On Blue Falls Pond

by Susan Crandall

Glory got off her knees and brushed the dirt from her hands.

  Granny handed her a glass. “You’re gonna be one big freckle. You know how our colorin’ does.”

  Both Glory and her mother shared Granny’s Gaelic coloring, bright green eyes, auburn hair, and fair skin. Glory studied her grandmother’s face. Her skin might have lost some of its luster, and life had washed the color from her hair, but behind those Oakleys her green eyes still sparked fire.

  “Freckles are sexy. Pap always said so,” Glory teased.

  “Your Pap shoulda watched his mouth in front of young’uns.”

  Glory laughed and took a long drink.

  Granny knelt, set her glass carefully on the ground, and picked up the small cultivator that Glory had just laid down.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Glory snapped.

  “Eye’s pert-near cleared up. Don’t want to waste the whole day.”

  Reaching down and hauling her grandmother up by the arm, Glory said, “Oh no you don’t.”

  “I’ve set there all day. My butt’s growin’ to that couch.”

  “It’s too hot for you out here.”

  Granny’s gaze snapped sharply to Glory’s face.

  “I mean, for your eye,” Glory was quick to clarify. “Dr. Blanton said to rest today.” Glory saw Granny’s hand tighten on the garden tool. “Let’s play rummy. It’s been forever since we played. That was always one of my favorite things about visiting out here.” As she said it, she realized just how long it had been—since before her marriage to Andrew.

  Luckily Gran loved to play cards almost as much as anything, so the diversion worked. They went to the front porch with a deck of cards and a scratch pad for keeping score.

  Unfortunately, Glory’s mind wasn’t any more distracted by the card game than it had been by the gardening. As she stared at the cards in her hand, she kept seeing those five boldly printed words: I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.

  Why don’t I know what I’ve done? She shuddered to think. She had always considered herself an honest person, incapable of treachery and deceit. But if she’d essentially tricked her own husband into having a baby against his wishes, what else had she been capable of?

  “. . . What do you think?” Glory heard only the last bit of what Granny had said.

  “What?” Glory asked.

  Granny moved the cards around in her hand, as if planning her strategy. “I said, I thought I’d get a pet monkey and paint his butt blue.”

  Glory processed the words again. “I’m sorry, I thought you said—”

  “Oh, for gosh sake, I did.” She laid her cards facedown on the little table between them. Putting her bony hand on Glory’s wrist, she said, “Do you want to tell me what’s botherin’ you?”

  Glory had no intention of coming clean on this one. If Granny knew there’d been another note, she’d never rest until they figured out what was going on. And if Glory had done something . . . She closed her eyes and her stomach rolled. Granny was the last person she wanted to disappoint.

  “Nothing really. I was just wondering if Eric found someone to watch Scott,” Glory lied.

  “He said he was staying home with him this afternoon.” Granny’s wrinkled forehead furrowed more deeply. “I’m a’ginning to think you need to have your memory checked.”

  Glory grinned and pushed Granny’s accusation away with a hand in the air. “Not today. I meant for tomorrow.”

  “Why, Scottie’ll come here like usual after school.”

  “Gran.” Glory gathered her fortitude. “I told Eric he needs to make other arrangements—permanently.”

  For several seconds Granny didn’t say anything. The corners of her mouth twitched, then her lips pursed momentarily. Glory was worried that she might break down and cry. It had been a very emotional day.

  Glory reached out a comforting hand just as Granny jumped out of her chair. The little table between them tottered. Glory grabbed the edge and kept it from toppling over, but the cards and score pad fell to the porch floor.

  Granny opened her mouth, but all that came out was a sputter. She closed it again, pressing her lips together. Glory was no longer suffering under the delusion that Gran was going to cry. From the look in her eyes, Glory would be lucky if her grandmother didn’t pick up the chair she’d just vacated and break it over Glory’s head.

  Granny’s nostrils flared. “You got no right—no say in this.”

  “Gran,” Glory pleaded. “There’s no way you can continue to sit with Scott.”

  “I cain’t quilt. And I cain’t say I’d be fit to go into town and keep books or clean offices. But I can do this!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I have to do somethin’. This place is paid for; Pap made sure of that. But there’s the taxes and upkeep, my medical bills. Did you think money was gonna fall from the sky?”

  “I’ll be getting a job—”

  “No! I won’t have it. I’m able-bodied.” She stood there shaking with fury for a moment, then she said, “It ain’t just the money. I love that boy.” Her gaze hardened. “Even though it’s clear you cain’t understand that.”

  Granny’s words went through Glory’s heart like an ice pick. Granny thought she was a woman incapable of loving a child.

  Gran headed toward the front door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m gonna call Eric and tell him to bring Scott like always tomorrow.”

  Jill was glad when the pizza finally arrived at their table. She returned to her seat and took a grateful drink of beer. She’d dismissed it outwardly, but that noise Scott was making chilled her to her bones. It frightened her to think there might be something really wrong with her baby. It terrified her to think of going through life dealing with it alone.

  Eric didn’t eat even one full slice of pizza. She nibbled with a dwindling appetite. An ache throbbed at the base of her throat. Suddenly, she wanted more than anything to reach across the table and take ahold of Eric’s hand; to have him take her back to the way things used to be in the beginning, when they had clung to the hope of a happy future together. She wanted him to make everything all right.

  She’d chosen Bongo’s tonight because this was where she and Eric had gone on their first “adult” date. They had dated occasionally in high school, but hadn’t really seen each other much after graduation. Then one day Jill had worked the sign-up table at the park, registering people for the Labor Day minimarathon. Eric had been there having a cookout with a bunch of firefighters and their families. Late in the afternoon, just as she was packing up her clipboard, Eric returned to her table. He said they needed another person to even out their flag football game and asked if she’d like to play.

  She ended up catching Eric’s game-winning pass.

  That evening, they’d celebrated at Bongo’s. Two months later, she was pregnant. It had all happened so fast, she hadn’t been able to sort out her feelings. She loved Eric, but could never stop wondering if they would have been together if not for the pregnancy. That question had grown until she felt trapped, cheated out of making a free choice.

  But she hadn’t once wondered if Eric had felt the same way.

  She looked at him now, the way he was with Scott. Maybe she’d thrown away something good.

  Chapter Fifteen

  WALT DROVE HOME after a grueling day at the plant. He’d been delayed in New York, and since his return anything that could go wrong had. But he vowed to leave that behind him as he turned on the CD player in his BMW. He would fight those battles tomorrow. Tonight he was going home to relax with his wife.

  Ovella met him at the back door with a glass of wine. “You look exhausted. Bad day?”

  He kissed her on the cheek. “How could a day be bad when I end it with you?”

  He’d been so worried over Ovella after Andrew had died. Her family was her life. And, as there were only three of them, one-half of her reason for living had been stripped away. Those first months had been horrible.
But lately she’d begun to shine in her old way.

  “Take your shoes off and we’ll eat dinner on the porch. The fountain always soothes you.”

  He did love the sound of that fountain; the music of softly trickling water usually peeled the fatigue right off him.

  As they ate, the fountain and the wine did their work. The tension began to leave his neck and shoulders.

  He asked, “So, has Glory called?” He felt awful that he’d been so busy and not made an effort to get together with her.

  “Yes.” Ovella paused with her fork halfway to her lips. “She’s coming Sunday. I thought I told you.”

  He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “Maybe you did. I feel like I’m meeting myself coming and going.”

  Ovella got up and stood behind him. She massaged his neck and shoulders. “I wish you didn’t have to work so much. This isn’t the way it was supposed to be.”

  He closed his eyes and concentrated on her fingers working the knots out of his muscles. How had he kept up with everything for all those years and not run himself into the ground? The answer to that was simple. He was younger. And when age began to take a toll, Andrew had come on board, and the burden had begun to shift to more youthful shoulders.

  How much longer could he keep this up? The company was in no shape to sell at the moment, so he guessed he’d keep it up as long as he had to. This was not the life he’d promised Ovella. Throughout their marriage, he’d worked hard and long, assuring her he’d retire when Andrew took over.

  He patted her hand resting on his shoulder. “Aw, Mother, what would I do without you?”

  She kissed the top of his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Thank God for that. He’d had to live without her once. He didn’t think he could do it again.

  Granny was quiet through dinner, concentrating on her meal as if it might sneak off the plate if she allowed her attention to wander. After a couple of futile attempts to draw her into conversation, Glory gave up. She dealt with her food with much less dedication than Granny, mostly just fidgeting with her fork and rearranging her peas into different patterns on her plate; Lady would get most of this meal.

  When Granny put down her fork and laid her napkin on the table, Glory offered to clean up. Granny didn’t argue. She simply nodded and left with a terse “’Night, then.”

  Glory stayed at the kitchen table after Granny headed out to the front porch. After a moment, Glory heard the slow, rhythmic squeak of the swing. It wasn’t unusual for Granny to use the silent treatment to show her disapproval, but this was the first time it had been directed at Glory. She’d always thought it slightly humorous in the past—watching her cousins squirm and wheedle to find a way around that barrier of quiet condemnation—but somehow it wasn’t nearly as amusing when she was the object of Granny’s voiceless wrath.

  By the time Glory came out of the kitchen, Granny had left the porch and gone upstairs, leaving Glory completely alone with her thoughts.

  For a long time, she sat on the couch in the darkened living room, trying all of the tricks the therapists had taught her to calm herself and unlock the memories hiding in her mind.

  With her eyes closed, she let her consciousness ride on the rhythm of her breathing. Then she brought forth the memories that had recently come to her, one after the other, hoping that they would conjure more. She even faced the ugly recollection in which Andrew had angrily told her he didn’t want the baby. She could not, however, remember anything specific that gave her more insight into the days just prior to the fire.

  Maybe she was trying too hard. Sleep had released some of the memories, but Glory doubted she’d even be able to come close to falling asleep. Still, the longer she sat and tried to remember, the more desperate she became. The matches indicated someone thought she had set the fire. She felt in her soul that she wasn’t capable of doing something so horrific. It was clear to her, until she remembered fully, she wouldn’t be able to deny the insinuated accusation with any confidence.

  The longer she sat there, the more frustration knotted her gut. It wasn’t that the weeks prior to the fire were a complete blank, as was the day of the fire. It’s just that everything seemed jumbled and cloudy.

  But it was the night of the fire that was most important, that was what she had to remember. And specifics of the days prior might serve to prod memories of the hours before the fire.

  She massaged her temples. Why, when she turned her mind to those hours, did she feel a cold pressure, a weighty darkness deep in her chest?

  Sleep had released some memories, but Eric had been the trigger for others. She might not be able to sleep, but she could get in her car and go talk to him. Maybe he could even allay her fears that she might have done the unthinkable. After all, he’d been the investigator; he should know if there was anything questionable or suspicious.

  She looked at her watch. Ten o’clock—not so late. If she left now, she could be there before ten-thirty. She should call first.

  Halfway to the phone, she stopped. She hadn’t left things on the best terms with him; he might discourage her from visiting if she called. And she didn’t think talking to him on the telephone was going to do anything to kick-start her memory.

  “To hell with it,” she said. She got up, jotted a note to Granny in case she came downstairs, then found her car keys. The worst that could happen was Eric would turn her away. At least she’d have a change of scenery for an hour, and maybe that alone would help.

  A short while later, she sat in front of Eric’s two-story duplex having second thoughts. She’d gone as far as shutting off the engine and pulling the key out of the ignition before she got cold feet. She felt like she’d swallowed grasshoppers, and they were trying to crawl back up her esophagus. She rested her forehead on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to have Eric rescue her yet again. But if there was some way to put this gnawing fear to rest, she needed to do it.

  A sharp rap on the driver’s-side window made her jump and suck in a startled breath. She faced the window with her heart racing. Relief flooded her when she saw Eric’s face on the other side of the glass.

  She swallowed her doubt, gathered her courage, and opened the car door.

  He stepped back and waited. “What are you doing here? Is Tula—”

  “Oh, no, no.” She hadn’t thought how her unexpected arrival at this hour might lead him to a worried conclusion. “She’s fine. In fact, her eye cleared up enough late this afternoon to play cards. She turned in early.”

  In the dim glow of the streetlight, she could see his square shoulders relax slightly. Instead of asking again why she was here, he motioned to the house. “Do you want to come inside? I don’t like to be out here long when Scott’s asleep.”

  The second thoughts were back. “I’m sorry, it’s late.” She reached for the door handle. “I should have called . . . or waited.”

  He touched her cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers. The gentleness stopped her as surely as if he’d wrapped one of those well-muscled arms around her waist and jerked her back. She paused and looked at him, wondering what was going on behind those caring eyes. He wore a white T-shirt and jeans and was barefooted. He looked strong and capable and . . . inviting.

  “Something’s on your mind,” he said. “Or you wouldn’t be here. Come on in—please.”

  She leaned slightly away, until he was no longer touching her. It was hard to think straight when he was touching her.

  “Did you get another note?” There was a knife-edge to his voice.

  She shook her head. “I just needed someone to talk to.”

  He took her hand and led her silently into the house. As she followed him, she questioned her true intentions for coming here. Did she really think he held the key to some of her memories? Or did she just want to be with the man who’d held her through her last difficult night?

  She reminded herself, her problems were hers to solve. Even as she did, the feel of
her hand in his told her just how easily she could let some of her burden shift to his broad shoulders.

  When he stopped in the living room, she faced him and decided the first thing was to get the issue of Scott going to Granny’s out in the open. “Gran called you this afternoon?”

  He nodded. His eyes held none of the I-got-one-up-on-you that they easily could have. “It’s important to her.”

  She could have kissed him for not taunting her with her unsuccessful meddling. “I know,” she said softly. “She’s really pissed at me.”

  Eric’s broad grin was sympathetic, not mocking. “I can only imagine.” He motioned for her to have a seat on the couch. “What can I get you to drink? I have coffee, Coke, and beer.”

  “You know, I think I could really use a beer.” He made her feel so comfortable, she wondered why she’d hesitated coming. Even if he didn’t prompt memories, she would no doubt sleep better after talking to him.

  He disappeared into the kitchen, and Glory looked around. She’d been too distracted when she’d been in this room after the accident to pay much attention to detail. There really wasn’t much to see. The couch. A couple of tables and a lamp that didn’t produce enough light to reach into all corners of the room. A portable television sitting in the opposite corner on a discount store stand. A windup clock on the mantel flanked by two framed snapshots. Scott’s pirate boat sat in the middle of the floor.

  She could imagine Eric lying stretched out next to his son, while Scott spun his boat in endless circles. It made her heart hurt.

  Getting up, she walked over to look at the photos more closely. The one on the left was Scott wearing a Santa hat, sitting in front of a Christmas tree. He looked to be about a year old. His eyes were bright and his expression engaged as he grinned at the camera. It struck Glory then that she’d never seen Scott smile.

  The photo on the right had been taken at the hospital after Scott had been born. Jill was propped up in the bed, looking as perfect as ever, holding a swaddled, red-faced bundle in her arms. Eric was leaning down with his arm behind her, smiling a smile Glory had never seen. Both parents were flushed with pride and happiness.