The Replacement Child by Christine Barber Read Free Book Online

woman her age who swore as much as Claire did. She and Claire were taking another continuing-education course at the community college. Claire called it “classes for crones.” And Pasty could see why. More than half of the class were women her age, their gray heads bent down over their worktables.
    Patsy was making a necklace for Brittany. It was her third try. The first two had come out wrong, with extra beads in silly places. Claire interrupted her with a, “Here, Pat, do this.” Patsy smiled and took the thread from Claire; after a few tries, she slipped the bead into place, then handed it back to Claire. Claire had insisted that they take the class despite her arthritis. “My joints might be stiff but they still work,” Claire had said in her heavy New York accent. Patsy spent most of her time in class doing both her and Claire’s work. But she didn’t mind.
    For months after John’s fatal stroke, Patsy had spent long hours staring at nothing, trying to remember what it had felt like to be Mrs. John Burke. John Junior tried to get her to make plans. Did she want to move back to Kansas to be with her sisters? Did she want to move to Phoenix to be near Harold? John Junior yelled at her, thinking that her hearing aid was broken. What he didn’t understand was that she didn’t care. What did it matter where she was? She was lost without John. After several weeks, John Junior started to make plans to move her to Albuquerque, to live with him and his new wife. Patsy simply accepted this. She wandered around her house, thinking about packing things up into boxes but not doing it.
    Claire Schoen showed up at Patsy’s door with a single, loud knock one day. When Patsy opened it, she saw a womandressed in white stretch pants, a big orange T-shirt, and a baseball cap. She had seen the woman before. She knew her name. She lived next door. They had said hi to each other over the fence, but that was it. Patsy had grown up on a farm, where you stayed out of other people’s business.
    “Hey, Pat,” Claire said. “Let’s go for a walk.”
    Patsy started to say no, pointing out that she had no tennis shoes. Claire glanced at the orthopedic shoes Patsy was wearing and said, “What you’ve got on is fine. Let’s make hay while the sun shines.”
    Patsy didn’t know what else to say, so she did as she’d been told. They walked in the warm sun, Claire pumping away loudly, saying, “Gotta keep these old bones moving,” and doing most of the talking. She talked about her husband, who had died twenty years earlier, saying, “Bless his heart,” and looking genuinely sad. She talked about some man named Henry from the senior center who was making moon eyes at her. As Claire talked, Patsy realized that they had things in common. Both had two sons, both had had hip replacements, both were the widows of police officers, both did their own sewing, and both played bridge.
    After an hour, they were back at Patsy’s front door.
    Claire said, “See you tomorrow, Pat. Same time,” and went huffing back to her house.
    That had been three years ago. Since then, Claire had been trying to show Patsy how to “empower” herself. As Claire pointed out, in John’s death, God had granted Patsy something. What was that saying? Every time a door closes, somewhere a window opens? Or, as Claire put it, “We might be old, but we ain’t dead yet.”
    Patsy now made her meals when she wanted to, went to bed when she wanted to. She dressed in T-shirts and, once in a while, ate spicy burritos with green chile—the kind John had never liked. It gave her heartburn, but she didn’t care. A little Pepcid AC and she was as good as new.
    Not that she didn’t still miss John. Their life had been … dependable. He’d been a good provider and father. John had always said that Patsy took care of the emotions in the family and he took care of the money. He had left her with a good pension and health insurance. She still drove his last car, a Buick