Where Petals Fall

by Melissa Foster

  As a little girl, Junie couldn’t understand how Susan—Ellen’s mom—could have divorced Peter and left Brian and the East Coast altogether. She wondered if Susan was mad about how Peter treated Ellen, and she wondered how a mother could leave when her daughter was missing, like she was giving up hope for her daughter’s return. Susan had moved to Washington State to start a new life, and other than on Junie and Brian’s wedding day, Junie had never seen her mother-in-law again. Now, as an adult, she understood that the painful reminders must have been too much to bear. Junie drew her eyebrows together. Come to think of it, Junie found it weird that no one else had left the area—her parents, Peter, the other neighbors. Wouldn’t she have moved, if only to protect her own daughter from a lingering threat?

  Brian shook his father’s hand. Junie bristled at the cold exchange, wondering where their love had gone. After losing a daughter and sister, you’d think they’d want to hold on to each other at all costs, but for all of their adult life, this odd dichotomy of a relationship had existed—they barely spoke, much less exchanged pleasantries or warmth. They saw each other two or three times each year, and one would think that they could muster a hug now and again. Brian had been the smart, athletic one with so much promise that it gleamed from his father’s eyes. The resemblance between Peter and Brian was remarkable—same dark hair and thick eyebrows, same narrow waist and broad shoulders. The coldness between them marred their good looks.

  Junie sat before the grave site, her eyes swollen and red, a mound of crumpled tissues in one hand, her mother’s hand in the other. She stared at her father’s casket, remembering a much different memorial—Ellen’s. She pulled her sweater across her chest, locking out the chill of the brisk morning air. This morning was very similar to the morning of Ellen’s memorial so many years ago. Junie remembered the lines of cars, parents, and children as far as the eye could see, gathered to say goodbye to Ellen’s empty casket.

  This wasn’t Ellen’s memorial, and Junie was no longer a seven-year-old. She was a grown woman, a mother herself, and she couldn’t make any more sense of the death of her father than of the disappearance of her young friend. She turned, recognizing faces of students who had been in her father’s fifth grade science class and other teachers. Deputy Lyle sat just behind Selma and Phil, their faces drawn, Selma’s eyes reddened with sad spidery veins. Mary Margaret sat beside them, in the row behind her mother, bent over, her shoulders quaking. Junie glanced over the attendees. Mrs. Walters, the librarian, dressed in a black polyester pantsuit, stood beside Dr. Rains, a therapist who lived in the neighborhood. Junie was ashamed to remember the childhood taunt, Dr. Crazy Brains. Many of the same faces that had been at Ellen’s service were there, faces that now boasted crow’s-feet instead of the smooth skin of youth.

  Junie looked at Sarah kicking her feet, which hung from the chair. Her dark tights made her thin legs look even tinier. Junie wiped fresh tears from her eyes. She hated that Sarah would grow up without her grandfather. Would she even remember him? Would she remember his mini science lessons about how butterflies couldn’t fly if their body temperature was less than eighty-six degrees, or how hummingbirds eat every ten minutes? Junie barely remembered Ellen, and she was seven when Ellen had disappeared. Seven. Junie ached for all that Ellen missed out on in life and wondered what really happened to her. Adults died. That was accepted as part of life. But a child missing, assumed dead? She swallowed past the sadness that swelled within her. Ellen’s disappearance was unfair. Her father’s death was unfair, but at least he’d lived a full life.

  Junie pictured her father in the casket, his arms crossed, his eyes closed. Ellen’s casket had been empty. The funeral had been a memorial service, in honor of Ellen. Closure for her parents, her mother had said. Junie remembered the fear of seeing that casket lowered into the ground. Junie squeezed her mother’s hand so tight that Ruth let out a gasp. Flashes of Ellen’s funeral came rushing back to her, appearing in her mind like a bad rerun. Ellen’s mother, kneeling by the casket, her arms draped over the small wooden box, sobs racking her body. Peter stood behind her, arms hanging loosely by his side, a lost look in his tear-filled eyes, and Brian, Junie’s Brian, sitting, as Sarah sat now, staring straight ahead, his teeth clenched.

  She looked at her husband, his eyes trained on the casket, his jaw set tight. What was he thinking? Was he thinking about all of the things he loved about her father, or was he thinking, as Junie was, about Ellen? A flush rushed up Junie’s cheeks, and more memories flooded in. Fourteen-year-old Brian, his hair perfectly combed, wearing a suit so new it had yet to wrinkle. She remembered the pain in her stomach as he pushed himself up from the chair, a disgusted look on his face. Junie saw the look he gave his father, a look of anger and disbelief. He stormed away from the grave site, stomping across the surrounding graves without care, as only a distraught child might do. She’d wondered if he was angry they’d given up on finding Ellen. She had been furious, wanting to plead with Mr. and Mrs. Olson not to give up. She could only imagine how angry Brian had been. Oh, Brian. Her heart ached for him. She hoped her father’s funeral wasn’t causing Brian to relive the same sad memories of the days that changed his family forever.

  Chapter Ten

  The last of the visitors lingered, taking their time saying goodbye. The freezer was stocked with homemade casseroles and lasagna from well-meaning neighbors; the counter was littered with food that would never be eaten. Junie wiped her hand on a dish towel and went into the den, looking for Sarah. She hadn’t seen her since they’d arrived back at the house, when she’d headed for the television. She found Brian hovering over her, his back to Junie, blocking Sarah’s face and body from her view. Sarah began to kick her feet; a stifled noise rose from where she lay. Junie’s hands grew cold. A shiver ran up her spine, bringing with it a memory she’d long ago forgotten. It was Ellen’s feet before her now, Junie’s father leaning over her. Junie stood frozen, consumed by the memory. Ellen had spent the night, and Junie awoke to Ellen’s empty sleeping bag next to her. She’d gone downstairs, looking for Ellen, and had come upon her father, Ellen’s feet kicking, a strangled sound emitting from her best friend’s throat. The den had been dark, almost pitch black, save for the moonlight peeking in through the window.

  “Stop!” Junie yelled. “Stop it. Stop it!” She pulled on Brian’s back, tears slipping down her cheeks.

  Brian whipped around. “What the heck, June?”

  “Stop it!” she yelled. She swooped Sarah into her arms, cradling her like an infant. Sarah’s face was a mask of fear. Junie’s body shook and trembled. She looked from Sarah to Brian and back again.

  “What the hell? I was finally getting through to her.”

  Ruth ran into the room. “What’s going—”

  “Stop,” Junie whispered.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? I was tickling her.”

  Junie looked down at her daughter, who now clung to her chest in fear, then up at Ruth, whose mouth hung open in confusion. Junie lowered herself to the couch, rocking Sarah against her.

  “What is going on?” Mary Margaret towered over Junie, worry lines deep across her forehead. “Hon, please, you’ll upset your mother,” she said quietly.

  Junie couldn’t speak—her voice was trapped beneath the rising memory. She remembered wanting to pound on her father’s back. She’d had no idea what he was doing to Ellen, but it felt wrong, very wrong, hidden, in fact. The silence of the guests, their openmouthed gazes, pressed in on her. What was she doing? She looked down at Sarah’s closed eyes. Tears tumbled down her cheeks in silent streams.

  Mary Margaret sat next to her, her arm around Junie’s shoulder, her large hand pulling her close. She must have thought that Junie was having a hard time dealing with her father’s death. Junie wished she could tell her the truth, but if she couldn’t process what she’d seen, how could anyone else?

  “I’m sorry,” Junie whispered.

  They ate dinner in silence. Brian was still annoy
ed from Junie’s unexplained outburst, and Sarah withdrew even further into her usual introverted behavior. She flinched at loud noises, and she’d clung to Junie all afternoon. Junie pushed the lasagna around on her plate, unable to stomach a single bite of it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes on her plate.

  No one responded.

  Junie looked up at her mother. Dark circles made her eyes appear slate gray. A pang of guilt rode through Junie. “Mom, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

  Brian slammed his fork down on the table so hard, Sarah burst into tears. His face reddened. “Damn it, Junie. All I want is to be part of this family, and as much as you say you want me to reach out to Sar—” He dropped his eyes to Sarah and began again, addressing Junie directly, this time suppressing his anger. “I am trying to reach out, and you are sabotaging my every effort.”

  Junie shook her head. “I’m not, but…” Sarah clung to her arm. “Can we please talk about this later?”

  Brian threw his napkin on the table and excused himself to the den.

  “Want to talk about it?” Ruth asked.

  Junie took the dish from her mother’s hands and began filling the dishwasher. She peered into the dining room, where Sarah sat peacefully playing a game on Junie’s laptop.

  “I…I’m not sure what happened.” How could she tell her mother what she saw? What did it mean? What had her father been doing to Ellen? Why was he with her in the middle of the night? Junie wished she could put the fragments together and figure out something, anything that might help her to understand what was going on. “Mom, how often did Ellen spend the night?”

  “Junie, don’t you want to talk about today? What’s going on? Brian is trying so hard, and you’re…I have no idea what you’re up to.” Ruth wrapped the leftover lasagna and put it in the fridge.

  And say what? I think Daddy hurt Ellen? “I’m not up to anything,” she snapped. “I’m not sure what happened. I think I’m just exhausted, and I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your, Daddy’s…the service.” She’d managed to screw up her father’s funeral, her family, and God knows if she was responsible for screwing up Sarah, too. Sarah. Maybe Brian was right and the therapist was wrong to disregard the questionnaire. Maybe she should fill out that damned thing, if only to see if the other therapists missed something. If Sarah’s issues all came down to some flaw in Junie’s parenting, she’d rather know than be ignorant of it.

  “Oh, honey, you’re overwhelmed. We all are. Daddy’s death was so unexpected. Why don’t you go lie down? I can finish this,” Ruth offered.

  Junie set down the dish towel she’d been holding and hugged her mother. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, Mom. Not the other way around. I’m a big girl. I’m fine.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sarah had been put to bed, having fallen fast asleep in front of the television. Junie sat at the edge of the bed, fidgeting with her fingers and wondering if she were losing her mind. Brian stormed into the bedroom and closed the door.

  “What the hell is going on, Junie?” he asked in an angry whisper.

  “I’m sorry. It wasn’t you.”

  “It sure as hell looked like me,” he snapped. Brian’s face was red. Fury emanated from his entire being, every muscle constricted and strained.

  “Oh, Brian.” Junie covered her face with her hands. “It was you that I yelled at, because you were there, but it wasn’t you I was yelling at. I sound crazy. I know I do.” She reached out to him. “I’m sorry.”

  He pulled away from her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, I wasn’t the one you were yelling at? I was there, Junie. You yelled at me. All this bullshit about you wanting me to reach out to Sarah, and I finally break through, and you come crashing in.” His voice escalated, his words shot like nails piercing Junie’s heart.

  “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I walked into the den and, oh God, this is going to sound nuts, but…I saw my dad leaning over Ellen.”

  “Ellen again? Really, Junie? You’re going to blame this on my dead sister?” he spat.

  “No. God, no, don’t say that. You don’t know that she’s dead.”

  “Come on, Junie. It’s been more than twenty years.”

  Junie paced. “Brian, I’m sorry. I’m not blaming Ellen. I don’t know what’s going on, but when I walked into the den, I swear to you, I saw my dad leaning over Ellen, and Ellen was kicking and making weird, scared noises.”

  Brian crossed his arms; his nostrils flared, the veins in his forearms visible all the way down to his fisted hands.

  “It’s…crazy, Junie.”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but I know what I saw.”

  “Or you’re exhausted and confused.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his hand through his hair. “Jesus, Junie.”

  She sat down beside him.

  He set his hand on her thigh. The weight of it comforted her.

  “This is why I hate coming back here. It dredges up everything bad.”

  Junie shrugged and laid her head on his shoulder. She put her hand over his and squeezed. “I had to come.”

  “We had to come,” he corrected her. “But we don’t have to stay forever. One more day; then we’re out of here.”

  “I can’t leave my mother, not now.” She pulled back in anger and sprang to her feet. “How can you even suggest that?”

  “Junie, being here is making you crazy. It’s putting me on edge.”

  Junie shook her head. “No, I’m not leaving her. She’d never do that to me. She’d stay no matter how uncomfortable she was.”

  “I can’t stay.” Brian stared into her eyes, unwavering. “It’s too much, Junie. Every second I’m on this block, all I can think of is what happened to Ellen, how my mom left. I just can’t stay.” He paced, then said, “Besides, I have so much work to do. I can get it done while you’re here.”

  “Go, then. Leave.” Junie crossed her arms and turned away. Tears sprang from her eyes. She couldn’t help but be hurt, even if he had good reasons to leave. Junie wiped her eyes and thought about spending a few days apart. Maybe it was better if he wasn’t there—it’s not like they were comforting each other. She needed to be there for her mother, but she kept doing the wrong things with Brian. It had to be hard for him, being here after losing his sister. She was being selfish again. What was wrong with her? She came back home and immediately turned into a spoiled child. Junie turned back to him, facing his clenched teeth and throbbing muscles in his jaw working overtime. She took a deep breath, swallowing her neediness like a lump of coal, and in a sweet, empathetic tone, said, “It’s okay. You go back home. I’ll stay for a week or so; then Sarah and I will come home. I know it’s hard for you to be here, and we’re okay. Really.”

  Junie could see the relief in the brief closure of Brian’s eyes. Part of her wanted him to say he’d stay, wanted him to push his discomfort and work aside and put her and Sarah first, but she knew that, too, was selfish. He had lost his sister, he had a big case looming, and even if he returned tomorrow, he’d already lost a lot of time.

  When Junie drifted off to sleep, it was her father’s face she saw in her dreams, sitting next to her on the sofa, watching NOVA, explaining every scene to be sure she understood the program. She awoke with a pang in her heart—a longing from the emptiness he’d left behind—and a stroke of guilt for thinking that her father could have ever hurt her friend. Junie looked over at Brian and promised herself she’d work harder at helping him connect with Sarah and would be more understanding about his feelings. She didn’t like the rift that had swelled between them. She wanted him to be accepted by Sarah, and she sure as hell didn’t want to yell at him for warped images she saw in her distraught mind.

  Chapter Twelve

  Junie sat on the porch, listening to her mother read aloud to Sarah, just inside the living room window. With Brian gone, a layer of tension had lifted. She hated acknowledging the tension that seemed to accompany her mar
riage these days, but she could not ignore the fraying relationship between her and Brian. She wondered if being home, her father’s death, and unearthing memories of Ellen was really the impetus of their recent conflicts, or if there had been something missing before and she’d just been blind to it. Junie began to wonder if she could trust her own judgment, or if it had been clouded, like her ability to qualify her memories as real or fabricated. She’d seen Peter heading toward the backyard and contemplated paying him a short visit. Maybe if she understood more or could remember more around the days and weeks that surrounded Ellen’s disappearance, she could gain some sort of perspective to deal with Sarah on a more focused level and have the strength to heal her ailing marriage. She hoped that Peter might be able to shed some light on those missing weeks. She took a deep breath, urging herself not to panic at the sight of the roses, and forced herself through the gate and up the hill.

  Her anxiety grew with each step up the steep driveway. The familiarity and the devastation of losing Ellen came back to her as she neared the front yard. The deep porch, the rocking chairs, had each lost their sheen, but they were the same sturdy chairs that had been there when she was growing up. She walked down the stone path that led toward the backyard, each stone perfectly spaced between impeccably edged lawn. She slipped past the towering trees that lined the backyard—they’d been scrappy saplings when she and Ellen had run between them.

  Goose bumps traveled up her arms at the sight of the unkempt gardens. The roses were all but hidden by thick, high weeds wrapping around their prickly stems like slim boas. These were not the carefully tended gardens that Peter had so mindfully protected for so many years. For as long as Junie could remember, Peter spent the rare weekends when he was not at work or locked in his den tending to the gardens, knee deep in mulch, clipping dead blooms and pulling weeds. In fact, she realized, when they’d visited during Easter, the gardens had been immaculate. The lawn surrounding the gardens was still beautifully manicured, making the unwieldy gardens look even more like the darkness amid the otherwise light yard.