The Road She Left Behind

by Nolfi, Christine

  “Hey, I wasn’t happy about telling them either.” For days afterward, she’d walked around the house feverish with shame. But the prospect of having a child before she was prepared for the responsibility proved more frightening than the public humiliation of telling her stone-faced parents that she needed birth control.

  “Well, they got you a scrip for the pill. Elizabeth should’ve done the same when she started messing around with the young man in her music class.”

  “What music class?”

  “Ohio University, first semester. Over a year before you took her to the frat party.”

  “Wait. Elizabeth met someone at college?”

  “Remember when you girls came home for Christmas break? One morning, your sister cornered me in the kitchen,” Latrice explained. “She wanted to know how late for a period was too late, and if she might be pregnant. How a young woman makes it all the way to college without understanding her cycle is beyond me.”

  Darcy fell against the wall, dumbfounded.

  Elizabeth lost her virginity more than a year before she got pregnant with Emerson? This led to a more disturbing thought. Why do I readily accept blame for my late sister’s choices?

  It was easy for Darcy to pretend her mother’s low opinion of her was the only reason. Knowing now that Elizabeth’s decisions had been her own, she realized many of those decisions were made without bringing her big sister into the loop.

  “That’s right, child.” Effortlessly, Latrice read the emotions racing across Darcy’s face. “You suffer from the same fault as the other Goodridges, living and dead.”

  “What fault?”

  “None of you ever view the others in a realistic light.”

  Chapter 11

  “Mama, let me help you.”

  Darting across the lawn, Nella took the paper bag from Tippi’s gnarled fingers. Inside, ribbons of fabric nested in a snowy white tangle.

  There wasn’t much Tippi didn’t recycle. Worn bed linens were no exception. At dawn, her mother had padded downstairs with an old sheet tucked beneath her arm, intending to cut the fabric into foot-long ribbons. The garden’s tomato plants were already four feet high, a leafy wall of tumbling growth. The plants encircled the tall stakes Michael had pounded into the ground last spring. It would take several hours to secure the sharp-scented vines to the stakes. All the bending and stretching would leave both women sore.

  A fair trade, Nella decided, lifting her face to the sun’s warming caress. It was a perfect June morning, breezy and not too humid. Michael was still in Chagrin Falls, discussing the kitchen cabinetry for a house renovation.

  On the opposite side of the garden row, chubby basil plants waved leafy arms. Tippi crept past. A new layer of straw covered the path.

  “I’ll start with this one.” She halted before the tallest tomato plant. “Give me the ties.”

  Nella carried a sturdy wooden stool down the path. “Sit down first.” She plunked down the stool beside her mother’s calves.

  “I’m fine standing.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did that sound like a request?” If she didn’t insist, her elderly mother would topple into the plants after ten minutes of the sun beating down on her. “Mama, I’m serious. I’m delighted you want to help, but if you don’t follow the rules you’re going back inside.”

  “You and your stupid rules. Treating me like a child, acting like I can’t make my own decisions—who put you in charge?”

  “You did. When you began having dizzy spells and lost most of the sight in your left eye.”

  “Go ahead. Make fun of me.”

  “How can I resist?” Playfully, Nella plucked at the loose waistline of her mother’s black dress. “Tell you what, I’ll stop joking around if you’ll stop dressing like a European peasant from World War Two. When you were younger, you loved fashion. You’ve been dressing like a woman in mourning since, well, Daddy’s funeral. He’s been gone a long time. Why don’t you lighten up?”

  “Why don’t you shut up? Give me the bag.”

  Nella arched a disapproving brow.

  “All right. I’m sitting.”

  With ill-concealed pique, Tippi settled her petite frame on the stool. The billowy folds of her dress fanned out, an oversize tent hiding the beat-up Nikes she wore to work in the garden. Beneath the last plant in the row, Michael’s rescue mutt lolled on his back, his belly cleverly positioned to catch the sunshine.

  Tippi glanced at the dozing mutt. “Jasper, why don’t you bite my daughter? Just a nip on the ankle to make her stop badgering me?”

  The dog’s back paws twitched.

  “If I had a treat in my pocket, you’d listen,” Swiveling toward her daughter, Tippi smacked Nella’s jean-clad thigh. “Hand it over.”

  Nella placed the bag in her lap. “I’ll work on the tops, you tie up the bottom branches,” she said, kissing her mother’s forehead.

  “Enough with the yapping. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  For twenty minutes they worked in companionable silence. The tangy scent of ripening fruit coated their hands as they gently tied up the thick vines. Some of the tomatoes were already ripe. Taking care not to damage the vines, Nella plucked the dense ruby globes and placed them in a basket at her feet. A cardinal fluttered past, its vivid red wings beating the air. They’d moved on to the next plant when she detected a wisp of laughter drifting over the back forty. Curious, she went up on tiptoes to look above the lush wall of greenery.

  Emerson came across the back lawn with a youth who didn’t appear much older. They plodded forward with their backs hunched to avoid detection. Which was ridiculous—they were skulking around in plain sight.

  Alerted to the commotion, Jasper sprang up and sprinted across the grass. Evidently, the boys were attempting to sneak into the barn to visit Michael.

  Nella strode out of the garden and cupped her hands around her mouth. “He’s not there,” she called.

  At the sound of her voice, Emerson looked up as if to say, You caught me!

  Giggling, he tried to grab Jasper, now racing with canine delight around him.

  The older boy, clearly less schooled in sneaky behavior, leaped to attention. He looked ready to salute when Emerson nudged him. Together they approached, Jasper bounding at their heels.

  Nella met them at the edge of the garden. “You’re wasting your time,” she told Emerson. “Michael isn’t working in his shop. He went into the Falls.”

  “He told me.”

  “You’ve talked to him?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  Like Tippi, who rarely bent to Nella’s will, her adult son wasn’t malleable. The news that he was back in contact with Emerson so quickly after the boy’s latest disappearance was a worrisome development.

  “He’s in town, quoting a job,” she said. “He called you from the job site?”

  “I called him. He promised we’d talk later.” The boy released a plaintive sigh. “Is Michael coming home soon? I want him to meet Samson.”

  “I expect him in an hour or so.” Nella smiled in greeting at his friend.

  Her longing gaze swung back to Emerson. In the three days since she’d last seen him, she’d walked around with a hole in her heart. The desire to cuddle him nearly sent her forward. With dismay, she considered how furious Rosalind would be if she discovered her grandson’s latest trip onto Varano property.

  Emerson said, “Can we hang around until Michael gets back?”

  “I am thrilled to see you, but it’s not a good idea. You can’t visit without permission.”

  “Oh, there’s nothing to worry about. Grandmother won’t find out.”

  “You’re missing the point, sweetheart. You need her permission to visit. I promise, Michael will talk to Rosalind. He hasn’t been able to get her on the phone, not yet. But he won’t give up until she’s given permission for you to come over.”

  Doubt creased the boy’s face. “You’re sure he’ll keep trying?”

  “I’m p
ositive. He misses you too—although he wouldn’t approve of you coming by without Rosalind’s knowledge. Emerson, your disobedience will only make matters worse. You can’t ignore your grandmother’s rules every time she leaves for the courthouse.”

  “She didn’t go to the courthouse.”

  “She’s not in court this morning?”

  “She’s meeting a lawyer for brunch. Some lady she worked with a long time ago. Before she became a judge.”

  An old colleague from Brennan & Dooney? When Michael and Darcy were children and Nella considered Rosalind her closest friend, Rosalind had carved out a respected career as a trial lawyer at the law firm before winning a judgeship in Geauga County. It seemed unlikely the dedicated judge would alter court business for a brunch date.

  Inexplicably, the disclosure worried her. “Rosalind took the day off?”

  “And every other day.”

  A riddle, as if the boy wished to evade a difficult truth. “You’ve lost me.” She tousled his hair. “Why would your grandmother take every day off? She’s a busy judge. Her docket is never empty.”

  “She stopped working, and I know why. She thinks she’s smart, keeping everything to herself, but I’m not dumb. I can figure stuff out. Even when adults lie to me.”

  Breaking off, Emerson left the cryptic remark hanging in the air. Then he lifted his eyes, allowing Nella to read the apprehension in his gaze—and the fear. Her stomach tumbled.

  She was still trying to get a handle on the situation when he said, “I asked Michael a question, but he didn’t know the answer. Samson didn’t know either.”

  “It’s a tough one,” Samson agreed.

  Emerson’s fingers inched up his arms as if looking for someplace to hide. “Lots of questions scare people. If they’re scared, they don’t learn the answer. Learning multiplication was scary. It took me a long time.” He paused. “I hope you can help me, Nella.”

  “Or course. What do you need to know?”

  “What is the average expiration date for old people?”

  “It’s different for everyone. Most people live a long time.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Sweetie, lots of people live into their nineties or longer. Tippi plans to celebrate her hundredth birthday, and that’s a long way off.”

  Privately Nella wondered if he was mistaken. She couldn’t imagine a plausible reason why Rosalind would retire at the height of her career. There had been no mention of Judge Goodridge’s retirement in the Plain Dealer. The article would have appeared at the top of the newspaper’s Metro section. Nella would have seen it. Even if she’d missed the announcement, Michael or Tippi would have noticed it.

  Behind her, the row of tomato plants rustled.

  Tippi shuffled out of the garden and spotted Emerson’s friend. The mapwork of wrinkles comprising her face deepened with scrutiny and delight.

  The reaction was understandable. The quiet Samson was a polite youth with large brown eyes and a colorful array of tiny shells bound up in his hair. Given his delicate stature, guessing his age proved difficult. Fourteen? Fifteen, tops? Nella wasn’t sure.

  Tippi walked over. At her advance, Samson’s ebony brows lifted. When she came within spitting distance, she looked him up and down. Her expression bloomed with fascination. Tippi never held much stock in respecting other people’s space, and she boldly patted her hands down his accordion ribs. The youth snapped to attention like an undersize marine.

  “Don’t you eat?” She pressed a thumb against one of his ribs, testing the narrow plane. “There’s no meat on your bones!”

  “Oh, I have a good appetite. I just don’t seem to keep the weight on.”

  “Do you eat breakfast? It’s the most important meal of the day.”

  “Most of the time.”

  “You’re not eating enough.”

  Tippi looked to Nella as if to say, Fetch the pasta. We’ll feed the skinny boy.

  Not the worst idea, Nella mused. She was contemplating packing up a carton of pasta for the boys to take home when her mother, intent on a thorough inspection, began fingering Samson’s dreadlocks. Laughing, she tapped a tiny shell, then another. The patient youth plastered on an uneasy smile when she cradled his face between her palms.

  Nella steered her mother back. “That’s enough, Mama.” To Samson, she said, “Please forgive Tippi. She has no boundaries.”

  “It’s all right, ma’am.”

  Tippi patted his cheek. “You’re a nice boy. Come back and visit when the nasty judge isn’t looking.”

  “Mama!”

  “Walk them back to the property line, Nella. If they stick around, that stupid judge will put a warrant out for your arrest.” With a wink at the boys, Tippi went back down the garden path.

  There wasn’t time to savor relief. “Both of you—let’s go.” Nella took Emerson’s hand and started across the grass.

  “We just got here!” he protested.

  “If Rosalind is out to brunch, she might return soon. Promise you’ll stay on your side of the fence until Michael speaks with her. I’m sure they’ll work something out.”

  In a childish pique, Emerson took wooden steps to slow their advance. “What if they can’t work something out?”

  “They will. Have patience.”

  Samson walked along beside them. “She’s right,” he said. “Let him take on the judge. We should lay low.”

  “I hate being patient.”

  At a quickening pace, Nella tugged him along. “You don’t have a choice. Keep disobeying your grandmother, and she’ll only become angrier. Trust Michael to get her to come around.”

  Ditching the childish pique, Emerson reverted to the more adult speech he’d learned by mimicking Rosalind. “Be reasonable,” he said, his head bobbing as Nella took long strides. “Michael can send a million texts and call every hour. Grandmother won’t listen. She’s obdurate.”

  “Nice word choice.” Affection for the frustrated boy surged through her. As they erased the distance between her property and the fence, she steered him beneath her arm. “Have you been reading the dictionary again? When we are able to schedule a real visit, I’m looking forward to hearing all the new words you’ve picked up. We’ll break out the Scrabble and fight to the finish. You can show me who’s boss.”

  “Please don’t patronize me. It won’t make me feel better.”

  “I hate seeing you upset. Will it help if I mention how much I love you? To tell you the truth, I haven’t dealt with a meltdown since Michael was your age. I’m not sure what to say to make you feel better.”

  “I’m not having a meltdown. I’m enraged.”

  Nella suppressed a burst of laughter. “Don’t get too enraged. We’ll work something out.”

  They reached the property line. Emerson ground to a halt. Samson was slinging his leg over the fence when Darcy appeared on the mansion’s front porch.

  On the day of Emerson’s return, Nella had sensibly remained by her car. From a distance, she’d only caught a glimpse of Darcy. Expectancy swirled through her as Darcy came down the steps. The warm breeze caught her long hair, fanning it out. Her attention danced across the green band of lawn sloping away from the front of the mansion before moving to the left to scan the circular driveway.

  She noticed them, and relief darted through her expression. She veered past a cluster of maple trees to meet up.

  Nella’s exhilaration melted away as she neared. Pity tightened her throat.

  Darcy was too thin. Her lightweight summer blouse hung from her shoulders. The skin beneath her wide green eyes looked bruised, a sign that insomnia plagued her sleep.

  The girl ambling toward her was a mere shadow of the vibrant college student who’d once bedazzled a young and ambitious Michael. Nor did she resemble the fizzy child from his childhood, always moving and always smiling, a whirlwind of laughter and energy. Darcy approached with her shoulders curving inward, as if to fend off an unseen blow.

  Nella hoisted the relucta
nt Emerson over the fence. “I believe this belongs to you,” she said.

  “Don’t I wish.” Leaning over the fence, Darcy gave her a quick hug. “How are you?”

  “Great. And you?”

  “Still getting my sea legs. There have been a lot of changes since I was last here. It takes some getting used to.”

  “I can imagine.” Nella regarded the quietly stewing Emerson. “I’m sure you’re enjoying getting to know this one. He’s a great kid.”

  “Yeah—most of the time.” Darcy gave him a quizzical look. “Really? Sneaking into the no-fly zone after Grandmother took away your electronics to prove she meant business? You promised to stay in the backyard. Are you trying to get all of us in trouble?”

  Samson interrupted. “I made the promise—my bad. I thought it was better to stick by him. Once he decided to go next door, there was no stopping him.”

  Nella chuckled. “He does have a mind of his own.”

  “Samson, you’re not responsible,” Darcy said. Then she flicked Emerson’s nose. “Give me a hint. Should I buy a leash?”

  He swatted her away. “Like I’d let you,” he replied, still trapped inside his little boy’s anger.

  “Yeah? Keep it up, and I will.” She assessed his flushed cheeks and jutting chin with admirable patience. “Is there a pet store in Chagrin Falls? I can’t remember. Wait. There’s a hardware store. I’ll bet they have everything I need to build a cage.”

  When he remained silent, she studied him with misgivings. They were at an impasse.

  Breaking it, she poked him in the stomach. Not hard—just a light tap to jiggle the remnants of baby fat encasing his tummy.

  A grin materialized on his face. “Better make it a strong cage,” he warned. “I can sneak my way out of anything.”

  “What if I get a lock?”

  “I’ll pick it.”

  A lighthearted squabble broke out. Silently Nella assessed the physical similarities between the long-absent Darcy and her nephew. The same mossy-green eyes and fair complexion, the same pale-blond hair. The similarities didn’t end there. They were both accomplished at running away from the difficult circumstances of their lives.