by Sonja Yoerg
Suzanne went over to the shelves where Mama kept her stores and pointed to the notebooks. “What about these?”
“If you want them.”
“Are you sure?”
“They’re no use here.”
Suzanne took them down and placed her palm on top. She stood quiet as a heron stalking a fish. A breeze shifted the air through the open door, a cloud-scattering breeze. A beam of sunlight splashed onto the rug under Suzanne’s feet, the faded pattern of ivy vines brightening to green again. A smile tugged at the corner of Suzanne’s face, and Iris marveled at how in that moment Suzanne resembled Mama, even though, feature for feature, they shared little. When Iris first met Suzanne, she had thought the same.
Suzanne smiled at Iris. “Have you ever had a dream where you find something you’ve wanted for a long time, something perfect and special? And you know you’re going to wake up and it will be gone, but you hang on to it with all your might, just hoping that when you open your eyes, it will right there, in your hand?”
Iris nodded. She couldn’t actually remember a dream like that, but she understood what Suzanne was trying to say.
“Well,” Suzanne said, holding up the notebooks. “It worked.”
CHAPTER 41
Suzanne wriggled out of the straps of her backpack and leaned it against the Navigator. Iris followed suit. Suzanne fished the keys out of the top compartment, opened the hatch, and tossed the packs inside. As she closed the hatch and came around the side of the car, she studied the brick farmhouse. No signs of life whatsoever, only a few rusted-out vehicles between the house and the barn, obligatory in this part of the state.
“Iris? Let’s take a quick look at the house.”
“Okay.”
The girl had been subdued since they’d left the cabin—hardly surprising given the jolts she had received. Iris didn’t seem to care where they went.
Suzanne strode up the short drive and noted the house numbers peeling off the dented mailbox. Lilac bushes in dire need of pruning lined the drive, and honeysuckle had climbed to the porch roof and engulfed half of the porch railing. Along the front walk, a dozen peonies were covered in round, full buds, ready to burst.
“How old is the house?” Iris asked.
“Not sure. Mid to late eighteen hundreds?” It was a simple, boxy Federal-style house with a chimney at either end. Suzanne guessed that the porch, adorned with fussy fretwork, had been added later. She scanned the roof. Original tin, corroded along the seams, but intact. She didn’t know much about old houses except that a leaky roof could spell disaster. She rounded the corner of the house and Iris followed. A large addition had been attached to the back. She had seen uglier ones. Behind the house was a large field sloping down to a pond framed by woods on the far edge. Beyond, hills gave way to mountains. A pair of hawks soared above the field, spiraling upward as if tethered to each other. Suzanne felt an odd brightness inside her. It took a moment for it to register as hope.
She turned to Iris. “Any of this seem familiar?”
“The windmill does, like I said.” Iris gestured broadly. “I don’t know about the rest. It’s just a house.”
“Maybe. But I think it’s lovely.”
They strolled the property for a while longer. Iris announced she was hungry, so they returned to the car and drove the twisty route back to Buchanan. At the Good Times Cafe, they both ordered bacon cheeseburgers and fries. Anticipating how many missed calls and texts would be waiting, Suzanne had put off turning on her phone until after she and Iris had finished eating and were walking back to the car. Across the street was a small park with a playground and a gazebo.
“Do you mind if we go over there while I check my messages?”
Suzanne led the way to a picnic table and turned on her phone, bracing herself. Thirty-one texts and eleven missed calls. Guilt inched along her spine. She scrolled through the calls first. Half were not from family, Boosters business and the like. Why they hadn’t simply given up on her was anyone’s guess. She was relieved to find no calls from Whit or the kids in the last day or so, suggesting nothing catastrophic had happened.
A reminder appeared on the screen. Reid’s SAT tutor appointment was at three on Wednesday, today. Suzanne touched the text icon and began forwarding the information to him before she realized what she was doing. Her first contact with him in three days shouldn’t be a reminder. She would talk to him when she knew what to say, and if he missed the appointment, so what?
She scanned the list of texts. A few from Whit and Reid, more from Brynn. One from Tinsley. Reading their names on her phone screen was so utterly banal and yet, now, it was anything but. Whatever they were telling her or asking her for was just an invitation to get immersed again in the entanglements from which she had run. She recognized she couldn’t hide forever, but even after three days she felt so much more grounded, more like someone she wanted to be and could respect. It wasn’t a sea change. She hadn’t had an epiphany. She had found some space, quiet, and solitude—and hadn’t come unglued. It was a start, and she wasn’t at all sure she was ready to give it up.
Two young mothers were pushing their toddlers in the swings. Suzanne couldn’t hear their conversation, but the tone was relaxed and casual. One of the children, a girl, giggled. She sounded exactly as Brynn had. Suzanne felt a tug in her stomach, a longing, but recognized it for what it was: a reflexive reaction. Of course she loved her daughter, and her son. Of course she wanted the best for them. But she also wanted something for herself, something significant. In the meantime, they had their father, her parents, and each other. They would survive.
She shifted her attention to Iris, who was watching the swing set, too. Her posture was a sculpture of despair, and she had dark circles under her eyes.
“Iris? I’m thinking we could go back to Lexington, maybe stay there a night or two, visit the library again.”
“Aren’t you going to call the police about my father?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Do you want me to do it now?”
Iris shook her head. “There’s no hurry.”
“I know you have mixed feelings about him.” Suzanne reached for her hand. “That might not change once you know more.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.” Her voice had an angry edge.
“But you can’t know how you’re going to feel until you know what happened.”
The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “He was alive while I was alone in the woods. That’s what happened.”
Suzanne pulled her close. What Iris said was true, but what Suzanne didn’t say was that parents have less control than they think, that what they try to do for their children is sometimes not enough, not nearly. Whatever Iris’s father’s reasons turned out to be, Suzanne wouldn’t judge him yet. Sometimes leaving was the best solution, even if the main result was realizing you could come back.
They passed the forty-five-minute drive to Lexington in silence and checked into the same hotel they had stayed in Sunday night. They showered and changed, then spent the rest of the afternoon at the library. Suzanne spent most of her time on the computer while Iris perused the stacks. She seemed more relaxed among the books, probably because she could satisfy her curiosity without social pressure. The next morning Suzanne suggested a walk along the Maury because rain was predicted for the afternoon, when they would return to the library. Suzanne kept her phone off the entire time and resisted the temptation to check her email. It was a hard habit to break. She repeatedly pulled her phone out of her bag only to stuff it back in again.
Suzanne awoke Friday morning to the sound of rain hammering the hotel’s metal roof. Iris lay awake in the other bed, looking out at the water-filled sky. The girl turned to her, waiting for Suzanne to shape her day.
“Good morning, Iris.”
“Are we going to the library again?”
“Not today.” She hadn’t realized until she spoke that she had made a decision. “Today we’re
going home.”
“Okay.” Iris swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Is it okay if I take a shower?”
“Go ahead.”
Suzanne picked up her phone from the bedside table. Seven thirty. She folded the pillow behind her head, swept over to the messaging screen, and opened Whit’s thread.
Monday, the day after she had left: Please come back. We can talk. And later: When are you coming home?
Tuesday: This is ridiculous, Suzanne. And, later: Dishwasher says it needs rinse aid. Does it really? We’re out. Ten minutes later: Rinse aid not mission critical. At midnight: I miss you, Suze.
Wednesday: Thought you should know Brynn went to your mother’s.
Her mother’s? Why on earth would Brynn do that? Suzanne had imagined Whit would use the time without her interference to talk honestly with both kids about the events leading up to prom night, and the night itself, including his own culpability. She had hoped he would mete out some discipline, shoulder some of the parental burden instead of making excuses. What had happened to make Brynn flee? Or had Whit insisted she go? Whit and Brynn were so close; Suzanne had been counting on that bond when she left. She had been more concerned about Reid.
She called Brynn.
“Mom! Where are you?”
Suzanne had expected an accusatory tone, or perhaps a pleading one. Instead, Brynn sounded desperate and vulnerable. “Not far. In Lexington. I’m—”
Brynn burst out sobbing. “Are you coming home? Please come home.”
“Oh, Brynn.” Her daughter’s pleas made her heart ache. “Yes, I’m coming home. This morning.” Lately, if Brynn had a tearful outburst, she would slide into anger with astonishing speed whether the problem she’d been upset about had been solved or not. It was as if she was furious she had let her guard down and needed to punish someone for it. Suzanne braced herself.
“Really? Today?” No anger whatsoever, more like a first grader getting news of a trip to Disneyland.
Relieved, Suzanne suppressed a laugh. “Yes. Where are you? I had a text from Daddy saying you were at Grammy’s.”
Her daughter began crying again. “I couldn’t stay with Daddy. He was just so wrong about everything. So wrong. I had to leave, so I went to Grammy’s.”
“Should I pick you up there?”
“Oh my God, please. Grammy says I can’t stay. And I can’t go to Lisa’s house because her mom thinks I’m a juvenile delinquent.” Her words poured out. She’d been waiting for someone to tell. “I was about to be homeless.”
Suzanne’s first instinct was to mark that statement as ludicrous. But she refrained. “I’ll be there before ten. We can talk about everything then.”
“Okay, Mom. That’s great. Ten is great.” She paused, sniffing back tears. “I’m really sorry, Mom. I’m really, really sorry.”
“I know, sweetheart. Me, too. We’ll talk about it soon.”
“I don’t want you to hang up. You’ll disappear again.”
“I won’t disappear. I promise.”
“Okay. Okay, good.”
“See you before ten.”
“You sure before ten?”
“Yes. If there’s a problem, I’ll call.”
“Okay. Is Iris coming?”
Suzanne hadn’t expected this. “Yes. We’re coming together.”
“Okay. That’s awesome.”
“Bye for now.”
“Bye.” She was crying again. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Suzanne ended the call and wiped her eyes with a corner of the sheet. It was hard to hear Brynn so anguished, despite all the anger her daughter had directed her way. Suzanne worried, as she had so many times previously, that her own dissatisfaction had silently poisoned her relationship with her daughter, sowing doubt where there ought to have been confidence, fostering insecurity where there ought to have been strength. She had been a shitty role model.
Suzanne heard the shower turn off. Iris would be out soon. Suzanne gathered her resolve and called Whit. He picked up immediately.
“Hey!” Cheer or false cheer, she couldn’t tell.
“Hi. Are you all right?”
“I hope so. I mean, now that you’ve called. Wait. Why are you calling?” He babbled when he was nervous. This touched her more than if he had cried.
“To let you know we’re coming back this morning, right after we pick Brynn up from my mother’s.”
“That’s great. It really is. You talked to Brynn?”
“Yes.”
A pause on the line. “About that. I could’ve handled things better and—”
“Let’s talk about it later, okay?”
“Sure. Fine. I can’t be home until two or so. I could try to move things around if you want.”
“It’s okay.” Better, even. She had trouble envisaging being greeted by Whit at the door. “We found Iris’s cabin.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. And there was a note from her father the police should know about.”
“So he was there? Recently?”
“I’ll tell you everything, Whit. For now can you just call the detective?”
“Sure.” His tone was flat. He didn’t like being kept in the dark, but Suzanne didn’t want to relate the whole story over the phone.
“One more thing, and then I need to get ready so Brynn’s not waiting.”
“What is it?”
“Can you look up a house, a property for me? Ninety-Eight Turkey Hill Road. In Buchanan.”
He repeated the address. “What’s there?”
“Please just find out whatever you can. I’d really appreciate it.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you later.” She winced at the sound of her voice, too breezy. In person they might be less awkward, but she wasn’t counting on it. She hoped Whit would accept what she had been thinking about, her next steps, as he would put it, but she couldn’t count on that either. Suzanne couldn’t remember the last time she’d decided anything without her husband weighing in and felt as though she were trying out for a role for which she would never be chosen.
“I’ve missed you,” Whit said.
Her voice faltered. “See you soon.”
The housekeeper answered the door, cleaning caddy in hand, even though Tinsley was only steps away in the parlor, reading a magazine on the sofa with her back to a rain-streaked window. Iris had elected to stay in the car. Suzanne said she’d only be a minute.
Tinsley closed the magazine and waited for Suzanne to come to her. “Thank goodness you’ve come to your senses at last.”
“Hello, Mother.”
Tinsley snaked her head to look past Suzanne. “Clara? Clara!”
The housekeeper appeared in the doorway. “Yes, ma’am.”
“She probably heard the door, but would you tell my granddaughter her mother is here.” She spit out the word mother as if it were a bitter lemon pip from a drink of iced tea and turned her focus to Suzanne. “Brynn will undoubtedly tell you that as much as we love her company, your father and I simply could not allow her to stay.”
“I don’t even know exactly why she’s here, but why make her leave?”
Tinsley blinked once slowly and sighed. “I don’t have time to look after a teenager, Suzanne. That should be obvious.” She glanced toward the hall and lowered her voice. “Especially not one with a rap sheet.”
“Really, Mother? A rap sheet? I’m not going to argue that Brynn didn’t make mistakes, but you and I both know that’s not why you won’t let her stay.”
Her mother raised her eyebrows, politely curious. “Do tell.”
“You might enjoy doting on Brynn, but you don’t like being a mother. You never have.”
Tinsley adjusted the diamond pendant at her throat. “At least I never ran out on you.”
“True.” Her mother looked up, uncomfortable with the admission. Suzanne reached for the most sincere thing she could say, and said it without vengefulness. “
You needed me too much.”
Tinsley sighed. “Perhaps.”
Brynn came into the room. She wore sweats, an old T-shirt, and no makeup. Suzanne was alarmed at how drawn her daughter’s face appeared. Brynn dropped her bag and threw her arms around her mother, hugging harder than she had in a very long time.
“Can we go?”
Suzanne planted a kiss on her daughter’s cheek. “Sure.” She addressed Tinsley. “Thanks for letting Brynn stay, Mother. Do you and Dad have time tomorrow? There’s something I want to talk with you about.”
“I’ll see you on Sunday for brunch. We can talk then.”
“Sunday?”
Tinsley looked heavenward. “Mother’s Day brunch, Suzanne. At the club per usual.”
Suzanne had completely forgotten. She pictured her family around a table, surrounded by her parents’ friends and their families, everyone dressed smartly, the mothers sipping Bellinis while the children squirmed and the fathers itched to be released onto the golf course. She could feel Brynn staring at her, waiting for her to confirm that life would continue as it always had.
“The club might be too much for Iris, and for me, to be honest. Let’s do it at our house. I’ll take care of everything.”
Tinsley opened her magazine and recrossed her legs at the ankle. “If we must.”
Suzanne had expected more resistance. “Thanks, Mother. I’d still like to talk tomorrow, though.”
She raised her head, acknowledging her curiosity. “It’ll have to be first thing. We’re extremely busy. Nine sharp.”
“Nine sharp it is.”
CHAPTER 42
Whit drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he neared home. He thought he knew his wife but had not been able to get much from her phone call, other than news. She sounded calm enough, but he had no clue where he stood with her. They had to talk—he accepted that—but what he most wanted was to skip over the talking and return to what they’d had before. It wasn’t mature, it wasn’t even rational, but it was what he wanted.
