A Long Time Gone

by Karen White

  “We love you, too,” I said.

  We watched the men leave on horseback—the mud too thick for trucks where they were heading—from the bedroom window, but even as I waved good-bye, I kept thinking of the last time I’d seen Angelo Berlini alive, and of the seven black crows that had flown out of the cypress, their oily feathers shining dully in the gloom.

  Chapter 43

  Vivien Walker Moise

  INDIAN MOUND, MISSISSIPPI

  JUNE 2013

  On a night about a week after Mathilda’s visit, I was doing another nocturnal wandering through the house, listening to the way it breathed at night, the sighs of the rafters and the creaks of its old floors like ghosts passing by. As a child, I’d thought the creaks were a memory of the muddy water that had filled the first floor during the flood, like a baptism to ward off future disaster. Until the body had been found under the tree, it seemed to have worked.

  My mind was full of what Mathilda had said: how Adelaide had been beloved, and how she in turn had loved her husband and daughter. How nobody had wanted to harm her. Yet the fact remained that she’d been presumed drowned, yet had somehow been buried in her own yard, her story buried with her for more than eight decades. I kept seeing her face from the wedding photo and the studio photo with Bootsie, her eyes seeming to be asking me a question. I knew what the question was. I just wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the answer. What if, by finding out the truth, I’d finally have to confront the past we’d all clung to, a belief that would disintegrate like a dandelion in a strong wind? Then who would I be, and how would I justify my life thus far?

  I thought of Adelaide’s friend Sarah Beth, Emmett’s mother. She’d been pregnant when she’d married Adelaide’s cousin. Back then it would have been quite the scandal. I hadn’t returned several of the newspapers when I’d gone to sort through and organize the archives. I’d bring them back—just not yet. But I had decided to keep the photo of Bootsie, tucking it into the album from where it had been taken, knowing that was where it belonged. I just wasn’t ready to give back the newspaper containing the wedding photo of Adelaide and Sarah Beth together. Wondering what secrets they’d shared. What secrets they’d kept.

  I passed the attic door. I’d yet to go up there to search for the ring. Tripp had promised to help, but I hadn’t seen much of him since he’d brought Mathilda for supper. He’d called, but I’d let the calls go to voice mail. I knew without listening to them that it would be empty air, him just waiting for me to speak. But I had nothing to say. No plans made, and I was afraid that my feelings for him weren’t as innocent as I’d once believed. I knew I’d hurt him once, and I was in no hurry to do it again.

  I didn’t worry about what I might find in the attic, because I knew there was no rush. Finding the ring there wouldn’t tell me anything—not how it had been removed from Bootsie’s finger, or who had done it. Maybe she’d simply lost it, an easy enough thing to do, and it had long since been buried in the yard, or accidentally discarded.

  I stepped out into the garden, a waxing moon with its clever smile looking down on me, its angle in the sky making it seem as if it had asked me a question. And was waiting for an answer. All of Chloe’s plants were thriving, and soon it would be time to start harvesting them, before the vegetables got too big and pulled the plants over. The hardest thing would be getting her to eat the lima beans, especially cooking them with fatback. Cora said she had some great healthy recipes she’d share with us, and as long as the idea came from Cora, I had no doubt we’d be happily eating lima bean soup and lima bean salads.

  We still had plenty of time to grow more summer vegetables, and maybe even a few flowers for all of Bootsie’s empty pots. I’d already started thinking about what we’d plant in the fall, but had stopped when I realized that I might not still be here, and Chloe probably wouldn’t either. I’d been unable to think beyond that. It seemed that years of inertia had stolen my forward momentum, my ability to want something enough to make a plan. During the seven months of my pregnancy I’d made concrete plans, thought ahead as to the life my baby would have, and the marriage and family life I wanted to build. But ever since my miscarriage I’d been walking up a down escalator, keeping busy while getting nowhere. Even without the pills, I couldn’t seem to push my thoughts forward.

  The light was on in Tommy’s workshop, and I pictured him with the blue enamel watch, examining the tiny pieces with his patient hands. I’d always loved that about him: his ability to take his time to get things right. He was that way with his fields, too. Waiting for the right moment to plant, even when his neighbors had already jumped aboard and started planting. Except for his love life, his patience had always proved right. Even the way he’d always promised us that our mother would one day be coming home for good.

  My cell phone rang, the sound incongruous in the sleeping garden. I’d brought it with me to keep track of the time, telling myself that I needed to stop my wandering by three in the morning. As if I could fool my body into thinking it had to be asleep by three-oh-five. Sometimes it even actually worked.

  Mark’s name appeared on the screen and I felt suddenly cold. But I’d known it would be him as soon as the phone rang. Nobody else would call me with no regard to the time of day.

  “Hello, Mark,” I said, not bothering to lower my voice, since I was away from the house, and the drone of the air conditioner would block out any noise.

  His voice sounded chipper—happy, even—two words I wouldn’t have immediately used to describe my ex-husband. He also sounded as if he’d been awake for hours. “Good afternoon, Vivien.” I heard what sounded like an announcement on an intercom in the background.

  “Where are you?”

  “Funny you should ask, since that’s why I’m calling. We’ve decided to cut our honeymoon short. Actually, Tiffany has. She’s been feeling a little homesick and wants to come home and do some nesting.”

  I thought I could feel my heart slowing its beat. “Nesting?”

  I could hear him grinning through the phone. “Yeah. We’re expecting.”

  “Tiffany’s pregnant?” I asked, not sure if I’d heard him correctly.

  “That’s right. I’m going to be a daddy.” He actually sounded happy.

  “You’re already a daddy, Mark. You have a daughter, remember?”

  He couldn’t even pretend to be embarrassed by his gaffe. “Yeah, well, this is the first baby I’ve wanted. We were actually trying to get pregnant. Just didn’t think it would happen so fast.”

  I struck out blindly with my hand, unable to see past the red that seemed to be coating my vision, my womb tightening on its emptiness. My hand made contact with one of the green chairs and I fell into it.

  “Okay.” It was the only word I could think of. Congratulations? How exciting? It would be like throwing confetti at a funeral.

  “‘Okay’? Is that all you can say?”

  I looked up at the sky and the questioning moon and somehow found the courage to respond with the truth. “Yes, Mark. It is. Because I wanted our baby. And you have a twelve-year-old daughter who never needs to know that you didn’t want her.”

  The sound of blown air reached me. “Yeah. Like you can criticize my parenting. Like you’re a contender for the mother-of-the-year award—you and your pill popping. What makes you think that all of a sudden you know how to be a good mother?”

  Being here. The thought came to me in the warm breeze that swept across the fields and past the cypress trees and around the old house and into my garden. It brought with it the memory of Chloe and me on the Indian mound, staring up at the stars and listening to the night music, and an earlier memory with my mother in the same spot as she held my hand and said a prayer I couldn’t hear.

  “I don’t know how to be a good mother, Mark. But I’m trying. I’ve been clean ever since you told me I needed to get clean to keep Chloe here.” My voice was shaking and I
prayed he couldn’t tell.

  “You know you only wanted Chloe to spite me. You’ve always been spiteful like that, Vivien.”

  I wanted to throw the phone as far as I could if it meant I never had to talk with him again, but I held on to it, knowing I needed it to move forward. If there was ever a moment for that, this was it.

  I took a deep breath, remembering what I’d learned in my short-lived acting classes. I’d taken them after giving up my dreams of being a TV journalist, because I’d met Mark and he thought I should be in the movies. “I’m sorry, Mark. And you’re right: I wanted Chloe here to make you mad. I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. But I’d like to ask you to allow Chloe—”

  Mark cut me off as another announcement came over the intercom. “They’re boarding first class, so I’ve got to go. I just wanted to let you know that we’re flying directly to Atlanta and spending the night and then we’ll fly to Mississippi to get Chloe.”

  Panic bubbled in my throat and I forced myself to keep calm. “But that’s what I wanted to ask you—if Chloe—”

  “Gotta go. I’ll text you my flight information.”

  “But I’d like to discuss—”

  Once again I was met with dead air. I wondered if he’d been like that when we’d been dating, or even in the early, heady days of our marriage. I didn’t think so, because surely I wouldn’t have married him. But I had. Despite what Tripp had said, that no one’s past was written in stone, mine was. I had married badly, and still bore the scars to prove it and always would.

  I ended the call, seeing the photo I’d put on my background screen: of Chloe and the unnamed dog in the middle of the cotton field on the day she’d spent with Tommy. He’d texted the photo to me along with “Does she always ask so many questions?” I’d almost laughed, because Chloe had once been so sullen that one day her total word count had been ten. When Tommy had brought her home and I’d asked her how it had gone, she said it hadn’t sucked. But later, Tommy told me that she’d said it was one of the best days of her life.

  The photo faded as the phone went black, and I recalled Tripp’s words again. Nobody’s past is written in stone. Yes, I’d married badly. But it had put Chloe in my life. Sweet, angry, lost, lovable, surly Chloe. She was all those things, and all the things that made me warm to her. Maybe that was what Tripp had meant. That no past mistake is unredeemable.

  A soft sound, like sniffling, made me look up. I stood, wondering if there was some animal in the garden with me, and prepared to make a leap on top of the chair. But another sound, like a moan, told me that it was human, and my heart slammed against my chest when I realized it was Chloe when the white dog stepped out from behind her. If she’d been wearing the oversize white nightgown I would have seen her. But she wore the new navy blue nightshirt, the one with Justin Bieber’s face plastered on the front, and she’d been almost completely hidden in her corner of the garden.

  “Chloe,” I said, walking carefully over to her, not wanting to crush any of the plants. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Leave . . . me . . . alone,” she said between sobs.

  At the same moment I realized that she’d heard every word of my side of the phone conversation, I knew what she was doing in the garden in the middle of the night. She’d been tending her babies, making sure the deer and rabbits stayed away. I’d told her that I’d done that as a little girl, when the gate was broken on the enclosure and I hadn’t wanted to lose any of my babies. That was what I’d called them, and she’d laughed.

  “Chloe, sweetheart. What you heard . . .” In my mind, I went back over everything I’d said, and I cringed. I started again. “Chloe, your dad’s on his way to come get you. But I wanted to ask him if you could stay here until school started, and then maybe come back for regular visits. . . .”

  “Go away!” she screamed at me. She struggled to stand, stumbling into the middle of her garden plot, her foot landing on the newly sprouted plants. “That’s not what you said. You don’t want me here. You only did it to piss off my dad.”

  “No, Chloe. That’s not it. If you’d just let me explain . . .”

  But she’d already started her blind run from the garden and to the back of the house, the dog running after her. In the glow of the back porch light I watched as she paused to wipe her feet, something Carol Lynne and I did without thinking, thanks to Bootsie, and that one action cut my heart into a thousand little pieces.

  I raced after her, reaching her bedroom door just as it slammed in my face. I knocked on it gently, calling her name, but all I could hear were her muffled sobs as she cried into her pillow. I sank to the floor and stayed there until morning, watching the sunlight steal through the windows and creep stealthily across the ancient wooden floors.

  Chloe didn’t come out of her room the entire day, but we could hear her slamming drawers and stomping across the floors, so we knew she was still in there. When I heard a big thud coming from the hallway, I’d run upstairs to find her packed suitcase ready to go outside her door. Several times I’d knocked on her door, telling her we needed to talk, but after the third attempt, a note had been slid under the door with the words “GO AWAY!” written on it.

  Cora and my mother watched me with quiet, worried eyes, and every once in a while Carol Lynne would ask who was making all that noise. I finally had to shut myself in my own room so I wouldn’t lash out at the wrong person. It was always easier than yelling at myself.

  Cora brought trays of food up at each mealtime, but they remained untouched out in the hallway. I brought up dog food and a water bowl, and she let the dog out of the room so he could be taken outside. I tried to keep him with me, to entice her out, but he would run to her room, pawing at the door until she let him back in.

  After Carol Lynne had been settled into bed and Cora left for the evening, I began pacing the house, knowing sleep would be impossible. The stomping around in Chloe’s room had stopped, and I used the key she didn’t know I had to peek in on her. She was sleeping in one of her old outfits, including the combat boots, on top of her bedclothes, black eyeliner and tears streaking her cheeks. The dog slept beside her, his head on her pillow, and I thought how we’d have to name the dog before she left, and then I wondered if there’d be any point if neither one of us would be here to take care of him. I watched her sleep for a long time, studying the steady rise and fall of her chest. Then I let myself out of her room, locking it quietly behind me.

  I was standing in the middle of the kitchen at midnight, feeling a lot like my mother when she walked into a room looking around her in confusion and wondering why she was there. For the first time I could empathize with her, understand a little bit of what it was like to wander through your life as if you’d suddenly been thrown into the middle of somebody else’s. My cell rang. I saw it was Tripp and for a moment I didn’t want to answer, didn’t want him to witness another one of my spectacular failures.

  “Vivi?”

  I realized I’d answered the call but hadn’t spoken. “Hi, Tripp. How did you know I was awake?”

  “Tommy just called—said the lights were still on at the house. He said you’re a mess.”

  “Situation normal, I guess.”

  He was silent.

  “Is there something you needed?” I asked, hoping he couldn’t hear the tears behind my words.

  “I’m on my way over,” he said, then hung up. For the second time in as many days, I listened to dead air.

  I was sitting in the porch swing when he drove up, and he sat beside me without saying anything, pushing off with his heels.

  “So what are you going to do?” he asked eventually.

  “There’s nothing I can do. Mark’s coming to take her back tomorrow and there’s not a thing I can do about it.”

  He continued to move the swing without saying anything.

  “There isn’t, Tripp. I can’t do anything to stop h
im. And I don’t think Chloe wants me to, anyway.” I swallowed, and told him about the phone conversation she’d overheard.

  For a long time he didn’t say anything, and then: “Yeah, that’s a big mess.” He paused. “You’ll figure it out, because that’s what you’ve always done.” He put his arm around me. “Right now you should try to sleep a little. From what I know of your ex-husband, you’re going to need a clear head. And sometimes it’s easier to sleep sitting up and leaning on something when you’re finding it hard to sleep.” He patted his shoulder. “Come on; give it a try.”

  There was nothing soft or pillowlike about his shoulder, but it offered warmth and comfort, and I immediately began to feel drowsy.

  “See what I mean?” he asked softly.

  “Um-hmm,” I murmured. “Why are you always being so nice to me?” The words were slurred, and I wondered if I’d said them out loud, because I was already half-asleep.

  “Because I love you. I don’t think I ever stopped.”

  I didn’t respond, because I knew I was dreaming.

  I awoke on the parlor sofa, covered in a blanket, the smell of eggs and bacon wafting out of the kitchen. I sat up with a jerk and looked for my cell phone for the time, vaguely remembering leaving it on my bathroom counter. I threw off the blanket and stumbled into the kitchen, where Tripp and Carol Lynne sat at the table eating, blinking at the large clock over the sink. I’d somehow managed to sleep until nine o’clock.

  Tripp stood and pulled out a chair for me, then grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee. Placing it in front of me, he said, “Looks like you could use this.”

  I nodded gratefully. “Is Chloe up and dressed? We’ll need to leave soon for the airport.” I choked on the last word and hid it with a sip of coffee, scalding my tongue.

  Tripp nodded. “She’s already on the front porch with her suitcase.”

  “Thanks,” I said, grabbing my mug. I spotted Chloe’s gardening journal on the counter and picked it up before heading outside. Chloe sat on the steps, her suitcase on the ground beside her, looking pretty much like the girl who’d arrived on my doorstep a little over a month before. And no less angry at the world. I thought I’d changed that about her. But I’d failed. Again.