King's Little Black Book

The task was seemingly simple.

Keep Curtis King happy, fed, bathed, and healthy all while maintaining the cleanliness of the five bedroom victorian home that he lived in. Clarabelle had stumbled upon the job posting, almost by fate, while scrolling their her small city's internet forum.

The job was posted by Sharon Clasp (formerly King), Curtis' daughter that he shared with his late wife. Sharon lived three hours away with her husband and daughter, too busy to keep up with the needs of her father. The pay was steady and a hefty sum, since ultimately Curtis' wellbeing was in the hands of a 20 something young girl.

Clarabelle started working for Curtis in the fall of 2018, getting along quite nicely in the early months of her job. Curtis was cleanly and quiet, never really causing a fuss for Clarabelle. Their relationship was cordial and Curtis seemed to enjoy her presence. Until one day he called Clarabelle by a different name. Joan.

"Joan, please bring me my loafers. I want to walk through the garden." Clarabelle stepped back, confused by Curtis' sudden incoherence. He was never diagnosed with dementia or alzheimers, and he wasn't even looking at Clarabelle when he spoke. Clarabelle walked into the kitchen to grab the phone, hurrying to dial Sharon's home phone number. Looking up frrom the sink Clarabelle saw Curtis in his loafers, grasping a little black book, leather bound and slightly worn.

"Joan was my mother's name, I haven't heard him talk about her in years. That's very strange. I'll call Dr. Stone." Sharon uttered, hurredly ending the call.

"Ah, sweet Clarabelle. I haven't been able to tell you how much my love and I appreciate your help all these months. Especially Joan, she is so grateful for your help in transitioning me for the next step." Curtis said when Clarabelle joined him in the garden. The last sentence Curtis had spoken confused Clarabelle. The next step? What could that possibly mean?

The next few months Clarabelle watched Curtis fade into an erratic man, he consistently spoke to the invisible Joan. Convinced that he was speaking to the real thing. Dr. Stone said it must just be dementia and to prepare Sharon for the inevitable demise of her father. Sharon started coming around more and helping Clarabelle to deal with Curtis' random outbursts. Sharon consistently trying to convince Curtis that Joan wasn't really there only pushed Curtis further into his demise.

Eventually, Curtis King had passed on. Leaving Clarabelle to pilfer through the last of Curtis' belongings left in his home on Storybook Lane. When Clarabelle entered Curtis' study, she felt an instant chill and a strong urge to open the drawer of the desk. In the drawer she found the same small leather bound black notebook she saw Curtis clutching in the garden the first day Curtis had mentioned Joan and his transition.

Opening up the slightly worn pages, she scanned stories upon stories of what Curtis planned to do with Joan in the afterlife. Walks in their garden daily, sipping mojitos on their porch while watching passerbys walk by.

Clarabelle flipped to the last page, watching a check fall to the ground. The last page included a letter, written to Clarabelle. The letter was pecuilar in the handwriting, there were two sets of penmanship. A jagged edge on each letter in part of it, with beautiful cursive at the bottom of the page.

"My sweet Clarabelle, Thank you for all you've done for me. You've taken such good care of me in my final days, encouraging my transition every step of the way (even though you didn't know it). Usually allowing me to chat away with my Joan, even though you didn't get it. She was there. Watching. She appreciates you. With love, Curtis King."

"Clarabelle, Thank you for all of the lovely work you've done for my Curty. He's appreciated you, and so have I. You've done such an incredible job. Pain free, my Curty gets to stay here with me, forever. Thank you my dear. Warmest Regards, Joan King."

Looking down at the check that now laid at her feet, Clarabelle picked up the sheet of paper to make the discovery of a lifetime. A check, written out to Clarabelle Karr, for $20,000. The "FOR" line in a beautiful cursive, "For all of your help."

Walking out of the study, Clarabelle slowly paced back and forth until leaning against the kitchen sink. Hearing footsteps, Clarabelle looked up and out at the garden. It didn't seem real. But Clarabelle knew who it was. Hand in hand were two figures walking through the back garden. She could almost hear Curtis whisper, "My sweet Clarabelle."