The Hat Room

Charlotte unlocked the front door and turned the glass doorknob. She was there to take care of George and Susan's animals while they were out of town.

"Hello puppies!" Usually the three dogs would be sitting by the door waiting for her. This time they weren't, but they quickly came running when she started filling up food and water bowls.

She walked into the living room and ran her fingertips across the books lined up neatly on the floor to ceiling shelves. Charlotte decided she was going to spend some time reading, but then she heard a noise.

It sounded like it was coming from Susan's hat room.

Susan called it a room, but really it was a small alcove hidden behind the attic stairs with a stained glass window that bathed the space in rose light. Susan had filled it with her grandmother's old hats and pictures from her childhood.

Creeping toward the hat room, Charlotte realized that what she was hearing, was crying.  She wasn't sure if she should run to the kitchen and call the police, or round the corner and see who it was.

Curiosity won out.

"Susan?" she whispered in surprise, "Is that you?"

"Oh Charlotte. I'm so sorry. I must have scared you half to death. I thought you would be at work until later tonight." Susan blew her nose, and threw the tissue on the floor. There was quite a pile down there.

"What happened? You and George weren't supposed to come home until next week. Is everything okay?" Even as the question passed over her lips, Charlotte was kicking herself. Obviously everything was not okay.

"Everything is fine," Susan replied, unconvincingly. She looked so lost. "Oops!" she held up the empty tissue box and shook it back and forth, "They're all gone."

"Do you want me to get you some more? I think I saw a box in the bathroom."

Charlotte moved toward the hallway, but Susan's voice stopped her. "No. I don't think so. Tissues won't fix what is wrong with me. I'm unfixable. At least, that's what George told me yesterday. He actually said those words. Then he said that he couldn't live with me anymore.

I just sat there on the sand and thought about how I should have brought Grandma's beach hat with me because I could feel the sun beating down on my face."

"He can't live with you anymore? That doesn't make sense. Oh Susan, I'm so sorry. What are you going to do?"

"I wanted to get in the car and drive and drive until I disappeared into a fog...but Grandma's beach hat was there in my mind. I couldn't leave her hats here. I had to come back for them."

Susan reached up and grabbed a hat off of it's shelf, it was tall with flowers and leaves on the top. "Have you seen this one?" Susan asked. Charlotte nodded.

"When I was little I called it her flowerpot hat." Susan held it up to her nose and imagined that it still smelt of lilacs, the scent her grandmother always wore. A hint of a smile crossed her face. "I would beg her to tell me the leaf joke.....'knock knock' she would say, rapping on the table, and I would yell out the 'who's there'. 'Leaf' she would answer, and then shake her head, making the leaves dance around. 'Leaf who?' I would ask. In her sternest voice, she would answer, 'Leaf me alone' and then we would both break out in giggles."

Susan's smile faded. "Now that is what I am. Alone. Just me and Grandma's hats."

This piece of fiction has been inspired by the Red Dress Club prompt, "No more than 600 words, 3 minutes read aloud - and have a character that cries and tells a joke."