by Karen White
What you need to decide is whether or not you’re strong enough to face whatever truth you find. My mother’s words reverberated in my head as I wrestled with my answer to a question I had never thought to ask.
I turned to face them, leaning against the crib for support. Of all the questions I wanted to ask, only one came to my lips. “Why?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Gloria
ST. SIMONS ISLAND, GEORGIA
AUGUST 2011
When Ava was a little girl, her favorite question was, “Why?” Why was the sky blue? Why did moths throw themselves against a light until they died? Why were there no more dinosaurs? She’d lose interest while I was halfway through my explanation, as if it were more interesting to know only the possibilities instead of actual answers. Over the years, I’d come to understand her reasoning, as I’d learned that there are some answers you’d rather not hear. I’d come to St. Simons prepared with answers, yet when the question came, I still wasn’t ready. I’d worked so hard for so many years not to hold on too tightly for fear of losing my daughter. Yet looking at her face as she examined those pictures made me realize that I was going to lose her anyway.
She turned away from the crib and her eyes traveled from me to Mimi and back, as if she were hoping somebody else was in the room to jump out and tell her it was all some bad mistake. Her eyes seemed dead when she said that one word that held over thirty years of secrets and all the love a heart could hold: “Why?”
I exchanged a glance with Mimi before stepping forward, while Mimi settled herself into the glider chair. “There’s no easy answer to that, Ava.” I held my chin up so I could go on pretending that I was strong. “You needed a mother. And I wanted a daughter.” It sounded so simple, and, in its way, I suppose that was really all it ever was.
“So you took me? And pretended that I was yours?”
“You are mine. I have never doubted that for one minute.”
She was shaking her head even as I spoke, unwilling to listen. “How? How did it happen?”
Her second-favorite word. I almost smiled.
I sank down onto the ottoman in front of Mimi’s chair, keeping my back ramrod straight and my hands clasped. I had the fleeting thought that I should slouch once in a while, that maybe if I leaned into the wind, it would be easier to face a storm. That maybe I could face the ringing of a phone that might be the dreaded call letting me know that somebody knew what I’d done. But none of that mattered anymore.
I took a deep breath. “I only saw you once before…before the night of the fire. You and your sister were in the backseat of Mary Anne’s car in the carpool line at school, and you had casts on both legs. Mary Anne said you had fallen, but I didn’t believe her, because I’d heard stories about her husband, and had seen Mary Anne with black eyes more than once. She tried to tell everybody she was clumsy, but I remembered the one time I’d come over to see her garden and I’d met Floyd, so I knew better. She must have set your casts herself, because he wouldn’t have allowed her to take you to an emergency room. Too many people to ask questions.”
I looked up at Ava, wondering whether she needed me to stop, but from the set of her stubborn jaw I could tell I wasn’t going to get away so easily. “I did try to reach out to her a few times after that, but she shut me out. Insisted she was fine and could take care of herself and her children. She slammed the door in my face and I went away.”
I watched Ava as she took it all in, every emotion showing. It was why she was such a terrible liar. She’d learned early on to act first and ask forgiveness later, so she never had to deny a misdeed. Mimi was headstrong, too, and Ava always said that was where she got it from. I wondered whether she was thinking about that now.
“So what happened—the night of the fire?”
I spread my hands on my skirt, recalling a summer evening when the sky was more stars and moon than night. “Henry and I were planning on building a bigger house on that spot of land that used to be the Smith Plantation. Mimi insisted that we needed to know what it looked like at sunset before we made an offer.”
I began rocking back and forth on the ottoman, as if I were consoling one of my babies. “Right after nightfall we were heading back to the car, when we heard what sounded like an explosion, and then a baby screaming and a boy shouting for help. So of course we went to investigate—the Scotts lived through the woods a bit.” I swallowed, remembering, tasting smoke. “The house was already on fire when we got there, and we didn’t see anybody except Floyd Scott, who was laughing and staggering around like he was drunk, and a shovel was at his feet. That’s when we saw what he was laughing at.”
I closed my eyes, trying to block out the scene I’d carried around in my head for so long. “I heard Jimmy shouting and a baby screaming from inside the house. And I saw the woman on the ground.” I didn’t tell Ava about the blood or the damage a shovel could do wielded by a large man against a delicate woman.
“It was Mary Anne, and we could tell she was dead.” I didn’t elaborate. There are some things that should never be remembered.
The sun sank lower in the sky, shooting rays of gold through the slats of the shutters into the nursery. The light brushed my face, but I shrank from it, still reliving the night that my greatest wish had been granted, but at a cost I was never sure any of us could really afford to pay.
“We heard Jimmy shouting inside for his father to come help. The entire upper story of the house was on fire by then, with flames shooting out from all the upstairs windows.” I paused. “I think I might have seen you first, in the garden. You were wearing a white nightgown and I saw that, standing out in the darkness, tucked beneath the passionflower vines like an uprooted camellia.”
Ava was breathing hard to keep from crying, and I knew she’d learned that from me.
“I started walking toward you, afraid that you were hurt, but Floyd saw me and turned, and soon saw you, too.” I began speaking quickly, to make this story end. “He picked up the shovel and began walking toward you, and he was closer than I was. I couldn’t run very fast—I had tripped in the woods and fallen on something and had cut open my knee, and Henry was running toward the house to get Jimmy outside and didn’t see what Floyd was doing.
“And then Jimmy was there and he saw his father moving toward you. I could tell he was burned badly. The fire was making it almost as bright as daylight, and I saw that there was no skin left on his hands. But when he saw where Floyd was headed, it was like he wasn’t hurt at all. He picked up one of those large rocks Mary Anne used to edge her beds as if it didn’t weigh anything. Floyd was lifting the shovel over you, getting ready to bring it down when Jimmy hit him. Hard.” Hard enough that the big man crumpled like a marionette with suddenly severed strings.
Our eyes met in mutual horror, the silence of the house interrupted only by the chime of the antique clock downstairs.
“Henry told me to get in the car and wait for him. I didn’t think to question. That’s how things like that are—you’re living your normal life one minute, and the next something extraordinary happens that you’re not prepared for. So I didn’t think. I just picked you up, and you put your little arms around my neck and laid your head on my chest. And I was lost.” I struggled for a moment to put air back into my lungs so I could speak. “I loved you from that moment as if I’d always known you. As if you’d always been mine.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to cry, as if the two of us were having a contest.
“I took you to the car and waited. I heard things exploding and glass shattering as the house burned. It’s a pretty isolated spot, which is probably why nobody had called the fire department yet. I held you until Henry got back to the car. All he said was that he’d taken care of everything, and that Jimmy would be fine. And then he started the car and we left, and I was afraid to say anything. To ask any questions that might mean letting you out of my arms.”
“What did he do?” Ava asked, her voice cracking as if she’d been inhal
ing smoke and burned air. As if she were remembering, too.
I quickly glanced at Mimi for reassurance and then continued. “Everything was crazy, and nobody was thinking clearly. Jimmy begged Henry not to tell anybody what he had done. He was convinced that he would be sent to one of those juvenile delinquency places. And no matter what Henry told him, how he was just trying to protect you and there were witnesses, Jimmy wouldn’t believe him.”
I lifted my chin, as if that one movement would explain what could be explained only by the scent of a baby’s hair, and the feeling of soft, small hands on a mother’s cheek. I thought for a moment, trying to pinpoint the exact instant when everything had changed. “I don’t think it occurred to Henry that we would take you until Jimmy took off, running into the woods. Before he ran, he told Henry to take care of you. Maybe that’s what started this whole thing. I don’t know. But Henry knew Jimmy wouldn’t get far—he was too badly injured. Because he was a volunteer fireman, he carried a two-way radio in his trunk, and when he called in the emergency after he got back to the car, he made sure they knew to look for Jimmy, that he would need an ambulance.
“Henry then moved the bodies into the burning house so it looked like Floyd killed himself along with his family, so nobody would be pointing fingers. Henry wasn’t going to call the fire trucks until everything was pretty much ashes, where it would be hard to determine forensically what exactly had happened. As it was, since both Mary Anne and Floyd were found by the door, it looked like they’d been trying to escape but were overcome by smoke.”
Ava was looking at me like I imagined a drowning person would look up through the water toward the sun. I wanted to stop, but knew she wouldn’t allow it.
I continued. “When we got home, Mimi—who was visiting us at the time—had already put the younger boys to bed, and the older boys were in the basement watching a movie. We kept waiting for the phone to ring, to let us know that they were coming to pick up the baby, thinking that Jimmy must have told them. But when it didn’t, we began to make plans.” I tried to smile. “By then, we’d both fallen in love with you. You were so happy to be with us, as if that nightmare had never happened. And you helped us forget, too.”
“And my sister?”
“They found some remains. Henry wrote in his report that it was the remains of two toddlers, and he had enough seniority to convince others to agree.”
Her beautiful eyes were wide, and I could almost read every word she was thinking, trying to determine the one last piece of information that would place all the guilt on me.
“But why? Why would Daddy risk everything?”
I was silent for a moment as I studied my fingernails, clipped short, without polish, searching for the words I needed to make her comprehend the incomprehensible. “Because he loved me. I had just had another miscarriage, and the doctors told me I shouldn’t try anymore. I was an emotional wreck. That’s why your father thought we should build a house for us and the boys—to get my mind off the daughter I couldn’t have but couldn’t stop wanting.”
She was pressing her lips together so hard they’d turned white. “So you packed up everything and moved to Antioch, where nobody knew that I wasn’t really yours and wouldn’t think to question. Where the funeral business would come in handy when in need of a new identity for a stolen baby. How convenient for you all.” She paused a moment to take a deep, shuddering breath. “But what about Jimmy? Didn’t he miss me?”
“I didn’t go to the funeral, not wanting to leave you, and afraid of Jimmy demanding that I give you back. But at the funeral, Jimmy recognized Henry, and Henry was sure that would be the end of it, that we’d have to surrender you and face the consequences. But Jimmy had a secret to hide. All Jimmy wanted was for Henry to promise that he would make sure that you were raised by a loving family. Henry said that he could come live with us, but Jimmy didn’t want to leave St. Simons and his mother and sister, and we couldn’t stay. Jimmy was already living with the McMahons and was happy there.” I shrugged. “Maybe by giving you to us he was making sure his secret was safe.” I regarded her silently for a moment. “He just made Henry promise him one thing.”
Ava’s eyes were hostile. “What?”
“That you be taught how to garden like your mother. I’d only ever been a reluctant gardener, planting the requisite gardenias in pots by the front door, or attempting vines on the mailbox. But I learned, with you at my side, because that’s what Jimmy wanted. Because I knew that Mary Anne would have taught you if she’d been here to see you grow.”
She looked at Mimi as if for confirmation and must have seen it in her grandmother’s face. Turning to me, she said, “My whole life has been a lie. All my life I haven’t known my real name, and you never thought I might want to know?”
I shook my head. “No, it wasn’t like that at all. You were our daughter and sister and granddaughter. None of that was a lie. And we did plan to tell you; we did. But as you grew older, there never seemed to be a right time. You were a happy child. How could we tell you and ruin your happiness?”
Mimi leaned forward in the chair, and I could tell by the way she was shaking that she wouldn’t have been able to stand. “Oh, Ava, your life has not been a lie. You have a family who has loved you without question since the moment you appeared in our lives. That is not a lie, regardless of what name we called you. I fought your mama and daddy for years, trying to get them to tell you what had happened, and I’m so glad they never listened. Because that would have been the second-biggest tragedy of your life.” She closed her eyes for a moment, the lids translucent. “You will leave this room confused and angry, and we won’t blame you. But even then, you will still be loved with all of our hearts. And we can’t be sorry for that.”
A spot of blood appeared on Ava’s lip where she’d bitten it too hard. She turned to me again. “I don’t know what’s harder to take—the fact that you’ve lied to me every time you said my name, or that none of this was really about me. I was just a convenient baby girl to fill a void for you. Somebody to wear the pink dress and have her picture taken so you’d have another picture up on the wall.”
I didn’t know it was possible to hurt so much without having been physically touched. “No, Ava. You’re so wrong. I love you because you are who you are. Because you’re tenacious, and you always step first and look second, and because you’re honest, and kind, and smart. And because you love so completely. You just step in headfirst and give it all you have. I think that’s why your brothers accepted your sudden appearance in our lives—because you were so giving in your love.” I hiccuped, realizing that I was finally crying. “I love you because you’re my daughter, regardless of who gave birth to you. And I always will.”
She was shaking her head as I spoke, as if the mere action could negate everything I said. “You are not my mother. My mother is dead, and no matter what you call yourself or tell me, that will never change. My whole life has been a complete lie. Because of you. And I don’t ever want to see you again. Any of you.”
She headed for the door, but not before I could see her own tears. She stopped, her back to us. “So which one am I? Christina or Jennifer?”
I hadn’t thought of those names in so long that it took me a moment to remember. “You’re Tina. Christina Mary.”
Ava’s chin fell to her chest. “Scooter. Jimmy called me Scooter. Because I couldn’t walk and just scooted around on my bottom. I guess that’s the only memory I’ll ever have of my real family.”
She lifted her hand to the doorknob, but I stopped her. “I named you Ava because it means ‘life.’ Not because you were starting a new life, but because you’d given me back mine.”
Ava hesitated only a moment before opening the door. “Don’t bother to say good-bye. Just go.” She walked out into the hall, then shut the door quietly behind her, as if she were afraid of dislodging any more ghosts.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ava
ST. SIMONS ISLAND, GEORGIA
AUGUST 2011
I normally slept lightly on the nights I was on call, so when I woke up the following morning at eight o’clock, I jolted out of bed. My mind must have simply shut down, unable to process everything that had been thrown at me in such a short time. I checked my phone to make sure I hadn’t missed any calls, grateful that none of my patients had gone into labor. I’m sure my experience and professionalism would have taken over if I’d been required to deliver a baby, but my mind would have been in a different place, a night filled with violence and roads taken, a place where I couldn’t stop thinking that I had been somehow left behind.
I showered and dressed, and when I picked up my phone I saw that Tish had called three times while I’d been in the bathroom, but hadn’t left a voice mail. I put the phone in my pocket without calling her back, not ready to speak to anybody yet. There was too much in my mind to sort through, and I needed to do it by myself. And there was only one place where I knew I could: the place where it had all begun.
The air hung heavy with moisture, the moss on the trees limp with their own weight. I took my car, wanting the comfort of air-conditioning as well as not trusting that I’d have the energy to last if I rode my bike the long distance and back.
When I passed the spot for the turnoff to the Smith Plantation, I noticed there were more cars and activity there than I’d seen before, and I wondered whether the new imaging equipment Tish had told me about had finally arrived.
I slowed down and took the first right onto a shell-and-sand road, following it for a short distance before I saw the ruins of the old house with the magnificent garden beside it, looking like an old woman wearing a flamboyant dress.
The blooms drooped in the heat, and I imagined the smell of ashes still heavy in the air. But birds chirped in the trees, and two squirrels bounded into the encroaching woods like a reminder that life was resilient and somehow remained and coexisted with devastation.
