by Ava Gray
When the front door opened, it took everything he had to stay in the barn. Cold wind blew through the cracks in the rotting walls. Empty stalls and rusted tools gave the building a haunted air. This was the worst place on the farm, where he’d found his mother’s body. Sometimes he thought she lingered here, trapped and hopeless as she’d been in life. Fitting he stood in these shadows now, listening to love leave him.
Zeke didn’t budge until he heard her engine start and the car drove away. She was five miles down the road before he stepped outside. Funny, he felt the cold as he hadn’t since his escape, but it didn’t settle on his skin. Instead he felt it in his bones.
The house was too quiet when he went back inside. She’d turned off the music, probably to save electricity since she didn’t know when he’d come back. But the silence felt to him like the grave, heavy and final.
He sat down to grieve, one night only. Zeke didn’t believe in brooding for long on things that couldn’t be changed. As things stood, he would have to give notice at the clinic and start looking for other work. There was no way he could see her every day and not die of the pain. Better to make the break clean and permanent. Hell, maybe he should even sell the farm, if he could find a buyer. Start over somewhere else. That might be best.
Hours later, a car slowed near his drive. That meant the person intended to turn. He wasn’t in the mood for company, but he stood, ambling to the window to see who it was. Sid parked and climbed out of her old Ford, then went to the trunk and started unloading. The wicker basket in her hand would be loaded with dishes, if he knew the woman at all. Time to turn on some lights and pretend he was fine.
Zeke sighed and went to open the door. “Evening, auntie.”
“Oh my,” she said, marveling at the bright walls. “You’ve done wonders for the place, you surely have.”
“Glad you like it.”
“I brought leftovers.” She leveled a chastening stare on him. “Last week you promised you’d come to Sunday supper, after church let out. When you didn’t show, I figured you plumb forgot.”
Shit. The last time they’d talked, he had promised. Neva had a way of edging everything out of his brain, not that his mind was a steel trap on the best of days. Another reason she’d do better without him. Zeke never could’ve imagined he’d miss the average IQ he’d had before.
“Sorry.”
Sid brushed past him, heading for the kitchen. He followed her. She clucked over its humble state. “Good thing everything’s still warm. Have you eaten today?”
Had he? Yeah, at the luncheon, but he’d been too tense to enjoy it much. He took a seat at the kitchen table. It brought back memories to see her here. While he was a kid and his dad was still alive, she’d often come over with that same basket full of food. If she hadn’t, no telling what would’ve happened to them.
“Not supper,” he admitted.
“Then I’ll fix you a plate and you can tell me what went wrong.”
He froze. “Huh?”
“I heard your girl moved out.”
Did the whole town know everything about everyone? Christ, it had only been a few hours. The wound hadn’t even scabbed over, and they were already gossiping. It must be worse for Neva; she’d risked her good name by taking up with him.
“How?” No point in denying it. Sid knew her information was good.
“The housekeeper at Harper Court called her cousin to say she’d be staying late because they needed her to prepare Geneva’s bedroom. She was supposed to have Sunday supper with Gladys.”
“Gladys.”
“The housekeeper’s cousin. And she goes to church with my friend Judy.”
“Who called you?” He wasn’t sure he understood why, but he didn’t ask.
Gladys probably called somebody in her prayer chain; telephone lists worked equally well for spreading juicy news. His aunt Sid had been guilty of doing the same a time or two. He just wished it didn’t involve him directly.
“Lands, yes. You and Geneva have been the talk of the town, and she hasn’t spent a night at Harper Court in a while now. For her to go home . . . well.” His aunt smiled. “Things must be rough on both of you, and I figured you’d need cheering up. Don’t worry, baby. You’ll meet a girl who appreciates you.”
He almost laughed. She figured Neva had done the dumping ; it made no sense the other way. Why would a man like him break it off with a woman like her? No point setting the record straight; even Aunt Sid wouldn’t believe him.
The forest sounded better and better.
What could he say, except: “Thanks.”
With grim resolve, he ate the food she’d brought: fried chicken, peas and carrots, and apple cobbler. Zeke let her comforting words pour over him in a vague rush of noise. He made the right sounds and nodded now and then, wanting nothing more than to be alone. Eventually she left and the silence came back. Tonight, he didn’t stick around to listen.
Instead he went to the woods, where he belonged.
Could things get worse? Neva was with her mother of all people, unpacking in her childhood bedroom. Suite was more like it. Everything was pink and gold—a dream come true, if she were eleven and still dreaming of ballet. In fact, her last pair of slippers still sat in the closet, waiting for a little girl who didn’t exist anymore. She didn’t know whether to be touched or horrified. Nobody had cleaned the place when she moved out permanently, as if leaving these things here would ensure she came home.
And look, here I am, a perfect example of functional sympathetic magic.
“You want to talk about it?” Her mother was making a real effort to be kind, though she had to be thrilled, after what she’d said about not marrying the help. She paused delicately. “I . . . heard about what happened.”
Neva tensed. When she’d turned, horrified at Zeke’s behavior, there had been a few guests milling around; no doubt they’d wasted no time in spreading the story. People would be talking about this for weeks. Since she was a Harper, it made the furor worse, too. It had taken all her courage not to bolt like Zeke had. Instead she’d taken Ben’s arm and spent an excruciating hour pretending the stares and whispers didn’t bother her. She’d learned early on that running only made it worse.
“Not really.” She hung up the last shirt in the enormous closet; her bathroom at the apartment was smaller.
And it’s still not livable. Thank you, Mrs. Popović and grandson.
Lillian sighed. “You should. If not to me, then to Julie. You won’t be ready to move on until you accept it’s over.”
Oh, subtle.
“We’re not talking about Zeke anymore, are we?”
“Did you want to talk about Luke instead?” Her mother shifted, crossing her legs elegantly even while she perched on the edge of the bed.
“I don’t want to talk period. I just need to stay until the kittens are big enough not to need overnight care.”
And she didn’t want to impose on Travis and Julie, though she expected they’d be happy to have her. They’d find some way to work around his allergies, if they knew she really needed help. She was just conscious of not asking for favors from friends; it tended to strain the relationship. Whereas her relationship with her parents could hardly get worse, so it didn’t matter. It might be a little awkward, but the house echoed with space. She could stay out of their way, if she could just get rid of her mother first.
“Fine.” The other woman capitulated unexpectedly. “I understand you spoke to your father . . . and he told you.”
Since it was at least off topic, she nodded, shutting the closet doors and turning to face Lillian. “I can’t believe it.”
“I suppose he gave you the same speech?”
“That we need to cut each other some slack, because soon we’ll only have each other?”
“That’s the one.” Lillian studied her hands, and Neva did, too.
Though she was well kept and lovely, cosmetics couldn’t hide the signs of age on her fingers. Her fingers had thickened s
lightly, the knuckles a touch knotty. As her mild arthritis worsened, it would show even more. Her mother hated that, and had even stopped wearing her beloved rings, hoping people wouldn’t notice. Neva remembered when she’d worn diamonds on just about every finger. She remembered pulling them off to try them on her thumbs—and her mother hadn’t scolded her or complained she might lose them. It hadn’t always been . . . like this, between them. Maybe she could make the first move.
“I’m sorry I can’t be who you want me to be.”
She sat down on the bed, seeing how old her mother looked—without her makeup and in her at-home clothes, Lillian Harper showed her years in the small lines about her eyes and the ones bracketing her mouth. Luke’s disappearance had hit her hard. They’d all depended on him, maybe too much, and his absence left a hole.
Her mother took her hand. “I’m the one who’s sorry. With your brother gone and now your dad sick . . . I feel like I’m lucky I still have you at all.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “It hurts me to see you sad. Did I have anything to do with this?”
So it takes a dying man and broken heart to dig any real emotion out of you, huh? She squished the uncharitable thought and tried not to remember what an ice queen her mother had been out at the farm. It wasn’t like that mattered anymore. Zeke had walked out on her, and she wouldn’t be crawling back. She didn’t want a man who was always running instead of fighting.
“With my breakup?” Though she didn’t know if those words even accurately represented the situation. They’d never had an official date; she didn’t think she could count that meal at Tom’s Diner. In all the ways that mattered, they’d never been together like normal people, and the one time they tried, it blew up in a huge way.
“I was a bitch to him,” Lillian said flatly. “And I did it on purpose because I still had it fixed in my head you should be with Ben.”
That surprised her. “You don’t think so now? Why the sudden change of heart?”
For her mother to admit she’d been wrong, it might mean the end of days. Perhaps she should be looking for a rain of toads, blood in the rivers, locusts in the fields, and fire in the sky. Neva glanced out the window, just in case, and saw only darkness. She wondered if Zeke was still out in the barn, or if he’d gone back inside as soon she left. The idea didn’t sit right. God, she wished she’d had a chance to tell him off before walking out.
“I saw you two together at the party today . . . and your father had a . . . talk with me after you left,” she added. “I admit it. There’s no spark. I know why Ben wants the marriage . . . and I understand why you don’t. We’ve been using him as a stand-in for Luke, and asking you to marry under those circumstances is just . . .” Lillian grimaced. “A hundred kinds of wrong.”
She didn’t even know what to say. Part of her feared the woman was just setting her up for something worse, but she appeared sincere. So she made an effort, too. Her dad would be happy, at least.
“It wasn’t your fault. Zeke has some stuff to work out.” To put it mildly. “He’s a hard man to understand.”
“They all are. Do you love him?”
“It’s a little early to be throwing that word around. We hadn’t been together very long.” A shrug.
“Did I ever tell you how I met your daddy?”
Hell, no. Since she got old enough to talk about such things, Lillian had been the last person she’d want to share them with. As a little girl, she’d loved her mother’s tales, though. But since she was really trying, Neva could do no less.
“Uh-uh.”
“Would you like to hear the story?”
“Of course.”
“This isn’t the story we tell people, but I was at a honkytonk in Birmingham.” Her expression said she sympathized with Neva’s current plight. “I met a handsome man, wearing a blue-check shirt and worn-out Wranglers.”
“Dad?” she guessed.
Lillian laughed. “No, he comes later. I did some dancing with that fella I probably shouldn’t have and it gave him . . . ideas about my intentions.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle, too. “Really? What happened next?”
“I’d had too much to drink by that point, so I wasn’t thinking right. I let him edge me out to his truck. We were kissing up a storm, and if he’d finished the job, your last name might not be Harper.” Her mother grinned a little, less formal than she’d been in years, and Neva wondered if she had been drinking today. “As he rounded second base, some of the liquor wore off and I thought better of what I was doing. I’d only wanted to dance and be a little wild. Not that wild.
“So I started to fight and scrambled out of the truck. He chased after me, but before he could do more than call me a tease and give me a shove, another man came out of the bar. He had an open Jack Daniels in one hand, and he was drunk as a skunk, singing some Johnny Cash song, ‘Oh Lonesome Me,’ I think it was. He saw I was in trouble and came charging in. He whacked that cowboy upside the head with his bottle and he went down.”
Neva could picture the scene so clearly, dark parking lot, an old truck. It made her parents seem more human, somehow, but it was hard to picture her mother wearing jeans. She hadn’t seen her in anything but pastel suits for so long. Her doubt must’ve shown because Lillian smiled and shook her head.
“I wasn’t born wearing Dior, you know. Your daddy was so drunk, I had to drive him home that night. If I’d known we were going all the way to Harper Creek, I might not have offered.”
“You had no idea who he was.”
“Lord, no. I’d never heard of the place. I just knew he’d done the right thing and saved me, even though he could hardly walk straight. When I pulled up in front of Harper Court, I like to died. I had to help him up the walk and the housekeeper thought I was some cheap floozy with my lipstick all smeared and my hair gone wild. My mother-in-law never let me live that down.”
“Grandmother Harper?” Funny, she’d never wondered what it had been like for her mom. The Devereaux family had some money—enough for her maternal grandparents to send her to college—but nothing like the Harpers. They certainly didn’t have any towns named after them.
The older woman nodded, her mouth pulling tight. “I won’t say I was sorry when she passed on.”
Realization dawned, and it explained a lot. Everything, in fact. “And that’s why you were so hard on me. You probably heard about how your daughter was showing your common roots.”
Which was funny. Her mother’s people weren’t trailer trash by any means. But Grandmother Harper had made her assessment based on one night’s events, and hadn’t let anything in subsequent years change her mind. Neva just wished Lillian hadn’t allowed the old woman to leach all the life from her. But habits formed over time, and a brittle shell grew where affection used to be. Only her husband had been spared the ice.
“Yes. But it was worth it.” Remembered warmth kindled in Lillian’s eyes. “I fell in love with him that first night. Oh, we courted and didn’t marry for two years, but I knew, right then. And I’ll tell you: I never regretted a minute I spent with him, even with Mother Harper carping on every little thing I did. How I spoke, walked, dressed, ate, and raised my children. I’m only sorry—” Her voice broke.
That it’s coming to an end.
“Oh, Mama . . .” Tears stung Neva’s eyes, and she reached out.
She couldn’t remember the last time they’d hugged. Maybe when the deputies came to tell them they had found Luke’s car abandoned on the highway. She had no clear memories of that day, just residual shock. Today Lillian didn’t smell like Chanel; she wore a floral scent, something light and sweet. Her mother’s hands stroked her back as they had when she was a little girl and had a nightmare.
“The heart wants what it wants,” Lillian said softly. “And if your daddy had turned out not to be such a catch, if he had been a miner or a mechanic, I would’ve married him anyway, no matter what my parents said or thought. I guess I got so wrapped up in being worthy of this name of ours th
at I forgot it doesn’t matter a damn unless you’re happy.”
That did it. Neva started bawling. It had been years since she’d broken down this way; she could handle anything in the world except her mother being sweet. In between quiet sobs, she got out, “I want to come home.”
“Anytime, baby. Anytime. We’ll pay off your lease on the apartment.”
Maybe it was weak, but Neva didn’t demur. She had been brave and stoic and dealt with Luke’s loss on her own. She had forged her own path, and chosen a career she loved, but she just couldn’t deal with a breakup, business trouble, and a dying father all alone. There was no reason she should, either. They held each other for a long time, sniffing into each other’s shoulders. She’d missed this.
“It warms my heart to see my girls together . . . and not fighting.” Her father spoke from the doorway, wearing a melancholy smile.
Neva became aware there might not be many opportunities like this left. She got off the bed and hugged him, too. “I guess you heard I’m moving back in.”
“With the problems you’ve had at the clinic, I’m glad. That girl they found—”
“That’s nothing to do with me,” she reassured him.
In his condition, he didn’t need to be worrying about her. But she knew better than to say so. He hated fussing, even when he had a minor illness. With this, Neva suspected he’d prefer to pretend nothing was wrong, until the very end.
“I hear you brought kittens. Maybe your mother will let me keep one.”
She expected Lillian to protest the trouble or the mess, but her mother nodded. Apparently her dad could ask for anything, now, and get the wifely seal of approval. “Can we see them?”
Neva nodded, feeling like she would wake up soon. Neither of her parents had ever shared her interest in animals. But she went to get the box and brought it to the bed. The kittens were adorable balls of fluff now, eyes open, and full of curiosity. The biggest one had medium fur, patterned in black and white. His brother was mostly gray with white feet, and their sister was an orange marmalade tabby.
