by Beth Flynn
I would return home, visit with Jonathan and Cindy on Jake’s days off, and possibly increase my hours at the clinic. I no longer had my renovation to keep me busy, but I did have a county full of Darlene’s relatives that treated me as one of their own. I’d survived a broken heart before. I would survive this one too. I would find something else to occupy my time. For some odd reason, I’d had Grandma Dicey on my mind recently and wondered if she would let me record her memoirs. She had a fascinating history. One that I was convinced would be a best seller. I had no clue how to write a book, but I could find someone that could.
I showed up at my realtor’s office, and after spending only a few moments with her and insisting she come clean, the meaning of Fancy’s last comment became increasingly clear. Fancy had moved out of my home but hadn’t left it in the pristine condition I’d been led to believe. She’d done the opposite and had gone out of her way to make it as unlivable as possible. I listened in stunned disbelief as the realtor described the lengths the last tenant, my abhorrent sister, had gone to deface my place. Fancy had literally taken an ax or crowbar to every tile, every countertop, every wall. She poured paint on the carpets, hardwood floors, and cabinets. And that was only the visible damage. She didn’t even try to hide the empty five-pound bucket of hydraulic cement that she’d poured down my drains and toilets. I was told it was a quick-drying type that ruined all the internal pipes in the condo. It was a miracle it dried quickly enough that it didn’t leak into the building’s plumbing system.
“How did I not know about this?” I was feeling flushed, but I didn’t know if it was from fury or embarrassment.
The realtor leaned across her desk and whispered, “I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but you do own the property, and I told him that if you asked, I would have to be honest.”
“Who is he?” I needed to ask. But I already knew.
She fidgeted nervously in her seat and said, “Mr. Chambers called me a few months back. He told me that you might have a situation with getting your sister removed from the residence. He anticipated that she might not be so nice about leaving. He asked me to notify him if she left the condo in anything less than perfect condition. And you’ve obviously found out that she did.”
I was speechless and could barely choke out a question. “Jake paid for the repairs?”
“Paid for the repairs is putting it mildly,” she informed me. “He shelled out a small fortune. I don’t know if you intend to pay him back, but there’s no way your profit on a sale will cover his expenses.”
I barely heard her as she launched into a professional spiel about having found potential buyers. Afterward, I drifted out to my car in a fog, a state of befuddlement tagging along for the lengthy drive home. I’d given Darlene’s niece a heads-up about my return and found her and Lady sitting on the front porch when I pulled up.
We chatted for a few minutes at which time she told me she would dog-sit for me whenever I needed her. I told her I appreciated the gesture. I was almost inside the door when she called out to me.
“Oh, I almost forgot! Aunt Darlene called me and wanted me to tell you she wouldn’t be back for another two days. Something about you needing to take care of something on your own.”
Of course she did. I felt my insides wilt a little.
“And that gift you told me I could use.” She opened the car door and tossed her bag in her car. “Not a bath bomb, but it was in a box that came from a store that sells them so I can see why you thought that. I left it on your dresser.” She waved before climbing inside and said, “And I didn’t read the note that was with it.”
I avoided my bedroom by spending the next thirty minutes sitting on the living room floor, frolicking with Lady. Rolling around with her was good medicine. My mood lifted and I charged up the stairs, squealing as she nipped at the back of my heels.
I picked up the box and sat on my bed. The paper had been torn off, but the box revealed the name of the store. I lifted it to my nose and inhaled. He must’ve gotten it from one of the many birthday parties they’d had at Hampton House. I began to envy the woman who’d actually received fancy bath soaps before giving the empty box to Jake. It would’ve been easier for me to dismiss a gift that could be swallowed up by a drain.
I carefully lifted the lid and looked inside. There was something wrapped in tissue paper and a note had been tucked in next to it. I took out the note. It wasn’t a birthday card, but a white piece of paper folded in half.
Dear Barbie,
Birthdays should be special. I wanted to celebrate yours by showing you how much you mean to me. The only way I could think to do this was by giving you something that holds the most value to me. Other than you, this is what I cherish most, and because of that, I want you to have it.
Love,
Jake
I willed my eyes to stay dry as I set down the note and pulled out Jake’s most cherished possession. A forty-five-year-old baseball with the signature of a boy who filled up his life with more regrets than victories.
I lay back on the bed and screamed at my ceiling. “Why are you doing this to me, Jake? Why did you make me fall in love with you?” I cried.
As if to answer my question, my phone vibrated in my back pocket. I lifted my hip high enough to retrieve it and saw that it was Darlene’s daughter, Danielle. I quickly sat up, and after collecting myself, answered.
She explained that thanks to a good friend connected to the prison system in Florida, she was able to have Kenny’s records located and sent priority mail. She didn’t answer me when I asked if it was legal and whether or not she could get in trouble, but instead got directly to the point.
“I have all of Kenneth’s medical records, Aunt Barbie. Not just the autopsy report. They’ve got everything here from when they dispensed his first aspirin up until he died.”
I asked her to please skip to the autopsy findings. After listening to her recite the medical examiner’s report word for word, I had to shake my head to clear it. She must not be reading it correctly, I assumed.
“You’re sure? He didn’t die from a stab wound?”
“No. It says he died from an infection.” She went on to read the exact medical terminology. It was definitely an infection.
Jake killed Kenny by giving him an infection in a prison yard fight? That can’t be right.
Before I could tell her she was missing something, she said, “Oh, wait. There is something here that says he was admitted for a stab wound a few weeks prior to his death. But it was superficial. Looks like the wound didn’t kill him, but the infection did.”
“That makes more sense,” I told her.
“I’m not an expert, Aunt Barbie, but from reading this, I’d say the prison infirmary was negligent.”
Lady jumped on the bed and I absently stroked her with my free hand. “It’s impossible to say. He could’ve resisted the antibiotics. He might not have told them it was bothering him until it was too late. It might not be negligence on the prison’s part.”
“I don’t know if this is important to you or not, but it also says that Kenneth insisted that it was an accident. Sounds like he didn’t want whoever did it to get in trouble.”
I couldn’t get off the phone fast enough. Jake’s stab wound hadn’t killed Kenny. An infection had, but he was still holding himself responsible. Just like he still carried the grief of being ashamed of his elderly parents when he was a child. Oh, Jake. We both have so much healing to do. Please forgive me for ignoring your phone calls.
I realized that I hadn’t heard from Jake since before he got back from Cleveland. I only knew he’d returned because Darlene’s niece told me when he’d come for Henry.
Tossing my phone aside, I ran down the stairs with Lady at my heels and grabbed my keys off the coffee table. She followed me out to my Jeep and I let her jump in on my side and make her way to the passenger seat. “C’mon, girl. Let’s go get our men.”
I backed out of the driveway, and as I started to pull away,
I glanced over at my house. The solitary red Adirondack chair mocked me. I guiltily chanced a peek at the one I’d left sprawled and broken on the ground beside the porch, but it was gone.
The minute I pulled up to Jake’s house, I knew something was wrong. I immediately sensed his absence. I jumped out of my car without shutting the door, Lady following behind me.
“Don’t panic. Don’t panic,” I told myself. “His truck is gone but he’s probably at work.”
I started calling for Henry, but he didn’t come. I ran to the far side of the small house and saw that the used trailer he’d bought to haul his motorcycle was also gone. I stopped dead in my tracks and stiffly turned around to look at the side porch where Jake had built a ramp so he could keep his motorcycle out of the weather. A sliver of fear made its way down my spine. No truck. No trailer. No motorcycle. No Henry. You’re reading too much into it. He’s probably taken a few days off and took his motorcycle and Henry on a little getaway.
I ran up the side porch ramp and around to the front of the house. I peeked in the front bedroom window. No furniture. I ran to the front door to open it, but it was locked. I then looked in the living room window and a brutal reality landed firmly in my stomach. The room was bare. I turned around, pressing my back against the window and slowly sank to the porch. My heaving sobs tapping out a rhythm that could only equate to devastating grief. I felt Lady’s wet nose sniffing at my neck and I grabbed her tightly, burying my tears in her fur.
I was too late.
Jake was gone.
Chapter 45
Why Can’t You Just Love Him?
My grief was excruciatingly intense. The heaviness in my chest pressed down like a pile of boulders. Not even Lady’s gentle nudges and licks could relieve my heartache. I stood on shaky legs and used the sleeve of my blouse to wipe my face. I would go home, collect myself, and call him.
I was halfway to my Jeep when Lady took off down the driveway. When I realized where she was heading, I started to cry again. Jake’s truck came into view and was pulling up on the side of his house. The broken Adirondack chair peeked up over the edge of the bed and he was towing an empty trailer. Henry was sitting next to him in the front seat as Lady ran alongside them. Apparently we were both anxious to get back to our men.
Jake smiled at me and instantly noticed I’d been crying. He made quick work of parking and getting out of his truck. He stalked toward me, his expression concerned. I charged toward him and jumped on him, almost knocking him over. I wrapped my legs tight around his waist and showered him with kisses. He managed to keep his balance and held me in place.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jake. I didn’t give you a chance to explain. And I’ve been ignoring your calls. Please forgive me. Tell me it’s not too late for us. Tell me you didn’t take the chair back because you no longer want to be with me.” I knew I was babbling, but I didn’t care.
“Whoa, whoa, Barbie. It’s okay, honey. I took the chair so I could fix it.”
I slowly disengaged my legs from around his waist and my arms from around his neck. Looking up at him, I confessed, “I saw that everything was gone, including Henry. And when I looked in the window, I saw your furniture was gone. Why is your furniture gone, Jake?”
He gave me a half grin. “Because I’m sanding the floors and most of it is stacked up in the kitchen and on the back porch.” He turned around and motioned toward the empty trailer. “And I just dropped my bike off. It needs some work.”
“I was so scared you’d left. I shouldn’t have cut you off when you told me what happened. You were trying to tell me you killed Kenny, but that it was an accident and I wouldn’t let you get a word in.”
He stared down at me, his eyes serious. “It was an accident, Barbie. In a prison yard fight, it’s every man for himself. I had a shiv and felt someone at my back. I turned around swinging. I didn’t know someone had tripped Kenny and he’d fallen against me. I got him right in his thigh as he lost his footing.”
“I saw the ME report. The wound didn’t kill him, Jake. It wasn’t life-threatening. He got an infection that killed him.”
“An infection he wouldn’t have gotten if I hadn’t caught him with my shiv, Barbie.” His eyes flickered with regret. “I’m responsible for his death.”
“But it wasn’t deliberate, Jake. You didn’t try to kill Kenny.” He looked at the ground and I grabbed his face with my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. “I understand why you thought you needed to confess this. But it wasn’t your fault Kenny died.”
His voice was husky. “I didn’t want anything to come between us, Barbie.”
“And this won’t, Jake. I don’t hold you responsible, and Kenny didn’t either.”
“Can you love somebody like me, Barbie doll?” His mouth was set in a hard line as he waited for my answer.
“It’s too late, Jake. I already do.”
He asked me to wait while he went inside to get something, so I sat on the front porch steps. He returned moments later and took a seat beside me.
“When Kenny died, I got his belongings. There wasn’t a whole lot, but the reason why he left you is in here.” He held up a worn envelope. Reaching into it, he took something out and pressed it into my hand. It was a Civil War coin.
“Is this the piece from my father’s collection?” I asked incredulously. His answer was a nod. “Kenny stole it from my grandparents’ house?” He shook his head and launched into a shocking explanation that in the end made so much sense. My father and Kenny’s mother had shared a secret.
Missy Pritchard had been a real beauty, and when she moved to Pumpkin Rest, had all the boys’ heads turning, including my father’s. But Missy had a hankering for older bad boys, and she only had eyes for one. Kenny’s dad. My mild-mannered and quiet father had pined after her for years, and handled it stoically when she got married. Missy’s announcement that she was pregnant prompted my father to make plans to leave Pumpkin Rest.
About that time, Mr. Pritchard left town to deliver his illegal moonshine, was caught, arrested, and thrown into jail. Missy couldn’t come up with the bail so he was stuck in a county lockup two states away. My father wanted to leave but felt bad knowing that Missy was at the end of the road, alone and pregnant. Mr. Pritchard was several years older than my father, so they were never friends, but Dad thought he should do what he could to help Missy out in her husband’s absence. He found her one day, crying on her back porch. She’d just discovered that she wasn’t pregnant after all. That she’d never been pregnant. It had been a false alarm. It was especially upsetting because she’d lost her mother a few months earlier.
Putting aside his feelings for her, my father decided she needed a friend. He continued to do what he could to help her in the wake of her husband’s absence. She was still reeling from the loss of her mother, a husband in jail with no way to communicate with him, and a false pregnancy. My father was mourning the loss of the one girl he’d loved since she moved to Pumpkin Rest. Before they could stop themselves, they turned to each other. Neither one of them ever intended for it to happen, but it did. Then a telegram arrived that said Mr. Pritchard had been released and would be on his way home. My father asked Missy to leave with him, but when she refused, he knew it was time to say goodbye. He saw her one last time before he left, and it was to give her his favorite and most treasured Civil War coin. He let her know how valuable it was and told her to hold on to it in case she ever needed it.
It took Mr. Pritchard longer to get home than he’d anticipated, and during that time, Missy began to suspect another pregnancy. She’d never told anyone but my father that she wasn’t pregnant the first time, and in the end, it was a good thing because Missy was carrying my father’s child. When Kenny was born after his supposed due date, no one suspected a thing because, for all they knew, Missy had been very newly pregnant when Mr. Pritchard left for that moonshine run. Kenny had been a twelve-pound baby, only making it more believable that Missy had carried him past her due date.
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“Are you telling me that Kenny was my half brother?” I practically screamed. “And nobody knew or suspected?” Without giving him a chance to answer, I bombarded him with more questions. “Did Kenny know?” I cried. “And if so, how did he find out?”
“I’m getting to that, Barbie.”
We were still sitting on the front porch steps and I started nervously drumming my foot against the wood deck, as Jake continued to reveal the reason behind Kenny’s suspicious and abrupt disappearance from my life.
Eventually, the Pritchards’ marriage started to deteriorate. Mr. Pritchard was drinking the moonshine faster than he could make it, and he started selling off his land to my grandfather to pay the bills. It got worse after Jonathan was born and they found out he had developmental issues.
He discovered Missy one day, sitting on the edge of their bed crying. She had something pressed between her fingers. It was the Civil War coin my father had given her. She’d kept it hidden from Mr. Pritchard, afraid he would sell it if he discovered its value. He demanded to know where she got it. One thing led to another, and in a moment of hastily exchanged words, Missy Pritchard let it slip that she should’ve run off with my father.
That was when Mr. Pritchard discovered that he was not Kenny’s biological father. He’d never been a warm or caring father, but after discovering Kenny wasn’t his child, he became angry and resentful. And as his biological son continued to show signs of being developmentally challenged, Mr. Pritchard became increasingly abusive to Kenny.
“Did Kenny ever tell you what his parents fought about the night she supposedly ran off?” Jake asked me.
I shook my head, finding it hard to believe he hadn’t shared. “No.”
“He heard his mother crying and asking, ‘Why can’t you just love him?’ Kenny thought she was talking about Jonathan and his handicap. He surmised years later that she must’ve been talking about Mr. Pritchard’s inability to love him, not his little brother. He went to bed that night thinking it was just another fight. But in reality, it was a fight that sparked a rage dark enough for Mr. Pritchard to kill her and make up a story that she’d run off.”
