Crossing Tinker's Knob

by Cooper, Inglath

  “Mama will be out in a few minutes to check on you,” Becca said. “Abby and I will be back this afternoon.”

  At this, Emmy looked to the mountain and folded her hands in her lap, as if resigned to Becca’s going.

  A few minutes later, Becca found Abby waiting at the front of the house. They slid in the truck and drove the twenty-some miles out to the lake with only a few words of conversation between them. It was a good quiet though. It had always been like this with them. As if they communicated through silence as easily as with words.

  They’d almost arrived at the turnoff when Abby looked at her and said, “This house will be good for you, Mama. I’m glad you have it.”

  “Thank you, honey,” Becca said, hearing the catch in her own voice.

  “Can I be honest with you about something?”

  Becca flipped the blinker, tapping the brakes and steering the old truck onto the gravel road. She glanced across at the child she loved more than she could even find the words to express. “Of course you can.”

  Abby pulled her braid over her left shoulder, worrying the end with her fingers. “You’re always there for everybody in our family. Daddy, Grandma, Aunt Emmy and me. I don’t see what could be so wrong with you having something for yourself.”

  Tears clouded Becca’s vision then, and she couldn’t speak for the knot of gratitude lodged in her throat. She did not deserve this child or her unflagging loyalty. “I don’t begrudge my life, Abby.”

  “I know. But sometimes, I just wonder why we have to choose between the way we live and wanting to do something else with our lives. Did you ever question it?”

  Becca didn’t answer for a moment or two. It seemed impossible to find the words. Finally, she said, “At one time, I wasn’t sure which life I would choose. I remember how bad it felt to even consider giving one up for the other. Is that what you’re thinking about?”

  “I guess,” she said, rubbing a thumb over the back of one hand. “I love our life. But I want to go to college. I want to be a veterinarian. One of my teachers told me about the Griffith scholarship. I’m going to apply for it.”

  A little stunned, Becca slowed the truck to a stop at the back of the house and cut the engine. Abby had never said anything like this before.

  She turned in the seat, putting one hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “Abby, you’re the only one who can decide what’s right for you. One of the hardest things about being a grown-up is the choices we have to make. I wish I could say you can have everything you want. But it doesn’t work that way. The one thing I can say for sure is that no matter what you choose, I will always love you. That, you never have to doubt.”

  Abby scooted across the seat, putting her arms around Becca’s neck and hugging her hard. They sat this way for a bit, and Becca wondered if it would always be like this between them. If the truth ever found its way out, would Abby still love her with this kind of fierceness?

  Abby pulled away first, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Do you mind if I apply for the scholarship?”

  Becca glanced down at her hands and then into Abby’s earnest eyes. “If it’s what you want, Abby. Just be sure, okay?”

  Abby hugged her again then. “Thank you, Mama.”

  Becca pressed one hand to the back of her head, feeling somehow as if they’d reached a divide in the road, and that, soon, Abby would veer off in a different direction, finding her way out into the world and possibly never coming back. The thought flooded her with a wash of panic, and she wondered, suddenly, if this was what her own mother had felt at the thought of losing her.

  They spent the next few hours in the house, working in the living room downstairs and then the bedrooms upstairs. It was almost three o’clock when Abby declared it time for a break. They went outside, taking the jug of lemonade she had brought along down to the water. Abby took off her shoes and danced in, holding her yellow cotton dress up above her knees.

  Becca sat in the grass and watched, enjoying the summer sun on her face.

  They’d been sitting for a few minutes when a car pulled up to the house.

  “Mama, someone’s here,” Abby said.

  Becca turned around and spotted Matt walking through the overgrown yard toward them. Her heart thumped once and then started beating way too fast. She set her own cup of lemonade down and got to her feet, pressed shaking hands to the skirt of her dress.

  “Hello,” he said from a few yards away, his voice low as if he were unsure of his welcome.

  “Hi,” she managed to answer.

  “I’m sorry for barging in. I just drove out to take a last look at the place.”

  “Oh,” she said, awkward. “Of course. We were just doing some cleaning.”

  He nodded. “I stuck my head in the back door when I saw the truck. You’ve been busy.”

  Suddenly remembering that Abby stood behind her, Becca turned with reluctance and beckoned her forward. “Abby, this is an old friend of mine, Matt Griffith. Matt, this is my daughter Abby.”

  Abby walked up, taking Becca’s elbow as if she somehow knew she needed the support. “Hello,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Matt stared at Abby, a flicker of question in his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too,” he said. He took a step back then, raising a hand. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your day. I’ll come back another time.”

  Becca told herself to let him go. There was no doubt it would be the wisest choice. She hadn’t expected to see him, but now that he was here, she didn’t want him to leave. “You should look around,” she said.

  He stopped, glancing from her to Abby.

  “I mean, you drove all the way out here,” she added. “Please. Stay as long as you want.”

  “Yeah, Mr. Griffith,” Abby said. “But watch out. Mama might just put you to work. She pays well though. DQ Blizzards.”

  He raised an eyebrow, a smile touching his mouth. “Persuasive.”

  Abby smiled back at him, picking up her shoes and saying, “I’m going to finish working. You two probably have some catching up to do.”

  “Abby, you don’t have to—” Becca began, even as she jogged toward the house.

  “She’s a beautiful girl,” Matt said.

  “Yes.” Becca folded her arms and looked at the lake. “Inside, too.”

  “I see that.”

  “I don’t take any credit for it. She was born that way,” she said and then wondered what he must think of such a comment.

  “She reminds me of you,” he said. “Her manner. The way she smiles.”

  Whether he meant to or not, there was no greater compliment he could have paid her. “Thank you,” she said.

  It was hard to look at him. Harder still to believe they were here together in this place where they’d once spent some of the most memorable hours of her life. Her face heated at the memories. She wondered if he remembered the same things.

  “This is the first time I’ve been back to the lake since I left for college,” he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his gaze somewhere left of her.

  “Why?” she asked before she could stop herself. Over the years, she’d pictured him coming here for visits with his wife, the two of them swimming off the dock, lazing on the grass in the summer sun.

  He looked at her then, direct, as if she should know the answer. “It didn’t seem right,” he said.

  She knew she should ignore the unspoken implication beneath his words, but she couldn’t find the will. “Why?”

  A string of moments slid by before he said, “Because you weren’t here.”

  There. She’d wanted to know if he remembered. If she were the only one of them who felt a genuine ache for the happiness they had known here. “Matt—” she began.

  “Would you rather I lie?” he asked. “Would that make it easier?”

  Bitterness edged the questions. Maybe this surprised her most. Somehow, she had imagined him reading her letter all those years ago and tossing it in the
trashcan on his way out to some college frat party at UVA.

  In his face, she saw that she had been wrong to make such an assumption. “No,” she said, glancing away before letting him see something she shouldn’t.

  “Becca,” he said. “Look at me.”

  For several moments, she refused. She felt completely transparent, as if he could see every feeling pulsing through her heart the way an x-ray brought into clear view the individual bones of the body. She was vulnerable in a way she did not want to be. She finally looked at him and said, “I should go.”

  “Mama! Mr. Griffith!”

  She turned to see Abby running toward them, a white bucket swinging from one hand. All smiles.

  “What is it, honey?” Becca asked, forcing a normal note into her voice.

  “There’s a cherry tree in the field on the other side of the house. It’s loaded with ripe cherries. Is it all right if we pick them?”

  Becca glanced at Matt, but he said, “Becca? They’re your cherries.”

  “I—sure, honey.”

  “I could use some help,” Abby said. “There must be a million back there.”

  Matt looked at Becca and said, “Guess we’d better pitch in then.”

  An hour later, the three of them had filled Abby’s original bucket to the top and were half-way through another one. Abby took charge as the leader, climbing from limb to limb, pointing Matt and Becca toward the largest clusters. Their fingertips turned red, their tongues, too, from the vast quantity they ate while working. Matt’s ease with Abby was something Becca had not expected. He told them how his grandmother used to make cherry pies every summer with the cherries they picked here. And how he could still remember eating until he couldn’t hold another bite.

  “Mama makes a wonderful cherry pie,” Abby declared, popping another into her mouth. “Maybe she’ll make you one.”

  Becca looked at Matt, her face warm from the sun, warmer still from the way he studied her. For whatever reason, Abby had taken a liking to Matt. Assumed they would be seeing him again. “I’m sure Matt’s wife is a very good cook,” she said.

  “Then you should take some cherries back with you,” Abby said.

  He remained quiet for a moment, and then, “She’s never cared too much about cooking. Actually, we’re not together anymore.”

  At this, Becca’s bucket slipped from her fingers to the ground. Cherries rolled out from it like a red velvet carpet. She dropped to her knees and started picking them up. Matt squatted down beside her, helping without saying anything. “I’m sorry,” she finally managed. “I didn’t realize you were–”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  She wanted to ask more, but Abby made no attempt to hide her interest. Becca pressed her lips together and kept quiet.

  They took their full buckets back to the house, and at Abby’s insistence, rinsed them beneath the spigot out back. Once they were finished, Becca stood and said, “It’s getting late, Abby. We’d better get home.”

  “Okay,” she said, drying her hands on the skirt of her dress. “I’ll go inside and get our things.”

  Becca and Matt watched her dart across the grass, the screen door at the back of the house clapping shut behind her.

  Matt looked at Becca then, his eyes searching her face. “Will you be back tomorrow?” he asked.

  She looked down, not sure how to answer. She wanted to say yes and knew with unequivocal certainty that she should not. “I can’t,” she said.

  “Why?”

  She looked at him then, unable to ignore the quiet plea in his voice. “Matt, you know this isn’t something we should do.“

  “I just want to talk, Becca. Isn’t what we had worthy of a conversation?”

  She tried to answer, but couldn’t seem to make any words come out.

  The door opened, and Abby headed toward them, a bundle of cleaning towels under one arm.

  “I’ll be here at noon,” Matt said, his voice low. “Come back, Becca. Please.”

  She didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. She picked up the buckets of cherries and headed for the truck, certain Abby would see the guilt on her face.

  Abby followed her across the yard, getting in on the other side. Becca started the truck and backed out of the driveway, waving in Matt’s direction without looking at him.

  They were a mile or two down the road when Abby said, “We sure did leave fast.”

  Becca stared straight ahead. “I have to get supper ready,” she said.

  “Um,” Abby said, as if she were having trouble believing the excuse.

  “You could have called and asked Grandma to start it,” Abby said.

  “There was no need for that.”

  “You were visiting with an old friend, someone you haven’t seen in a long time. That should qualify as a need.”

  “Abby—”

  “You never put yourself first, Mama.” Disapproval laced Abby’s voice, something she had never before aimed at Becca.

  “Where is this coming from, Abby?” Becca asked.

  “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

  “I have no reason to complain.”

  “Maybe I’m complaining for you.” She folded her arms and glanced out the window. “I saw the way he looked at you.”

  Becca had no idea what to say. Abby had learned the art of waiting, though, and she was silent for so long that Becca finally said, “I think you were seeing something that wasn’t there.”

  “When you knew each other before, he was serious about you, wasn’t he?”

  Becca sighed. “We were very young, Abby.”

  “How young?”

  She wanted to end this conversation, and yet she knew not answering would only give Abby more fuel for this fire she’d started to stoke. “He was eighteen. I was seventeen.”

  “So what happened? Who broke it off between you?”

  “I did,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Honey. It was all a long time ago. Matt and I. . .it would never have worked.”

  Abby stared out the window, her expression distant. Becca glanced at her cherry-stained hands, feeling something in her heart flip. Surely, Abby was comparing what happened with Matt and her to what might happen with her and this boy she had fallen in love with.

  “Are you sure?” Abby asked.

  She nodded, not trusting her own voice to hold up under such a question.

  They drove another mile or so before Abby spoke again, determination underlining each word. “It’s not going to be like that for Beau and me. I won’t let it.”

  Becca could only hope she was right. Because how could she tell her that sometimes people didn’t get what they wanted? That maybe they were wrong to ever want it in the first place.

  ∞

  Then

  THE DAYS FOLLOWING their encounter at the Dairy Queen were awkward to say the least.

  Becca did her best to avoid Matt. But it didn’t seem that she could walk three feet on any corner of the farm without running into him. It was almost as if he were seeking her out, then changing his mind when he actually had the chance to speak to her.

  It wasn’t until one afternoon when they’d finished the last milking, and they found themselves alone in the barn together that he approached her and said, “Could we go for a walk or something?”

  Becca blinked once, a trio of excuses at the ready, each of which instantly dispersed beneath the look in his blue eyes like dandelions to a spring wind. “I have a few minutes before I need to help with supper.”

  “Good, then,” he said, stepping aside to let her lead the way through the back door of the barn. Outside, they walked next to one another, the sinking summer sun warm on their shoulders, the smell of fresh cut grass in the air. “I wanted to apologize for the other night.”

  “You don’t need to,” she said.

  “Yeah, I do. Wilks can get a little carried away sometimes.”

  “Is that what you call it?” Becca said, startled by her own anger.


  Matt looked out across the field, as if considering his next words. “He hasn’t had the best example to grow up by. When we were in the second grade, I spent the night at his house. We were outside playing in the yard when his Daddy got home from work. He was yelling and cussing about some guy who ‘was too stupid to know piss from a Mountain Dew if it came in a green can.’”

  “So just because his daddy sees the rest of the world as falling short of ideal, it’s okay for Wilks to do so, too?”

  “I didn’t say that. But maybe it means that some people can’t help what they grow up hearing.”

  Becca was quiet for a moment and then, “At some point, doesn’t it have to become about our own choices? Aren’t we ultimately responsible for what we decide to be?”

  “He’s my friend, Becca.”

  To this, she said nothing. What was there to say?

  They headed across a recently mowed hay field, the land dipping and lifting until they reached the creek, tall oaks and maples throwing dappled shade across its gurgling surface. Becca resolved to put aside what had happened the other night. She didn’t want to think about that. Right now, she just wanted to savor being here with Matt.

  “I love the sound of the water against the rocks,” she said. “It’s like music. If you listen, you can hear the individual notes.”

  “It’s peaceful,” he said. No one had ever spoken like this to him before. Turning to look at her, he kept his hands deep in the front pockets of his jeans as if he were afraid they might do something he hadn’t given them permission to do. “You come out here a lot?” he asked.

  “When I can.”

  “It’s good to have a place that’s yours. Remember that secret room I told you about when we were kids?”

  She leaned back. “You remember that?”

  “Yeah. Your mama wouldn’t let you look.”

  “I really wanted to,” she said. “Is that where you go? To be alone.”