by Sonja Yoerg
“I don’t mean to upset you. I know it’s not right, bringing this up out of the blue. I’m sorry.”
Louisa looked at the screen, presumably at the photo of Paris. “How is your mama?”
“Not so well, I’m afraid. She drinks too much. Last month she got into a serious car accident.”
“That’s a shame, a real shame. I always liked your mama. She’s not fifteen years younger, but she was a daughter to me.”
Geneva was surprised. “Then why didn’t you stay in touch?”
“I couldn’t say. I more or less expected to hear from her after your daddy died. He fired me, you know.”
The barn was cool, but she felt a trickle of sweat run down her spine. “Why? Can you tell me?”
Louisa sighed. “All this time I thought your mama knew what he’d done. I reckoned she kept away from me because she didn’t want reminding of it.”
The bottom dropped out of Geneva’s stomach, and her hand felt slick against the surface of the bench. She wanted to run for the door, but willed herself to stay. Louisa’s face was full of concern.
“Oh, you poor thing. I know you loved your daddy. But you came here asking questions, so I figured you wanted answers.”
“I did. I do.” She rolled her shoulders up and back, and exhaled. “Louisa, if you saw anything, can you tell me?”
“I haven’t told a soul.”
“I don’t want to know for me. I want to know for my mother.”
“If you’re sure.”
Geneva nodded.
She shifted in her chair. “Well, it was the day before the Christmas party and your mama was in town, fetching the last few things. Your daddy asked Florence to take you and Dublin to the park, to keep you two out of the way. I’d gone around the back of the house with the trash and seen the back door wasn’t shut properly. Figured it was Dublin, as that boy never could shut a door, even if you paid him.
“So I come through the back, and remembered I hadn’t ironed Paris’s dress like I was supposed to, so I went to get it. Of course, I usually knocked if a door was closed, but my head was spinning with all the things I still had to do before I left. It was my husband’s birthday that day, and family was coming over, so you might say I was preoccupied. Anyway, the door wasn’t locked—couldn’t have been because it used to be the maid’s room and they never had locks on them—and I went straight in.”
Geneva was staring out the window beside the barn door. Louisa said, “You all right?”
“Yes. Please go on.”
“I’m not telling anything I don’t need to. I just want to make sure you know that I know what I saw. And there was no doubt about it. Not in the act, but Paris had her clothes off. She pulled the sheet over herself in a hurry, but didn’t even blush.” Louisa shook her head in dismay.
“And my father?”
“Had his hands on her, is all I’m saying. I’m not painting pictures for you. Then he looked me straight in the eye, and I was more afraid than I’ve ever been in my life, before or since.”
Geneva stared at Louisa and saw the fear alive in her face. “What did he say?”
“He said if I breathed a word, he would ruin me. Not just me, my whole family. I believed him, too.”
“What could he do?”
She lifted her hands as if the answer was obvious. “He ran that town, and his family ran the county. What couldn’t he do?” She shook her head. “Didn’t matter anyway. Because of Paris. She stared me down—the girl I helped raise—and said no one would believe me over her. When she said it, I knew it was God’s honest truth.
“Lord knows I wanted to help her, but I couldn’t see how. I suppose your mama was in the same position. Terrible as it was, I figured in a few months she’d be off to college, and it’d all be over.”
Geneva’s mouth went dry. Her gaze moved from Louisa to the far wall lined with oak cabinets. The grooved fronts shimmered, like a mirage. Time lurched backward for an instant, then jumped forward again, leaving her queasy.
Louisa continued. “Then, of course, your daddy died, and it was.”
• • •
Tom and Geneva had set aside time for later that day to discuss what to do about Charlie’s and Ella’s transgressions. After everyone had showered and eaten, they went to their bedroom and closed the door. She told Tom what Louisa had said.
“So our take on the letter was right after all,” Tom said.
“Unfortunately.”
“It must have been hard to hear her talk about it.”
“It was, and hard for her to tell me. But I was prepared for it. Mostly.”
“Are you going to tell Helen?”
“I think so. At least she’ll know she wasn’t imagining it. But something’s still bothering me.”
“Really?” He grinned at her. “I thought all your detective work was done.”
“I don’t know. I have a feeling I still don’t understand everything.”
“I always have that feeling. I just go with it.”
Geneva laughed a little. “Okay, let’s talk about the kids.”
After a long discussion, they decided Charlie would sell his purchases on eBay, or wherever he could get a good price, and give Helen the proceeds. Then he would have to earn the same amount over the summer and donate it to charity. They would take away his phone, Xbox, iPod and other toys, and require him to earn them back gradually. Ella would work to cover the truck repairs and missed SAT session. If she wanted to use a car during the summer, she’d have to do extra chores, including chauffeuring her brother. Finally, they would assess whether Charlie had in fact learned anything during the school year and arrange tutoring if necessary.
“They’re going to be thrilled,” Geneva said.
“Now, what about the possibility that Charlie’s smoking pot?”
“Or Ella.”
“Right. I did check his backpack and didn’t find anything.”
“Short of turning their rooms upside down or a home drug test, I guess all we can do is ask. And remind them of the consequences.”
They left the bedroom and found Helen, Ella, and Charlie playing hearts in the living room.
Tom said, “Don’t you two have finals starting tomorrow?”
“Study break,” Ella said, scooping up an all-diamond hand.
“I swear she cheats,” Charlie said.
“You can’t cheat at hearts. Take it from me.” Helen nodded toward the kitchen. “Juliana came by with more food.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell us she was here?”
Charlie said, “We would’ve, but when we said you were in the bedroom with the door closed, she said she’d catch you later.” He raised his eyebrows theatrically.
Helen played a low heart, then held her cards to her chest. “I think Juliana brought supper again because she feels bad about that crazy dog of hers. Maybe she realizes now the only choice was to put it down.”
Geneva wondered if this might be true. She inspected the containers on the counter: chicken curry, saffron rice, cucumber salad, and banana cream pie. If Juliana’s guilt trip continued, they were all going to get fat. She opened the fridge and made space for the containers.
A creeping sensation ascended her spine. Unbidden, she heard the words her mother had said when she asked her what she had done to alienate Paris. Not enough, and too much, all at the same time. She saw the letter before her, and read the passage in which Paris noted the irony in her mother claiming to be a victim. Geneva’s mind spun around and around like a flywheel. If not the victim, then the culprit. The perpetrator. The one who did the only thing she could to stop her husband, and the only thing Paris would never forgive.
She put him down.
The glass dish of cucumber salad slipped from her hand and smashed on the floor.
Tom was at her side. “Are y
ou all right?”
“Yes.” She closed the refrigerator, gripping the handle hard to steady herself. “What a mess.”
Ella knelt behind her and picked up the shards.
“Don’t cut yourself. I’ll get a broom.”
Tom gave her a worried look. “No, I’ll take care of this. Why don’t you lie down?”
“I do feel a little wobbly.”
“Did you eat lunch?”
“No, I guess not.”
“How about some cucumber salad?” Charlie said.
• • •
Geneva sat in the chair by the window, and finished the sandwich Ella had brought her. She put the plate on the floor. Rocking slowly, she watched a robin probe its way across the lawn.
She imagined being poor and sixteen, and falling in love with a tall, confident man from an important family. She imagined marrying him, and being afraid. She imagined easily her joy at the birth of her first child.
She imagined three more children, then the first again, becoming her husband’s favorite. She imagined the first pinch of jealousy, then the growing concern, then the disheartening thought that because her concern was unfounded, she must be mad.
She imagined wanting to tell someone, but having no one to tell and nothing to tell them. She imagined appealing to her daughter, perhaps more than once, and feeling the burn of shame and scorn. She imagined the inevitable confrontation with her husband, the cold power of the stone wall he erected, the sting of his hand on her face.
She imagined wishing it would end, then realizing it would not, and fearing in either case it would begin again with another daughter she had given him. And another.
She imagined hoping he would die, then praying.
She imagined an opportunity. And she imagined taking it.
• • •
She found Tom alone in the barn, running his hand over a baluster carved with vines. He did this, she knew, not only to detect rough spots, but to feel how the design melded with the grain of the wood. The gesture was at once sensual and intellectual. She waited at the door until he set the piece down and beckoned her inside.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“That’s okay. You look better.”
“Yes. Remember I said a piece was still missing? I found it.”
“Tell me.”
She brushed the dog hair off Ella’s chair, and sank into it. Tom pulled over a crate.
“First, I’m really sorry about what a disruptive mess our lives have been recently. I know it’s not my fault—at least not entirely—but I’m still sorry.”
“Hey. It’s educational.”
She smiled. “And challenging. Wasn’t that the word all the child-care books used to call the terrifying stuff?”
“Yeah, we’ve both been challenged.”
“And you’ve been incredible.” She took his hands. “Really.”
He gave her an embarrassed grin.
“Which is why I hesitate to ask you this.”
“Uh-oh.”
“It’s worse than that, actually. I’m going to ask you a question, and if you say yes, I’m going to tell you something else. The deal is that after I tell you, you can’t change your first answer.”
“You’re not usually this complicated. Why the hoops?”
“I need them. Trust me. Deal?”
“Sure, I guess. I mean, yes.”
Geneva exhaled. “I’d like my mother to continue living with us. Indefinitely. Would that be okay with you?”
Tom startled. “Whoa. That was unexpected. Why? Does this have to do with what Louisa told you?”
“Yes, and what else I figured out. So, do you have an answer, or do you need to think about it?”
“Sure. I mean, we’d have to make a more permanent bedroom for her, but sure.” He studied her face. “Aren’t you worried about her drinking and corrupting our kids and everything else?”
“I’m hoping she’ll finally agree to join a program.”
He nodded. “That’d be great. Okay, so why did I have to agree not to change my mind?”
“Because there’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
HELEN
Something was going on. Ever since Geneva told her she’d read Paris’s letter, Helen had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sunday morning—yesterday—she’d woken up and there was Diesel gawking out the window. Helen gawked, too, and together they watched Geneva leave the barn with her computer. Came inside and acted mighty peculiar, too. Later, she dropped that dish and stayed holed up in her room the entire afternoon. Since then, Geneva and Tom seemed to have their heads together constantly. Helen couldn’t be sure what they knew, but one thing was certain: They had a plan for her. And she didn’t cotton to other people’s plans.
She hadn’t wanted to come up here—it wasn’t her plan—but what choice did she have? She pictured herself in her apartment with all her old furniture and bad memories, and dread crept up her legs like a nest of spiders. She’d managed to live with what she’d done (and hadn’t done) up until now because nobody knew about it, except Paris. She could pretend, if only for a wink or two, none of it had happened. When that failed, she could drink. She never worried about passing out and not waking up. She never thought that far ahead.
But lying in the hospital she’d been plagued with recollections of things she didn’t want to recollect, making her want to run away from herself faster than ever. Worse, the tubes and needles and the look on everyone’s face told her she’d come near to dying. God help her, as much as she struggled to call what she did living, dying scared her more. Death was a cold and endless place. At least life served vodka.
If she was on her own again, with nothing to stop her from carrying on as she always had, she was either going to drink too much or drink too little. Neither choice would save her, so she gave up on the notion. She’d never been much of one for decisions anyhow.
• • •
They didn’t keep her in suspense long. Monday night after supper, the kids were in their rooms studying, and she was reading one of her mysteries in the living room. Honestly, it was more like skimming. She’d figured out halfway through who’d done it and how.
When Tom and Geneva sat on the couch and said they wanted to chat, she closed her book and steeled herself.
Geneva started. “Yesterday I spoke to Louisa.”
“Louisa who?”
“McCutchion.”
“In South Carolina?”
“Yes. I Skyped her. It’s a video service over the Internet.”
“I know what Skype is.” She wondered why Geneva would hunt down Louisa, but didn’t get far because her daughter was talking again.
“She’s well. She misses you.”
“Does she? Now that’s nice. But why—”
“Mom, I asked her about Paris and Daddy. I thought she might know. And she did. She saw . . .” Geneva twiddled her fingers, then looked at Tom as if the right words were inscribed on his forehead.
He said, “She witnessed a terrible act. She was certain of it.”
Helen breathed in sharply. Everything came into perfect focus, as if she were squinting hard. Thoughts raced around in her head, but she couldn’t snag one of them. She should have felt relieved, but truth was, as long as she hadn’t been absolutely sure, she hadn’t had to accept that Eustace molested Paris. Maybe it was easier to believe she had killed an innocent man than it was to believe he’d done what he’d done.
Geneva spoke low. “You were right about him. He was a monster.”
Helen stared at her daughter, the child who’d idolized her daddy the most, Paris notwithstanding. All these years she’d let Geneva have her daddy the way she remembered him. The fantasy more or less ended when she’d read the letter. Now it was over for goo
d.
Helen nodded.
“And,” Geneva said, “I know you killed him.”
Helen’s heart fluttered in her chest. She opened her mouth to deny it, but her daughter reached out and took her hand.
“It’s okay. We know, and it’s okay.”
She didn’t hear that right. Too many emotions flying through her head had balled up her hearing. They would throw her out. They might even call the police, who’d dig Eustace up. She’d worried about this for thirty-five years and now it was transpiring. Detectives probably had new methods—like on CSI—and would pin the blame on her. No murderer was ever careful enough. She’d been right not to talk to Louisa. You never knew which way people would fall until you went and pushed them.
“Helen,” Tom said. “Did you hear us? It’s all right. We know you didn’t think there was any other way.”
“I don’t know what I would have done in your position,” Geneva said. “Maybe the same thing.”
Helen took this in. A lump formed in her throat. Her nose started to run, so she searched up her sleeve for a tissue. She couldn’t see too well, but blinking wasn’t doing a bit of good.
“Oh, Mom. Don’t cry.” Geneva scurried off and reappeared with a box of tissues.
Helen dabbed at her eyes and collected herself. The stuffiness in her head cleared. Her emotional reaction was only the shock of having her secrets trotted out into the open after so many years.
She appraised her daughter—her broad, confident shoulders and intelligent eyes—and knew Geneva was wrong. No way on God’s green earth would she have let her husband carry on with her daughter. She’d have packed up those kids and left him behind without a moment’s thought for the consequences. She wouldn’t have put her faith in a German shepherd or counted on her husband’s decency to reappear by magic. She would have fought for her children, and wouldn’t have worried about landing on the streets or in the same filthy shack she’d cut her teeth in. No, her daughter would not have been a coward.
Geneva regarded her patiently. If her daughter had more to say, she wasn’t sure about saying it. She looked at Tom, who nodded. Spit it out. “Tom and I want you to stay here for as long as you need to.”
