Norah's Ark. Judy Baer
“It’s me, Norah.”
And it was certainly not my father. “Auntie Lou? Is that you? You sound funny.”
“Nothing funny about it.” Her voice was fuzzy. Or maybe she just didn’t have her teeth in yet. “Are you coming to work soon?”
I eyed my bagel. “I’d planned to leave in fifteen or twenty minutes, after I eat breakfast and skim the paper.”
“Could you stop over here first?”
Odd. Auntie Lou likes to sleep late because she often stays up late into the night watching old movies and doing crossword puzzles. The doors to her shop never swing open before ten-thirty.
“Sure, I’d be glad to.”
“If you don’t have that extra key to my store at home with you, my key is under the pot with the artificial geraniums in it. You might have to dig a bit as I laid some stones on top of it, too.”
“You won’t be up to open the door?”
“If I could get up, I wouldn’t be calling you, dearie.”
I felt a wash of panic run through me. “Are you sick?”
“Not so’s you’d know it.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“Oh, Arthur pushed me out of bed this morning and Rhuma-tiz helped him,” she said obliquely.
“You fell out of bed?” I translated.
“More of a bad slide, but I ended up on the floor just the same. Fortunately I grabbed my cell phone on the way down. All I need is a little help up, dearie. I hope I didn’t bother you too early.”
I was already wrapping my bagel in a napkin and pouring my cappuccino into a carry cup as I answered. “Auntie Lou, how long did you wait before calling me?”
“Oh, not long. I got a chance to see the sun come up through my bedroom window. Pretty.”
“I’ll be right there.” Leave it to Auntie Lou to find the good in falling out of bed and lying on the floor half the night.
“No hurry. I’ll be here when you get here.”
No hurry? What am I going to do with that woman? Independent and free as a bird, stubborn as a mule and patient as a saint, she’d no doubt waited until it was convenient for me before calling. I wanted to hug her and shake her all at once.
Fortunately I’m walking distance from Pond Street. I was on my knees pawing in the dirt under the fake geraniums when I heard someone clear their throat behind me. I glanced sideways at a pair of polished black leather boots and four equally glossy hooves. On their way, no doubt to the art fair in the park. I found the key and rocked back on my heels to look at Officer Haley and Sarge. Sarge, even more imposing from this angle, shifted restlessly and the metal rings on his headstall and bridle jingled faintly.
“Anything wrong?” Nick Haley inquired mildly.
If I hadn’t been so rattled, I might have taken time to appreciate the melodic timbre in his voice. Instead, I just got annoyed.
“Do you ever take those things off?” I asked, referring to his mirrored glasses. “And if you do, I wish you’d do it right now. I need you to come upstairs and help me.”
His eyebrow arched over the frame. Then, slowly, he pulled the glasses off, revealing a strong, handsome face with unexpectedly blue eyes, long dark lashes and high cheekbones. Whoa. Eye candy.
“I got a call from Auntie Lou asking for help. She’s fallen out of bed and can’t get herself up, sort of like the television commercial, I’m afraid. Though she didn’t admit it, I’m sure she lay there most of the night so as not to disturb anyone’s sleep. She’s small but solid. I could use an extra pair of hands.”
He tied Sarge in a quick release knot, took the dirty key from my hand and opened the door. Together we ascended the stairs to the second floor of Auntie Lou’s shop and entered the small, cozy but cluttered apartment where she’d lived for as long as I—or anyone else on Pond Street—could remember.
If the shop was fascinating, her apartment was mesmerizing—full of charming bits of Auntie Lou’s history and favorite things that had come into the shop and been squirreled away in her personal stash. She loved old hats. A dozen of them were perched on hat forms around the room sporting plumes and feathers or intricate beading and competing for space with hand-painted vases, antique books and statues of dancing figures.
But this wasn’t a museum and we weren’t on a tour. I headed for what I knew was her bedroom and opened the door.
Auntie Lou lay on the floor in a puddle of sunlight. She’d put a hand across her eyes to keep out the sun and the big calico cat sat sentry over her. Her nightgown was pure Little House on the Prairie and the cane she’d taken to using lately lay on the floor out of reach.
“I hope you didn’t hurry on my account, dearie,” she managed. Her throat was dry and her voice cracking.
“I certainly did. How long have you been lying here? And is anything broken?”
“Only my pride, child. Only my pride.”
Without speaking, as if we were reading each other’s minds, Officer Haley and I braced ourselves and lifted Auntie Lou to her feet. Her knees buckled a bit and she sank gratefully onto the bed.
Officer Haley moved into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water which she sucked down with gusto.
“Should we call a doctor?” he inquired gently.
“Mercy sakes, no! There’s no medicine for being old and silly. I don’t know what made me think I could hop out of bed for a drink of water like I was a teenager. Arthur is a bad bedfellow, that’s all I can say.’
Officer Haley looked at me over her head, puzzlement in his beautiful eyes.
“Arthur. Arthritis. Auntie Lou and Arthur have a marriage of inconvenience,” I explained.
“Now you two run along and don’t tell another soul about this. I feel so foolish that my face must be red as a jar of beet pickles as it is!”
“No promises, Lou,” I said sternly. “We’re your family here on Pond Street. We can’t look after you if you never tell us what’s wrong.”
“Nothing subtracting forty or fifty years from my age wouldn’t help.” The calico was rumbling like a diesel truck and rubbing his head on Lou’s arm. “Now go away, both of you. I’ve got Silas here to help me get dressed.”
Lou chuckled at the expression on Nick’s face. “Silas is my cat. Named him after my dear departed husband. Both sweet, useless layabouts.”
“Are you sure…” he began.
“Sure as can be that you aren’t the one to help me get dressed, mister. You, either, Norah. Go rescue a gerbil or something. I’m fine.”
With that, she grabbed the cane Nick had propped by her bed and waved it at us threateningly. Our rescue mission was obviously over.
Back out in the sunlight, we found Sarge snacking contentedly on a patch of grass.
“Officer, I’d like to thank you…”
“Nick. Call me Nick.”
“Oh, well, yes, thank you,” I said, sounding vaguely dimwitted. I wish he’d put his sunglasses back on. Those eyes of his rattled me as though they X-rayed my soul. Instead, he stood there, tapping the bow of the glasses against his leg, making the coins in his pocket jingle.
“Tell me, has this happened before?”
“No. She sometimes complains that she’s so stiff she needs a hoist to get out of her chair, but when I suggested a lift chair so she could stand more easily, she huffed and puffed