The Light Through the Leaves

by Vanderah, Glendy

  “Ellis, what’s going on? You need to have a phone. I have to know you’re okay!”

  “I’ll let you know when I get a new number. Bye. I love you.”

  Ellis ended the call.

  Her phone service would turn off by the end of the week. Jonah had wanted her to keep it on, even said he would pay, but Ellis had to dump it along with everything else.

  With shaky hands, she opened a new bottle of pills and popped one into her mouth. She’d found a doctor at a small clinic who’d given her prescriptions. To help with the stress of her divorce. And her baby’s abduction. If she had to spill the gory guts of her life to get the meds, she would.

  She entered the bank to deliver her new address. A house in Gainesville, Florida, a town in a distant state she’d never visited.

  By the time she left the bank, the pill had taken the edge off. But no amount of pills could prepare her for her last task.

  She drove to the first real house she’d ever lived in. She wouldn’t miss it. It had always seemed ridiculously large to her: 4,200 square feet, four bedrooms plus an office, four and a half bathrooms, three-car garage. It was surrounded by an acre of lawn and plants that needed too much water, fertilizer, and trimming. Jonah had wanted the house—he’d said they needed a big place because they were having twins—and his mother had agreed. The down payment had been arranged in secret, as a wedding present, which meant Ellis couldn’t decline.

  Ellis pulled the SUV into the driveway. She was relieved to see Mary Carol’s car was gone. She had told Jonah she wanted her gone when she came to see the boys, and for once he had let Ellis have a little bit of control.

  Jonah met her on the sidewalk. “I’ve told them you’re leaving. As you asked me to.” He needed to remind her it was her idea and not his.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Please don’t do this,” he said.

  “You know I have to. You’ve seen the damage I’ve done to them.”

  He didn’t disagree. “Why not stay here and check yourself into a recovery program?”

  “And have them visit me there, seeing their mother in such bad shape that she had to lock herself up?”

  “That’s better than not seeing their mother.”

  “Is it?” She thought of those times she’d seen her mother passed out in a pool of vomit, or worse.

  “Of course it’s better!” he said. “And when you recover, you can buy a place nearby and see them whenever you want. I promise I’ll let you.”

  “How kind of you.”

  “Ell, come on. You can’t leave them.”

  “I can and I will. I couldn’t stop you from wrecking our life, but I will control how it ends. I won’t come begging to see my boys with Irene and Mary Carol hovering. I’ve seen how that goes, and so have you. All the fighting over the kids. The new partners of the divorced couple getting involved. The kids confused by their loyalties. Kids shouldn’t be consigned to Hell because their parents made mistakes.”

  “It doesn’t have to be Hell!”

  “It will be, the slow-burn kind. And that’s almost worse. I’ve lived it. I know.”

  “Goddamn it, Ellis! This is not your childhood! It’s theirs! You need to get help to see that!”

  Tears burned in her eyes. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. Not in front of the boys. Not the last time they saw her.

  He came closer. He looked about to comfort her with an embrace, but his arms stuck at his sides as if they didn’t know how to hold Ellis anymore. Or didn’t want to.

  “I’m sorry I yelled,” he said. “Just . . . please don’t go. You’ll regret it. You know you will.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me that!” she said. “I left my baby in the woods. I know the regret of leaving a child behind very well. I feel the agony of it in every moment.”

  “This isn’t the same! You don’t have to leave your boys to punish yourself. You have to forgive yourself for what happened to Viola.”

  “Have you? Have you forgiven me?”

  Every second that he paused was a knife that drove deeper into her chest.

  “I have forgiven you,” he replied. “And I have to forgive myself. Now I know how much I was to blame for what happened that day.”

  “You could only forgive me when you discovered your part in it? Thank you, Jonah. Thank you for the unconditional support for the woman you married.”

  She pushed past him and strode to the front door.

  The boys stood like little soldiers as she entered. She suspected they’d been watching their parents argue from the window. The anxious looks on their faces, the damage already done, reminded her to be strong. If she left now, they could recover.

  “Hey, guys,” Ellis said, stroking their hair as she often did.

  “Hi, Mom,” Jasper said.

  River said nothing, his lips pressed so tight they were nearly blue. He wouldn’t greet her because he was afraid he would cry.

  She knelt to their eye level. “I’m going now. I want you to know I love you forever and ever. You know that, right? No matter where I am or where you are, I love you.”

  “Where will you be?” Jasper asked.

  “I’ll be in pretty places, getting better. And everything I look at will be for you. Every little flower and tree and bird. I’ll be sharing it all with you.”

  “No you won’t,” River said bitterly. “Not if we aren’t there.”

  “People who love each other can stay together in other ways. In their hearts.”

  “A heart is just an ugly lump in our bodies. Grandma showed me the turkey’s heart before she cooked it for Thanksgiving.”

  Ellis put her hand on River’s cheek. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Remember, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you don’t want to eat animals, say so.”

  “I don’t eat animals,” Jasper said. “I didn’t want the turkey. I felt sorry for it.”

  Ellis took him in her arms and held him tight. The sweet smell of him made her dizzy with need. Nothing had ever hurt as much. Might that ugly lump in her body stop beating?

  “I love you more than anything,” she said into his ear.

  “Me too,” he said.

  When she pulled away from his arms, tears ran down his cheeks. River’s tears spilled, too, and he looked angry.

  Ellis reached for him. He backed away.

  “River, please let me hug you,” she said.

  “No!” he shouted. “This is all just stupid! I hate you! I hate you!”

  He ran away, his little feet pounding up the stairs.

  He wanted to do the leaving. To take control as much as possible.

  She understood. Oh, yes, she understood.

  She put a kiss on her palm and placed it on Jasper’s wet cheek. “Forever and ever,” she said. And she walked out the door.

  6

  Ellis laid the package of butterscotch candies on Samuel Patrick Abbey’s grave. She didn’t put anything on his wife’s stone. She wouldn’t know what to bring her. As with her father, Ellis knew nothing about her grandmother. She’d died long before Ellis went to live with her grandfather at thirteen, and Samuel never talked about his wife. Other than one photograph of her on her wedding day, Margaret Anne Abbey, née Swanson, was thoroughly absent from the small apartment where Samuel had lived for the ten years since he’d become a widower.

  Ellis wondered if she’d stop thinking about her children in ten years, if they would be as absent from her world as her grandmother had been for Samuel. It was probably different if the person you were separated from was still alive. Maybe that made it harder to let go.

  But for all Ellis knew, Viola was already gone from the earth.

  No, Ellis had to believe her daughter was alive. To keep the darkness from overcoming her. The baby was presumed to have been stolen by a woman—and naive or not, Ellis doubted a woman who wanted a baby would have motive to kill her.

  A woman was the only lead the detectives had. A cou
ple who’d been hiking saw a woman walking off-trail, and when she’d seen them looking at her, she’d quickly disappeared down a forested ravine. They had no description except that the woman was middle aged and had a blonde ponytail. The couple also said there was a blue sedan in the lot when they arrived, a car that wasn’t there when Ellis went back for Viola. Unfortunately, she had been too distracted to notice if the blue car was in the lot when she’d initially come out of the forest with the children.

  Ellis took one of the candies out of the bag. She sucked on its buttery sweetness, remembering the day her grandfather had gotten her at the police station after her mother died. She hadn’t known anything about him; he’d parted ways with his rebellious daughter long before. Even in his seventies, he was robust, tall and unbent, a former construction worker, and all the more intimidating because he rarely talked. His first real communication with Ellis was handing her a butterscotch candy from his pocket as they left the police station.

  During the five years Ellis lived with him, his candy offerings continued, a common communication between them. At first, Sam, as he asked her to call him, acted wary around her, often scrutinizing her silently, probably afraid she’d be like his daughter. But when he saw Ellis mostly kept to herself, did well in school, and helped clean the apartment, he gradually warmed. Ellis knew he’d accepted her when he started inviting her to watch football and baseball games with him. Though a lifelong resident of Youngstown, Ohio, he’d inherited his Pittsburgher father’s dedication to the Steelers and Pirates, but he also followed Ohio State football.

  Two of Sam’s construction friends, Mick and Harry, often came over to watch the games, and when they saw Sam wouldn’t, they took it upon themselves to teach Ellis the rules. Ellis liked those times, sitting on the couch with the three men watching sports. Mick always joked, Harry had almost poetic insights about life, and Sam made terse comments that were often unintentionally hilarious.

  Ellis had never felt anything like that camaraderie with her mother. Usually she had been too drunk or stoned to share anything real with Ellis, especially during her last years. She mostly alternated between silence and ranting about nothing. Sometimes she’d say strange things she believed to be great wisdom, though they were nothing of the kind. Most of the time, Ellis and her mother had lived in unconnected parallel worlds.

  The day before Ellis left Youngstown to attend Cornell University on scholarship, Sam, Mick, and Harry sent her off with a little party. By then, the men were in their eighties. Harry had been diagnosed with lung cancer, and he was soon leaving Youngstown to live with his son. The farewell cake had Steelers and Pirates logos, and Mick and Harry gave Ellis money to help her at college. Sam gave her quite a bit of money, and that week he’d surprised her with an old Chevy sedan to take to Ithaca.

  Ellis cried and hugged the three men, and for the hundredth time, Mick said there was no way a girl that sweet could be related to mean old Samuel Abbey.

  When Ellis said goodbye to Sam the next day, he said in slow words, “Well . . . I want to say something to you . . .” He paused before he continued. “When you first came here, I didn’t know about you. I really didn’t. But I soon saw. You’re a quality person, Ellis. I’m proud of you. Real proud. I guess I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss you a lot.”

  That was possibly the most words he’d ever said to her all at once. And the closest he’d ever come to saying he loved her. Ellis didn’t say it either.

  But now she knew she had loved him. She’d loved Mick and Harry, too. She wished she’d known how to tell them. All three were dead now.

  Ellis swallowed the last tiny sliver of butterscotch candy. “I love you, Sam,” she whispered to the grave.

  But you were right not to trust me. I’m sorry you can’t be proud of me anymore. I’m sorry.

  She turned away from Sam. She walked back to the car as light snow began to flutter down. She needed a drink but wouldn’t until she returned to the campground. She never drove drunk. She wouldn’t risk an accident that might kill someone. A baby, a mother, a grandfather. She’d done enough damage already.

  7

  “Hello? Hey there!” a man called.

  Whoever he was, he was in her campsite. Close to her tent.

  “Hello?” he said again.

  Ellis shook herself out of the stupor she’d been in for three days. Or was it four?

  “If you’re in there, please answer,” the man said.

  “Yes, I’m in here.” She fumbled for the hunting knife she’d inherited from Sam. It had been his father’s. She kept it in its sheath inside the sleeping bag when she slept.

  “I’m a park ranger,” the man said. “Are you aware you haven’t paid for this campsite for the last three days?”

  That meant she’d been there for four days. She’d paid for one day when she arrived.

  Ellis kept the knife in her hand just in case. She unzipped the opening enough for them to see each other. He was a tall, dark-eyed man in his late twenties, wearing full ranger gear.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “I’ll pay. I wasn’t trying to pull anything.”

  The man nodded. “I’m relieved to see you’re okay. When I first walked up here and no one answered, I was afraid . . . well, you can imagine. Very few people camp here in winter.”

  Ellis loved that about winter camping. She’d taught herself how to do it when she’d started driving up to the Adirondacks, and she’d taken Jonah when they were dating. Cold camping with a lover was the best. Snuggling under warm blankets while the snow fell outside. The soft walls and warm interior felt like a tiny world born of their two bodies. To make love in a tent in winter felt deliciously primal.

  The man wasn’t leaving. She slipped on her coat and boots, unzipped the tent door, and clambered into the cold gray morning. She put up her hood to hide her snarl of hair.

  The man scrutinized her. She must have looked bad because he appeared concerned. At least that was how she interpreted his gaze.

  “Do you need me to pay for the campsite right now—before you leave?”

  “No. I’ll check the box later today.”

  “I’m heading out soon. I’ll put it in when I leave.”

  “Sounds good,” he said.

  He walked toward his truck, turning around halfway. “Would you like a cup of hot coffee? I have a big thermos in here.”

  “Oh . . . no, but thank you.”

  “Have some. I promise the cup is clean.” He walked away briskly before she could decline again.

  She suspected he wanted to make sure she was okay. Maybe it was part of his training: A winter camper alone could be a bad sign. Could be running from the police. Maybe suicidal. Keep your eye on them.

  “Sugar?” he called out.

  Why not accept the coffee? She was dying for a cup. And if he needed to do his good deed for the day, she wouldn’t filch his halo.

  She replied, “Yes,” to the sugar and walked toward him.

  “Over there,” he said, gesturing at the picnic table in her campsite.

  She dusted an inch of snow off the table with her bare hands, and he set down the thermos and two cups. He handed her a few packets of sugar from his pocket.

  “Thanks,” Ellis said.

  She stirred the sugar in with her finger, and he smiled. She dusted more snow off the table and sat on top with her boots resting on the snowy bench. She wrapped her wet hands around the warm cup, thawing their stiffness.

  The ranger sat next to her. “I see you’re from New York,” he said, looking at the plates on her SUV.

  “Yes.”

  He sipped his coffee, waiting for her to say more. “Just passing through Ohio?”

  “I am.”

  They drank in silence for a minute.

  He faced her. “I don’t mean to pry, but is everything okay? I never saw a woman stay here for four days in winter.” He added, “Alone, I mean.”

  “You usually get groups of women in winter? They co
me here for a really entertaining ladies’ night?”

  He smiled. “No.”

  He seemed like a nice guy. She should go easy on him. Give him something to allay his fears.

  “I didn’t mean to stay for four days. I came to Ohio to visit two family graves. After the first one . . . I guess I needed some downtime. Before I go to the next.”

  Next was her mother, a few towns over.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She nodded and huddled over her coffee.

  “It’s interesting you camp instead of stay in hotels when you’re doing that.”

  He probably thought it odd that a person would stay there when they had enough money to own a fancy new SUV and nice tent. Ellis had purchased her camping equipment with gifts of money from her grandfather throughout college. She had some quality gear she’d gotten on sale. She wondered if the ranger would have offered coffee if she had a crap tent and beater car.

  “I don’t like hotels,” she said. “I prefer the woods.”

  “I guess I can see that. But be careful. Sometimes we get some odd ones in campgrounds.”

  “There are odd ones everywhere.”

  “I know. But here you’re completely alone.”

  She’d heard these warnings since she started camping alone during her college years. Her first roommate fretted and lectured every time Ellis disappeared from the dormitory for the weekend. But Ellis had to get outside and away from people sometimes. She’d needed that since the Wild Wood. During the years she lived with her grandfather, she’d gone to a nearby park to get her green fix.

  She slid off the table and handed the empty cup to the ranger.

  He smiled at her. “You look more awake now.”

  “I am. It was good coffee.”

  “I grind the beans fresh every morning.” He held out his gloved hand. “I’m Keith Gephardt.”

  She shook his hand and said, “Nice to meet you,” but didn’t give her name.

  He got the message. “I’d better get going.”

  He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and took out a card. “Here’s my cell number,” he said. “Maybe if you need to talk after that second grave.”