by Karen White
Something heavy and deep sprang its roots like fingers up from my stomach to my throat, carrying with it the taste of bile and grief. I saw him—the man from the sketch in the book—standing by the window, a pipe in his hand. His skin seemed gray, his face thin, his hair lank and long. He was looking at me with an intensity I felt in the marrow of my bones, and I had the sensation that he was waiting for me as if I had just left the room. I knew this was a memory of something, a recollection dislodged like a rock from a high precipice, but if this was meant to recall a childhood event, it hadn’t come from mine.
But the feeling in the back of my throat was real, the sadness and helplessness, and I needed it to go away. “Stop!” I shouted to the empty room, and I was by myself again, the image gone from my mind, yet the memory lingering like the smell of pipe smoke that had filtered in from a past I hadn’t known existed.
I wanted to lie down, to go to sleep and erase all of what I’d just seen. But I knew the images would pursue me into my dreams, as they had each night since my hypnosis session. They came at me like an old black-and-white silent film, flickering through my subconscious without words. Yet when I awoke, I remembered them, remembered words I hadn’t spoken or heard.
And in those dreams I recognized this house, and the dock, and the beach—a beach that did not inspire terror, but instead drew me toward it as a place of sanctuary. None of it had anything to do with old bone breaks or my fear of water, and I would awaken angry and frustrated, and too confused to tell Matthew. How could I explain something to him that I couldn’t understand myself? Mostly, I didn’t want to give him a reason to put me under again, afraid of what else I might see.
I lifted my hand again to knock on the wall panel, noticing the raised birthmark at the base of my thumb as if seeing it for the first time. Something jogged at my memory, like the buzzing whir of an insect, then just as quickly vanished. I brought my hand down on the paneling and began rapping up and down, even below the chair railing and baseboard, listening for a hollow sound that might indicate a hiding place.
I’d gone halfway around the room before I remembered the boiling water in the kitchen. I checked my watch, saw that it was still early for Matthew to be home, then turned off the burner, placing the top onto the pot to keep it warm so that it would reach a quicker boil when I turned it on again.
I was in the foyer walking back to the study when my gaze settled on Adrienne’s sketch of the house between the windows in the front parlor. I remembered the other sketch of the house I’d found inside the frame, and of the woman on the beach and the printed lyrics, wondering again why Adrienne had placed them there, and wanting desperately to see the picture of the woman again. I stopped, trying to remember where I’d placed the call ticket to pick up the framed sketches.
I stepped into the parlor, glancing around the room and hoping something would jog my memory. I slid open the drawers on the low chest and rifled through the magazines on the coffee table in front of the couch. I turned to leave, on the hunt for my purse as another spot where I might have shoved the ticket, when I spotted the battered music box on top of the corner curio cabinet. I was fairly sure I hadn’t placed the box there, and assumed the cleaning people had moved it.
I hobbled over to it and picked it up to move it back to the chest of drawers and felt something hard and solid knock against the inside of the hinged lid. Carefully holding the box flat, I lifted the top and looked inside. Nestled in the small cavity over the glass covering the moving parts lay an old-fashioned door key, a dark-colored iron one that matched the rest of the keys in the house.
I stared at it for a long moment before taking it out of the box, the metal cold against my palm. With a shaking hand, I replaced the music box on the curio and returned to the hallway. Standing at the bottom of the steps, I looked upward, wondering whether I should bother going upstairs to see if the key fit in the attic door. Because I already knew that it did.
The sound of tires on gravel made me turn around, and I forced my hand to stop shaking as I made my way to the door and wondered how I was going to mention the key that hadn’t been lost, but had been deliberately placed in a spot where I most likely wouldn’t look.
As footsteps approached, I threw open the door, then stood there, surprised, as I watched my mother and Mimi walk toward me, my mother in front, because now that Mimi was older and slower it was Gloria’s chance to not always be behind. Both moved slowly, as if they’d been sitting down for a long time. Maybe it was the relief of not having to confront Matthew yet, but I flew into my mother’s arms, surprising us both. She hadn’t hugged me good-bye when I’d left Antioch, and although she’d never been one for excessive physical displays of affection, it had been enough for me to miss it in the same way the sky would miss the stars.
She smelled like her garden, of sun-warmed earth and green growing things. She smelled of home and refuge, of the comforting aroma of the laundry detergent she’d been using all of my life. Her arms, almost reluctant at first, wrapped around my shoulders and hugged me tightly, then abruptly let go as if I might break. Or as if I might just slip away. It had always been that way between us.
I turned to Mimi, who’d caught up to us, and her arms, thinner than I remembered, hugged me to her bony chest, but all I smelled of her was love. She held me away from her, studying my face. “Pregnancy suits you, Ava. I’ve never seen you so beautiful. Isn’t that right, Gloria?”
My mother’s lips tightened as she nodded, but I knew she wasn’t being stingy with words. Her eyes swam with moisture, and she’d rather be caught with the back of her skirt tucked into the waistband of her panty hose than to be seen crying in public.
I turned back to Mimi. “What are y’all doing here? I didn’t expect you until Christmas.”
Mimi was already walking to the front steps, my mother close behind. “You were crying pretty hard, child, when you called us. We figured you needed us now.” She emphasized the word we, which meant it had been her idea. Not that I hadn’t known that the minute I saw them walking up my driveway.
“Where’s Daddy?”
My mother waved her hand in the air. “He’s working. Says somebody has to be there to hold the fort down. Mimi and I came prepared to stay awhile. We’re too old to make that trip without space in between to rest up before we go home again.”
The three of us stopped at the bottom of the steps, each of us trying to figure out how to navigate the stairs with our various physical ailments. Eventually, my mother took over, helping Mimi up the steps one at a time—although it looked like they leaned against each other in equal amounts—and then I clambered up by myself, as I’d already had plenty of practice.
I showed them into the parlor and had them sit down on the sofa, and then I sat in one of the chairs across from them, not sure whose turn it was to speak. Finally, I ventured, “If you haven’t already eaten, I was making spaghetti and salad for Matthew and me. I can throw in extra. And we’ve got two guest bedrooms upstairs; I’ll just need to put sheets on the beds—”
“We’ve rented a house,” my mother said, cutting me off.
“You’re newlyweds,” Mimi added, as if that explained everything.
“How long are you expecting to stay?” The words jumped out of me before I could pull them back. Mimi smiled, but Mama’s lips tightened.
I tried to backpedal. “I mean, I’m glad you’re here, but it’s just a bit of a surprise.”
Mama started to speak, but Mimi placed her hand on her arm to stop her. “Well, with the baby, and your ankle, and now this hypnosis thing, we figured you might need some backup.”
I raised my eyebrows, still not sure whether I was happy to see them. At least with my mother here I’d have the chance to ask her questions about my pregnancy and babies. But I wasn’t prepared to share with either of them anything about the clouds of doubt that hovered above Matthew. Not because I was afraid to prove my mother right, but because I was afraid to prove myself right.
“W
hat are you holding?” Mimi asked.
I looked at my fist and realized I still held the key. Slowly, I turned my hand palm up and unfurled my fingers, the metal dark against the paleness of my skin. “It’s the key to the attic. Matthew lost it, and I just found it.” My voice sounded unnatural even to my own ears.
I met their eyes, but in each I saw the seeds of doubt.
I stood abruptly. “Matthew will be home any minute now, so I’m going to go put the water on to boil again and throw some garlic bread in the oven. Maybe he can show you the house—it’s still a bit tricky going up and down the stairs….”
The front door opened, and Matthew walked in, his smile hiding his surprise at finding my mother and grandmother sitting with me in the front parlor. I hadn’t heard his car, and I felt at a disadvantage.
“What a nice surprise,” he said as he placed his briefcase against the wall and walked toward me. He stopped midway and I realized that he was staring at the key in my hand. Our eyes met and his smile faltered slightly.
“You found it,” he said.
“Yes, I did.”
“Where?” He sounded genuinely curious.
“Inside the music box.”
“Good,” he said. “I imagine the cleaning people must have found it and stuck it in there. They’re always moving things.” He turned abruptly to hug Mimi and my mother. “It’s great seeing you both. I hope you plan to stay for a while.”
My mother stood to her full height, which was slightly less than the five feet, eight inches she’d once been. She pulled back her shoulders to look up into his face and stared Matthew directly in the eyes. “As long as it takes,” she said.
I was taken back to the moment when I was small after I’d slipped through the ice of our swimming pool and she’d pulled me to the surface. I felt cold and warmth rushing over me as I had before, but this time I wasn’t sure from what she’d come to save me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ava
ST. SIMONS ISLAND, GEORGIA
JULY 2011
I flipped on the switch to the attic light, then began to climb the stairs one step at a time, with Matthew directly behind me to make sure that I didn’t fall. After a stilted conversation over my dinner of jarred spaghetti, garden salad, and burned garlic toast, Mimi and Mama had finally left. Matthew and I had each driven a car so Mama wouldn’t have to drive at night, then helped them settle into their rented house.
In the car ride back I’d tried my best to accept Matthew’s explanation that the cleaning people must have found the attic key and placed it in the music box. I’d rested my head on his shoulder and rubbed my hand over the growing swell of our child and pushed my doubts behind a curtain that seemed to become more and more transparent with each passing day.
“There it is,” he said after reaching the top of the stairs. He pointed to an old leather trunk, on top of which sat a varnished wooden box. “My replica flag,” he said in explanation as he crossed the attic floor to retrieve it. “Too late for the holiday, but I guess I don’t really need an excuse to fly it.”
I looked around the space, at the exposed beams and pink insulation and the accumulation of a family’s debris seemingly lumped together by decade, and wondered whether a hiding place had ever existed up here.
“I saw Beth Hermes today,” I said. “She told me that while she was helping Adrienne with her research, Adrienne mentioned an old hidey-hole somewhere in the house. That’s actually what I was looking for when I found the attic key.”
His face registered genuine surprise. “I’m not shocked that we have one, but I’ve never heard of it. I don’t think my parents or grandparents were aware of it either, as it was never mentioned to me. Did Beth say where it was?”
I shook my head. “No, and Adrienne didn’t tell her. It was small, so it wouldn’t have held an entire briefcase, but I’m wondering if maybe that’s where Adrienne put her date book.”
Matthew was focused on unlatching the box and retrieving his flag. “Well, we’ll definitely have to be on the lookout for it.” He took the flag and replaced the box on top of the trunk.
Feeling disappointed, I looked around, noting that nothing seemed different since I’d last been there—the stacks of old furniture, the suitcases, the yellowed newspapers. I looked down at the floor, wondering whether the footprints in the dust had been there before. Glancing up, I met Matthew’s eyes.
“Before I lost the key, I was up here looking for baby things,” he said, as if reading my mind.
I nodded and averted my gaze. “Did you find anything?”
“Like Adrienne’s briefcase?”
I didn’t bother to deny that that was what I’d been thinking.
“No, I didn’t. I have looked, up here and everywhere else, because I knew her parents wanted everything that belonged to her.”
I thought of the empty closet, and the blank walls in his study, and asked the question I wasn’t sure I really wanted answered. “How long did it take you to take down her artwork in your office? Or her clothes in your closet?”
He looked surprised, as if I’d asked him where babies came from or why a candle couldn’t burn in a vacuum. “Within a month of her funeral. They seemed out of place somehow, even though we’d been married for five years.” He stopped, measuring his words. “Because they didn’t belong to me,” he said, and I heard the words behind them, the words that said their marriage had been only a temporary thing, a passage of time in which nothing permanent remained. And I remembered what John had said about Adrienne’s wedding ring. She said it didn’t belong to her.
I forced myself to keep my voice steady. “So did you find any baby things?”
“I did,” he said, moving through a narrow passageway between boxes and furniture. “Don’t worry—it’s not a crib or high chair. We’ll buy new for that kind of stuff.”
Carefully, I followed him, making sure my clublike boot didn’t catch on anything and either trip me or start an avalanche. When he moved aside so I could see, I heard the air leave my lungs in a high-pitched wheeze.
It was a very old wooden rocking horse, the mane, nose, and eyes carved by the hand of an artist. Only odd patches of paint remained in random places, leaving pale, bleached wood with carved lines and curves, and eyes large and full of fire. It was remarkable for its beauty and testimony to good workmanship. But it was mostly remarkable for its familiarity.
“What’s wrong?” Matthew asked, his voice full of concern.
I realized I’d raised my hand to my mouth. “I think I’ve seen it before.”
“I don’t think so, Ava. It was made generations ago by an ancestor and has never been anywhere outside of this house. Maybe you saw something similar?”
I reached out and touched the mane, and imagined I could hear a little boy’s laughter and the sound of the runners rolling against the wooden planks of a floor. “I don’t think so,” I said, my voice so soft that Matthew had to lean his head down closer to hear me.
“Do you need to sit down?”
Before I could answer, he’d pulled an orange vinyl chair, circa 1970, over to me, wiping the dust off with his hand, then steadied my arm as I lowered myself into the seat.
A cold sweat clung to my skin, and I concentrated on drawing deep breaths, then letting them out. My head stopped spinning and I met Matthew’s eyes. “I know I’ve seen it before. But not…here.” I waved my hand to indicate more than the attic, to include not just the house but the world beyond it. “It was new. And the saddle was painted red.” My throat closed on the last word. I clutched at Matthew’s hand. “How did I know that?”
He kept his gaze focused on me and held my hand until my breathing had returned to normal.
Matthew pushed the hair off my forehead, the strands sticking to skin. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
I shook my head, unsure even how to begin, but relieved to have finally found an opening. “I’m not sure.” I met his gaze, measuring his emotions as I spoke. �
��I haven’t told anyone, but since my hypnosis, I keep having these intense dreams and flashbacks of…” I paused, almost saying “me.” I continued. “Of Pamela. She’s definitely…not from this century. The clothes are wrong, and, well, so is everything else.” My smile faltered before it began. “She has a husband and a son, and she loves them both very much. I feel that strongly, just as I feel everything else that she’s doing and feeling.” I bit my lip, trying to think of how to say it and knowing my inability to admit to it was why I hadn’t told him before. “It’s like I’m seeing her life through my eyes. Like I am her.” I spoke very quickly, as if I were afraid that if I slowed down, I’d stop.
“She has a sister, Georgina, and Pamela loves her, but I don’t think she likes her very much. She feels an obligation toward her. And I see snippets of other people, too, and places that are familiar to me now but that I can’t name. It’s like being on a roller coaster, with flashes of scenes and emotions thrown at me all at once.” My head dipped. “Am I losing my mind?”
He squatted in front of my chair and looked up into my eyes. “No. It’s totally normal after regression therapy for dreams—while you’re awake or asleep—to become very vivid and real. And some of them are actual memories from your earliest moments in life, and some are just your imagination, a way your subconscious is trying to help you see a painful part of your past.”
“Yes, but this is a whole life. In another century. How can that have anything to do with me growing up in Antioch?” I stared at him, unable to read his eyes, and it unnerved me. “Please, Matthew. Take me under again. Bring me back to that place. There’s more I need to know.” I didn’t know that I had been going to say that, and the words frightened me. I didn’t want to go back, but at the same time I knew I had no choice if I wanted answers.
