by Sharon Sala
“Yeah, me, too,” a man said.
“The bank foreclosed on us, too,” a woman said, and started crying.
One by one, all the people there told the same sad tale.
Henry’s frown deepened.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see what the bank foreclosing on you has to do with the Waynes.”
“You would if you saw what’s happening to our land,” German said.
“Then tell me,” Henry said.
“Take a drive up to the north side of the lake and check out the land they’re clearing for that new resort. It all used to belong to us,” German said. “Ask around up there. Find out who the biggest investors are.”
“What does all of this have to do with Stanton Youngblood’s murder?” Henry asked.
“Polly and Carl Cyrus. Thomas and Beth Youngblood. That’s what,” German said.
“I don’t understand,” Henry said.
“Then it’s time you did your job and found out,” German said. “We’re going now.”
And one by one, they laid the signs they’d been holding at Henry Clayton’s feet and walked off into the night.
Henry sighed. This wasn’t his case, and he didn’t want any part of bucking the Waynes, but he’d grown up with Stanton. The man deserved his justice.
Henry began gathering up the signs and tossing them into the back of his cruiser. He would deal with them tomorrow. Tonight, he just needed to get home and take off his damn shoe.
* * *
The killer stood in the dark, watching from his bedroom window as the police car arrived and dispersed the protestors.
He was wondering who in Eden would have the guts to protest so openly, knowing full well what his family could do to them. Then he thought about the people who’d already been displaced. They had nothing left to lose, and obviously Stanton Youngblood had been their friend.
He frowned. Right now the family had only been called out by a grieving woman. But their lawyer had warned them that the authorities would soon be all over them. They would have no choice but to put up with the interrogations. The final word of a dying man was powerful.
He watched until the cop car was gone, and then stepped away from the window and sat down in the dark. He needed to think—to make sure there were no loose ends that would tie him to this. He was thoroughly disgusted that he hadn’t gone to make sure Stanton was dead before he ran. He frowned, thinking back to the day’s events. Even though he hadn’t seen this situation coming, he still wouldn’t change what he’d done.
* * *
Bowie woke up before daybreak to the sound of footsteps in the hall outside his room. He glanced at the time and frowned. It was barely five. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. Every time he’d turned over in the night he’d heard movement somewhere in the house. His mother was struggling. They were all struggling. A death is one thing. A murder is another.
It had occurred to Bowie after he’d gone to bed last night to wonder if his mother could be a target, too. Until this was resolved, they needed to make sure she was never alone.
He heard a cabinet door bang and guessed she was starting her day, so he got up and dressed, then headed into the kitchen. She’d started the coffeemaker but not the food, and she wasn’t anywhere in the house. He noticed the back door was ajar and walked out, guided by the light coming from the kitchen behind him.
She was sitting in the porch swing in the dark, with her hands pressed against her chest.
“Mama?”
Leigh looked up.
“Did I wake you?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. Are you in physical pain?” he asked, pointing at the way she was clutching at the blouse over her heart.
She shook her head and then patted the seat beside her.
“Come talk to me, Bowie. I need to think about something besides the hell we’re living, if only for a moment.”
He sat down beside her, kissed the side of her cheek and then pushed off with the toe of his boot, letting the swing rock them into daybreak.
“I’d talk about the scenery, but it’s too dark to see it,” he said.
“I couldn’t lay in that bed alone,” she said, and then started to cry.
Bowie groaned inwardly as tears welled.
“I can’t begin to know what you’re feeling, Mama. I grieve from the standpoint of a son, but I know he was your life and you were his. We love you so much. Just hang on to that fact while you find a new way to be in this world.”
Leigh leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment before she could gather herself to speak.
“When did you get so smart?” she asked, and then felt him shrug.
“She didn’t die, but when I lost Talia, I didn’t know how to be here without her. I had to find new footing. It’s why I left.”
Leigh wiped her eyes and blew her nose as her mother instinct kicked in. This was something they’d all known, but since he’d never talked of it to them, they’d respected that choice. This opened the door.
“What happened, son? We wondered. All of us did. We were so sad for your heartache, but as sorry as we were to see you go, we understood.”
“I asked her to marry me. She said no without an explanation. It was a shock, and it broke my heart. I grew up and got over it.”
Leigh turned to him then, and even though it was dark, she saw enough—from the set of his jaw to the way he looked everywhere but at her—to know that wasn’t true.
“Did you really get over it?” she asked.
“I thought so. Until I heard Aunt Polly talking about Talia and her dad.”
“Are you going to go see her?”
Bowie was silent for a few moments.
“I think I have to,” he finally said.
“What if you find out you still care for her?”
“It won’t matter, not if she’s moved on,” he said.
“And if she didn’t forget?”
“I’m not sure.”
Leigh patted his hand.
“If you love someone with all your heart and you walk away, your life will never be as it was meant to be. You will always be unhappy. You will never be rich enough or successful enough to fill that void. Love matters, Bowie. It matters most of all.”
He heard, but he didn’t have the composure to comment.
His mother must have sensed his dilemma, because she changed the subject and kept talking.
“I’ll need a lot of groceries in the next couple of days,” she said. “If I make a list, will you go shopping for me? I don’t want to go to Eden and face the comments.”
“I’ll do anything you need of me, Mama. It’s why I’m here.”
“Okay, then I also need one more favor.”
“Absolutely. What do you want?”
“I want you to go to Talia’s house, knock on her door and follow your heart to wherever it leads you. But don’t do this for me. Do it for yourself and for her.”
The skin crawled on the back of Bowie’s neck. It had taken him so long to bury that pain, but he knew she was right.
“I’ll go,” he said.
“Good,” Leigh said, and then pointed toward the east. “Look, the sky is getting lighter. It will be daylight soon. Jesse will do the chores later if you’ll go with him to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”
“Sure thing,” Bowie said, and then thought about what would happen here when he was gone. “Can you take care of Jesse by yourself?”
Leigh tossed her head and then stood abruptly.
“I can do anything I have to. God gave Jesse to me twice. Once when he was born, and once when He saved Jesse’s life. I’ve thought all night about this very thing, and I’ve come to a conclusion that gives me ease. God knew I was going to lose S
tanton. That’s why Jesse came home from the war this way. He knew I would need purpose or I would die from a broken heart. As long as I have Jesse, I have purpose. It isn’t what I would have wanted, but it’s what I have been given. I’m going to start breakfast. Biscuits or pancakes?”
“Biscuits, please. No one makes biscuits as good as you do.”
Leigh ran her fingers through the thick length of Bowie’s hair.
“I love you with all my heart,” she said softly, and went inside, leaving Bowie alone in the swing.
* * *
Talia’s sleep was restless. She slept on a cot beside her father’s bed, and every moan he made, every creak of the bed springs, had her up on her feet within seconds.
Before hospice stepped in, she’d been in constant fear that he would roll out of bed. Hospice had helped her get a hospital bed, and then she’d moved him from the bedroom at the back of the house to the living room up front. Now it was easier for her to care for him, and cook and do laundry, as well. And, with the hospital bed, she no longer had to be afraid he would fall.
Still, every sound he made had her up and checking to be sure he wasn’t choking, or if she needed to change his diaper before he messed up his bed. Even though he was a shadow of his former self, he was still heavy. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold on, and seeing Bowie after all these years had been a bitter reminder of what she’d lost.
After tossing and turning for hours, she got up and dressed, ran a brush through her hair and then tied it back out of her face. Her feet were dragging when she went to start the coffee. She needed to eat, but the thought of food turned her stomach, so she started the coffee and then went to check on Marshall.
His chest was barely moving, but his eyelids were fluttering. She wondered what he was seeing. Mama, she hoped, or maybe angels.
Daddy was dying.
She didn’t want him to be afraid.
* * *
It was after ten when Bowie drove into Eden in Stanton’s truck. It smelled like Stanton’s aftershave, and there were bits of paper with notes he had written to himself all over the seat. Bowie picked them up and dropped them into the console without reading them. It was hard enough to accept he was gone without all the tangible bits and pieces he’d left behind.
Bowie had his mother’s list in his pocket, but his thoughts were on Talia. If he was honest with himself, he was afraid—afraid to find out that her father’s illness had nothing to do with her telling him no.
The supermarket was busy, and because he didn’t know the layout of the store, it took longer than he’d intended to get everything. More than once someone stopped him to ask about his mother and send their condolences. After the sixth or seventh time he got cornered in an aisle, he understood his mother’s reluctance to do this herself.
When he finished, he added a six-pack of root beer for Jesse and headed for the checkout lane with the shortest line to wait his turn. By the time he got checked out, his stomach was in knots. Going to see Talia was scary. It might put their past to rest or stir up things best left unsaid. It was all an unknown, and Bowie didn’t like feeling uncertain.
He loaded all the sacks into the backseat of his dad’s truck, and then got in and drove out of the parking lot. His heart was thumping all the way through town as the knot in his belly grew tighter. When he finally found the house he pulled in behind a blue Ford Taurus and parked.
His throat was dry. His hands were sweating. He wasn’t sure how he felt emotionally, but it wasn’t a comfortable feeling. Still, waiting wasn’t going to make things any easier, so he got out and headed for the front door.
* * *
Talia was nearly finished bathing her father when she heard a knock at the door. She frowned as she glanced at the time. Erin was really early this morning. Maybe her schedule had changed. She dropped the washcloth back in the basin and drew the sheet up to her father’s waist, then pulled the guardrail back up.
“Someone is at the door, Dad. I’ll be right back.”
She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and smoothed her hand down the front of her shirt. It was wet in places, faded and old, but it served the purpose. She opened the door and then froze.
It wasn’t Erin.
It was only a few seconds, but in the space of time it took for her and Bowie to meet each other’s gazes, every moment of their past flashed before her eyes.
Then he spoke, and the shock ended.
“May I come in?” he asked.
She took a deep breath as the sound of his voice rolled through her. The urge to strip where she stood and lie down beneath him was so strong it made her ache.
“I’m bathing my father.”
“I’ll wait somewhere until you’ve finished...if you’ll let me in.”
She told herself to stay cool, stay calm, and then she stepped aside.
“If you insist,” she said. “As you can see, Dad’s in the living room, so feel free to have a seat on the sofa. I can hear you from there.”
Bowie didn’t know what he’d expected to see, but it wasn’t Marshall Champion’s frail, emaciated body laid out in that bed like a corpse. But instead of sitting down, he followed her back to the bed.
Talia was shaking, uncertain what to do. If she picked up the washcloth again he would see her trembling. She didn’t want him to know he still had the power to touch her like that, so she grabbed the guardrail instead before she faced him across the bed.
“I am so sorry about your father,” she said. “I was horrified to hear what happened. Please, give Leigh and your family my condolences. I would have taken food over, but as you can see, my time is not my own.”
“Thank you, I will,” Bowie said, unnerved by being in her presence.
It was impossible to ignore the changes in her appearance. Her hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck, and the lack of makeup made her look even younger than he knew she was, but the dark circles under her eyes and the huge weight loss were evidence of how hard this was on her. But he’d come to ask her a question, and he wasn’t leaving until he got it said. Unconsciously, he leaned forward, as if shortening the distance between them would make her answer easier to bear.
“I just heard about your father.”
It was all she could do to stand her ground when she wanted to run.
Sweet Jesus, my worst nightmare is coming true. He’s going to ask.
Her knee-jerk reaction was to occupy herself with work so she wouldn’t have to think, so she put down the guardrail and resumed her father’s bath. She folded the sheet back so she had access to his right leg and fished the washcloth out of the water.
“Talia?”
“What?” she said, as she wrung out the excess water and began wiping the soap off her father’s skin.
“When was your father diagnosed with Alzheimer’s?”
“Years ago,” she muttered, and rinsed the washcloth, then wiped all the way down to his foot.
“How many years?” Bowie asked.
She dried him, then pulled the sheet back over his leg.
“Oh, I don’t know...maybe seven or so, but at this point it hardly matters.”
Bowie had tried to fool himself, tried to tell himself he was over her—over all this—until now. Why did he feel like his whole future hinged on how she answered his next question?
“Is this why you wouldn’t marry me?”
The question felt like a death blow. Without thinking, she put a hand to her heart, expecting to feel a mortal wound. Instead, all she did was leave a wet handprint on the front of her shirt.
Bowie knew he made her nervous. He also knew she wouldn’t be afraid of him. He’d never done anything to her but love her, so it had to be because she was about to be caught in the lie that had ended them.
“What
does it matter?” she finally said, and, to her credit, faced him, even lifting her chin as if she expected a blow.
“Matter? What does it matter?” he asked, and then circled the bed and took her by the shoulders. “I thought you didn’t love me.”
A soft moan slipped out of her mouth, the punctuation to an answer she couldn’t voice as she dropped her head and closed her eyes.
“No. You don’t get a pass on this,” he said, gripping her shoulders tightly. The moment he did, he was shocked that he could so easily feel her bones. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you? God, please tell me that didn’t hurt,” he whispered, and pulled her into his arms.
The shock of being held was second only to the fact that she was in Bowie Youngblood’s arms. It was too much too soon. She didn’t have time to block the flood of emotions and regrets.
One sob bubbled up, and the next one choked her. Before she could stop herself, she was crying.
Bowie had his answer, and it broke his heart. She broke his heart. All the time he’d wasted being angry and feeling used, he should have been at her side.
Six
“You should have told me,” Bowie said. “We could have figured some—”
Talia shoved him away. Her face was still streaked with tears, and her words came out in choked, angry sobs.
“We? What newlyweds get married like this? I would have had no time for you. There would not have been an ‘us’ or college. It would have been Dad and me, and you in a separate space in my head and heart.”
“I just thought...there are places where...”
Again Talia reacted in anger.
“Stop talking!” she said, and then took the tail of her blouse and wiped the tears off her face.
When she did, he saw the hint of ribs and her too-tiny waist, and shut the hell up. It was blatantly obvious how ignorant he was of this disease and what she had endured.
She strode to the other side of the bed and finished bathing her father without looking Bowie’s way again.
Afraid she would kick him out, he went over to the sofa and sat down, watching the gentle way she tended her father’s body. When she began to roll him toward her so she could wash his back, Bowie jumped up and did it for her.
