The Road She Left Behind

by Nolfi, Christine

  “We didn’t tell them. Tippi didn’t think they’d understand.”

  Rosalind said, “Tippi devised the plan to hide you in her suite? I’m astonished she possessed the mental capacity. At her age, most of the wiring in her brain has turned to pudding.”

  “Not all of it,” Darcy put in.

  Her mother lanced her with a vicious glance as Emerson said, “I didn’t want to come home yet, Grandmother. Tippi said she didn’t mind how long I stayed with her.”

  “I can’t believe you stayed with her at all. My grandson,” she said, releasing an indignant breath, “camping inside the Varano household. Haven’t I told you to stay on our side of the fence? You are never to set foot inside Nella Varano’s house again.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought if I stayed out long enough . . .”

  The words died away. It was clear he didn’t understand why the location of his hideout mattered. Darcy sighed with relief. He knew only not to stray onto the Varanos’ property—an injunction he’d ignored.

  She caught the thread of something else. “Emerson, what did you think would happen if you stayed out long enough? Were you trying to . . . I don’t know . . . make Grandmother do something?”

  He studied his feet.

  Latrice inched past Samson with a look of worry. “Darcy, hold on.”

  “It’s okay, Latrice. Let me handle this.” Bending slightly, she went eye to eye with her nephew. “What did you want Grandmother to do? Don’t be embarrassed. You can tell me.”

  “I’m not sure I should.”

  “Relax, kiddo. If she tries to slap more years on your sentence, I’ll take the matter up on appeal.”

  “Oh, all right. I wanted Grandmother to let you come visit.” He gave Darcy a bashful glance. “Latrice told me Grandmother wouldn’t let you come home unless she got really scared.”

  “You disappeared so I’d come back?” Darcy whispered.

  Her mother expelled a furious gasp.

  With a shrug, her nephew lowered his eyes. “Latrice told me lots of stories about you. Like how you climbed trees almost faster than me when you were a kid. And that you were funny. She said you once made her laugh so hard, she spit Coke across the stove. I wanted to know if you were nice like she said.” A fine blush crawled up his neck as he added, “I stayed hidden to see if Grandmother would get worried enough to let you come back.”

  “Of all the ridiculous—” Rosalind glared at her housekeeper. “What other ideas have you put in his head?”

  Latrice frowned. “This is your fault, Rosalind. Don’t you see? He wanted to meet his aunt, get to know her. I didn’t expect him to come up with an actual plan to bring her home.”

  “Naturally a child with his intelligence would come up with a plan. I don’t believe this. My unfaithful housekeeper egging him on, and Tippi getting in on the act.” Stiffly, Rosalind turned back to her grandson. “Emerson, you are not allowed inside Nella Varano’s house. Not today, or tomorrow. Not ever. How many times have I told you to stay off her property?”

  Darcy growled with frustration. “You’ve made your expectations clear. He gets it.” It was cruel to belabor the point. “He came back, didn’t he? He’s safe. What does it matter where he stayed?”

  “It matters because I will not allow him to roam about at all hours. Nor will he associate with the people next door.”

  “Give it a rest, Mother. Tippi fed him cookies. It’s not a crime.”

  “How typical. Egg him on.”

  “I’m not egging him on!”

  The retort rolled across the foyer like thunder. Samson, wide-eyed, cleared his throat.

  “Does anyone mind if I go with Emerson to play Nintendo?” He inched toward the stairwell. “If you ladies are gearing up for a catfight, I’d rather not watch.”

  The remark was perfectly timed. “I want to see Emerson’s bedroom too,” Darcy said, turning her back on her mother. She winked at her nephew. “What do you say, Emerson? Can I tag along?”

  On the mansion’s second floor, the excited boy raced into a bedroom once decorated in sedate browns and muddy grays for guests staying at the Goodridge estate. Now the room was more welcoming—a perfect refuge for a growing boy.

  Large, phosphorescent stars covered the ceiling. They rained down an accent wall painted midnight blue, behind the queen-size bed. The other walls, lighter blue, showed off wooden shelves neatly filled with a boy’s treasures—glittery rocks, an iPad, stacks of books, a pocket telescope, and a dizzying variety of board games. Approaching the large double windows, Darcy inhaled the summer breeze whispering across the room.

  Beside the iMac computer, a crystal paperweight refracted light across the walls. Picking it up, Emerson tossed it from hand to hand. “Do you like my room, Aunt Darcy?”

  “It’s great.” Aware that her opinion mattered a great deal, she spiked her voice with animation. “When I was growing up, this room was used for guests. I like what you’ve done with it.”

  “Latrice helped. We redid everything last year. I even got a new bed, a bigger one. We got rid of the toys I don’t play with anymore.”

  “You needed a room for an older kid.”

  With pride, he nodded. “I’ll be in fourth grade this fall.”

  Samson came inside. “Look at this place.” Turning in a slow circle, he whistled at the bedroom’s generous dimensions. “You’ve got this whole place to yourself?” His attention lifted to the ceiling and the glowing constellation raining down behind the bed. “How’d you get the stars up there?”

  “It was simple. They’re adhesive.”

  “Man, you did a good job. I like the design.”

  “It was Latrice’s idea. We stuck the stars up together.”

  Darcy asked, “Grandmother didn’t mind?”

  “She wasn’t happy. She said the stars would deface the ceiling. I didn’t know what she meant.” The boy tapped the intimidatingly large dictionary beside his computer. “I had to look up the word deface.”

  “How did you get her to come around?”

  “Latrice talked to her. I’m not sure how, but she made Grandmother change her mind.” Emerson slipped off his shoes and placed them in the closet. There was something pitiful about the way he set the tennis shoes down, taking care to line them up. From over his shoulder, he cast a glance. “How are you and Samson friends? You’re not very close in age.”

  “We met on a job, in South Carolina,” Darcy explained. “We worked for a tourist company on Charleston Harbor.”

  Emerson noticed a stray baseball on the floor. “Why didn’t you make friends with ladies your own age?” Picking it up, he tossed the ball from hand to hand.

  The direct approach nearly made her laugh. She’d been just as direct at his age. “Annoyingly blunt,” her mother used to say.

  “I guess I don’t make friends easily.”

  “Me either.” He tossed the ball into the closet.

  “Do you have any friends at school?” she asked, fearful of the answer.

  “Not really. Most of the kids think I’m weird. Grandmother doesn’t help. At school functions, she reprimands the PTO ladies or Mr. Paternic, the principal. She always finds something to complain about.”

  Samson shook his head. “You’re both pathetic. There’s nothing easier than making friends. Just put yourself out there and act nice. Most people will show you their good side if you lay on enough sugar. There’s nothing to it.”

  Her nephew lifted his brows. A lonely boy, desperate for a primer on friendship. Given his stilted home life, no wonder he needed lessons.

  Coming to a decision, Darcy sat down on the bed. She patted the thick comforter, an attractive dark-blue fabric with silver thread running through. With amusement, she made out the glittery design—more stars, like the ones on the ceiling.

  When Emerson joined her, she said, “Walk me through this. I’m not sure what you meant downstairs. Did you believe Grandmother would ask me to come to Ohio if you scared her by hiding out?”


  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  Thanks to his impressive cunning, she was. “Why did you want me to come back now? I mean, why didn’t you pull this stunt earlier? From what Latrice says, you’ve been sneaking out of the house since last year.”

  The question feathered worry across his features. Then his expression closed. The reaction put Darcy on alert. She suspected he was hiding something.

  This wasn’t the time to press for the details. They’d only just met. Better to forge a relationship first. Once he felt safe around her, he’d spill. No one shared painful secrets with a stranger.

  “Out of curiosity, how long were you planning to stay hidden?” She posed the question lightly. “I mean, what if I hadn’t heard?”

  “Tippi would’ve let me stay in her rooms. It’s basically an apartment.”

  It seemed odd, the familiar way he referred to the Varano women. Tippi, Nella—as if a long acquaintance had put him on a first-name basis with neighbors his grandmother despised. With the women Darcy had cherished before they were removed from her life. An unexpected sting of loss pierced her.

  “You would have stayed hidden for days?” She swept a lock of wheat-colored hair from his brow, delighting in the softness of his skin. His hair color was a perfect match for hers, another poignant example of the family connection. “That sounds pretty boring.”

  “I’m glad it didn’t take too long. Tippi’s nice and all, but I got tired of watching TV and playing cards.”

  “She didn’t mind if you hung around?”

  “Not really. She wanted you to come home too.”

  “Emerson, this isn’t my home.”

  “Why not? Why is Grandmother mad at you anyway?”

  The question floated between them, unbound. A dreaded query—one of many Darcy knew she’d confront in the coming days.

  Her nephew waited, the curiosity on his face mixing with unease. She wondered how to begin.

  Chapter 9

  There was no simple way to boil down years of rancor for a child’s consumption. Darcy had begun sparring with Rosalind long before the accident that tore their family apart. She couldn’t recall a time when she hadn’t felt like the thorn to Elizabeth’s rose, the uncultivated daughter her mother tolerated but never loved.

  “Emerson, there are lots of reasons why I don’t get along with Grandmother.” Darcy flopped her hands into her lap. “I wasn’t a good kid like you.”

  “You were bad?”

  “I was mouthy, for sure. I argued with her over the stupidest things. And my room was always a mess. Mud tramped across the carpet, the bed never made—I hated being indoors. One day, she came home from the courthouse and found three frogs sitting on my pillow.”

  Her nephew’s eyes lit with glee. “You brought live frogs into the house?”

  “Grandmother pitched a fit.”

  “What did she do?”

  “Kiddo, I spent half of my childhood grounded.”

  More than half, she mused. Rosalind had characterized her behavior as “mindlessly delinquent.”

  “Back then, she worked long hours. There was always some major trial demanding her attention. Your grandfather worked a lot too. He was a doctor in Chagrin Falls. He had a big practice.”

  “In vascular medicine,” Emerson supplied. “He took care of people’s circulatory system—how your blood goes through your veins and arteries. Grandmother says everyone called him Dr. Jack.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Were you always in trouble?”

  “Not on purpose. Mostly I got tired of waiting for my parents to come home and say ‘hello’ before Latrice made us go to bed. I guess you know your mom was a year younger than I.” When he nodded, she added, “Elizabeth was much more patient. She’d go right upstairs if bedtime rolled around and our parents still weren’t home. Sometimes I’d sneak back outside to play.”

  “You snuck out of the house? Like I do?”

  The observation felt like a trap—one she’d willingly strolled into.

  “Your mother never did,” she rushed on. “She always followed the rules. You should be more like her.”

  “I do follow Grandmother’s rules . . . sometimes.” In his lap, Emerson steepled his fingers. Then he lowered his voice an octave to mimic adult speech. “A boy my age should have a pet. Latrice suggested I request a hamster. I promised to clean its cage and everything. I’d very much like a puppy, but it’s out of the question. Grandmother says a puppy will soil her Aubusson carpets. She bought those carpets in France, and won’t let a mongrel destroy them.”

  “You strike me as very responsible. I’m sure you’d take good care of a dog.”

  “I love animals. Dogs are my favorite.”

  “Should I talk to her? Do some old-fashioned lobbying?” Darcy suspected he knew the word. On the nearest shelf, a tome in navy blue glared out: The United States Congress: A History.

  “You can’t change her mind. Not unless she stops being mad at you.” With disconcerting maturity, he gave her knee a reassuring pat. “Thank you for offering.”

  “I guess I’m not the best person to lobby on your behalf,” she agreed, wishing for the courage to enfold him in her arms. The combination of his baby face and feigned maturity was so darn cute. Heartbreaking too. A child practiced at mimicking adult behavior knew how to hide—and suppress—his emotions.

  “It’s okay. Latrice got me some magazines with pictures of dogs. I keep them in my desk.” Dismissing the subject, he looked up. A gentle yearning crossed his face. “What was my mom like?”

  Remorse pricked Darcy. There was no adequate way to summarize the kind, talented sister she’d cherished.

  “You know what? You sure take after her,” she assured him, lacing her voice with animation. She’d deprived Emerson of a mother. She’d do her best to salve the wound with beautiful images of the gentle soul he’d never have the opportunity to meet. “She also loved animals. When Elizabeth was your age, she wanted a bunny rabbit more than anything. I’m talking about a big-time obsession with soft, furry, nose-wiggling bunnies.”

  “She did? No one ever told me that.”

  “There was nothing she wanted more. A white bunny rabbit—it was all she talked about.”

  “Grandmother vetoed the idea because of the poops?” he asked. When she nodded, he sighed. “Why can’t someone invent a pet that doesn’t poop? It would solve everything.”

  Samson chuckled. “You Goodridges have a weird thing about cleanliness. If you don’t want a pet dropping poops everywhere, keep it on a leash!”

  “Tell it to the judge,” Darcy said wryly. “The Honorable Rosalind Goodridge lives in fear of stepping on turds.” Dropping the subject, she told Emerson, “You know, your grandparents used to have big parties on Saturday nights. They had lots of friends from the country club who would come over. Your mom and I used to sit on the stairwell together listening to the music until our bedtime.” She declined to add that her parents’ closest friends had been the Varanos next door. Mr. Varano’s heart attack, and the mysterious feud that began after his death, changed everything.

  “What else did my mom like?”

  “Playing the piano. She was very talented.”

  “She also wanted to be a lawyer, right?”

  “And a judge someday.”

  “Just like Grandmother,” Emerson supplied. “And my mom liked to paint.”

  “She loved watercolors. I’m sure Grandmother has shown you Elizabeth’s work.” Darcy paused to inhale a steadying breath.

  Staying away this long had been cruel. She was a living conduit to the mother Emerson craved, a walking history of Elizabeth’s successes and mishaps.

  How could I have been so blind?

  She wondered how much of her self-loathing was rooted in the hasty decision she’d made to leave Ohio.

  If I’d stayed to replace the mother Emerson lost, would I have found my own path to healing?

  Catching his bashful gaze, she said, “Your
mother would’ve loved your bedroom. She was very organized. Just like you.”

  “Did she keep a schedule?” Hopping off the bed, Emerson scampered to his desk. He pulled out a black vinyl DayMinder as weirdly mature as the book on the US Congress. “I keep all sorts of stuff in my organizer. What time to wake up, when I can play video games, how much time I’ll read. Since I dropped out of my summer activities, Grandmother has me take tests.”

  Samson gaped at him. “She tests you during summer vacation, like a teacher?”

  “On Tuesdays and Fridays.”

  “That ought to be illegal.”

  “Tell it to the judge,” Emerson said, mimicking Darcy’s smart-ass remark.

  Samson crossed his arms in disgust. “A boy shouldn’t do anything in the summer but sleep in late and goof off.” He sent Darcy a look of irritation. “While we were driving here, why didn’t you tell me about your mama’s job? Is she a mean judge? With all the talk of summer homework and no pets for little boys, I’ve got a bad feeling. She put away a lot of black men in her time? Hit me with the truth. I can take it.”

  There was real fear in his eyes. “Relax.” She rose from the bed. “She doesn’t have you on her docket.”

  “I don’t know what she’s got me on, but it’s not her good side.”

  “Welcome to my world.”

  With a grunt, he leaned against the wall. “There’s too many black men in prison. Make one bad move and the system comes down on you. It’s not right.”

  Emerson gave a sympathetic nod. “The judicial system does need reform.”

  “Start by telling your grandma to stop locking my people up.”

  “She won’t listen to me. I haven’t passed the bar.”

  Darcy slipped the DayMinder from her nephew’s fingers. She glanced at Samson. “Let’s keep our political views to ourselves, shall we?” She returned the DayMinder to the drawer. “While you’re at it, don’t spout any liberal opinions while we’re in my mother’s domicile. She’ll evict us.”

  Latrice appeared in the doorway, a stack of linens cradled in her arms. “Darcy, why don’t you help me make the beds?” She gave Emerson a warning look. “Don’t even think about Nintendo. Your grandmother hasn’t ruled yet on whether it’s best to strip your room of electronics. Do yourself a favor and don’t give her any ideas.”