“Don’t worry. He remembers you.” Dad helped hoist me on. And it was like riding a bike. “I guess you’ll be staying for dinner?”
I nodded.
“I just have some TV dinners around. Maybe we’ll go get some fried chicken, okay?”
“Sure.” I winked at him. “I promise. I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
He snorted. “Yeah, where have I heard that before?” He slapped Silver on his hindquarters and the horse leaped forward. We were off to the fields.
I sank low, let my hair come undone, let the wind snap at my face.
“Whoa, buddy,” I finally said to Silver, pulling up on his reins. We were walking along a line of trees. The sun was setting and I loved how the light filtered through the trees, streaming through the gaps and illuminating patches of dying grass. Fingers of heaven.
The warmth of the sun saturated my skin, and I turned toward it, closing my eyes. I missed him. I missed his touch already. His lively eyes and killer grin.
“. . . it works great until the music stops.”
Out in this part of the country, people lived by faith alone. They had to. The soil of the earth and the clouds of the heavens collided in prayer. And I felt it too. It was peaceful and void of the frantic noise that washed away any hope of quiet solitude in my life.
Except I couldn’t pray. Shame washed over me. My momma had taught me many simple prayers, but for the life of me I couldn’t utter one.
I stroked Silver’s mane. “Come on, buddy. It’s time to go back . . .” I wanted to say home, but the fact was I didn’t know where that was anymore.
15
LUKE
I PRESSED THE PHONE to my ear so hard that I felt the cartilage crunch against it. “Pick up . . . come on . . .” I waited impatiently. Filling in the infinitesimal seconds of silence were haunting voices. Jake’s, Faith’s, my father’s.
“Hello?”
I gasped at the sound of his voice.
“Jason, hey . . . hey, it’s Luke.”
“Yeah, I could see that on my caller ID.”
“Listen, I’ve left you a few voice mails, just wanted to see if we could get together and maybe—”
“I can’t be seen with you, Luke. Okay? You get that, right? I mean, that’d be instant career death.”
“Oh, come on, Jason. Don’t you think you’re overreact—”
“No, I don’t. I saw it that day.”
“Saw what?”
“I was getting a hot dog, saw you standing on the street corner, looking around like something was really wrong. I was just about to go ask you if you needed help when . . .” He cleared his throat. “When they came and took you away in handcuffs.”
“So guilty until proven innocent, eh?”
“You know what kind of world we live in, Luke. This is nothing new to you. We eat our young and everybody knows it, and so do you. And if the tables were turned, you wouldn’t even take my call.”
Click. I held the phone there for a moment, hoping it was just a glitch and that he was still there.
I took in a deep breath. And another. I dialed Steve. Voice mail. Then Kelly. Voice mail. Then Richard. Voice mail. I wasn’t even sure why I was calling people, but it seemed a good idea to maintain some contacts . . . some normalcy.
I leaned against the counter, listening to the hyper flow of air in and out of my nostrils.
It was the village, and I had leprosy.
I set the phone down and my mind drifted away again. Where had Faith gone? She wouldn’t answer my calls, which I expected, at least temporarily. But it was a strange feeling not knowing where my wife was.
My doorbell rang, sucking me back into my present circumstances. I’d been expecting Darmon but hadn’t realized what time it was. I quickly opened the door and greeted him with a hug and a few slaps on the back.
“Come on in,” I said, ushering him in and closing the door. “No trouble getting up here?”
“Not like last time, that’s for sure. I swear your doorman really works for the Secret Service.”
“He takes his job very seriously.” I smiled. “Come, sit down. You want a drink?”
“No, I’m good.” And he didn’t sit. “Listen, we need to talk.”
I glanced at him from the kitchen, where I was opening some seltzer water. “I know. I’ve got to catch you up on a lot of things. I know you’ve heard some stuff.”
“Luke, I can’t stay.”
“What are you talking about? You just got here.”
“Yeah. I know.” Darmon looked like he was being crushed by every second that went by. “I wanted to talk to you in person. You deserve that.”
I set the water down. Put my hands on the counter. “Sounding kind of ominous, Darmon.”
“You’re in a big mess. A world of trouble, Luke. You know that. I don’t have to tell you.”
“What’s your point, Darmon, because I called you over here for that very reason. I am in a world of trouble. That’s when you call your friends. Your best friend.”
“I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you on the news.” He shook his head and fingered his watch. “I can’t help you out. There’s nothing I can do. And standing around defending you is only going to make me look like I know something or at the very least vitiate my reputation.”
“Just get out!” I shouted at him. The suddenness startled us both.
“Luke, look—”
“Get out!” My voice turned sarcastic. “Why should I expect any more from you than this? We’ve only known each other since we were thirteen.”
“I never understood it.”
“What?”
“Why you left your dad’s business. I had to work for everything I ever achieved, but it was handed to you on a silver platter. Yet you wouldn’t take it.”
“Let yourself out, you self-righteous . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence, even though a hundred crude words sat on the tip of my tongue, ready to be spewed. I couldn’t disrespect him, even though he’d abandoned me at my darkest hour.
I heard his steps and the door shut quietly. I wanted to sob into my hands and scream and throw something, but I suddenly went completely numb and couldn’t even feel the pain of my own predicament. Only one thought wandered through my mind: How can I stay this way?
16
CATHERINE
I SAW A GLIMPSE of yellow and realized suddenly how much I loved color. I noticed it more than other people, I think.
I was kind of shy as a kid. Not bursts-of-red-up-my-neck shy, but reserved, way more than the rest of my family. So to get attention, I wore a lot of bright colors. When neon was all the rage, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
When I was eleven, I finally caught the attention of my family when they heard me singing one time in my bedroom. I didn’t realize it, but they were all in the hallway with their ears to the door. Suddenly I was like a superstar or something.
“I didn’t know you could sing!” Ma said.
“Don’t know where that comes from,” Pa had exclaimed. “Nobody in this family, that’s for sure. Ever heard your mother sing at church?”
And that’s exactly where I ended up, too, the very next Sunday, singing a solo of “A Mighty Fortress.” Pretty soon I was a regular at church, in the choir, at the county fair, and certainly at any picnic or party I attended.
I relished the attention. I hadn’t had much of it until that point, and so I soaked it in and took every opportunity that was afforded to me. But what I didn’t realize at the time was that somewhere along the way, I started defining myself by my talent. Easy to do when your family has nearly their whole identity wrapped up in you. I made a name not only for myself, but for them too.
They never took advantage of it or used it wrongly, but I’d stand up on that stage, belt out a song, and watch tears come to Ma’s eyes. I’d walk past Pa and he’d be talking music with his buddies. I knew I had something special and didn’t want to wa
ste it.
But then I met Calvin, and as much as he loved my singing, he seemed to see music in my soul instead. He saw me. Really saw me. If I couldn’t carry a tune, he wouldn’t have cared. He always said we made our own music. And he said that whatever I sang first started in my beautiful soul. Looking back, he was kind of a deep guy for being so young. But he’d worked the fields, just like generations before him, and I think it does something to you when you’re out there in the quiet, with time to think. Calvin told me he watched lots of sunsets by himself, and I always imagined his soul saturated with light.
“Ma’am? Ma’am? Wake up!”
“Catherine . . .”
He leaned over me again, and I swore either he was deaf or I was imagining that I was being heard.
“Catherine . . . ,” I repeated. Were my lips even moving? I couldn’t tell.
“Glad you’re back with me. I need you to stay with me . . .”
Okay. Stay with you. Boy, he had pretty eyes. My Faith would like those eyes. She was drawn in by old souls. I knew that when she came home and announced Rupert Stewart was her boyfriend. In the third grade.
“Rupert?” I asked. The kid was nice but had thick glasses, a bowl cut, and nearly always mismatched clothes.
“He’s read all the Judy Blume books.”
It lasted about a week, but I knew my girl looked for substance, and in those blue eyes that kept my gaze, I saw substance.
I was drawn to my metal reflection again, and this time I told myself that I had to look. Not just glance. But look.
“Blood pressure is rising again,” he said.
I stared at it for a long time. The pain was coming back. It made me want to scream, but I couldn’t move. His hands were still over my belly.
Blood on his gloves.
Yellow here and there.
A moment of clarity interrupted the pain and the terror that I felt, and I saw it clearly. I saw me clearly. And I knew I’d made a mistake. The metal wasn’t distorting me. It was perfectly capturing me.
“Her heart rate is . . .” His voice trailed off. I don’t know why. But I couldn’t look at myself any longer. Maybe I trailed off.
I had to ask myself, was I better off dead? And maybe at that moment I was because I felt nothing at all. No hope. No love. No peace. No memories. Complete emptiness, except for the flickering of my soul against a harsh, dreadful wind.
17
FAITH
“YOU’RE FAR AWAY . . .”
I gasped, turned. Dad had crept up on me while I was lost in my thoughts of Luke and our life before. “Hi. Sorry. Was just . . .” I didn’t have to say it. He knew. I hung the saddle up and grabbed the brush.
“Good day for a ride. Nice weather.”
“It was perfect.”
“How was he for you?” he asked, nodding toward Silver.
“The best. A real gentleman.” I nudged Dad. “Mom used to say the same thing about you.”
He stared off into the horizon. Then he turned back toward the house. “Well, your sister has fixed dinner.”
“What?”
“It’s a special day.”
“She didn’t have to go to that trouble.”
A wry smile crossed his face. “That’s what your sister does. She goes to the trouble. It’ll be better than anything I come up with, that’s for sure. I’ll meet you back up at the house.”
He ambled toward it, taking his time, and I took mine. What had I done, coming back here? I was already a huge inconvenience. And I could tell Olivia didn’t approve. How could I explain the last few . . . ten . . . years? How could anyone possibly know how I got here? Why I came here. Why I left, for that matter.
My mother’s face rippled in my mind as if it were laid against water. She told me that no matter what, I’d always have home.
But I don’t think she could’ve predicted what a mess all of us would become.
I spent a little while with Silver, brushing his coat. Used to be that the shine came back when I did that, but no matter how much I brushed, the sheen didn’t return. It was okay, though. We understood each other.
I walked back to the house in my bare feet, feeling the grass between my toes. I loved being in my bare feet. Luke and I used to go to Central Park and I’d always kick off my shoes, which inevitably led to a much-loved foot rub from the man of my dreams.
At the back door I slipped on my shoes and walked in. Dad was in the recliner. Just the top of his head peeked over the worn leather. A football game droned into what was otherwise a silent house. Off the kitchen was their bedroom. I slipped in there quietly. I didn’t know why, but it just felt like I needed permission to wander this home I’d grown up in.
The familiarity of the room greeted me, but the warmth was gone. I’d spent hours in here talking with Mom about boys, horses, singing. The arrangement hadn’t changed. A soft layer of dust was at first the only indication a woman wasn’t keeping the room. The pictures were still around. But it had been stripped down to simplicities, serving a man with simple needs. I stepped quietly, carefully, my hands clasped behind my back as I wandered from picture to picture.
I noticed Dad’s Bible on his nightstand. Well worn. A bump in the middle. I wondered what it was and walked over, carefully lifting the cover. Between the pages—Leviticus chapter 9 to be exact—was Momma’s wedding ring. Silver. Thick but a little hard to get a grip on. I picked it up carefully and held it close to my face. I knew by heart the tiny inscription on it but read it anyway. C & C. May the music never stop.
I studied it for a moment, then looked at mine. Massive by comparison. Platinum. The diamond stretched from the bottom of one knuckle to the top of the next. It had taken a whole week to get used to the weight of it.
“Hey.”
I turned, embarrassed by the private moment he’d stumbled upon. I quickly slid the ring back into his Bible.
“Hi there.”
“Sorry ’bout that. Must’ve fell asleep in the recliner.”
“No problem.”
He looked at his watch. “Your sister’s not exactly the type to keep waiting, so we better go.”
“Sure. . . . Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“When did the music stop?” I looked at him, catching his startled expression. But I had to know. “Was it before or after she died?”
Dad took a long look at me. An uncomfortably long look. “It never stopped. I still hear it. Every day.” He walked out and I trailed behind him as if I were a little girl again.
We got into Dad’s pickup truck, the same one he had when I left, and got on the main road. I realized I didn’t even know where Olivia lived.
18
OLIVIA
“I THOUGHT we were having grilled cheese,” Nell said, hanging on the counter like it was some sort of jungle gym.
I shooed her off it. “We were. Now we’re not.”
“’Cause Aunt Faith is coming over?”
I glanced at her. “You don’t have to call her Aunt.”
“But you said she’s my aunt.”
“Technically, but you kind of have to earn the right to be called that.”
Victoria, coloring at the table nearby, pointed to the pumpkin. “What about Grandpa’s pumpkin?”
“He’s got everything he needs over there. Nell, hand me the eggs, please.”
Nell hurried to the far end of the counter and carried them to me. But the next thing I knew, she’d dropped them. Bright-yellow egg yolk oozed out from the container, spreading quickly across the floor.
“Nell!”
“I’m sorry, Mommy! I’m sorry!”
“Go to your room!” I screamed, dropping to my knees to see if even one egg survived. I carefully opened the carton, but there was not a single one left.
Victoria stood over me, crayons in each hand. “Momma?”
“Victoria, please, just go away. Just go.”
I knelt there over the eggs with my dish towel. I heard Nell crying in her room.
> Then the back door opened. Hardy. His heavy boots, which I always asked him to take off, tromped down the hallway to the kitchen. Was I crying? I didn’t even realize it. I tried to dry my tears quickly, but it was no use. I knew my face was blotchy. I was not a pretty crier. Faith could cry her eyes out and they wouldn’t even get red.
“Olivia? What the heck are you doing down there on the floor?”
“Nell dropped all these eggs. Now I can’t make a cake.”
“Why don’t I just run down to Kevin’s, see if they have any.”
“It’s too late. I won’t have time to make it before they get here.”
“Are you crying?”
“No . . .” I glanced up at him. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Hardy bent down next to me with a rag, started cleaning it up.
“I’ll get it.”
“Now, there. I’m the kind of man that can get down on his knees and clean up an egg or twelve.”
I laughed a little. “I just wasn’t expecting company tonight and I have a lot to do.”
“Well, you didn’t have to invite them over, you know.”
“Daddy eats TV dinners except when he comes over here. He would’ve had nothing for her to eat.”
“I bet they could’ve managed.”
“It’s family. It’s what we do.”
“I know. You keep telling me that.” He winked, and before I knew it, the eggs were cleaned up.
“You want me to go talk to Nell?” he asked.
“I’ll do it. Can you get the plates out?”
“Sure.”
I walked down the hallway, batting at my eyes to keep them from watering again. Nell was lying on her bed, her knees pulled to her chest, blubbering with the best of ’em. I sat down next to her.
“I’m sorry . . .” Her face dripped with tears and I held her head against me. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Of course you didn’t mean to. Why would you drop a bunch of eggs on purpose?”
She wiped her eyes and smiled at me. I grinned back at her, patted her little head, and sat her up. “I’m sorry I got so upset.”
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