The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society Part 40

"No, this is good," she insists. "I'm glad to be busy. I can't bear the waiting anymore." She hears all sorts of stories from the adoption boards about last-minute crises or glitches. No matter how close they seem, Frances isn't going to be able to relax until Mei Ling is home with them.

"Come inside for a second," Reed tells her gently, and Frances hears something in his voice that makes her freeze.

If it's bad news, she won't be able to take it. If that's what this is, another delay or unforeseen problem, a complication with Mei Ling's condition, Frances will be a mess. Okay, a bigger mess. As it is she can hardly sleep at night.

The look on Reed's face-impa.s.sive, giving nothing away-makes Frances pull back. She's not ready for whatever it is he has to tell her.

"It's trick-or-treat rush hour," she tries to joke, but Reed shakes his head.

"Come on, Frances," he says, and pulls her into the house.

"What is it?" she asks. She's shaking, and the doorbell is ringing with more trick-or-treaters. Her nerves are shot and she's going to throttle her husband in a second if he doesn't stop pacing and answer her. Now. "Reed, tell me!"

He turns to her and pulls an envelope out of his suit pocket. "It's here, Frances. Our official approval to travel to China. We can get Mei Ling in three weeks. Three weeks!" He sweeps Frances up in a hug and swings her around. "She'll be home with us for Thanksgiving!"

"Oh my G.o.d, oh my G.o.d, oh my G.o.d!" Frances can't believe it. "Oh my G.o.d!" She's laughing and crying, the dam of emotions finally let loose. "Where are the boys? The boys! We have to find the boys!"

"Frances, slow down . . ." Reed says, but he's laughing, too, his eyes shiny as well. "Let them enjoy themselves, and we'll tell them when they come home on their sugar high." He pauses for a moment and then catches her in his arms again, tight, and kisses her. "She's coming home," he says to his wife, and it starts to sink in.

Mei Ling is coming home.

And then the excitement takes over again.

"I have to book flights," she says, her mind racing. "The hotel. Finish packing. Oh, we have to call your mom, my parents! And her room! I have to wash the sheets, and an advent calendar! I want her to have an advent calendar so she can open a door every day until Christmas! And I have to let the school know when the boys will be gone . . . My G.o.d, Reed, it's happening. It's really happening!" Frances is literally jumping up and down, tears streaming down her face as she runs around the house, not quite sure of what she's doing or looking for, but knowing no other way to contain her joy. Sometimes it's just best to let it all out.

Across the street there's another round of screams from Ida Church's driveway, but it can't compete with the screams of joy coming from the Latham household.

Chapter 25.

Connie looks over the spread of baked goods, checks the carafes for hot water.

"We're all set," she declares, turning to look at Madeline and Hannah. "We're ready for members of the Avalon Ladies Sc.r.a.pbooking Society to descend upon us."

"Good," Madeline says, nodding. "We're expecting a full house tonight." She glances at the clock.

Hannah peeks out the window. "Here they come!"

And here they come indeed. It's many of the same people from the last meeting and they've brought food along with sc.r.a.pbook alb.u.ms of different shapes and sizes. They place them on a table up front. Isabel is already there, talking earnestly with Ava and Yvonne.

Frances Latham walks through the door, comes over to Hannah and gives her a quick hug. "I'm so sorry I can't stay," she says. "We leave this weekend for China. I'm so excited I think I might faint." She hands Connie a platter. "Cong youbng-scallion pancakes. I think I'm getting pretty good at them now-my boys are addicted."

"I'm addicted," Hannah tells everyone, sniffing appreciatively. "Frances makes the best Cong youbng. You'll love them. I'll bring the dish back for you, Frances."

"Thank you," Frances says, smiling at her friend. She dabs at her eyes. "Gosh, I'm a mess! I can't believe that we'll be home with Mei Ling the day before Thanksgiving. I can't wait for her to meet all of you."

"And we can't wait to meet her," Madeline tells her. "We also know it may take some time for you to settle in as a family of six, so we're going to make sure you and your family are well fed in the meantime. When you get home, we're going to have a food tree waiting for you, just like we would for any new mother. And if you'd like to join us for Thanksgiving dinner, we'd love to have you, but I completely understand if you want some peace and quiet."

"Or sleep!" Hannah adds.

"Thank you so much," Frances says. "I don't know what to expect-we're going to play everything by ear. We'll follow her lead."

"Take lots of pictures when you're in China," Connie says. "It's on my list of places to visit one day."

"I will," Frances promises. "And I'm going to be putting everything on my blog, too. I'll try to post something every day while we're there. Pictures, observations, everything. When I come home I'll put it all together in a memory book." She looks at her watch. "Oh, I have to go! Reed and the boys are waiting for me."

"Go home and finish packing," Hannah says.

"Here," Frances says, holding out a small booklet to Madeline. "I don't have a lot of pictures of Bettie, but she was kind enough to contribute to Mei Ling's quilt. I took a picture of her square, and then of the entire quilt. I also included Mei Ling's picture in there. I wrote a short explanation under each picture. I was going to wait until I could get a picture of Mei Ling with the blanket, but I can add that later. I want Bettie to have something for tonight."

"It's lovely," Madeline says when she sees it. "I'll take it over and add it to the table. Travel safe, Frances, and we'll see you when you return."

Frances waves goodbye, and Hannah grabs a couple of tissues from a nearby tissue box.

"She's making me think of adopting someday," Hannah says, dabbing her eyes. "I never thought about it much, but it seems like a beautiful way to grow a family, you know?"

Connie puts an arm around Hannah's shoulders. "You're going to make a great parent someday," she tells her. Hannah smiles and gives her a hug.

Connie sees Imogene and Bettie coming up the walk. "Hurry, everyone! Here she comes!"

There's a commotion as people rearrange themselves in the tea salon. Isabel throws a sheet over the table filled with alb.u.ms.

"It's too quiet!" Connie whispers, and then says in a louder voice. "Act normal! Start talking! About anything!"

There's a burst of animated conversation as Bettie and Imogene walk through the door.

"Huh," Bettie says, her brows knit in confusion as she looks around. "I didn't think so many people would be interested in using ink mists and chipboard accents."

Connie and Madeline refrain from giggling as Isabel hurries forward.

"I have a quick announcement to make first," Isabel says. "Come on, Bettie, keep me company." She leads Bettie up to the podium.

"Oh, I think I'm going to need that box of tissues," Madeline says, already sniffling. Connie grabs a couple of tissues as the box pa.s.ses by. She doesn't consider herself an overly emotional person but she wants to be prepared, just in case.

At the front of the room, Isabel stands behind the podium. Bettie is seated behind her. "Excuse me, everyone? If I could have your attention for a moment, please?"

The crowd quiets as everyone finds their seats. Others line the walls and spill into the hallways.

"I want to thank everyone for joining us tonight," Isabel begins. "As you know, Bettie's home burned down a couple of weeks ago. She lost almost everything in that fire, including her sc.r.a.pbooking business. Her personal effects were gone or destroyed."

Isabel turns to her. "Bettie, for years you've been the keeper of our memories. Now, we want you to know that we'll become the keeper of yours." She walks over to the table and pulls back the sheet. There's a burst of applause as Bettie gapes at the pile of alb.u.ms wrapped and stacked on the table. Isabel motions for her to come over.

"What in the world . . . ?" Bettie murmurs, a flushed look on her face. "Holy Jumpin' Jehoshaphat. Are all these for me?" She picks one up.

"Everyone here went through their own alb.u.ms and contributed pictures that you were in," Isabel explains. "We didn't want you to lose all your wonderful memories."

Bettie is flipping through an alb.u.m, already commenting on each and every picture.

"Oh, I remember that day!" Bettie is saying. "And that day!" She giggles. "Boy, stripes really didn't do me any favors, did they? Look, Isabel. Oh, goodness, is that Seymour March picking his nose in the background?"

There's a ripple of laughter through the crowd.

"The parade!" Bettie exclaims. "1979. Oh, what a day that was! Who did this alb.u.m? I love all the stamping on this page. And the gridded patterned paper is lovely!"

"Thank you, Bettie!" comes a cry from the crowd.

Bettie picks up another alb.u.m covered in leather, this one filled with photographs, articles, small letters and notes. "The Society biography!" she exclaims. "Christopher Barlowe, where are you?"

A man raises his hand and gives a shy wave.

Isabel pa.s.ses her a small pink alb.u.m. Bettie chuckles before she even opens it up. "Margot West, are these pages scented?"

"Guilty!" comes Margot's delighted reply.

Isabel pa.s.ses alb.u.m after alb.u.m to Bettie, who takes a look before pa.s.sing it down into the crowd. Everyone is laughing and pointing at pictures while Society members make observations about the different layouts and choices of paper stock and embellishments.

Madeline comes over and loops her arm through Connie's. "My own alb.u.m is coming along nicely," she says. "I think I'll be able to give it to Maggie for Christmas. What about you?"

"I'm almost done," Connie says. "And when I am, I want to show it to you."

"Sweetheart, I'd be honored," Madeline says.

Connie's going to show it to Eli, too, because she wants him to know where she came from. He already knows her family history, but she's taken the time to add more written memories and pictures printed from the Internet. Serena's in there, too, as is Madeline. In short the alb.u.m is full of the things Connie loves best, of memories most precious to her, and she wants to share it with him.

Everyone around them is talking and laughing, and some women have tears in their eyes. The alb.u.ms are still being pa.s.sed around when Bettie suddenly stands and picks up her sequined mallet.

"Excuse me," she says, and there's an immediate hush. "Thank you, everyone, for all of this. I'd like to thank you all in person, too, but with the way my brain's been acting these days, I'd be just as likely to thank the same person three times and forget someone else altogether. So thank you, everyone." There's a round of applause and Bettie turns to look at Isabel. "Is there anything else?" she asks.

Isabel smiles, shakes her head.

Bettie brings down the sequined gavel onto the podium with a bang. "Then the November meeting of the Avalon Ladies Sc.r.a.pbooking Society is officially in session. Let's begin."

"That was a good meeting," Bettie says as Isabel drives her home. Imogene is in the car ahead of them, her pa.s.senger seats filled with alb.u.ms and gifts.

"It was," Isabel agrees. "Are you tired?"

Bettie shakes her head. "I feel awake. Really awake. Like everything's been muddy but now it's clear." She looks at Isabel hopefully. "Maybe I'm getting better. My mind, I mean."

Isabel manages a smile. "Maybe," she says, but she doubts it. From what she's been reading, dementia is like this. Good one day, lousy the next. Clarity, then confusion. It can go on like this for a long time.

Bettie shifts in her seat, pulls her scarf tighter around her neck. "It's going to be a cold winter," she says. "It'll probably be harder for me to walk over, what with the snow and all."

"Don't even think about it," Isabel says sternly. "If you want to come over, I'll come and get you. Anytime, okay?"

Bettie gives her a hopeful look. "Really?"

"Really." Isabel looks at her and smiles. "And if you want, we can talk about having you stay over a couple of nights whenever you want. I know Max would love it. Me, too."

Bettie is nodding. "I'd like that," she says. "It'll give Abe and Imogene a chance to get a little cootchie-cootchie in. One night I was looking for my catalogs when I saw them-"

"I'll work out a schedule with Imogene," Isabel says quickly, not wanting to hear any details about the Garzas' love life. "That reminds me. We have that sc.r.a.pbooking crop at the house next month. You can stay over then, too. We'll rent a movie and pop popcorn. Anything with Jennifer Lopez, right?"

"She's so good in Maid in Manhattan," Bettie says with sudden fervor. "And that Ralph Fiennes. I could watch it a million times over."

"Maid in Manhattan it is, then."

There's a pause and then Bettie says in a small voice, "Isabel?"

"Yes?"

Bettie reaches out to touch Isabel's hand on the steering wheel, but doesn't say anything else. They drive like this all the way to Abe and Imogene's house.

At Imogene's house, Isabel helps Bettie out of the car and walks her up the walkway to the front door. Imogene carefully eases her car into the garage and they watch as the garage door closes behind her, until the last bit of light disappears.

"Well, good night, Bettie," Isabel says. She leans forward and gives Bettie a hug. Bettie feels small and fragile in her arms.

"Thank you for being so good to me, Isabel," Bettie says. She's about to turn away when she hesitates. "I think if I ever had a daughter, I'd be lucky if she were like you. Good night." Bettie opens the door and steps inside, closing it quickly behind her.

On the drive home, Isabel keeps touching her cheek and smiling. When she turns the corner for her street, she sees a familiar truck parked to the side, her porch light on.

Isabel parks in the driveway, then walks up to the porch. Ian Braemer is there, two steaming cups of coffee in hand, waiting for her on a brand-new porch swing.

"Surprise," he says, and holds out one of the cups of coffee. "Care to join me? It's decaf."

"You did this while I was at my meeting?" Isabel asks, even though the answer is obvious. She takes the cup of coffee and it instantly warms her hands.

"I did. I ran to the coffee shop and got us two tall decafs."

She gives him a playful punch in the arm. "I meant the porch swing, Ian."

"Oh, this," he says, as if noticing it for the first time. He grins. "I hope it's all right. I was going to ask you but I didn't want to spoil it. I figured I could always take it back down if you hated it. This s.p.a.ce always seemed as if it was waiting for a porch swing."

"Yes," Isabel says. "It was." She sits next to him and he gives the swing a little push with his feet. "And don't you dare take it down, I love it. Thank you, Ian."

"You're welcome. Oh, and if you don't like the color, we can always paint it something else."

The swing is white, of course. Isabel laughs. "It's fine," she says. "Though I think I'm over my white phase once and for all. I've been colorless long enough." She runs her hand along the chain of the porch swing. "Maybe we'll paint it yellow in the spring."

"Whatever the lady wants," Ian says. They swing for a moment in silence, watching the stars. The sky is full of them tonight, twinkling and winking at them from afar. "Though I hope you don't mind me correcting you on one little point."

Isabel takes a sip of her coffee, holds it against her cold cheek. "What's that?"