“Yeah,” he said, his voice barely audible.
“I’ll go get your coffee.”
“No,” he said, sliding his chair back and standing. “Thanks. I don’t think I want anything now.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Come back again, okay.”
Matt pushed through the glass door and walked to the Land Rover, his mind numb with what he’d just heard. Dear God. Emmy. Becca.
He stuck the key in the ignition and turned it quickly. He had to see her. He had to make sure she was all right. But no sooner had he started to back out of the parking place than another thought hit him, forcing him to stand on the brake.
The truth was that he couldn’t go out to the Miller place this morning. The truth was that he had no right to do so.
Plain and simple. He had no right.
57
Threads
“Be the change that you wish to see in the world.”
― Mahatma Gandhi
Now
In the two days following her sister’s death, Becca felt as if she were walking around in a fog of disbelief. Her rational mind accepted that Emmy was gone, but her heart knocked with hope each time she climbed the stairs and walked past her room.
She busied herself with the details of the funeral and burial, picking out the clothes Emmy would wear, writing the obituary for the newspaper. Each of these things she approached as a task to be completed along with a line of duties that would somehow lead her out of the dark and into the light again.
Jacob came by the house a couple of times to help however he could. At first, Becca could not believe he was actually there, stunned to hear that her mother had told him the news of Emmy’s death in person. As grateful as she was to hear of it, she could not help but wonder what had prompted her mother to yield now when not even their father’s death had led her to do so.
Martha thought it best that they not have a visitation night, but the single service and burial only. At first, Becca had disagreed, but she couldn’t deny that it would be difficult enough to get through the single day of services.
Having heard the news, Matt had left numerous messages for her on her cell phone, but she could not bring herself to return any of them. She was holding herself together by pure strength of will, and if she spoke to him now, she feared she might simply shatter into a thousand pieces. Everywhere she turned, there was a reminder of Emmy, each room holding some memory that tore at her heart.
The eleven a.m. service was to be held at Billings Funeral Home. The morning dawned with a full sun and blue sky, and Becca was grateful that the day would not reflect the grayness she felt inside. She spent the early hours in her potting shed and garden, feeling that at least there, she had some control over life and death.
At nine-thirty, she went inside to change, meeting her mother, Aaron, and Abby downstairs just after ten o’clock. The four of them made the drive to town in complete silence. Becca stared out the window, not really seeing the familiar landscape. She felt numb, as if all her senses had ceased to function.
At the funeral home, they went inside and took a seat on the front pew. In a few minutes, Jacob, Linda, and Michael, along with Jacob’s youngest son, Thomas, joined them. Jacob sat next to Martha.
People filed through in singles, couples and families, until the rows were full halfway back.
Becca did not allow herself to look around. She kept her gaze focused straight ahead, sitting with her back straight and her arms folded in her lap. She held herself together by blanking her mind and refusing to think ahead to what life would be like without her sister.
Becca’s mother had requested a closed casket, the wooden coffin draped in a cascade of white daisies, Emmy’s favorite. The service was simple and brief. Becca thought it must be difficult for a pastor to know what to say in circumstances such as these. Throughout her life, she’d heard many people say taking one’s own life was an unforgivable sin. But for her, a single verse from the book of Matthew stood out in the pastor’s remarks. Cometo me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. It was her fervent belief that Emmy had been welcomed with open arms, that she was at last at rest. How could God blame her for being too tired to keep fighting? She had given it her best for so long.
Next to Becca, Abby sobbed quietly. Becca took her hand and clasped it between her own while the small crowd sang a single hymn, Just As I Am. A group of six pallbearers, Jacob included, went forward to carry the casket outside. A man in a black suit indicated that the family should follow. Becca walked down the aisle with her gaze down. At the last row, she glanced up and found herself staring into Matt’s eyes. It was the empathy there that nearly undid her. She stopped, drawn to the comfort she knew his arms would offer. Aaron took her elbow just then, and she forced her feet to keep moving with the same will she had dredged up within herself all these years, going where now she did not know.
THEY BURIED EMMY in the family cemetery at the back of the farm. An enormous pine tree stood sentry over the enclosed area, headstones made of oval rock marking the resting places of generations of their family, including their father and baby brother. Emmy had always loved the spot, and it seemed right to Becca that she be here instead of some public cemetery far from the people who had loved her.
They stood at the side of the grave, Abby crying softly, Becca with an arm around her shoulders. The pastor made his remarks, words that were supposed to comfort, but somehow failed to do so. When he finished, Abby broke a daisy from the arrangement sitting nearby and dropped it onto the top of the casket.
Martha swayed forward, and Jacob caught her, pulling her into the circle of his arms. The pastor said a final prayer, bringing the burial to a close. In silence, they turned from the grave and began to walk away, Abby clinging to Becca’s hand.
Again, Matt stood at the back of the crowd, as if unsure that he was welcome here. This time, instead of walking by, Aaron stopped and leveled a look at him. “What are you doing here?” he demanded in a low voice.
“Paying my respects,” Matt said, equally quiet.
Aaron stared at him for several long seconds, and then said, “Perhaps you should consider that if it wasn’t for you and your friends, we wouldn’t have a reason to be here today.”
Matt blinked once, as if the accusation had come at him like an unexpected punch. “What are you talking about?”
Aaron shook his head and walked away.
Matt looked at Becca, his eyes full of questions.
“Please, Matt,” she said. “Just go.”
“Becca,” he said. “What did he mean by that?”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She felt Abby’s questions boring into her, and all she could think right now was that she had to hold onto her composure just a few minutes longer. If she could just make it to the house. Be by herself for a little while.
She walked quickly, Abby trying hard to keep up with her. “Are you all right, Mama?” she said.
Those words alone undid her, grief unraveling like a ball of yarn tossed to the wind. She let go of Abby’s hand and began to run, not stopping until she reached the house and the safety of her sister’s room.
There, she threw herself onto Emmy’s bed and cried until she thought her bones would break beneath the force of her grief.
She lay there, aware on some level of the sound of cars leaving, voices downstairs, and footsteps along the hallway. There was a soft tap at the door, and then, “Mama? May I come in?”
Becca sat up, straightening her dress and rubbing the back of her hand across her face. “Yes,” she said.
Abby stepped into the room, her face shadowed with uncertainty. “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” she said, patting the edge of the bed.
Abby walked over and sat down. “What was Daddy talking about when he said those things to Matt?”
Becca reached for Abby’s hand, holding it tight for a few moments before she said, “Oh, Abby. I suppose this is all long overdue.
”
“Mama, you’re scaring me.”
Becca drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, forcing herself to go on. “There was something Emmy left for you. She asked me to read it to you after the funeral.”
Abby’s eyes grew wide, and she leaned back from Becca. “What is it?”
Becca opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out the envelope Emmy had left, along with the note she’d written to her. She lifted the flap in the back and removed a single piece of paper. The words blurred in front of her, and she wiped her eyes and then began to read.
Dear Abby,
You’re a young woman now, and in reading this, I hope you will understand that things don’t always work out in life as we plan. Sometimes, we make a decision that leads us to a place we never imagined finding ourselves, the road that got us there full of blind curves.
I know that once I’m gone, the truth won’t matter anymore. My family has tried to protect me, most especially, Becca. While I know I should be grateful for this, a great deal of pain has been suffered as a consequence.
I did give birth to you, Abby. But in every way that counts, Becca is, and has been, your mother. I beg your forgiveness for my failures where you’re concerned, most especially this last one.
It is my hope that none of this will change who you are.
You have my love always,
Emmy
Becca folded the letter and sat for a moment, the lump in her throat impossible to speak around.
Abby turned on the bed and stared at her. “You’re not my real mother? She was my mother?”
“Abby—”
Abby jumped up, raising a hand to stop Becca’s words. “Is this true?”
Becca glanced down and then met Abby’s searching stare. “Yes,” she said. “It is.”
Sudden tears welled in Abby’s eyes and streamed down her face. “Why would you do this? Why would you not tell me?”
Becca stood and reached out for her, but Abby jerked away. “Don’t,” she said. “What about Daddy? Is he my—”
“No,” Becca said, feeling as if her heart were breaking in half.
Abby said nothing for a few moments, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Who is then?”
“His name was John. John Rutrough.”
“Was?”
“He died while Emmy was pregnant with you.”
Abby wrapped her arms around her waist, as if trying to physically hold herself together. “Everything is a lie. My whole life has been a lie. How could you? How could you?”
With this, she fled from the room, her footsteps pounding down the stairs, the front door opening and then slamming shut behind her.
Becca glanced at the letter on the bed, and leaving it where it lay, went after her.
58
Questions
“Talk sense to a fool and he calls you foolish.”
― Euripides
Now
Matt didn’t know what to think.
He drove home from the funeral with Aaron’s accusation ringing in his head, along with the nagging feeling that there was something he didn’t know, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Back in town, he found himself making a turn into the Exxon station where Wilks was out front pumping gas. He looked up and spotted Matt turning in. Maybe it was his imagination, but Matt thought he saw a flicker of something like caution in Wilks’s expression before he covered it up with a friendly wave and a smile.
Matt pulled up to the side of the building and cut the engine, getting out and walking over to where Wilks was waiting for his customer to sign a credit card receipt. Matt waited until Wilks stepped away and told the man to come back again before saying, “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
“Sure. What’s up?” Wilks said, his tone light.
“Lead the way.”
Wilks shrugged and walked inside the station. He pushed a button on the cash register, opened the drawer and stuck the credit card slip inside.
“There’s something I need an explanation for,” Matt said.
“Shoot.”
“It was something Aaron Brubaker said today.”
“Really?”
Matt heard the change in Wilks’s voice, a sudden note of caution. “You heard about Becca’s sister Emmy?”
“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Shame, wasn’t it?”
Matt was quiet for a moment, and then, “Aaron said none of it would have happened if it hadn’t been for my friends.”
“What friends?”
“You tell me.”
Wilks held up a hand and uttered a sound of disbelief. “Man, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“You know anything about what happened to John Rutrough?”
Some of Wilks’s composure slipped, and his voice was sharp when he said, “Where you going with this, man?”
“Just trying to put some things together.”
“I hate to tell you, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
Matt turned to the window and looked outside for a few moments. When he swung back around, he pinned Wilks with a deliberate look. “Any chance you came out to the farm the night before I left for school?”
Wilks laughed and threw up his hands. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I’m asking you a straight question. Give me a straight answer. Did you come looking for Becca and me that night?”
“Shit, Matt,” he said, spitting a stream of tobacco juice across the parking lot. “If you’ve been pining for that little piece of Dunkard tail all these years, don’t go looking for somebody else to blame when you’re the one who lost it.”
Matt’s response was automatic. He slammed his fist straight into Wilks’s face, hammer hard. He heard the bone in his nose crack, followed by a roar of outrage.
Wilks came at him then, ramming a shoulder into Matt’s chest and sending them both catapulting out the glass door of the station. They went down in a body tackle, rolling across the black asphalt, the punches fast and furious. A few men from the grain mill next door walked over and shouted for them to break it up. Neither Matt nor Wilks listened.
In his gut, Matt knew Wilks was hiding something, that he knew more than he was saying. In his fury, he was ready to beat it out of him if he had to.
A car pulled into the station’s parking lot, a siren whirring for a moment, then shutting off. “Hey, y’all break it up now!”
Two deputy sheriffs in brown uniforms got in between them, backing them off each other. Sweat poured down Matt’s face, and he wiped it off with the sleeve of his shirt, the rage inside him still at boiling level.
“Son of a bitch!” Wilks yelled, holding a hand to his nose.
Matt grabbed for him again, and one of the deputies slapped a pair of handcuffs on him. “All right, girls, we’ve got a nice little cell over at the county jail where you two can cool off.”
The other deputy cuffed Wilks who glared at Matt and said, “This isn’t over.”
“You’re right about that,” Matt said. “It’s not.”
59
Truth
People only see what they are prepared to see.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Now
Abby ran until her side screamed, and her heart felt as if it would beat a hole through her chest.
She cut through one of the cow pastures and then a stretch of tall pines that led to the main road. Low-growing briars grabbed at her bare legs beneath her dress and left angry red scratches on her skin. She barely felt them.
Once she got through the woods, she walked alongside the road that led to town. Her mind buzzed with questions, one right after the other so that she couldn’t separate them long enough to make sense of anything she had been told.
All she could think was that her mother had lied to her. Becca had lied to her. A sob rose up inside her and spilled out. She no l
onger even knew what to call her.
A mile or so from her house, she flagged down a logging truck. The driver was an older man with thick gray hair and yellow teeth.
She climbed into the cab and shut the door behind her. He looked at her with concerned eyes and said, “You all right, young lady?”
“Yes, sir. I just need to get to a phone.”
The man reached in his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “Here you go, miss.”
“Thank you.” With shaking hands, she dialed Beau’s number and winced as voice mail picked up. She left a message and asked him to meet her at the convenience store off Route 40. She handed the phone back to the man and thanked him again.
“Glad to give you a ride. I’m going that way.”
“I really appreciate it.”
For the rest of the drive, he talked about his grandchildren and how he wanted something better for them than a life spent driving a logging truck.
Abby wondered about that when he dropped her off in the store parking lot a few minutes later — what it was that made parents and grandparents think they had to pave the way for their children, remove all the stumbling blocks. She would rather be given a chance to deal with the truth than wake up one day to realize that nothing was as she’d thought.
He pulled into the parking lot of the convenience store and said, “You want me to wait with you until he gets here?”
“No. Thanks,” she said. She opened the door and hopped out of the cab. “I’ll be fine.”
“All right then,” he said, and with a wave, drove off.
She waited almost thirty minutes before Beau pulled up in his parents’ old station wagon. They’d made fun of the old car so many times, Beau assuring her that one day he’d have something he’d be proud to drive her around in, but she’d never been so glad to hear its familiar rattle.
She got in the passenger side and said, “Can we go some place where we can be alone?”
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