Claws For Concern

TEN

The afternoon passed quickly. I helped patrons with their questions and also spent another couple of hours cataloging. All the while I concentrated on the task at hand, in the back of my mind I kept coming back to that one thought: Should I really consider inviting a stranger into my home? I felt sorry for the man because I figured his living conditions were probably not comfortable, perhaps even unsafe. Over and above that, though, I felt a sense of obligation to my aunt and her principles of charity and inclusiveness.

My parents had reared me to do what I could for those who needed help, and my aunt had reinforced those lessons by her actions. She was a tireless worker through her church, slowing down only when the cancer that took her life made her too weak to leave her bed. I had no doubt what my aunt would do in this situation.

The question was, did I have the courage—and the spirit of charity—to do the same?

By the time Diesel and I were in the car and on our way home, I had made my decision. I would offer Bill Delaney one of the vacant bedrooms on the second floor. Now that both Sean and Laura had vacated their rooms, I had plenty of space for another person. There was the possibility, of course, that Delaney would decline my offer. I would simply have to wait and see what transpired tomorrow evening.

Once we were home, I left Diesel to visit the utility room and headed for the den. I wanted to look through Aunt Dottie’s old photograph albums and find pictures of Uncle Del. Would Bill Delaney bear any resemblance to him? If he did, that would explain the niggling sense of familiarity about him that I had felt from the first time I saw him.

I opened the cabinet and pulled out one of the albums from more than fifty years ago when Aunt Dottie and Uncle Del were first married. I sat at the desk, turned on the desk lamp, and opened the album. I thumbed through several pages until I found a photo from the time right after they were married and settling into life together in this house.

I stared at it. Aunt Dottie and Uncle Del, both in their early thirties, stared back at me. Aunt Dottie was smiling while Uncle Del looked somber. I recalled him as a quiet man who hadn’t had much to do with me because of his invalid status, and he died when I was nine or ten. My memories of him had been dimmed by time, but I got a shock as I examined his face more closely.

No wonder Bill Delaney had seemed familiar. He looked like an older version of Uncle Del. I went back to the cabinet and found an album from the year I was eight years old. It took me only a minute to find a picture of an older Uncle Del, worn down by his poor health. The likeness between Bill Delaney and my uncle was even more striking.

I closed the albums and put them away, my mind buzzing the whole time. The implication seemed clear. Bill Delaney was definitely related to Uncle Del. With a likeness that striking he probably was my uncle’s son. With my aunt and my parents gone, there was no one else I knew who knew Uncle Del or might know more about his past before he married my aunt.

No, that wasn’t correct, I realized. There was one person who might know. Azalea Berry had worked for my aunt for many years before Aunt Dottie died and after she became a widow. Azalea knew more about Aunt Dottie than anyone else. I wouldn’t see Azalea again until Monday, but could I wait that long to talk to her? I didn’t like calling and disturbing her on her days off unless it was an emergency. I couldn’t really call this an emergency, could I?

After dithering over it for over a minute, I decided I had to call. Otherwise I would have to wait until Monday morning, spending the weekend fretting over all this. I had better things to do with my time, not to mention my mental energy. Laura and Frank were bringing my grandson over tomorrow for me to look after while they went out to lunch and a movie. I didn’t want to be distracted while he was in my care. I pulled out my cell phone, found Azalea’s name in my contacts, and called her.

The call went to voice mail, and I left a brief message asking her to return my call at her convenience. I stressed there was no urgency, that I simply had a question I wanted to ask about my aunt’s husband.

That done, I realized I was hungry and ready for my dinner. I found Diesel in the kitchen, waiting by the refrigerator. He knew what time it was, and he was hopeful that there was more chicken lurking inside the big white box. He meowed three times to let me know how near starvation he was, then threw in a few sad chirps to emphasize his dire state.

“You really are a fraud, you know.” I shook my head. “I know if I went into the utility room right now and checked your bowl there will probably be plenty of dry food in it.”

Diesel regarded me with what I would label a solemn expression. He meowed loudly, and I understood that to mean that dry food was not adequate—as it so often wasn’t, because someone had become spoiled by being given too many tidbits from the table.

I had to laugh. The cat knew how to work me, and pretty much everyone else around him, to get what he wanted. I did keep an eye on his weight because I didn’t want to have Diesel’s veterinarian fussing at me for letting him get fat. The problem was that I couldn’t always resist these little performances of his.

According to the note I found on the refrigerator door, Stewart and Haskell were out again this evening. “Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, boy,” I told the cat. I opened the door and took out the pot of meat sauce Azalea had prepared. I set it on the stove to warm up, then found the pot I needed to cook the pasta.

While the pasta cooked, I made myself a small salad. Diesel chirped at frequent intervals to remind me that his situation remained serious since I had yet to provide anything for him. He couldn’t have any of the meat sauce because of the garlic and onions in it, but there was more of the boiled chicken for him.

The pasta was ready before my cat expired from hunger. I enjoyed my meal thoroughly while I doled out bites of chicken to Diesel. All the while, in the back of my mind, I was urging Azalea to return my call. My curiosity was going to get the better of me.

My cell phone rang when I was nearly through cleaning up after my dinner. I put my plate in the dishwasher, shut the door, and then retrieved my phone. I was happy to see that the caller was Azalea.

After a quick exchange of greetings, and my repeated assurance that everything was fine, I told Azalea a little about Bill Delaney and his relationship to Uncle Del. I also mentioned the strong resemblance between the two men.

“Did he have any relatives that you know of?” I asked.

“Not that I can recall,” Azalea said. “Miss Dottie talked about him sometimes, but I can’t say she ever mentioned he had any family. She sure didn’t ever mention he had a son. You say he looks like Mr. Del?”

“Yes, he does. They’re obviously related.”

“Miss Dottie did tell me one thing about Mr. Del,” Azalea said. “She did tell me he had been married before, but he and his first wife couldn’t get along. So they got divorced. Your grandparents weren’t happy about her marrying a divorced man.”

I remembered my grandmother, who died when I was fifteen. She had been old-fashioned about many things, divorce included.

“Your grandmama had conniptions, Miss Dottie said, but she and your granddaddy finally gave in.”

“That fits in with what Bill Delaney told me,” I said. “He said Uncle Del walked out after about six months and never knew his wife was pregnant.”

“Miss Dottie never knew a thing about a son, I can tell you that,” Azalea said. “She would have loved having a child, even a stepchild, to take care of.”

“Yes, I’m sure she would have.” I hesitated a moment, not sure whether I was ready to confide my plan to Azalea. Then I realized that she had the right to know that there could potentially be another person living in the house. “I think she would want me to do what I can for him, don’t you?” I told her about where he lived and my concern that his living conditions weren’t good.

“She would,” Azalea said. “Miss Dottie was a saint walking on this earth, sure enough. I won’t mind a bit having another man in the house, but I reckon Miss Dottie wouldn’t want you to do it if you don’t feel like it would be safe.”

“I’ve invited him for dinner tomorrow evening,” I said. “That will give me a chance to get to know him a little better.” A thought occurred to me, and I shared it with Azalea. “I haven’t asked him whether he intends to stay in Athena. He’s from Tullahoma originally, and for all I know he might have a home there that he’s planning to go back to.”

“That’s true,” Azalea said. “He might not be looking to stay here for long, just till he finds out what he wants to know about his daddy.”

“I can’t tell him much more myself,” I said. “I can show him Aunt Dottie’s photograph albums and let him have some of those photos, if he likes. I don’t really know much at all about Uncle Del because he died when I was so young.”

“I didn’t know him myself,” Azalea said. “Miss Dottie’d been widowed for several years before I came to work for her.” She fell silent for a moment. “I’ll be thinking on it, see if I can come up with somebody who might have known him.”

“I should have thought of that myself,” I said. “I wonder, do you think Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce might have known him?”

“They might have,” Azalea said.

“I’ll talk to them,” I said. “Thank you, Azalea. I appreciate your help with this.”

“Can’t say I helped all that much, but you’re mighty welcome.”

I ended the call and set the phone aside. I thought about calling Miss An’gel to ask her about Uncle Del, but I decided it could wait until tomorrow.

Before I went any further with this idea of mine, I wanted to discuss it with Helen Louise. The problem was that by the time I could talk to her tonight, she would be exhausted from a long day at the bistro. She would also be up pretty early tomorrow morning to go in for another long day.

This was one of the frustrations in our relationship. I valued Helen Louise’s opinion, particularly on a decision this important, but I wouldn’t have time to discuss it thoroughly with her before Bill Delaney showed up for dinner tomorrow evening.

I could always postpone the dinner until Sunday evening, I reckoned. But other than going to his apartment and knocking on his door, I had no way of getting in touch with Delaney. I doubted he had a landline phone. Then I realized he would most likely be at the library tomorrow. I could talk to him there and see if he was amenable to changing the date.

With that settled, I decided I was ready for some quiet time with a book. Diesel followed me upstairs, and we settled in for the night. It took some effort, but I pushed all thoughts of Bill Delaney out of my mind. There would be time enough tomorrow to think about him and any potential repercussions of inviting him to stay here.