The Road She Left Behind

by Nolfi, Christine

  “How long has this been going on—the friendship between you and the kid?”

  “Since last year, when I moved back. He started coming around after school and on weekends. We hit it off. Emerson is a nice kid. He’s lonely. It can’t be easy growing up without parents.”

  “The whole thing is sad, especially what happened to Elizabeth. There wasn’t much left to put in the casket.” Kyle fell silent for a long moment. Then he said, “The women over at the funeral home still go out sometimes and leave flowers.”

  “Nice of them,” Michael murmured, wishing to drop the subject.

  Within days of the funeral, he’d left for Chicago. Packed his bags and dispelled every question about Darcy taking off or where she’d gone. Under the circumstances, moving forward seemed the best option. The sad events in Ohio were quickly overtaken by the hustle of investment banking in a larger city.

  Since moving back to Ohio, he’d discovered an unsavory truth. Although he’d packed up and moved on, the longtime residents of Geauga County were less fortunate. The accident on the treacherous curves of Chagrin River Road lingered in public memory like sediment no one thought to wash away. There was now a caution light at the bend in the road where the accident had taken place, and six new streetlights had been placed at intervals on the once-dark stretch of road.

  After promising a quote by morning, Michael left the work site. He climbed into his truck with his emotions in flux.

  Whatever Darcy had once represented in his life, she was now a stranger. The impish girl from his childhood with leaves tangled in the sunlit strands of her hair—the girl who’d pretended not to notice the stutter that beat down his ego until he quelled it in junior high—she no longer existed. Gone too was the slender young woman with a thoroughbred’s gait and a million reasons why they shouldn’t explore the relationship they’d ignited when they met once again, quite by accident.

  A blustery spring day in Chagrin Falls and Darcy, a few months short of finishing college, had been roaming the streets in a skintight knit dress of cobalt blue, peering into shop windows, her lips rimmed in a pretty pink color. A full decade had passed since the abrupt severing of their childhood friendship. Michael was too busy scrolling through his phone to notice her blocking his path.

  Walking too fast, he collided with her. He’d been hurrying back to First Ohio Bank, where he’d secured a job after graduating from Case Western.

  Five inches taller and a good forty pounds heavier than Darcy, he almost knocked her off her feet. Pitching backward on her strappy sandals, she cried out. He swooped an arm behind her waist just in time. The cell phone crashed to the pavement. A minor loss.

  He held her in an awkward imitation of a lover’s embrace, her back arching beneath his palms. Heat crawled across his scalp as her mossy-green eyes sparked with recognition. When she realized the man holding her was the boy she’d once known, she’d laughed.

  Michael dismissed the memory as the light before the ice cream shop turned red. Tourists in bright summer outfits began crossing the street. A vendor stood near the curb selling bags of popcorn, the savory scent of butter heavy in the air. Across the street, in the park, children swerved their bikes around adults strolling near the metal railing and the pounding thunder of the Chagrin River.

  The light changed. Michael turned toward Hunting Valley—and home.

  As the sounds of the mighty river fell away, he allowed his thoughts to wend back in an agonizing pursuit he rarely condoned. How he’d climbed over the park’s railing at midnight with Darcy to watch the moon paint the churning Chagrin River a molten silver. Crickets sang in the dark. The melody was nearly drowned out by the rush of water leaping over rock. How he’d twined his hands in Darcy’s long hair, eager for her neck to drift back and her lips to part.

  The memory scorched him with regret. Like holding his palm over an open flame, the remembering.

  He wondered if they’d both fallen in love during those short, stolen months. Or did he make the leap alone? If death hadn’t broken their brief interlude, if the Goodridge family had remained whole, would his passion for Darcy have kept her in his life forever? In the bitter aftermath, he took the safest route away from heartache and built a new life. Through a marriage that was, more than anything else, a smart business arrangement for two busy professionals who enjoyed each other’s company and the comfort of a steady sex life. Then came the divorce, a preordained event for a couple seeking convenience more than love.

  Even after returning to Ohio, he held the conviction that he’d left Darcy solidly in the past.

  Eight years later, he was no longer sure.

  Tiptoeing past the guest room she occupied, Darcy hesitated outside her late sister’s room. Since her arrival three days ago, the door to Elizabeth’s bedroom had remained shut.

  On the mansion’s back forty, Emerson and Samson were tossing around a football. Yesterday, after her mother—apparently bored in her unwanted retirement—left for a massage at a local day spa, Darcy had taken her nephew and Samson into Chagrin Falls for ice cream and a stroll through the park. In retrospect, she should have cleared the excursion with her mother. When Rosalind arrived home, she made good on her threat to punish Emerson for running away. With Latrice’s help, she removed all the electronics from his bedroom. Computer, iPad, laptop, Kindle Fire—Rosalind even removed the boy’s Nintendo Switch and his camera. According to Latrice, the entire lot of devices now filled a corner of the master suite.

  Last night, pity for her nephew encouraged Darcy to retrieve his smartphone. She undertook the operation while her mother sat alone in the living room, sipping a cocktail and watching the nightly news. At some point, Rosalind would discover the missing contraband. Either she’d plunge Darcy into an icy hell of dark looks and silence or read her the riot act. There really was no telling.

  Leave tomorrow’s troubles for tomorrow.

  Satisfied with the decision, she rested her hand on the doorknob to Elizabeth’s room. Her heart thumped out of rhythm. Soon the boys would troop back into the house. Her mother was downstairs, in her small office adjacent to the library. If Darcy wanted a few minutes of privacy, she needed to go inside now.

  Mustering up the courage, she opened the door.

  She paused in the center of the darkened room. Her eyes drifting shut, she detected a lemony fragrance from a recent dusting. Then her heart stirred. Underneath, she caught the faintest whiff of cinnamon from the cheap drugstore perfume Elizabeth had often worn in college.

  Feeling weightless, Darcy padded to the window and drew back the curtains. Bands of sunlight spilled across the familiar heart-shaped rug. Light pooled on the four-poster bed. Stuffed animals were neatly arranged on the ruffled pillows. Even when motherhood had forced Elizabeth to mature at lightning speed, she had refused to pack away the girlish accoutrements of childhood.

  It was a sweet contrast to the bedroom directly across the hallway. In Darcy’s childhood room, Rosalind had ripped out the wall-to-wall green carpeting and repainted the walls a soft blue. A sateen coverlet gleamed on the king-size bed. A chaise longue and an overstuffed chair were arranged by the window, as if waiting for the guests Rosalind no longer entertained.

  Elizabeth’s room was a clock stopped in time. Posters from the Harry Potter movies dominated the walls. On the dresser, a chubby pink jewelry box snuggled beside a photo album with half of the pages bare. Dust escaped from inside the album as Darcy turned the leaves. The photos commemorated Emerson’s first months of life: in the hospital, pressed against his exhausted mother; sleeping in the bassinet in Elizabeth’s bedroom; in the kitchen with his tiny face wrinkling as Darcy held him in an awkward embrace.

  From behind, Latrice said, “It’s a good sign.”

  Startled, Darcy flipped the album shut. “What is?”

  “You, coming in here. I assumed it would take longer.”

  “Me too. I’ve been looking for a moment when no one was around.”

  Softly, Latrice shut the
door behind her. “I’m glad you found one.”

  “This feels like a time machine transporting me back eight years. The only thing missing is the bassinet my sister used for Emerson.”

  “It’s around here somewhere. In the attic, I’d guess.” The memory of those difficult times deepened the lines around Latrice’s mouth. “After you left Ohio, I moved into one of the guest bedrooms. I stayed here until Emerson started preschool. I didn’t want him to go through another big transition. Once he started preschool, we filled out the schedule with babysitters. But I was still in charge most days.”

  “Who took care of the house?” With an energetic child to watch, Latrice couldn’t have managed her original duties.

  “That’s when Rosalind first hired a cleaning service, to get the chores off my back. I was busy enough.”

  “What happened to your home in Chagrin Falls?” Latrice owned a sweet bungalow with yellow roses trailing across a white picket fence. “You found a renter?”

  “The lady that owns the dry cleaners in the Falls. She rented the place until I was ready to move back in.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t have to sell. I’m hoping for an invitation.”

  “Stop by whenever you’d like. Emerson loves to visit. It will do you both good to get out from under Rosalind’s thumb.”

  “We will, thanks.” Sliding open a dresser drawer, Darcy trailed fingertips across the neatly folded sweaters. Unable to resist, she withdrew a fuzzy purple sweater, one of her late sister’s favorites. She pressed it to her face. Placing it back in the drawer, she asked, “Am I being silly? Picking up Elizabeth’s scent on her belongings makes me feel better. Almost like she’s here.”

  “You’re not silly, child. You miss your sister.” With purposeful strides, Latrice went to the closet. She returned with a frayed sweatshirt, the old Cleveland Browns number Elizabeth used to sleep in. “Try this one.” Her lips trembled as she held the sweatshirt out. “It was in the laundry room on the day of the accident. I hung it back up, unwashed, when your mother went to the funeral home to discuss the arrangements. I knew we’d need it someday.”

  “Oh, Latrice.”

  “Don’t be shy.” Eyes watering, she wagged the sweatshirt before Darcy. “I come in here sometimes just to hold this ratty old sweatshirt to my face. I can’t seem to stop. It carries a brighter scent of your sister than anything else in the room.”

  The implication being that Latrice spent more time in Elizabeth’s room than she preferred to admit.

  Does she come in here to grieve privately? Does the ritual of running her hands across Elizabeth’s belongings make the sorrow manageable?

  Darcy hoped so.

  Accepting the garment, she returned to the bed. She dipped her nose into the soft cloth. The act of breathing in her sister’s scent was sacred. An undeserved reward, like a rainbow lifting above a summer storm.

  The familiar cinnamon perfume wafted from the garment. Beneath it she detected the natural, woodsy aroma of Elizabeth’s skin. The scent unlocked a dozen impressions in a tumbling rush. Elizabeth, climbing in beside Darcy in a sleeping bag as an owl hooted in the night; how their parents’ long absences made their reliance on each other even stronger, an unbreakable bond that gave them both confidence. And the sweetest memory of all: Elizabeth on her seventh birthday, grabbing the biggest stuffed bear in a toy store and then throwing herself into Darcy’s arms. For months, Darcy had saved her allowance to buy the extravagant gift.

  She doubted she’d actually saved enough. Latrice surely made up the difference while allowing Darcy to take all the credit.

  The mattress shifted as Latrice sat down beside her. “Feel better?” she asked.

  “And worse.” Darcy placed the garment on her lap. “Does Emerson come in here?”

  “Not often.”

  “My mother?”

  “All the time.” Lowering her eyes, the housekeeper rubbed at an imaginary spot on the flaring skirt of her gray uniform. “I can’t bear to look at her when she comes out.”

  “What does she tell Emerson about his father?” It bothered Darcy that the question of her nephew’s paternity was never resolved.

  “Rosalind keeps the discussion simple. There wasn’t any sense in keeping the truth from Emerson. A boy his age has questions in need of real answers.”

  “How simple? Does he know about the frat party and Elizabeth’s one-night stand?”

  “Your mother softens the story around the edges. She tells him Elizabeth drank too much and felt embarrassed about sleeping with a young man she’d just met. He knows she never saw the guy afterward, much less remembered who he was. She follows up with a lecture about the dangers of underage drinking and why Emerson should avoid liquor at all costs.” Latrice grunted. “Like it’s on his agenda to start bar-hopping anytime soon.”

  “Does he know Elizabeth didn’t clue us in about the pregnancy until the fifth month? I wish we’d all known sooner. It’s crazy how far along she was before we found out.”

  “He understands enough for a boy his age.”

  It seemed a small consolation—one that didn’t halt the guilt needling Darcy. “I should’ve figured it all out. I could’ve helped her remember a few details about the party. What the guy looked like—anything.” Reflecting on those complicated months sent frustration surging through her. “No one but my naive kid sister could skip her period all summer long before facing reality.”

  “She wasn’t the first young woman in history to pretend a late period didn’t amount to much. She was too frightened about what lay ahead. Facing unpleasant news was always hard for Elizabeth.”

  “Talk about a major case of denial.” Darcy got to her feet to hang up the garment. Halfway to the closet she stopped, overcome by sorrow. “When we came home from college that summer, why didn’t I notice something was up? All I remember are her mood swings and general grumpiness. When she wasn’t working the waitressing job in Chagrin Falls, she spent most of her time moping. Like her whole personality had changed.”

  Rising from the bed, Latrice sighed. “She was moodier than usual.”

  “Why didn’t I unravel the secret? We were so close. There were so many signs she was in trouble. I missed them all.”

  “If you’re boarding the guilt train—don’t.” Latrice snatched the sweatshirt away. Without ceremony, she hung it back up. “You weren’t to blame for Elizabeth getting pregnant.”

  “Easy for you to say. You aren’t the one who took your kid sister to a frat party.”

  “She was an introvert. You were helping her make new friends.”

  “She didn’t even want to go. She kept complaining about being a wallflower in a bunch of older students. I insisted on taking her along.”

  The decision, Darcy ruefully noted, was another black mark against her character—one Rosalind would never forget. It didn’t matter if Elizabeth was the most bashful sophomore at Ohio University and spent most of her free time hiding out in the campus library. Darcy, more outgoing by miles, had simply wanted to break her sister’s bad habit. What was the point of attending college if you didn’t broaden your horizons?

  Latrice scowled. “She was twenty years old,” she said. “Elizabeth should’ve had the sense to watch out for herself. Did you hand her a bottle of whiskey and tell her to do shots? No, you didn’t. It was her choice. Not yours.”

  “Why do you always let me off the hook? I was older. I should’ve been more responsible.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous. Or have you forgotten how you described that night after we did find out about the pregnancy? A huge party with hundreds of kids streaming in and out, blowing out their eardrums to rock music? Were you obligated to watch over your sister 24/7? How were you supposed to know Elizabeth went upstairs with a boy she’d just met? Weren’t you down in the basement, shooting pool with some of the other students?”

  She’d assumed Elizabeth was dancing, or talking with a dark-haired girl she’d bumped into, someone from her sociolog
y class.

  “After midnight, I went looking for her. She was passed out in the living room with two other girls from her dorm. When I woke Elizabeth, she never mentioned going upstairs with some guy. All she ever did remember was his sense of humor. Whoever he was, I guess he kept her laughing while he poured too many shots.” Darcy sighed. “She’d promised not to drink. I got her a Coke before I went to play pool.”

  “You gave her good advice before going downstairs with your friends. Your mother can look at this any way she wants, but she’s wrong to blame you.”

  “Tell it to the judge,” Darcy said. The comment woke the heartache slumbering beneath her breastbone.

  “Rosalind’s opinion doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  Wandering to the window, Darcy surveyed the rolling lawn. Her attention drifted all the way to the forest. Emerson and Samson were nowhere in sight. Perhaps they’d come back inside to raid the fridge.

  Behind her, Latrice released a muttering burst of anger. Her voice was still bright with heat as she said, “Are you ever going to take your sister off a pedestal? She was human, Darcy. A young girl who had too much fun at a party, and who should’ve had the good sense to get on birth control first. Especially since she wasn’t a virgin.”

  Darcy spun around. “What are you talking about? Elizabeth dated a few guys in high school, but none of those relationships were serious. And her first year of college? She was so bashful, she hardly talked to guys.”

  The ready defense earned her a look of censure. “There you go again, putting her on a pedestal.”

  “I’m doing nothing of the sort. Elizabeth was a virgin before the frat party.”

  With consternation, Latrice fastened her hands on her hips. “Darcy, you became sexually active your last year in high school. You had the good sense to tell Rosalind and Dr. Jack. They sure weren’t happy, but you did tell them.”