Mt. Moriah's Wake

by Melissa Norton Carro

  And therefore a God?

  Yet I heard nothing.

  Making my way outside after the service, I was hugged and patted and my hands shaken—extended the same kindnesses I had been shown at Doro’s service. At the front door, Maddy was done shaking hands and stepped out of his robe in preparation for Sunday School. He held out his arms, and I moved into them.

  “Good sermon, Maddy.”

  “Did you listen, little thing?”

  “I did, Maddy.”

  He kissed me on my forehead. “I’ve got to teach a class. You staying for Sunday School?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sunday School too, Maddy?”

  As a hand tapped my shoulder, a voice whispered in my ear.

  “Wanna ditch Sunday School with us?”

  Tuck looked so handsome in his seersucker suit. A young Atticus Finch, I thought.

  I smiled at Debra who stood next to him holding Andy.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” I said.

  “That’s what I’ve heard,” Debra laughed.

  Tuck and Debra were in Coach T’s cherry red convertible—a mid-life crisis purchase—and I hopped into the back seat next to Andy. Eyes closed, the little boy sucked slowly on his pacifier. I watched the rubber “bubby” go back and forth, as he sunk deeper into sleep.

  “Is this his nap time?” I whispered to the front seat. I had no idea at what time a nap might come.

  “No, he just always falls asleep when we’re driving,” said Debra. “He’ll come back raring to go. Just enjoy the peace.”

  Her hand was on the back of the headrest and sporadically she rubbed the back of Tuck’s neck. I was enamored with this woman who seemed so at ease, so in control. Did she ever have nightmares? What did she fear?

  “You hungry?” Tuck called back to me.

  “Little bit. Where are you taking me?”

  “Our favorite place, Art’s Hardware.”

  “And then to breakfast? Or have you started biting on nails?”

  Tuck laughed. “Actually, you’ll be surprised. Investors are revitalizing the downtown.”

  He slid into a spot in front of what used to be Art’s Hardware. The sign remained—an oversized black sign with bright red letters, with a hammer and paintbrush as logo accents. The sign was the only thing recognizable, though, as the interior had been converted to a pancake house.

  “Does Art still own this?” I asked as a hostess led us to a window seat. A giant paint can was suspended above my head. Art Wallis had owned the hardware store for decades and his father before him.

  “Nah, remember Jamie, his daughter?” Tuck fastened Andy in his high chair, wiping down the chair’s arms with a wet wipe. My mind jumped to Tuck as a teenage jock, who dipped fingers dirty from football practice into Doro’s cake batter and then double dipped.

  “Art turned sixty-five and announced he was heading to the beach. Jamie convinced him to sell to her, and all this was her creativity.”

  Debra whispered. “Part of why we love it is that kids under two get free pancakes.”

  We lingered in Art’s for almost two hours. I was surprised by how few people I knew.

  “It’s becoming trendier here,” said Tuck. “Lots of young people moving in and buying up property.”

  “Not a bad life here.” Debra reached across Tuck for a wipe and began to work on Andy’s syrupy hair. “I told Chris I’d consider settling here.”

  The look on my face must have said it all.

  “Really, Tuck? You’d consider moving here?”

  Tuck and Debra exchanged glances.

  “We’ve actually talked about it. I’d like to be back here.”

  “What kind of law would you practice here?”

  “I’m actually interested in real estate law and contracts,” explained Tuck. “As this area grows, it’s going to need more lawyers—and Birmingham, Nashville, and Atlanta are just a few hours down the road.

  “It’d be nice to raise Andy where I was raised.”

  Tuck took a final swig of coffee. “Do you think you’ll ever be back, Jo Jo?”

  “Funny you should ask. Doro left me the Inn.” I paused, careful to choose my words so they wouldn’t be offensive. “Mt. Moriah is just not for me—maybe it never was.”

  “Always wanted to be in the big city. I remember that.”

  “So Chicago feels like home?” Debra asked, fighting a losing battle on Andy’s hair.

  “I guess.” I thought briefly of Tom, and then of Maddy. And finally of Grace and Doro. Sadness and a dull ache crept back into my head. “Honestly, I don’t know where home is right now.”

  Debra smiled. “It’s a lot to take in, I’m sure. And then there’s your husband. He’s from Chicago, right?”

  “Yes, Tom. He is from Chicago.” My voice trailed off. What could I tell them? That I had hurt my husband? That he had left me? That I didn’t know who and what and where I was to be?

  Debra looked at Tuck, and I thought I saw one eyebrow go up.

  “Well you should move back to Mt. Moriah and renovate the Inn, and we will move back and we can play bridge and drink martinis.” Tuck pulled out his credit card. When I reached for my wallet, he waved me away. “Please. You may be a big city dweller, but I’m a soon to be rich-as-shit ambulance chaser.”

  I laughed. I found myself not wanting the morning with the Tucks to end. I felt at ease—something I had not felt in weeks. Months. Years?

  As we approached the car, Tuck swung his arm around my shoulder. “Go on back to Chicago, then. Write that Great American Novel, and then you can come back and buy this whole flippin’ mountain!”

  “I wouldn’t hold your breath. My writing is stalled.”

  Andy had started a low whine. “Uh oh, it’s nap time. Drive fast, Chris!” Debra said, buckling herself.

  “Do Mommy and Daddy get a nap too?” I asked.

  “Well, Mommy does,” Debra laughed. “I don’t know about Daddy. He didn’t get much studying done yesterday.”

  “I do need to get some hours in.” Tuck saw me staring at Andy. “You can touch him, ya know. He won’t break.”

  I took Andy’s tiny hand in mine. “I’ve just never been around children,” I said. “They are so mysterious.”

  My right hand moved to my stomach. Was this life possible for me? Eating pancakes and longing for naps, laughing carelessly and easily. Was this the kind of future that Tom could foresee that I could not?

  Holding Andy’s hand, I was almost lulled to sleep along with him. With my eyes at half- mast, I watched the couple in front of me as if cycling through the frames of a movie: the way Tuck groped around in the cup holder for a mint and Debra found it for him, knowing him like an old habit. The way she reached for his free hand and their fingers did acrobatics: a light touch signaling something much deeper.

  Did Tom and I look like that? Did we make people smile when they watched us? Was happiness beyond my reach or did I just not know how to grasp it?

  When we reached the Inn, I pried my finger loose from Andy and reached down to kiss the still syrupy crown of his head.

  “So how long are you staying?” Debra asked.

  “I really don’t know. I only booked a one-way flight, but I was planning on leaving in the next couple of days.” I pushed wind-blown curls out of my face. “JoAnna, for goodness sake use a barrette!” Doro’s voice popped into my ears. “I need to get back to work.”

  “And to Tom.” Tuck looked squarely at me.

  “Yes. And to Tom.” And to the calendar days propelling me further and further away from July 30, I thought.

  “Can we have lunch before you go?” Tuck asked.

  “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  Inside, Maddy was stretched out on the sofa. Thinking him asleep, I tiptoed over. His eyes were open wide, staring at the ceiling.

  “Hello, little thing.”

  “I thought you were napping.”

  “Well I’d like to be. I’m bone tired, but I can’t sleep.�
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  “Can I get you anything?” I smoothed out Doro’s favorite afghan, knotted around Maddy’s feet, and tucked it up under his chin.

  Shaking his head, Maddy continued to stare straight ahead.

  I sat for a second on the edge of the sofa. “You miss her, don’t you, Maddy?”

  “Like losing a limb,” he said, turning his head then to look at me. “It’s like I lost a limb.”

  Laying my head against his chest, I listened to the rhythm of his broken heart. I sat up and looked at him, ready for more conversation, ready for him to talk if he needed to, but Maddy was silent, continuing to stare at the plaster ceiling.

  Planting a kiss on his cheek, I went to their bedroom and opened Doro’s closet. I felt energized after the pancakes, and my stomach for once was at rest. Perhaps I could clean out her clothes. That would be probably the hardest thing for Maddy. I set about taking the dresses off hangers. Doro’s habit was to choose appropriate costume jewelry for the outfit and drape it over the coat hanger. I went to her dressing table and rummaged around until I found some safety pins. I pinned the jewelry to each outfit, then folded the garments neatly.

  Before I knew it, three hours had passed and the bed was stacked with outfits. I went to the kitchen to look for trash bags and peeked in on Maddy. He was sound asleep, snoring, one hand on his chest.

  In two more hours I had the dresses, slacks, and blouses bagged up. I held up one of Doro’s Vanity Fair DD bras and giggled at the memory of Grace and me stretching one of her bras around both of our nine year old bodies.

  Grace. I pushed back the thought and continued working.

  My back started to hurt from the bending, and I looked at the clock. Six o’clock. Maddy must be getting hungry. Was he still sleeping?

  The snores answered my question, and I moved about the kitchen, opening the pantry and refrigerator, waiting for culinary inspiration. Finally I decided to make BLT sandwiches and pulled the ripest tomatoes from the window sill. I cut some apple slices and finished the plate off with one of the three congealed salads the congregation had brought.

  Arranging the food on a tray, I added a class of milk and went to the den. Maddy was awake and looking at me.

  “I made you dinner, sleeping beauty. Are you hungry?”

  Raising one eyebrow, Maddy looked at me warily.

  “Depends. Can you cook?”

  Maddy and I watched football side by side on the sofa. I had little interest in football, but I knew it was something he and Doro had done together. He said little, just nibbled on the sandwich. I cleaned up the kitchen while he remained on the sofa, staring at the television as if seeing it for the first time. On his face was the blankest of expressions.

  Soon darkness covered the house, and I went through the rooms turning on lamps. When I went back into the den, the TV was still on, but Maddy wasn’t there.

  I found him in his bedroom, staring at the piles on the bed.

  “Oh, Maddy, is it okay that I did this? I thought it would help you to get Doro’s clothes out.”

  Peering inside the bags, Maddy touched the garments as gingerly as if they were crystal. “Yes,” he said. He looked up at me and those blue eyes were swimming pools. “I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

  “Of course. I’ll move these bags to the front hall.”

  Maddy perched on the edge of the bed and let me carry and drag the bags to the hallway. “Do you need me to help you?”

  “No I got it. They’re just bulky, not heavy.”

  After three trips with the bags, when I returned to the bedroom, Maddy had Doro’s chenille bathrobe in his arms. It was cream with lilacs, the middle button was missing, and one cuff was frayed. I didn’t have to hold it to know that it smelled like Oil of Olay. Maddy reached out his hand and took mine.

  “I’m sorry, little thing. You feeling okay?”

  I smiled. “I’m okay, Maddy.”

  “Please don’t give this one away. This one I want to keep.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m just so tired.” His was the sigh of a man who had lost his wife, buried her, conducted a funeral service and a church service, and pretended to be a rock for the last seven days.

  I kissed Maddy goodnight and pulled the door behind me. I looked at the clock: 9:30. I wasn’t tired. I roamed through the house, looking at all the trinkets Doro had picked up over the years. I ran my fingers over the sterling silver tea set atop the Jackson press; it needed polish. Doro never let it tarnish, yet there it was, looking old and tired.

  Had Doro felt old and tired?

  I looked at the Christmas village houses inside the curio cabinet in the front hall, remembering the amount of time it took every year to arrange each house on the drop leaf table in the front hall, to connect and hide the cords. I remembered making fake snow with Doro, shredding cotton so it looked realistic.

  What would become of these?

  It struck me that they were now mine. All of this I would have to give away, sell, throw out. How to dispense of a life like Doro’s?

  I went outside to the front porch and climbed into the swing. With each movement I traveled back in time.

  I was about five years old. The front lawn on Magnolia Drive was alive with lightning bugs and my hand was in my father’s, a mason jar in his other.

  Pipe in his mouth, Dad sat on the top step, holding the jar and waiting while I darted frenetic paths around the yard, catching one or two at a time. Each time I’d return, delighted to add to the jar. Eventually fatigue hit me and I plopped down beside my father. I lay my cheek on his bony knee and looked up into the jar he held in front of us.

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to catch them all,” I sighed. “No, I wouldn’t think so. There will always be more and more,” my father said between pipe puffs.

  “If I try really really hard?”

  “Well, I do think you are a little girl who can do anything,” he said, his large hand stroking my hair.

  “Daddy, are they scared in there?”

  “Maybe.” He waited for a minute. “Do you want to set them free?”

  I nodded, then asked. “Can we catch more tomorrow night?”

  “Sure thing. There’s always a tomorrow night and always more lightning bugs.”

  I can see myself setting the jar down and watching the bugs climb and fly for freedom. I vaguely remember how heavy my eyes felt as my dad carried me up the stairs: looking up and seeing my mom standing in the window.

  I remember feeling safe.

  I closed my eyes against the night, and interrupting that sweet memory was a vision of Tom with a little Andy. Or a little JoAnna. Carrying him or her on his shoulders. Enfolding them with those arms that blocked out everything.

  Would it be like that for us? And what about me: Would I be standing in the window? Could I trust myself to love a child that much, and could I trust anyone else with my child? Did I have any faith in the world to which he or she would be born?

  My mind continued to jump around like the fireflies themselves. Powerful were the memories of evenings on this porch with Maddy and Doro, visions of Grace and me throwing ourselves into the leaf pile the Robinson brothers collected. I could smell hot blueberry pies baking in the oven and hear Tuck’s muddy cleats stomping through the hallway. Feel the heat of a bonfire after the football game and see the pear trees spring to life beneath my window.

  The vignettes dancing in my head were not mere recollections. They were pieces and parts of what I had lost. Home. They were visions of home.

  Having dozed off, I awoke feeling unsettled and cold. My watch said one in the morning. My sock feet made little sliding noises as I locked the door behind me and moved down the hall. I peeked in at Maddy, snoring softly, one hand on Doro’s pillow.

  Doro. Why did you leave me all this, Doro?

  In the April room, I flipped on the light and saw the cat perched on the windowsill. I was unnerved every time I saw this feline.

  “Scat!” I said, gesturing at
the window. But the stubborn cat remained, watching.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket: a missed call from Tom. You left me. I hesitated, then dialed his number. Tom’s voice told me I had awakened him.

  “Jo, are you alright? What time is it?” I knew Tom was fumbling to see the alarm clock on his nightstand, the oblong walnut table that rocked back and forth because one leg was rickety. I knew he was sitting up, running his fingers through his hair. I knew his DePaul t-shirt smelled like sleep.

  “Yes, I’m okay.”

  “I’ve tried to call several times.”

  “I know. I’ve been, uh, busy.”

  “Maddy said you were out with Tuck.”

  So he told him that. “Yes. And his wife.”

  Tom was quiet. The conversation that had always ebbed and flowed easily between us was tight and uncomfortable.

  “I wanted to know you’re alright. I wanted to know …”

  “I know what you wanted to know. But I don’t have an answer.”

  “You’re my wife, Jo.”

  “You’re the husband who walked out on me.”

  A pause. “And you’re the love of my life. Who hurt me.”

  Again, an abyss we couldn’t cross.

  “Tom, I called to tell you I’ve decided to stay in Mt. Moriah for a little while. I’ll call Candace tomorrow. I should have enough sick and vacation days built up.

  “Tom?”

  “I heard you. I wish you were back now.”

  His voice—tender, gentle, hurt—annoyed me. Did he want me back or did he want me back on his terms?

  “Are you sure? I haven’t changed how I feel about …” I didn’t know how to say what I meant, what I felt. I didn’t know what I felt. Part of me wanted to run into Tom’s arms and part of me wanted to disappear. “I need to figure out who I am.”

  He cleared his throat. Was he staring at the Monet poster across from our bed? The one in the cheap metal frame that skewed every time the door shut?