking in his chocolaty brown eyes, the laugh lines creasing his skin, and the way the sun lit his hair, she wasn’t so sure. Love was rare, but it did happen. Now, everything did seem possible.

She looped her hand around Clive’s arm. “I think I’ll call him Hope.”

Jesse is a character in my Kindle Vella story, The London Lie. You can read the first three episodes for free here