by Karen White
My mouth twisted in a tight smile. “Mabry said pretty much the same thing.”
“Yeah, well, we are twins.”
“Thank you,” I said, “for sharing your incredible wisdom. And for defending my honor tonight.” He was very close to me on the sofa, close enough that I could see the dark irises in the middles of his eyes. All I wanted to do was lean into him.
The clock struck again, and I looked at my watch. Two o’clock. “Do you happen to know if Mabry’s on the night shift tonight?”
Bennett nodded. “She is—Ellis is staying with my parents because both Mabry and Jonathan are at the hospital until seven.”
I stood. “Good. Because I’ll need someone to sneak me into my mother’s room. The night nurse is a real stickler for quiet hours. But I need to talk to Mama, and I don’t feel like I can wait.”
“I’ll take you,” he said, standing.
“No, I’ll be all right. But thank you.” My eyes drifted down to his cut and bruised lips, and I felt oddly happy that they weren’t completely kissable. Because if they had been, I might not have been able to leave. “I’ll be back early—tell Ceecee and Bitty to wait until I’m back to open the letter. And to have the coffee on.”
“Will do.” He walked me to the back door and pulled it open, watching me head down the back steps. “Larkin?”
I paused and looked at him. “Yes?”
“I meant what I said earlier. About the talent show.”
Not able to articulate any other word, I said simply, “Oh,” then kept walking to the car, mentally beating myself up for my perpetual inability to recognize the truth of things.
* * *
• • •
Ivy
2010
I know it’s nighttime because the sky through the blinds is dark, and the lights in my room have been dimmed. They’re supposed to do that so that my body still understands night and day. Not that it matters. Tonight the ceiling is pulsing with bright white light, like it can’t hold it all in. I see it seep through the cracks like the laser show on Stone Mountain Mack took me to on our honeymoon in Atlanta. Back when I thought we could be happy.
I keep seeing the flash of a yellow dress, and I know Mama is waiting for me just beyond the ceiling. I just can’t see her yet. And the Mustang is back, the engine idling, Ellis sitting on the side of my bed, smiling his secret smile.
Larkin’s here, even though it’s too late—or too early, depending on how you look at it. Mabry let her in. And the second Larkin entered the room, it was like somebody hit the floodlights, and I felt myself lift higher off the bed.
She doesn’t speak for a long time, and it’s nice just to have her there. I feel her warmth and her love, and that’s enough for me. There’s so much I want to tell her, but I’m beginning to think she’s smart enough to figure it all out on her own. Just having that thought brightens the room a notch, the sound of the idling engine getting louder, too.
“We found the letter, Mama. The one hidden in Granddaddy’s desk. I found the pictures you wanted to send me, too. The one of us making faces—I love it. I think I’ll get it framed and put it on my desk. I hope you don’t mind. A lot of women only want the prettiest pictures of themselves on display, but I think you and I are different. We want the pictures that show the real us. So thanks for that.”
I lift up higher, closer to the ceiling now, and I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but the cracks along the edges appear to be getting wider.
“Ever since I’ve come home, I’ve had a lot of time to think about my life. I’ve had to pay attention for the first time. It took me twenty-seven years, but some of us are slow learners, I guess.” Her lips twitch into a half smile.
She sits up and takes my hand, and I wish so badly that I could feel it, but all I can do is look at this beautiful creature who’s the best thing I’ve ever done in my life.
“I figured something out recently. You framed my SAT and ACT scores, remember? I’d shoved them in a drawer, but you must have pulled them out. They weren’t great scores, were they? But that’s not the point you were trying to make. It’s not about how well I did. It’s about how far I’ve come, and how far I still have to go. It’s about being okay with not being the best, because there are a million and one things out there to try until I do find the thing that I’m good at and that makes me happy. We just need people in our lives who let us be brave enough to try. And I’ve always had them in spades.”
Lights shoot across the room. Ellis is watching Larkin and smiling.
“So, about the letter. We haven’t opened it yet. Ceecee and Bitty wanted to wait until morning, when we’ll have clearer heads, and I agreed. I know that they’re afraid of something, maybe something that’s in the letter that they don’t want anyone to know. I’m not even sure I’m ready to hear the truth, because I’m afraid I won’t want to. Gabriel told me about the little additions you put into the mural in his shop, and I’m scared to death of what they might mean.”
She smooths her hand over my fingers, straightening them. She always likes for things to be just so. She was probably the only five-year-old who lined up her Barbies’ shoes by color and style. I think that was Ceecee’s doing, not mine.
“But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Whatever is in the letter won’t destroy me. I’m stronger than that. You and Ceecee and Bitty made me that way. You made me brave, and fearless, and I’ll just keep telling myself that in case I forget. So, don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”
She smiles, and I know she’s thinking about Bennett, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst. Ellis smiles at me and reaches for my hand. I don’t take it right away because I know I can’t move. But he’s not looking down at the bed but up at the ceiling, where I am seeing the room from above again, and when I reach for his hand, I feel his fingers between mine.
We look down and watch as Larkin places her folded arms on the bed, then leans over in the chair and rests her head in her arms. “I’m so tired,” she says. “I’m just going to close my eyes for a moment.” We watch as her eyes flutter closed. “I love you, Mama. I think everything’s going to be okay now.”
I think I know why I didn’t die at Carrowmore that day. Because I wasn’t done. Because I was still angry. Because there were still things I needed to learn. Like how before a person can forgive others, she needs to forgive herself. That love is always messy, whether it’s between a husband and wife or a mother and child. But it’s still love, in all of its wonderful, complicated, messy ways. We do our best with it, our hearts bruised and bleeding yet still capable of love if we’re smart enough to recognize it.
But mostly, I needed to learn that you never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have. All this time I’ve been worried that I still needed to teach this to my precious Larkin. I see now that I already have.
The anger that brought me to Carrowmore with a ribbon clenched in my fist disappears as peace and understanding lift me higher toward the ceiling. My heart floods with love for my daughter, and a sadness, too, because I know I’m leaving her. But I’m comforted with the deep knowledge that I’m not leaving her alone. She’ll still have Ceecee and Bitty and all the people who have always loved her. And she will finally know that her mother has always loved her, even during all those years I pushed her away, believing there was nothing I could teach her.
The ceiling disappears, and I’m standing on Ceecee’s porch. I hear the sound of Ellis’s Mustang, and I see it coming down River Street, the top down and his gorgeous long brown hair flying behind him. Daddy hates his long hair, but I don’t, and that’s the only opinion that matters, according to Ceecee.
And then Ellis stops the car in front of the house, the engine idling, and I run down the porch steps and jump in. I smile at Ellis, and he smiles, too, as he leans over to kiss me. Then he pulls away from the curb, and we drive away, and I
am happy again.
thirty-seven
Ceecee
2010
That night, Ceecee dreamed of Ivy. Not the woman slowly shrinking in a hospital bed, her bright hair dimming by degrees. She dreamed of her Ivy as a young woman in love, her hair long and parted in the middle, a corsage on her wrist. Ceecee heard the rumble and thrum of an approaching car, and the anticipation and excitement rippled through her as if the feelings were her own.
And then Ellis in that bright red Mustang pulled up in front of the house, and Ivy turned to Ceecee and smiled. “I love you, Mama,” she said, kissing her on the cheek. “I’ll be all right now.” She turned and ran down the porch steps toward the car, her hair catching the light and showing off its red highlights. As Ceecee watched, Ellis leaned forward and kissed Ivy on the lips. The Mustang’s engine whined as it pulled away from the curb, taking Ellis and Ivy down the street, and Ceecee stood still, watching until the car disappeared. Her heart took turns filling and emptying, an odd mixture of happiness and grief coursing through her as she watched Ivy leave, knowing in her mother’s heart that Ivy was telling her good-bye.
Ceecee awoke to the sound of the telephone by her bed, and knew without picking it up that Ivy was gone. She touched her cheek and smiled, feeling Ivy’s kiss, then answered the phone.
After she hung up, she sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for the thickness in her chest to go away. She was too sad for tears. They couldn’t express the grief that filled every vein, every artery, every part of her. Tears would make light of the darkness that edged toward her heart, threatening to overtake it. She forced herself to remember her dream, to know that Ivy had come to say good-bye. Mostly, she needed to remember that Ivy was happy again.
When she thought she was ready, Ceecee walked out into the hallway to tell Bitty. But Bitty’s bedroom door was already open, her bed empty. The smell of cigarette smoke drifted from outside. Gripping the banister and feeling much older than her seventy-seven years, Ceecee made her way to the back porch.
Bitty wore baby blue pajamas with colorful unicorns dotted all over them. Her feet were bare, her red hair sticking up at all angles, and her face was devoid of makeup. Ceecee stopped in surprise. Without the multihued eye shadow and outrageous eyelashes, Bitty was the same girl Ceecee had known all of her life. And had always loved like a sister. They’d weathered so many storms together, somehow emerging intact. Ceecee fervently hoped they could weather one more. Sharing the good and bad times with a lifelong friend made the business of living a lot more bearable.
Bitty looked up, her face expressionless. “Was that the hospital?”
Ceecee nodded. “It was Larkin. She went to visit Ivy last night after we went to bed. She said she’d fallen asleep at some point, and while she was sleeping . . .” She stopped, feeling the tight ball in her throat.
Bitty nodded. They were like an old married couple, finishing each other’s thoughts and sentences. Ceecee found a great deal of comfort in that. She was getting too old to have to explain things.
“I dreamed about her,” Bitty said. “I saw her drive away with Ellis in that Mustang of his—the one Boyd hated so much.”
Ceecee smiled softly. “I saw her, too. She came to say good-bye. To let us know that she’s okay, and with Ellis. I find it almost hard to cry, because that would be too selfish of me.”
Bitty rolled her eyes. “One of these days, Ceecee, you’ve got to stop worrying about being selfish. You’re one of the most giving people I’ve ever known.” Bitty pressed the sleeve of her pajamas into the corner of her eye. “Our sweet Ivy.”
Ceecee waited, but the word “our” didn’t sting much anymore. Ivy’s presence in their lives had been too brief, like the moon passing in front of the sun during an eclipse. Short, yet intense. They had both loved her, and her absence would be equally felt. Grief, Ceecee had learned in her long life, wasn’t something that could be measured or apportioned. A person felt as much as they could handle, and then more if it could be shared.
“Are you going to be all right?” Bitty asked.
Ceecee nodded. “As soon as I see Larkin, anyway. She’s on her way home now. I think she’ll get through this fine. She was there when Ivy passed and had the chance to say good-bye, which I know will give her peace. When she called Mack to tell him, he said that same thing.” Ceecee looked closely at her friend. “Larkin thinks it will be a good time to read the letter as soon as she gets here. I’ll let Bennett know.”
“Right.” Bitty nodded. “The letter.”
Ceecee took a deep breath. “Yes. So, I thought now might be a good time for the two of us to talk.”
“To talk?” Bitty said, busily rearranging her ashtray on the coffee table.
“About the night of the fire. I’m too old for secrets. For a lot of things, really, but especially secrets. They cost a lot of brain cells, and those are in short enough supply as it is.”
“Amen,” Bitty said, raising an imaginary glass. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
Ceecee took a deep breath, feeling her lungs expand with the morning air, the taste of salt settling on the back of her tongue like a reminder of who she was. “I’ll start. When the police interrogated me, I left something out.”
Bitty went very still.
“I found Tootsie Roll wrappers folded in the blanket with Ivy and me. I know only one person who eats those.”
Bitty put her cigarette in her mouth in a casual way, but Ceecee could see her hand shaking. After a moment, she said, “They must have fallen out of my pocket when I leaned over to cover you both better with the blanket.”
“So you were there. Ivy’s mural showed you in the house.” Ceecee took a deep breath, trying to find the strength to say the next words. “Did you set the fire?”
Bitty looked outraged. “Me? No. I never went inside. When I got there, Carrowmore was already on fire, and you and Ivy were under the magnolia tree under the blanket. There was nothing else I could do, so I tried to pull the blanket up higher. That’s all.”
Ceecee shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why would Ivy paint you inside the house?”
“I don’t know. Maybe just to show I was there. After the storm passed, I decided to go to Carrowmore to find you. You can’t imagine how I felt when I saw the house on fire. The roads had a lot of water on them, and I was afraid I’d get stuck in the mud, so I left my car on the side of the road and ran through the woods—that’s how I found you and Ivy. I have no idea how Ivy knew I was there that night—I left before the fire truck arrived. I didn’t want them to ask any questions.”
“But why?” Ceecee said. “If you had nothing to hide, why wouldn’t you stay?”
Bitty’s eyes narrowed. “Have you ever wondered why you’ve kept the secret of the candy wrappers all these years?”
Ceecee didn’t hesitate. “No. I never told anyone because you’re my friend. My sister. And if you had set the fire, I thought you might have done it for me.”
“But I didn’t.” Bitty was watching her closely, as if waiting for Ceecee to ask the right question.
“It was an accident,” Ceecee said. “From a candle. There were lit candles down in the white parlor, and one in my bedroom. I don’t remember if I blew out my candle before I went to bed.” She paused for a moment. “I took some sleeping pills. That’s why I don’t remember.”
“And you don’t remember how you got outside.”
Ceecee shook her head. “No. Just . . . flashes. A memory of flying.”
Bitty continued to look at her, willing Ceecee to say the next thing. Finally, Bitty said, “I called Boyd at the hospital that night. I told him that you’d gone to Carrowmore.”
Ceecee closed her eyes, nodded. “Ivy’s mural. She painted him in the house, too. So he was there.”
“He was,” Bitty said. “I saw him. In his car, driving away just as I arrived. He di
dn’t see me—or at least he never mentioned it, so I assumed he hadn’t.”
Ceecee remembered the sensation of flying, of strong arms around her, the sound of footsteps. Of course it hadn’t been Bitty carrying her out of the house. She was too small, too slight. Ceecee had never really believed it, but it had kept her busy enough that she hadn’t had to consider the truth. It had been Boyd who tucked her and Ivy safely out of the way of the fire. And then left before anyone could know it had been him. There was only one reason why he would have run away. Ceecee had to search to find her voice. “You never told anyone.”
“Of course not.” Bitty sounded almost angry. “For the same reason you never told anyone about the candy wrappers.” She blew smoke up toward the ceiling and laughed. “It’s kind of funny when you think about it. We’ve both been keeping secrets from each other all these years, holding each other at arm’s length just in case the other sniffed too close to the truth.”
Ceecee glared at her friend. “I’m glad you find this amusing. Because I find it upsetting that the man I loved just about my whole life was probably a murderer.”
Bitty sobered. “Or not. We have no proof, nor do we have proof of what candle may or may not have started the fire—although the fire report did say they thought it started downstairs.” She leaned forward. “And isn’t that what love is? Giving someone the benefit of the doubt?”
Ceecee thought of the gentle man she’d married, the doctor with the warm and sincere bedside manner, the man who’d never raised his voice to anyone. She couldn’t believe he’d committed murder. She wouldn’t believe it. “You’re wrong,” she said out loud. “Love isn’t about doubting. Love is knowing something is true deep in your heart despite all evidence to the contrary. I never believed you could have done something to Margaret. Lord knows you’ve got a mean streak a mile wide, but I could never see you killing someone, no matter how much you thought it was justified.”
