A Faded Memory

Bessie sat staring toward the dense woods at the edge of the property. She focused on nothing, her macular eyes long useless. Sometimes rocking, sometimes not, her frail fingers tightly grasped the wooden armrests. It was chilly this time of year in Georgia, but Bessie loved fresh air, so one of the aides had wheeled her outside, helping her into the rocker and tucking a ratty, multi-tone pink afghan across her lap. Bessie once said she’d crocheted it when her daughters were small.

In the parking lot of the nursing home, her great-granddaughter Sara had just pulled into a space. There’d been a three-car pileup on the interstate which delayed her arrival by half an hour. That left Sara fifteen minutes to visit. Tuesday’s were especially busy at her office but more so today because the district manager was in town hovering over the cubicles. A fifteen-minute visit with Gram would be plenty long enough.

Sara wasn’t sure why she bothered coming every week. Gram never spoke, never acknowledged her presence, never smiled. Just sat in one of her rockers…rocking. What was the old woman thinking? Was she thinking?  

“Hi, Gram,” Sara said as she dragged a patio chair next to Bessie and sat down. “Did you remember today was Valentine’s Day?” She leaned over and gave her great-grandmother a quick kiss on her cheek, startled at how cold it felt against her lips.

She got no response.

With a heavy sigh Sara sat back in her chair and fiddled with her phone.

Nurses’ Aide Clarita watched from behind the curtain in Bessie’s room.

“Wonder how long she’s staying today,” she muttered under her breath before letting the heavy drapery fall back into position. She went about her straightening. Clarita was always meticulous while making Bessie’s twin-sized bed, careful to align the pink pastel ribbing with the edges of the mattress. Doing so assured that the large pastel posies dotting the chenille would be spread evenly across the bed. She tugged at the dust ruffle until it was even.

The nightstand was empty except for a white hobnail milk glass lamp and one framed photograph. Clarita had noticed it before, but today she picked it up and looked closely. From under the glass, a young couple in sepia smiled back. The dark-haired man had his arm wrapped around the woman’s waist, pulling her tight against his side. A Cheshire expression spanned his mustached face. The lady—a sprig of a woman maybe still in her teens—beamed with the happiness often reserved for new brides. She wore a pale, dropped-waist dress with a big crepe flower pinned at the waist. A strand of pearls circled her dainty neck.

Clarita whispered, “Hello, Bessie. Weren’t you a pretty young thing?”

Women in white lawn dresses dotted the background. Men in suits lounged in small groups smoking cigars. And the children…the children were doing what children do best: having fun running through the grass laughing and teasing one another. Clarita could practically hear their joyous voices.

“Goodness gracious. That’s your wedding day, isn’t it, Bessie?”

She dusted the nightstand and replaced the photograph, angling it just so.

Then she remembered the old heart-shaped candy box. . .

Sarah glanced at her watch.

“Did you know I got a promotion, Gram? I’m a senior assistant now. Just between you and me…I should’ve gotten it last year. But, oh well. At least I got it.”

Aside from a blink, Bessie stared straight ahead. A soft whisp of her snow-white hair moved in the breeze.

Sarah checked her emails and replied to a client’s question.

Clarita hurried over to the antique mahogany cedar chest at the far end of Bessie’s room. Opening the lid, she pushed aside folded blankets and clothing stacked on top. The candy box had to be in there. She’d seen it in a bag one of the grandkids brought in years ago after they’d discovered it while cleaning out Bessie’s house.

Found it!

Clarita tucked the antique box under her arm and was out of Bessie’s room in a flash. She rushed to the aides’ station and grabbed her handbag from the breakroom.

“I’ve got to run out real quick,” she said to another aide eating an egg salad sandwich from a brown paper bag. “I’m taking my lunch break early today.”

“But—”

“Cover for me, please. I’ll be right back. Twenty, twenty-five minutes tops.”

Once in her car, Clarita tossed her purse on the floor but carefully laid the heart-shaped candy box on the passenger seat. Even in its tattered condition, the box was exquisite. The entire lid was covered in faded butterscotch satin, the material meticulously pleated. Yellowed ruffled lace softened the edges. A wide velvet ribbon ran diagonally and smack center was a droopy velvet bow in the same shade of gold. A silk magnolia also adorned the lid but it was pretty much flattened and hung limp. Printed on the back of the box was: Hollingsworth’s Unusual Candies and Nunnally’s, “The Candy of the South.”

Clarita drove to the nearest drug store, whipping into the first space she saw. Once inside, pink and red hearts and dangling cupids hanging from the ceiling led her to the Valentine’s Day section. She chose a large box of Russell’s Stover Assorted Chocolates and a 12-piece gift bag of individually wrapped Ferrero Rocher balls.

“That should do it.”

At the checkout counter she spotted miniature packages of Turtles’ famous caramel and pecan patties and bought a few of them as well.

Back in her car, Clarita lifted the fragile lid of the heart-shaped box and dusted off the cardboard. She evenly spaced the three Turtles’ packets before tearing the cellophane from the Russell Stover candies. Next she transferred each chocolate treat to the bottom of the old box. Finally, she removed the foil wrap from the Rocher hazelnut truffles and set each ball back on its paper liner which she interspersed between the Stover chocolates and Turtles’ caramel and pecan patties.

She finished in record time.

Ten minutes earlier, Sara had glanced at her watch again. It was time to leave if she intended to make it back to the office before her manager returned from lunch with an important advertiser.

“Gram, wish I could stay longer but I need to run.”

Bessie continued rocking.

“Love you, Gram.” Sara gave her another peck on the cheek before heading across the lawn toward the parking lot. Her fiancé texted a heart emoji. She texted back big red lips.

As she pulled out of the lot she glanced in her rearview mirror to see her great-grandmother still rocking, still staring at the woods, but pulling her afghan a bit higher and tighter.

That evening, after all the residents had eaten dinner and their trays collected, Clarita headed to the breakroom and pulled the candy box out of her locker.

Bessie’s door was partially open but Clarita knocked anyway.

“Miss Bessie, it’s me, Clarita. You decent, honey?”

She heard no reply, she never did. But she gave the old woman the respect any nonagenarian deserved.

“OK, dear…here I come.”

Bessie was in bed, sitting upright against the headboard, a couple pillows wedged behind her back. She was still wearing a bib.

Clarita approached, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor.

“Miss Bessie I have a surprise for you.”

Nothing.

“Miss Bessie, Happy Valentines’ Day, dear.”

Clarita placed the old heart-shaped candy box on Bessie’s lap. Then she lifted the woman’s gnarled hands and laid them on the pleated lid.

Nothing.

“Do you remember this, Miss Bessie?”

Slowly, the old woman’s fingers moved. She felt the pleats, felt the velvet ribbon and bow, felt the flattened flower. Clarita would swear later she saw a smile on Bessie’s face, a sparkle in her cloudy blue eyes.

“Ri-chard?” It was barely a whisper.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a Valentine, Miss Bessie. Go ahead. Open it.”

She had a bit of trouble lifting the lid so Clarita helped. Then Bessie’s fingertips moved across the assortment of candies as if each chocolate morsel was a Braille letter. Stopping on a Russell Stover chocolate-covered cherry, she shakily picked it up and brought it to her lips.

“Take little bites, dear. We don’t want you to choke.”

Minutes passed as Bessie nibbled at her chocolate. When she’d finished, Clarita offered her a sip of water.

“Well, it sure looks like you enjoyed that. Here, let me hide these away for another day. How’s that sound?”

Bessie didn’t respond so Clarita put the lid back on the heart-shaped box and stood.

“Ri-chard?” Another barely audible whisper.

“No, dear, Richard’s not here today. But I’ll tell him Happy Valentines’ for you. Goodnight, sweetie.”

At the door Clarita turned and looked back at Bessie before leaving. The old woman was staring at nothing, but muttering something. And maybe…just maybe a warm tear dropped from Bessie’s cheek as Clarita turned off the light and closed the door.