Kaleidoscope Jane: & Other Stories

By Carolyn Breckinridge

"Life turns you right-side up and upside down and all manner of sideways. But somehow a person can end right-side up again. Not the same, mind you. No. Never the same. But sometimes what a person tumbles through becomes meaningful in the long run."

Jane

It was her youngest sister, the one who joined the Army, who'd said it to her. When you're standing in an airplane door with a parachute strapped to your back, either close your eyes and jump, or get out of the way and sit. Prudence had been thinking about that ever since her sister's visit. She was tired of sitting. She'd been tired of it for a long time.

Prudence

Both of Sam's hands flew to her cheeks. "Oh my!" she gasped. "Oh my!" And then came the giggles. She extended both arms outward like a wooden scarecrow and began to twirl. Around and around, not too fast at first, gaining momentum. Love! There was no doubt about it. They were going to fall in love.

Samantha

Fifteen women. Fifteen stories. Some happy. Some sad. Some surprisingly weird.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546233794

Carolyn Breckinridge

Not everyone pecks away at the word processor with an African grey parrot perched on her forearm. Carolyn is the recent author of two popular mysteries based in her adopted hometown, Tuscaloosa Moon and Tuscaloosa Boneyard. She is the 2017 recipient of the Druid City Arts and Humanities Literary Award, and her second mystery enjoyed a fun, positive review on Alabama Public Radio. She holds bachelors and masters degrees from the University of Alabama, and worked professionally as a clinical social worker. As an adolescent, she traveled extensively with her globe-trotting parents, and lived in Tanzania, Lebanon and Pakistan. She shares her home with her husband, two rescue dogs, two parrots, a pond full of koi and myriad volunteer frogs. Carolyn enjoys meeting her readers through book signings, festivals, and book club events.

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© 2018 Carolyn Breckinridge. All rights reserved.

Cover design by Jon E. Ezell

Interior image design by James N. Ezell

The author wishes to thank Lauren Thompson, typography designer, for use of her font, Caviar Dreams, as seen on the front cover of this novel. You can find more information about her work at www.dafont.com and www.nymfont.com .

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/20/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-3380-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-3379-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018903377

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

nancy

heather

roxanne

louise

eunice

phyllis

madeline

suzanna

amy

jewel

amelia

rae

prudence

samantha

jane

Mae and Sylvie,

may our lives be filled with ladybugs

ThreeLadyBugs.JPG

        with heartfelt thanks to

        Jim, Jon, Laura, Sandra, and Pat

        and to

        those who have offered encouragement

        and support along this author-journey.

I

Concentric waves

Of your geometric tombstone

Lap toward me.

Thick rings of prosperity,

Thin rings of hardship.

Even for a tree

Your circular diary whispers,

Life is a process

Of feast and famine,

Unpredictable growth.

II

I tromped through the field that day,

My mind as lumpy with worldly thoughts

As a brown paper bag stuffed with groceries.

But a single weed held up its finger

And waved at me like a stern librarian,

Hushing my noisy thoughts,

Reminding me of quiet study.

From manuscript in progress, ‘Whisperings of a Southern Land’

Carolyn Breckinridge

nancy

T he plastic crown parked itself sideways across Nancy’s forehead. It was damned annoying, scratchy little plastic teeth digging into her skin. Her hand started up toward her face, but halfway there her fingers fluttered, paused as though reconsidering their intent and lowered slowly toward the chair’s side. She would indulge them. After all, hadn’t she already?

Sit down, Grandma! Sit down and let us put this on your head! She’d responded obediently, watching Judy pull the glittery silver children’s toy from its plastic wrapping. It had a purple plastic rhinestone in the middle. And if that weren’t enough, there was a plastic rhinestone ring to match. The ring fit only on Nancy’s left pinky finger. Let me get this in your hair, Grandma! A person doesn’t turn eighty-five every day!

Of course having been a high school English teacher, she could have argued that Judy’s sentence, while true, made no sense at all. No one turned any age every day.

Wait. It’s all catawampus. Let me get it straight.

Nancy sat agreeably while Judy untangled the plastic teeth from her hair and combed her scalp with the crown’s headband. Ouch!

Sorry, Grandma! Judy’s eyes and smile didn’t look sorry. A Halloween pumpkin with a candle glowing boldly inside, that’s the way Nancy thought of her. She was born with that jack-o’-lantern face. None of her other three granddaughters glowed. Not Carmine, although she did have a quick smile. Not Ellie who often had the look of a frightened bunny. And certainly not Nora. Nora, the no-nonsense one.

It was silly to wear such a childish and cheap toy. But Nancy could tell it was going to be a silly day. And it began ever so differently. Until the doorbell rang and she threw on her robe and negotiated the stairs to answer it.

There! That looks much better, Judy said, backing away, finding the seat of a kitchen chair with her thighs.

Did we really surprise you, Grammomma? Carmine was twenty-one and had never put a ‘n’ or a ‘d’ in the word.

"Oh, you did surprise me, that’s for sure, sweetheart. There I was, lying upstairs in bed, all eighty-five years of me, contemplating how to spend the afternoon when the doorbell rang."

SURPRIIIISE! the four of them had yelled as she unlatched the door. Nora was leading the pack, cake secured between her hands, a white plastic sack pregnant with groceries swinging from her wrist. She was the only one not giggling. Serious, organized, bossy, but not, Nancy thought, intentionally. Carmine followed carrying three wrapped presents. And then Judy, who could hardly restrain herself, tumbled in with one more, and finally, quiet, sensitive Ellie. Ellie was the youngest at seventeen. They headed right to the kitchen.

Party in a bag! Judy exclaimed, pulling out a package of hamburger buns and a square plastic container of barbequed chicken. It’s not the exotic fugu sushi you have on your bucket list of things to try in your lifetime, Grandma, but it’s the best barbeque around.

The bucket list had started as a private joke between Judy and herself. Let’s write down everything we want to do in our lives, Judy said about a year ago while the two of them were watching Jeopardy in the den. The idea obviously germinated from her granddaughter’s desire to go on the TV show and win thousands.

Eating the potentially fatal fish was not really one of Nancy’s life goals. In fact, she’d written it down knowing she’d never dare try it even if given the opportunity. But when one thought about living on the edge, fugu sushi was definitely a romantic notion.

Really, girls, you shouldn’t spend your valuable weekends spoiling me, she fussed. In fact, I’m planning on kicking you out in about an hour so you can get on with your lives. I remember how it is. Working, trying to keep up a household and taking time to socialize, too. It’s too much to tackle quite honestly. Monday’s back around before you have time to enjoy Sunday. And once you get married and have children, it’s hopeless. None of them were married and thankfully, Nancy thought, none of them had children either. Only Carmine had a steady male in her life.

"But, we want to be here," Carmine protested, and Ellie confirmed the statement with a nod. Nora’s hands were busy in the basket, on the table, placing everything just so. The container of barbeque, potato chips, coleslaw, corn on the cob, baked beans, hamburger buns, extra sauce.

Judy flashed a toothy, goofy grin. Ummm-ummm! It’s going to be a yummy party, Grandma! And no cake until after our meal.

Nancy smiled. How many times had she said the same to her over the years? And how many times had Judy convinced her they could skip the meal and only eat cake? Sometimes with globs of old-fashioned vanilla bean ice cream on top? It was their naughty secret.

Truth was, she wanted to start with the cake, forgo the barbeque entirely. She’d curl back up in bed after the girls left. Barbeque and bed didn’t work well. It was sure to bring on heartburn. But, the dark chocolate icing with dipped strawberries circling the top. That was a different story. The cake was at least three layers. Probably thirty dollars. Honestly, girls. Just a card or a phone call, even an email or a text, that would have been enough.

Carmine ran her index finger across one of the blue stars and yellow moons printed on the smallest wrapped present on the table. We like buying you presents, Grammomma. Do you want to open them before we eat or after?

Nora shook her head. She was lining up spoons and forks, knives and plates. Food first, Carmi. Then we’ll do the presents.

I’ll tell you what, girls. I’m going to save my barbeque plate for supper. I don’t think I can eat it right now. Not before my afternoon nap. So, you all eat and I’ll open the presents while you do. Then we’ll dig into the cake.

Nora frowned, Judy laughed and Ellie picked up the potato salad spoon. Ellie liked potatoes and other carbohydrates a little too much.

You really should eat, said Nora. You need your protein.

Nancy reached toward the blue stars and yellow moons. The present was palm-sized, rectangular and smelled like honey and oatmeal when she lifted it toward her nose. Nora always gave her exotic soaps because her friend, Gretchen, made them as a side business. She suspected Nora and Gretchen were actually more than friends. They’d been roommates for going-on eight years. Almost eight years of birthday and Christmas soaps.

If she were right, if they were lovers, she hoped Nora would eventually summon the courage to come out of the closet. It was something about being in one’s twenties and thirties. So many hopes and dreams compromised. More than once she’d wanted to tell this granddaughter what she’d gleaned from her eighty-five years of living on this planet. In truth, almost nothing really mattered in the way one imagined it did. Nothing except being true to oneself.

Mmmm, she said. Nora, honey, the barbeque might give me indigestion at the moment, but I could sure take a bite out of this good-smelling soap. She pulled off the wrapping paper and repositioned the bar beneath her nostrils. It was wrapped in clear plastic. Honey and oatmeal, she said. My favorite.

I like Gretchen’s coffee soap, said Carmine.

I love the blueberry, Judy said before taking a huge bite out of her sandwich.

Nancy smiled. Their family kept Gretchen in business. I’ll smell like honey and oatmeal for the next couple of weeks. And I really do like sweet-smelling skin.

Better not take to hiking alone in the woods, Grandma, said Judy. "You may end up with a bear admirer."

Ohhh! groaned Carmine. Bad pun!

Ellie giggled a little uncertainly.

"That was on your bucket list, wasn’t it, Grandma? Touring a nudist camp?"

Nancy laughed. "Well, I wouldn’t really, but the whole idea does stir up the imagination, doesn’t it? I mean, can you imagine such a thing?"

Nora stared with authority. Really, Grandmother, you shouldn’t talk like that. People will think you’ve gone loopy.

Nora, dear. There’s not a thing wrong with being loopy. Life’s too short to take it so seriously.

Her granddaughters ate and she opened gifts and Ellie went back for a second helping of the potatoes. There was a box of Godiva chocolates from Ellie. From Carmine, two mysteries and a romance, all paperbacks.

Now for mine, Judy giggled. She reached across the table and handed her a department store clothing box. It was wrapped in Valentine-red paper and sported a black bow.

Nancy ran her index finger under the Scotch tape. The side popped open, she tore away the wrapping and lifted the top. Land sakes, child! she exclaimed, picking up the lace negligee by its shoulders. The lace was exceedingly delicate, jet black, and she could see her kitchen cabinets through it. A pair of lace panties and a black bra still lay neatly folded in the red tissue paper. Judith Marie! Honestly!

Judy grabbed her knees, rolled back on the chair. You can scratch these off your bucket list too, Grandma!

For God’s sake, Judy! said Nora.

Nancy smiled. "I thought sexy negligees were on your bucket list."

Judy laughed again. "They are! I want an entire drawer of them! Don’t worry. I bought me something, too. Some very sexy jammies!"

Jammies might not be the proper descriptor, said Carmine.

Ellie’s cheeks were nearing the color of the tissue paper.

Nancy reached over and patted her young granddaughter’s knee. It’s okay, dear, we’re all girls.

How about a fashion show, Grandma?

Nancy let the negligee slink back into the box. Now wouldn’t that be a sight? Eighty-five years old and parading around in see-through lace and a plastic crown? It seemed to her that even Nora might have smiled, but it was so ephemeral, so fleeting, she couldn’t be sure.

What shall we do with all these left-overs, Grammomma? asked Carmine.

How about if I put two plates in the fridge, one for tonight and one for tomorrow night, and you girls split the rest? There’s enough here to feed the entire neighborhood.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. It was funny how such things happened.

I’ll get it, Nora said.

I’ll fix two plates for you, Grammomma, said Carmine.

Ellie crumpled up wrapping paper and picked up bows. She put the paper in the recycling and the bows on the counter. Ellie’d always had a thrifty streak about her. As a child, she’d used crayons until she was almost coloring with her fingernails.

Grandmother? said Nora as she reentered the room. Beside her stood a tall, thin woman, her blouse draped over her clavicles like a shirt on a coat hanger. Her brown hair was pulled back in a neat bun. Nancy wasn’t sure whether she read worry or exasperation in her neighbor’s eyes. She’d lost Neil again. Whenever Marianne showed up at her door, it was always about Neil.

"Oh, Marianne, is your brother missing again? When did you see him last, dear?"

Her neighbor looked instinctively toward the round brass wall clock. He’s going to be the death of me, he really is. The way he sneaks off! I mean, I turn my back for just a couple of seconds and he slips away. I was clearing our breakfast dishes and I thought he was in the living room reading the paper, he enjoys a good news story, you know, and then poof! He wasn’t there at all.

So he’s been gone since breakfast? asked Judy. It was hard for her to think of Mr. Zigabee needing a caretaker. She remembered when he showed her how to inflate her bicycle tire, and when he taught her and Carmine