| Sybil's Secret Part 6 |
"So, Sybil, you and Leonard had Christmas . . . then what?" "Oh, that was my idea, the Christmas part. When I was younger, I always thought he’d come back. Every Christmas I’d think, this year he’ll be back. And each year I bought him a gift and wrapped it and waited." Mrs. Carmody stretched her cramped legs and glanced at her watch. Walter flitted across her mind; quickly she brushed him away. She picked up her purse, but Sybil wasn’t finished. "The lights were his idea," she said with a funny little chuckle. "When he got here and saw what I was doin’, he got in the mood an’ insisted on puttin’ up those silly lights. . . and . . ." "But . . . where did he go? Is he coming back?" "No, Mrs. Carmody, Leonard’s not comin’ back. It’s too late for all that foolishness. He’s got family waitin’ in Sarnia—children and grandchildren. That’s all he talked about—hockey games, ball games, fishin’ with his grandsons—that kind a’ stuff. See, Leonard’s got a life there; I don’t fit in. And just imagine me ‘round a bunch a’ rowdy kids . . ." Sybil gave a short little laugh and stood up. "So now you know. I’m just a crazy old woman, after all. And you’ll have a nice juicy story for that Ruth Priddy next week." Mrs. Carmody moved off the blanket and Sybil folded it and placed it back in the basket. She slapped her thigh, gave a sharp little whistle and said, "Come on, Sambo." Then mounting the bicycle, she turned and said, "I always wanted to say one thing to you Mrs. Carmody, but I don’t s’pose you’d believe me if I did." "What?" "It’s just this: ever since you and Walter moved in across the street, I’ve envied you. I’ve watched your girls grow into young woman. Watched ‘em get married and start their own families. Walter was always there—so patient. Nothin’ ever seemed to faze him much. I always thought . . . that’s how Leonard and me would a’ been, if I’d a’ give him half a chance." The bicycle was almost out of sight past the weeping willow when Mrs. Carmody’s voice rang out. "Wait!" Her ample form covered the distance with astonishing speed. Then catching her breath, she flung the question at Sybil. "Did Leonard’s wife take to Fritz, then? Did they get along?" "Hah, hah, hah." Sybil’s abrasive laughter spilled out strangely. "She didn’t have to. You see, poor Fritz got run over by a school bus that spring, before they ever got married. An’ Leonard never had another dog." Then she was gone, jolting along the bumpy trail. Mrs. Carmody stood alone in the sunshine, her eyes closed, while the familiar strains of Sybil’s whistling floated through the stillness, the melancholy notes gripping and tugging at her heartstrings like old memories peeking out from a faded photograph album. Lost in thought, she headed for home. Walter greeted her excitedly as she opened the kitchen door, his ruddy face beaming. "Oh, you’re home then, Love. Come on; come down and see what I’ve made for you." He grasped her hand, pulling her along toward the basement door. "Oh, Walter, not now; I just want to put my feet up for a bit . . ." His face fell and Mrs. Carmody saw—for a second—the red-haired Leonard walking toward the train station. Then she heard Walter sigh and the basement door open. "Walter . . . wait," she said. "I guess I’m not that tired after all." She smiled—a wise little smile—and followed him down to the workshop. (c) 1999 Marlene McCarty |
 |
 |
 |