Relief floods her features. “Would you?”
“Of course.” I grab the stack of containers closest to me while she picks up a few of the white bakery boxes.
“Did you work today?” she asks as she follows me out to Gus’s truck.
Balancing everything against the side of the truck, I free a hand so I can get the door open. “Pippa and I went to the auction.”
She groans behind me. “Why would you go there?”
I get everything inside before I answer, “I wanted to get you something. One thing that was yours.”
She secures the boxes on the floorboard then runs a hand across my back. “Oh, Owen, I don’t need anything from that house. That life is gone and I’m okay with it. I mean, not okay with what he did, but I’m okay. We’re okay.”
We sit in silence a moment and then she asks, “How was it?”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Like vultures circling over a dead carcass.”
She covers her mouth and laughs, too. “That bad?”
“It was horrible. And guess who bought the house?”
“Do I want to know?”
“Jack Cooper’s dad! I mean, isn’t that weird? He’s only been here like once. And then he’s going to drop almost a million on our house?”
I follow Mom back in the house to get the second load. “Well, I’m sure he has his reasons. And at least it sold. I was worried no one would buy it.”
I wait until we’re back in the kitchen so I can see her face and gauge if she’s telling me the truth and ask, “You’re not mad you lost the house and all our things?”
She takes a deep breath and turns to me. “That house was never really our home. You never lived in that house full-time. It’s just a building. And one that was always too big without you there. I’m mad at what he did. I’m mad he stole from all those people. I’m not mad we lost that house.”
We finish loading the last of the food and she gives me an invoice and a set of heating and serving directions to present to Mrs. Sullivan along with her address since they moved after the divorce.
Their house is a few streets over from our old house on the golf course. I thought it would be a while before I was forced to come back here, but here I am. My old street is empty now that the auction is over and I have mixed feelings about seeing it again. One of the best memories I have from that house—when things changed with Pippa—was only made after it wasn’t mine anymore.
There are only a few cars in the driveway when I get to the Sullivans’ so hopefully I won’t run into too many people. I park and carry as many of the containers as I can through the open garage door. I’d rather not use the front door if I can help it.
Using my elbow, I ring the bell and I’m surprised when Seth opens the door. His left leg is encased in a huge metal brace and he’s leaning against the door for support.
“I’m delivering food for your mom’s party.”
He nods and hops back, then I move past him, carrying the containers inside.
“Go through the doorway on the left and you’ll see the kitchen,” he says.
Mrs. Sullivan is at the sink and she directs me where to put the food.
“Everything smells wonderful, Owen,” she says.
Seth drops down in a chair next to the table and watches me. The crutches fall to the ground next to him and I notice his right hand is covered in a bandage.
He holds his hand up. “Tried to catch myself when my knee gave out. Fractured my wrist. So even if the knee is okay, I’m done for the season.”
“Man, that sucks. Sorry to hear it.”
He nods and I go back to the truck for the rest of the food. Once I get everything inside, I hand Mrs. Sullivan the bill and she runs to her small home office to get me a check. Seth is still in the chair, looking surly. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s in pain or if it’s because I’m in his kitchen.
“How was the dance?” he asks.
Ah, so he’s pissed I took his place.
“It was good,” I answer. I wonder how much he heard. Just that I was there with her or maybe how close we were on the dance floor or how once I started touching her I couldn’t stop.
Ignoring him, I glance around the kitchen. The room is covered in pictures and knickknacks and other crap people junk up space with. Rather than have to look at or speak to Seth, I study the pictures on the wall, but stop when I get to one that makes my stomach drop.
It’s Mom with Elise Sullivan and Elise’s sister, Sheila Blackwell. They are on a beach somewhere, looks like maybe the Caymans, and they are tanned and smiling and probably half-tipsy since they are holding some huge drink with little umbrellas sticking out of the top.
“Here you go, Owen,” Mrs. Sullivan says and I hear her breath hitch when she notices I’m staring at the picture. “I was really hoping your mom would bring everything by and I could talk her into staying awhile.”
I give her a smile and pocket the money. “We really appreciate you giving her your business.”
She walks me to the back door then follows me out to the truck. I can tell she wants to say more so I stop and turn to face her.
“There are quite a few of us who know your mother had no idea what was happening. And there are some of us who believe your dad is innocent. There has to be another answer to what happened to all that money.”
I’m floored. She’s the only person who has ever mentioned “dad” and “innocent” in the same sentence.
“You really don’t think he did it?” I ask. “Mom said most of her friends, like Mrs. Blackwell, won’t speak to her anymore because they think she was in on it.”
She shrugs. “I don’t believe that he would willingly leave you and your mom. He loved you both. And I can’t believe he’d make you two face this alone. That’s the part I can’t understand. Your dad had a way of going after what he wanted and he made enemies along the way, but I just can’t believe he’d take off without you and Maggie. Deep down, Sheila believes that, too.”
No one knows about the note he sent me. The meeting he wants to have in just a few days. Once I found out he’d disappeared, the note he sent me at school took on a different meaning. I thought he wanted to prove to me somehow that he didn’t do what he’s accused of. But being here, listening to everyone else, has hardened me toward him.
But what if my initial reaction to his letter was right?
My silence must be making Mrs. Sullivan uncomfortable because she’s fidgeting with her necklace and looking back toward her house.
“Well, if you or your mom need anything, all you have to do is let me know. And I’m making it my personal mission to get your mom back to the land of the living. Tell her I’ll be by on Monday to discuss food for the Thanksgiving party I throw for the employees at the store.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer. “I know that means a lot to her.”
Mrs. Sullivan heads back inside while I jump into the truck, my mind racing to understand what really happened.
Noah—Summer of 1999
There’s a knock on the door and Gus lets out a groan then says, “Good Lord, what could they want now?”
We know it has to be either Abby’s parents or Robert because no one else has been out here since the funeral except Betty and Maggie and both of them just left a few hours ago.
I get up from the small table and pull the door open. It’s Robert.
“Hey,” he says. “Hope I’m not bothering you.”
I look at Gus but he seems unfazed by Robert’s visit or his question. Pulling the door open wider, I invite Robert inside.
He sits down in the chair by the door and I go back to my spot at the small table.
“What’s going on, Robert?” I say when I realize Gus plans to ignore him.
“Uncle John and Aunt Susan are packing.”
This gets Gus’s attention. “They’re leaving?”
Robert nods his head. “Yes. Tomorrow morning.”
Gus nods too and goes back to ignoring him.<
br />
It’s quiet for a few minutes and I know there’s more to this visit than Robert wanting to let us know Abby’s parents’ plans.
“The thing is,” he finally says, “I’d rather not go with them. I only have a few weeks before I go back to school and the thought of spending it with them is enough to make me come beg you to let me stay here until school starts.”
Gus and I both look at him. I can’t say I blame him. Abby’s parents are miserable and I get why she didn’t have anything to do with them once she married Gus.
Sensing the need to make his case stronger, Robert offers, “I’ll work here, doing whatever you need. I don’t expect to stay for free. And it won’t be long. Four weeks.”
Gus lets out a heavy sigh and looks at me, silently asking me what to do. It’s strange to see how our roles have reversed from when I first showed up here.
I hesitate a moment. “It’s only four weeks,” I say. “I wouldn’t want to go back with them, either.”
This gets a smile out of him. The first one I’ve seen in a while.
“Four weeks. Not a day more,” Gus says.
Robert looks visibly relieved. “Thanks. I won’t be in the way. Promise.”
He leaves the room quickly, probably worried Gus will change his mind. I remember having that same feeling when he gave me the job at the beginning of the summer.
“What’s he gonna do around here?” Gus asks.
“I’ll find something to keep him busy.”
The next morning, Abby’s parents are finally leaving. Gus refuses to see them off. Instead he stands at the window in the small apartment and mumbles Good riddance, then turns his attention back to Jeopardy!
Abby’s parents gave no fight or argument when Robert told them he was staying, so I’m guessing they felt the same way about him as he did about them. I did notice Abby’s mom load more bags in the trunk of their car than she came with, so I’m assuming her mission to leave with something of Abby’s was successful.
Robert and I stand next to each other and watch them pull out of the driveway. “I feel like jumping for joy or having a beer or some other form of celebration at the sight of that car pulling away from here forever,” he says.
“We’ll celebrate by cleaning up the back section of the orchard,” I say, then walk to the barn. I keep Robert busy getting the tractor out of the stall and fueled up while I go up to check on Gus. He’s in the chair in front of the TV in the exact same spot I left him in.
“They’re gone. It’s safe to go back in the big house now.”
He doesn’t respond but I know he heard me. Betty is in the small kitchen, shaking her head, while she prepares our meals for the day.
I walk in between him and the TV and he doesn’t even flinch.
“He’s getting worse,” I whisper to Betty.
She’s putting together some sandwiches that will be waiting in the fridge for us later. “I know. Abby warned us it would be bad but I don’t know what to do with him.”
“Y’all can quit talking about me like I’m not here, that’s where y’all can start. And don’t forget I can fire you both if you keep trying to tell me what to do,” Gus yells from his chair but never looks at us.
Betty rolls her eyes. “Fire me and good luck finding someone else to run to the grocery store for you and cook for you and care for you. I could have another job lined up tomorrow.”
“She’s only been gone three weeks,” he says quietly. “Three weeks. But it feels like forever. How am I going to go years without her when three weeks feels like forever?”
His words wreck me. I can’t imagine what he’s going through or what it feels like to know the rest of your life will be spent without the one person you love the most.
Betty wipes her hands on a towel and moves closer to him, pulling a chair up close, and whispers in his ear. She may be praying with him or giving him words of encouragement or cursing God for him but it seems to pull him back from the edge he was teetering on.
I tiptoe out of the room, deciding I’m helping him more by keeping the place together, but the truth is, I have no idea what to say to him or how to make things better.
Excerpt from the diary of Leonard Trudeau:
Step three—Harvesting the pecans
Now that all of the pecans are on the ground, it is only a matter of picking them up and cleaning them off. But be careful during the cleaning process since it is easy for a few rotten ones to sneak their way through.
19
With the auction over and the possibility of seeing Dad in a few days, I’m feeling restless. My new school in Lake Cane takes the entire week off for Thanksgiving so I’m up early on Monday morning to get a run in before I head to Gus’s.
As I crisscross through the neighborhood, my mind wanders to yesterday.
Yesterday was a good day.
I spent the morning playing lacrosse with David and the other guys from the team, and as good as my team at Sutton’s is, this one may be better. This could be the year they take state and I’d be lying if the idea of being a part of that team didn’t excite me, which is the main reason I’m out this early for a run. There’s no way I won’t be in the best possible condition when the season starts.
But as good as the morning was, it couldn’t compare to the afternoon with Pippa. We went to a movie, hung out at her house for a while—thank God her parents were happy to see me—then finished the night with Mom’s shrimp and grits.
It felt incredible to reach over and hold her hand, to lean in close knowing she’d kiss me back, to fall asleep with my phone against my ear because we weren’t done talking for the day.
Yesterday was actually better than good. It was damn near perfect. For the first time since I came home, there wasn’t anywhere else I’d rather be.
Once I’m back from my run, I head to the kitchen and stop short when I see Mrs. Sullivan at the table with Mom. True to her word, she’s here to go over the food she wants for her office Thanksgiving party.
I nod to both of them then stick my mouth under the faucet instead of dirtying a glass.
“Owen!” Mom yells, then thrusts a glass at me.
But I’m already finished so she puts it back in the cabinet.
The house phone rings and Mom motions for me to get it.
“Hello,” I answer.
Silence on the other end and I’m just about to hang up when I finally hear, “I know you know where he is. This isn’t over.”
The caller is hiding behind one of those voice-changing machines. I glance at Mom and her forehead crinkles as she looks at me, trying to figure out who I’m talking to. I point to her and mouth telemarketer and she rolls her eyes.
I turn my back to her and say quietly into the phone, “I’m not scared of you. You’re nothing but a sorry-ass fucker that gets off on harassing a woman. You’re right it’s not over because I haven’t kicked your ass yet. And I will kick your ass. Anytime you want to get off the phone and come over like a man, I’ll be ready. So until you’re ready to man up—don’t fucking call her again.”
I slam the phone down and Mom and Mrs. Sullivan jump in their seats.
“Sorry, I didn’t like what they were selling.”
Mom laughs it off but I can tell she thinks there was more to that call than what I’ve given her. Mrs. Sullivan just looks confused.
“I need you to come to my house and handle those calls for me as well, Owen,” she says. Then she turns to Mom. “At least a telemarketer is better than those threatening phone calls you’ve been getting. I do hope that’s stopped, Maggie.”
Mom nods. “Yes. Haven’t gotten one in a while.”
I get to the small den I call a bedroom and pull out my cell to call Detective Hill.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“We just got a call. See if you can trace it.”
I hear him peck away on his computer. “What did they say?”
“‘I know you know where he is. This isn’t over.’”
<
br /> “Anything else?”
“No. I had a few words for him and then hung up.”
“Yeah, I bet you did,” Detective Hill says on the other end.
I grab my boots and clothes and head toward the front door. “Did any of the neighbors have any cameras that picked up what happened the other night?” I ask.
“No. Half of those cameras don’t work and the other half aren’t pointed where they need to be. Waste of time.”
Damn. “Do you have someone close by?”
“Yeah. Parked in a blue sedan across the street.”
I step out on the front porch and scan the street until I see him. “Okay. I’m headed to work. Call me if something happens here.”
• • •
“What’s the plan for today?” I ask Gus when I get to the orchard.
“We’re harvesting today. I’m going to put you on this tractor,” he says, pointing to the one closest to us. “Start up front. You’ll circle each tree, pulling the harvester behind you so it can pick up all of the pecans. When you finish with the first tree, move on to the next one. Watch the hopper and when it’s full, you’ll dump the pecans into the cleaner.”
I turn and look at another piece of machinery not far away.
Gus motions for me to follow him as he demonstrates what the cleaner does. He turns it on and it’s loud, like a blower.
“Raise the hopper up until it’s level with this,” he says, pointing to a large bin on one end. “Then dump the pecans. They’ll go through the blower, which blows out anything that doesn’t belong—leaves, sticks, bad nuts.”
“How does it do that?” I ask.
“Anything lighter than the weight I set or bigger than the size I set gets rejected.”
He opens the little gate and the pecans in the bin start moving through the process. And sure enough, leaves and sticks are blown straight out of the top and fall in a pile next to the machine.
“Once it goes through the blower, what’s left runs along a conveyor belt. One of us will stand here and pull out the bad-looking pecans and any other trash that got through the blower.”
The Lying Woods Page 22
