by Louise, Tia
Akela stays at my feet watching the window. Waiting.
Leon brings me food. He talks to me about the weather. He says when it’s not so cold, he’ll take me outside. The warm air, the sun will help me feel better. He’s afraid.
“You need to get up now.” Leon stands in front of me, angry in a way I’ve never seen. “This isn’t who you are.”
It’s not?
My father lived for love. I lived for this love.
I waited for it to come, and when it did, I gave it everything.
Now it’s gone.
Leon leaves angry.
My eyes go to the window and pain claws at my empty chest. This empty shell still has the ability to feel.
Rising to my feet, I go to the glass and slide it open. Akela follows at my side as I step through the opening like a portal to the past.
Walking along the porch in my bare feet, I go down to the yard and walk out to the hill with the trees stretching up to the sky. Open palms, grasping fingers.
The sweet scent is gone, and the air is cold and dry.
I stand looking down on my daddy’s house. What is left when you lose something so precious? Something irreplaceable?
A quiet breeze moves through the trees, sliding my hair off my shoulders. Akela sits at my feet and waits. I strain my eyes to find the answer, to see the bend in the road ahead.
All I see is black.
“Daddy?” I squint into the darkness.
I want to go to him. I want to be free of this pain crushing my bones to powder. No one warned me pain could be this deep. No one told me not to give myself completely to another.
Going farther into the trees, the cold settles against my skin. I find the biggest one to sit against, my back against the wood, and let it pull me closer.
My daddy’s presence is with me here, and I close my eyes. His sadness matches mine. He understands my loss. I want to take his hand and go with him to a place of peace. I want to be released from this misery.
“Noel?” My brother’s face is stricken, panicked.
He lifts me off my feet like a doll lost in the woods. My bare feet dangle over his arms, bouncing with every step. He goes quickly to my room and tucks me into my bed, pushing the blankets tight around my sides.
He calls someone, and I expect my friend to return. Instead it’s Mrs. Jenny.
Her dark head is over mine, her dark eyes stern. She takes me into the bathroom and puts me in the shower, and while I go through the motions, she digs in the cabinets.
“How long has it been?”
I’m confused as she holds up a box of tampons. How should I know? Time has passed? She leaves, and I return to my chair, my dog returns to my feet watching.
More time passes… I think.
I was with my daddy. He was going to tell me something. What was it?
Mrs. Jenny is back. Worried faces. She takes my arm and leads me into the bathroom, turning me and holding a plastic stick at my face.
“Pee on this end.”
I do as she says even if it makes no sense. Doesn’t she know? Everything inside me has died. He tore it all out by the roots and put salt on the earth. Nothing will ever grow here.
Back in my bedroom, I’m staring at my daddy across from me. He understands.
He gives me permission…
“Noel Aveline?” Mrs. Jenny is back at my side, her voice strong and commanding. “You are going to be a mother. You have to stop this. You hear me?”
My brow furrows, and I blink once, twice. I turn my head slowly to look at her, and something nudges at my empty chest.
“Get up and stand on your feet. Your life has a bigger purpose now.”
A mother?
My daddy’s image fades. Slowly, slowly he drifts into the silence and my mother’s scent is here.
On the gentlest of wings, soft as a butterfly, love drifts down, like a sigh from heaven.
Where the tornado ravaged, leaving death and destruction, where the bodies lay strewn across the ground, where nothing was left standing, now the smallest flutter of life pushes through the soil.
The storm clouds begin to break, and I blink through the haze. A tiny dove carrying peace settles in my upturned soul, and for the first time in a long time, I step into the light. Morning breaks.
I blink several times and meet Mrs. Jenny’s worried eyes.
She waits, and I look around. “What day is it?”
Present Day
20
Taron
“You’re sure it was heroin?” The woman sits across from me in her small office, gray hair like spider webs threading the part of her severe, brown bob.
It’s quiet as she waits for my answer, the only sound a trickling fountain behind her desk. I’ve been coming here a long time—once I accepted I was going to die if I didn’t change my behavior.
Once I decided I didn’t want to die.
“I know what it was.”
“And you had no desire to take it?” She shifts in her seat, smoothing her hand down the front of her blazer.
My jaw tightens, and shame is a knot in my throat. “I considered it. For a whole minute, I let myself remember what it was like not to feel, to completely disconnect from the pain.”
“And?” Dr. Curtis’s dark eyes zero in on me over her heavy, brown reading glasses. The withering glare of Dr. Charlotte Curtis, daring me to lie to her.
“I walked out the door.” I shift in my chair, cautiously allowing a moment of pride. “Seeing my friend in that state, knowing it’s the end, the ultimate outcome… I think it helped me. Or at least it put it in perspective.”
“Don’t downplay this achievement.” Her tone is clinical, but knowing how stingy she is with compliments, I do a mental victory lap. “You’ve come far, Taron. Do you know how hard it is to kick an opioid addiction?”
“I’m not planning to relax just yet.” The shame of how far I’d sunk six years ago never leaves my mind.
If I ever try to let myself off the hook, I only have to remember Noel’s face. Her tears, her shattered expression. The things I said, the way I shouted at her, hurt her… Again, I shift in my chair, trying to escape what I can never forgive.
“Is the acupuncture helping with your back?” Dr. Curtis reads from her computer screen, not smiling.
“I think it is.”
Her eyes flicker to mine. “I don’t want you self-medicating with alcohol. More than six drinks a week is heavy drinking. Give your liver a break.”
My lips tighten, and I nod. “I’m thinking of leaving town.”
“Is that so?” She leans back in her chair, steepling her fingers in front of her lips. “Any particular reason?”
Noel…
“I haven’t been happy here in a while. I’ve made more money than I can ever spend in one lifetime. Patton doesn’t need me anymore.”
Despite what he thinks… Why he thinks he needs me, I’ll never know. I owe him more than I’ll ever be able to repay. He’s a slave to his sense of guilt over what happened to us, but it’s so unwarranted.
“I’m concerned you still aren’t seeing anyone. You’re a handsome man.”
“Dr. Curtis, are you flirting with me?” I give her a grin, and she shakes her head.
“Don’t charm me, Taron Rhodes. I’m too old.” She rocks back again. “Love, companionship, these things are important parts of the human experience. They’re important to your continued recovery.”
Inhaling slowly, I stand, walking to her window that faces the smoky mountains. They rise, hazy blue in the distance. “A long time ago, I spent a summer on a farm. Sorry, an orchard.” I remember a young Noel correcting me, so sassy and sweet. “It was the happiest time of my life.”
She’s quiet, and when I glance back, she gives me a smile. “What’s her name?”
Shaking my head, I study the lines on the carpet. “It was a long time ago. I’m sure she’s married with kids…”
Sawyer and I email occasionally. We chat about ou
r lives, and I purposely don’t ask about her. I don’t want to know if she followed my orders. I don’t want to know some other man is loving her.
I’m a selfish bastard, I know.
“I think a change of scenery would do you good. I’m comfortable releasing you. You have my number if you need to talk.”
“Thanks, Doc. For everything.”
She rises, and I take her outstretched hand, shaking it. I feel like I’m graduating again, like I should get a certificate or something I can put in a frame.
We slowly cross her pristine office to the door. “We didn’t talk about the dream. Still have it?”
My shoulders tense. Nightmare is more like it. A Mexican girl lying dead on the floor of a shack, green eyes staring vacant at nothing, my bullet through her chest.
No amount of drugs could ever kill that pain. It’s a sin for which I’ll never find absolution.
“Sometimes… Occasionally.”
Her stern eyes go from scientific to kind—it’s something you don’t get often from Charlotte Curtis. “Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself, Taron.”
“I know.” I’m pretty sure I’ve said those words to Patton before. I should get them tattooed across my chest.
As it stands, the only tattoo I have I got in the throes of a bender, a week when all I could do was lie on my back in my bed and ache for Noel. Her name is inked above my heart, where she will always be.
I broke my heart just as surely as I broke hers.
“You might find this book helpful.” She steps to her desk, quickly scribbling on a tablet and ripping off the top sheet. As she hands it to me, she presses it into my palm. “It wasn’t your fault, Taron. Terrible things happen in the line of duty.”
I give her a tight smile. “Right.”
No one who says that has ever lived it. I’m pretty sure I’ll have the memory of that girl with me for the rest of my life.
In the meantime, I’m driving back to the office. Patton’s not going to like what I have to say, but I’ve done everything I could do to help establish Fletcher International. We took it to the next level. It’s a multi-billion-dollar corporation. He kept his promise and made us all filthy rich. Now I want to see if there’s something more for me besides making money.
“I have to say I’m surprised to hear from you.” Sawyer’s voice is unmistakable. He sounds happy. “Everything okay in Nashville?”
“We hit some rough waters, but I think we’re coming out of it.”
“Right.” His tone drops. “Patton told me. I was sorry to hear about that.”
“He’s going to be okay.”
“And you?”
A knot forms in my throat. Shame, my constant companion rears his ugly head. “I’m good. I’ve been clean for a few years now.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” His voice is grave, but that’s not why I called.
“We’ve hired some new people here. I’m thinking about taking a break from Fletcher International.”
“From what I hear, you’ve got the money to do it.”
“Yeah,” I manage a laugh. “We tried to get you in on the ground floor. Remember?”
“That life’s not for me.”
My stomach is tight. I don’t know why this feels hard to say. “It’s actually why I called… I don’t think it’s the life for me either. Not anymore.”
“I was wondering when you’d call to tell me that. I guess you had your reasons for waiting.”
I’m not sure what he means. “Yeah, well, I’ve been thinking about that summer in Harristown…” I’ve been thinking about Noel. “It was…” The best summer of my life?
“Hot… grueling.” He’s hassling me, and I laugh.
“It wasn’t all bad.”
“I’ve got a lot of work coming up in the next year. It’s time to rotate the trees.”
The welcome in his tone boosts my confidence. “What does that mean?”
“Means I need help. Peach trees produce a maximum twenty years if you’re lucky. We’re on year fifteen of these. I’ve got to start planting new ones and phase the old out. It’s a lot of work.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work.” My stomach is tight with anticipation. “The foreman’s cottage still vacant?”
He chuckles, “I’ll have it ready for you.”
“Give me a few days to settle up here, and I’ll drive down.”
I want to ask about her, but I don’t. I say goodbye and we disconnect. Seeing Noel again is like imagining a dream. I try to think of what I’ll say… My heart beats faster. What is she like now? I want to leave today, but I have to talk to Patton.
I quickly send him an email setting up a time to meet, then I head to my penthouse to start packing.
21
Noel
Seven years.
It’s been seven years since Miss Jessica gave me this old shed, and I’m finally opening the front door.
I got pregnant, dropped out of business school for a year to have a baby, went back to business school, graduated, and got my master’s degree.
Now I’m finally going to have a physical store.
As soon as I clean out the rats.
Akela’s right beside me, ears at attention. Her shoulders bristle like she senses the teeming rodent hoards lurking just beyond the rickety door…
I grit my teeth, squinting my eyes and raise the broom higher. My heart thunders in my chest, and it’s now or never. Placing my boot squarely in the center of the door, I give it a hard shove as I shout. “No rats!”
Like that’ll make a difference.
I jump back, and the door barely moves an inch.
All is quiet.
My shoulders drop with my exhale, but I summon my courage once more. “Okay, girl. This time we’re getting in.”
Akela dances side to side, and I pat her head. I step forward ready to kick, and she resumes attack stance.
Boot against the wood, I shove harder, screaming once more, “Please, Jesus! No rats!”
The door flies open, bouncing off the wall… and I jump back.
Again, nothing happens.
The inside is silent.
“Darcy Hayes said it doesn’t matter how talented you are. She said the judges only care about your dress and your hair… and how you smile. And how you walk.” Three and a half feet of golden-haired happy trots up behind me, not even pausing for a breath.
“Tara Dove.” My voice is quietly on guard. “I told you to stay at the house.”
“I have to sell sponsorships, Mamma! Darcy Hayes said her uncle Digger bought three full-page ads from her already!”
I step forward carefully, shining my giant flashlight along the wooden floors of the old shed. They’re covered in a layer of dust so thick, they look gray instead of brown.
“Digger Hayes has always been a show-off.” I walk to a large cardboard box in the middle of the room.
My daughter’s small voice goes whiney. “She’s gonna win with that kind of head start, and she can’t even sing You Are My Sunshine!”
“Dove.” I pause to face her. “That pageant is a year away. You’ve got plenty of time to sell sh… stuff.”
She blinks up at me with blue-green eyes that will never stop looking like her daddy’s, and her rosebud lips are pouty. “Darcy said you hate Princess Peach because you didn’t win it.”
“Of all the…” Shaking my head, I give the box a nudge with my boot. “I don’t like pageants because they’re just a bunch of opinions. They’re not reality.”
Or in the case of Princess Peach, one person’s bank account.
I give the heavy box a harder nudge, waiting to see what happens next. So far, it seems the stories of rats in this shed were greatly exaggerated.
“Why are you in here, Mamma?” Dove walks to an old desk moldering away against the wall. “Uncle Sawyer said he’d clean the shed for you.”
Feeling around the walls, my fingers land on a light switch. I flip it up and down, but nothing happens. “Un
cle Sawyer’s got enough on his plate with planting all those peach trees. I’m perfectly capable of—ahh!”
A little white mouse streaks across the floor, and I squeal, hopping onto the desk. Akela charges after it, skidding to a stop at the crack in the floor and dancing around it.
“A mouse, Mamma! A mouse!” Dove shrieks loud enough to break glass, and I hop down and scoop her onto my hip, grabbing the flashlight again and heading for the door. “It was Angelina Ballerina!”
“I think we’ll let Sawyer come set some traps this evening.”
My daughter twists in my arms, looking back with round eyes. “If Uncle Sawyer catches the mouse, can I keep it in my room?”
“Mice shouldn’t live in houses.”
“That one does.”
Sliding her down my hip, I hold her hand as we walk up the hill to the farm house. Akela jogs along beside us. We only take a few steps before Dove starts to skip.
I glance down at her shiny blonde curls bouncing and smile. “What’s got you thinking about the pageant already?”
“They handed out sponsorship forms in class today. Mrs. Jenny said we all need to participate. It’s tradition.”
“I’m not sure about that.” Lifting her under the arms, I help her hop up the back steps to the kitchen, one by one.
“She said my grandma won every pageant she ever thought about. Is that true?”
“It’s true.”
“Do I look like her?”
I wasn’t expecting that question. “A little.”
“Woo hoo!” She pumps her little fist over her head as she bolts through the door. A quick detour, and she runs straight to my brother standing at the bar. “Leon’s home!”
She flings her arms around his legs, and he swoops her up onto his hip. “Hey, bird brain. What’s three times three?”
“I’m not a bird brain!” she cries. “Nine!”
“What’s four times five?”
“Twenty!”
“What’s six times…” His eyes slide side to side, and hers go wide. “Seven?”
Dove closes her eyes and shouts, “Forty-two!”
