Set the Night on Fire

by Laura Trentham

  Picking up the picture, he turned. She’d set a plate of cookies on the coffee table. The rocking chair from the picture was behind her. Ella sat on the couch, a silent observer. She gave him a single, bracing nod when he caught her eye.

  Instead of allowing the bitterness his pop had cultivated overtake him, he asked, “Why was it hard?”

  “You and Ford were still so young when I found out I was pregnant with twins. Your father was ecstatic, of course, even more so when we found out there would be two more boys.”

  “You weren’t happy?”

  “Sometimes I was. It’s taken me a long time to understand it.”

  “Understand what?”

  “I suffered from severe postpartum depression. It started after Ford and got worse with each pregnancy and birth. After the twins were born, I thought about killing myself. That was bad enough, but when I almost—” She covered her mouth, turned, and sat in the rocking chair, the slight squeak of the motion sparking memories.

  He joined Ella on the couch. “Almost what?”

  “Jackson wet his bed, and I almost hurt him. At the time, leaving was the only way I could protect you boys from … me.” She rocked and fiddled with the floral ruffle of the cushioned seat.

  “Why not get help? There are medicines for that sort of thing, aren’t there?”

  “I was young and didn’t understand what was happening to me. I thought I might be going insane. Your father was busy with the garage. It’s not that he didn’t care; it’s that he wasn’t able to understand, if that makes sense.”

  It did make sense. His pop had been old school. His mother’s distress would have been viewed as a weakness or might have been ignored altogether. His pop wasn’t a sensitive, demonstrative guy. He hadn’t been a hugger and rarely had expressed his love in straightforward words. More precious than any declarations had been knowing he’d made his pop proud. A “good job” meant the world to Mack and to all the boys.

  “Why didn’t you get straightened out and come back? We missed you.”

  “I tried, but your father wasn’t interested in repairing our marriage. He refused to let me see you boys.”

  “Why didn’t you fight for us?”

  A small, sad smile ghosted across her lips. “Your father convinced me you were better off without me. And after the way I’d screwed up and was still struggling, I believed him.”

  He wanted to deny and rail against the truths his mother dropped like mini-grenades, leaving his memories in rubble.

  She continued. “Once I was back on my feet and stable, I reached out to Hazel. Your aunts were more forgiving and understanding than I deserved. Through them, I’ve at least been able to follow your lives from a distance. It wasn’t what I ever wanted, but it was better than nothing.”

  Mack swept his gaze over the pictures on the mantle. How different would their lives have been if his pop had been able to let go of his hurt and welcome her back into their lives? He’d made them all suffer because of his broken heart and smashed pride.

  “We could have been a family. A real family again.” Anger welled up, and as hard as it was to admit, it was mostly directed at his pop. His stubbornness and inability to understand that not every problem could be fixed like replacing a part in a car engine. Sometimes you had to make it work with the parts you’d been given.

  His mother sat forward and touched his hand. “Don’t blame Hobart. He was a good man, but meant for a different time. Or maybe a different kind of wife.”

  The conversation took on a surreal cast with his mother defending his pop while Mack reassigned blame. “That’s no excuse.”

  “We both made mistakes, but the reality is I left and he raised you and did a damn fine job. My regrets are plentiful, but the last few months have given me hope that maybe it’s not too late?”

  “Maybe it’s not.”

  Her eyes glimmered with tears, and she pressed her fingertips to the bridge of her nose to stem them.

  If her existence had been sprung on him, he’d probably be reacting differently, but Wyatt and Jackson’s softening toward her had in turn primed him to accept the possibilities. Whether those possibilities would flourish into a relationship, he couldn’t say, but he was no longer barring the door against one.

  “Can I have a cookie?” he asked partly to break the emotional tension and partly because suddenly he was hungry and no cookie in his lifetime had ever lived up to his mother’s.

  She laughed through her tears. “Of course. I make them for you.”

  He stilled with a warm cookie halfway to his mouth.

  “How did you know we were coming?” Ella piped up for the first time.

  “I didn’t.”

  “But the cookies…” Mack gestured.

  “I make them all the time. I try to always have some on hand. Just in case.”

  The implication of her confession tumbled his emotions. How many batches of cookies had gone uneaten and unappreciated on the off chance one of them turned up on her doorstep? He took a bite. The cookie was even better than he remembered.

  “Good?” his mother asked, dimples cut into her smiling cheeks.

  “Better than good.” Mack could see pieces of her in all of them. He’d thought himself as one hundred percent Abbott, but he wasn’t. “Oatmeal raison is my favorite.”

  “I know. I remember every minute with you boys. Even the times I wished I could forget.” She didn’t sound bitter, only resigned and accepting of the years lost.

  He picked up another cookie and hoped it would fill the hollow place in his chest where his heart resided. “There’s another reason we’re here.”

  “Ford,” she said.

  “Yes. Any idea where he is?”

  “In general or an address?” The wariness and protectiveness in her voice surprised him.

  “An address. I need to talk to him face-to-face.”

  “To make peace or to lay more blame on his shoulders?” The motherly disapproval in her voice felt oddly natural.

  “Depends on my welcome.”

  His mother sighed. Her rocking picked up speed and reflected her agitation. “He’s not blameless, but he’s hurting, Mack. Like I was hurting when I left.”

  “Depression?”

  “Depression. Anxiety. I made him go see my doctor here in Oak Grove. I have a feeling he wants to make things right with you and your brothers, but doesn’t know how. Has he burned all his bridges with you or is there a way back?”

  Mack swallowed, almost choking on the remnants of the cookie in his dry throat. It was like history repeating itself. Her question seemed to encompass more than Ford. They could never go back to the way things were, but could forgiveness reveal a path forward for Ford and his mother?

  Could he be a bigger, better man than his pop? The thought hurt. He’d idolized his pop. And he wasn’t a bad man, just one who’d nurtured his hurt for too long. It was easy to hang onto resentment; scarier to let go and hope for the best.

  Mack stole a glance at Ella. Concern but also an unshakable steadfastness to back him up was written on her face. She had forgiven Megan and become a true friend to her. Couldn’t he do the same for his flesh and blood?

  While he teased out the universe’s lessons for him, his mother transferred her attention to Ella. “Ford told me about you, Ms. Boudreaux. You bought his stake in the garage.”

  “I did. Please call me Ella.”

  “But you’re more than a business partner now, aren’t you?” His mother glanced between the two of them, her eyebrows up.

  He stuffed another cookie in his mouth. It was childish and cowardly but there was no way he was answering that question.

  “Yes. We are more than business partners.” A slight lilt at the end revealed her uncertainty.

  He could tell his mother had more questions, but the tenuous connection they had forged didn’t support a heart-to-heart about his love life. Not yet anyway. “Will you give me Ford’s address if I promise my intentions are good? How’s
he doing?”

  “He calls once a week to check in.” His mother frowned, the tiny lines radiating from her mouth betraying her age. “He’s got a job at an insurance agency and is studying for an exam to expand into financial planning.”

  “Isn’t financial planning a fancy way to gamble with other people’s money?”

  “He’s excited about this, Mack. Don’t shame him.” His mother rose and pulled out an index card from a drawer in the kitchen. Mack held out his hand, but she only tapped the card on her chin. “I expect you to approach him as his brother, not a scorned business partner. Can you do that?”

  “I want to make things right, I promise you that.” Mack held his mother’s unblinking gaze for what felt like minutes, but was probably only a few heartbeats. She nodded and held the card out. He ran his finger over his mother’s loopy, strong handwriting. Each new discovery about her, no matter how mundane, rocked his foundations.

  The address was a suburb of Memphis. He snapped a picture with his phone, stood, and handed her back the card. “We should hit the road.”

  “Are you driving to Memphis tonight? You could stay here and leave in the morning.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’m determined to see this through and if I wait I might talk myself out of it.” Neither was he ready for a sleepover at his mother’s. He needed to separate himself from the push-pull and regain his balance.

  “I understand. Let me pack up some cookies for your trip.” His mother took the plate of cookies and retreated to the kitchen.

  Mack turned to Ella. “I’ll take you back to Cottonbloom. I never meant for this to turn into an odyssey.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re more than halfway to Memphis already.”

  “You sure?”

  She ran her hand down his forearm to link their fingers. “I’m sure.”

  His mother returned with a plastic baggie filled with cookies. Mack made his way to the front door. Ella leaned in to give his mother a half hug. “So nice to meet you, Ms. Abbott.”

  Ella sent a side-eye look his direction that dripped with meaning. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a dictionary handy. She brushed by him and headed toward his truck.

  “I’m so glad you came by, son.” His mother held out the baggie of cookies.

  He took it as if accepting a packed lunch before school. Another memory surfaced. She used to leave little notes in his lunches. Words of encouragement or a simple “I love you.” He’d forgotten until this moment.

  He fiddled with the bag. “You should come down to Cottonbloom soon.”

  “I should?” Tears battled with the smile breaking over her face.

  “Wyatt and Jackson would like that. So would the aunts.”

  “What about you? Would you like that?”

  He swallowed. He wished Ella had stayed at his side, but he could feel her behind him, giving him courage. “Yeah, I would like that. It might be hard at first though.”

  “I’m used to hard.” She covered his hand on the bag. “This will be the best kind of hard there is.”

  “Okay.” He took a step back, feeling overwhelmed and unsure. Two foreign emotions for him. “I’ll be in touch.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned in the doorway. “Let me know how things go with Ford, will you?”

  He nodded, turned, and focused on getting himself into the safety of his truck. Ella didn’t speak until they were on the road, headed north to continue his tour of atonement.

  “Your mom seems really nice.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How did you leave things?”

  “I invited her down to Cottonbloom. A homecoming of sorts, I suppose.”

  She shifted to face him, tucking her leg up on the seat. “That’s a big step.”

  “Too big? Should I have waited?” He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel, an agitated energy seeking release.

  “No, it’s good. I’m proud of you.”

  He shot her a look, the smile on her face and her words of praise soothing his nerves. “I wasn’t sure I had it in me.”

  “Had what in you?”

  “The ability to forgive. Pop never had it.” A smidgen of resentment snuck into his voice. “I think that’s why Ford stuck around the garage even though it wasn’t his passion. Pop wouldn’t have forgiven him for leaving the business, just like he couldn’t forgive our mother for leaving.”

  “I didn’t know your father, but sounds to me like he was human with strengths and frailties. You need to forgive him too. He loved her. And I can only imagine what it was like being left with four young, rambunctious boys to look after by himself. He did a good job raising all of you.”

  “We’re so dysfunctional we could be a case study for a psychology class up at Cottonbloom College.”

  “If that were true, we wouldn’t be on our way to see Ford.” The simplicity of her evaluation settled over him.

  “I’m not sure I would have had the nerve to make this trip if it wasn’t for you.” His confession rushed out into the darkness of the cab. He tightened his hands on the steering wheel, hoping she wouldn’t press him further. His emotions were raw and needed time to scab over before facing Ford.

  She was silent, but her hand slipped to his leg for a squeeze and stayed there. He was grateful for the contact. For too long, he’d borne the crushing weight and responsibilities of the garage and the family alone, doing his best to shield his younger brothers. He didn’t have to shield Ella. She was strong enough for them both.

  Although the coming showdown was sure to test him, he relaxed and let the rhythm of the road lull him into a state of peace.

  He pulled into Ford’s apartment complex. Road noise from the nearby interstate permeated the night, so different from Cottonbloom and their sleepy parish road.

  “This is it.” He made no move to open the door and neither did she.

  “I should wait in the car,” Ella said.

  “No. I want you with me.”

  “Mack.” The way she said his name contained both comfort and exasperation. “I’m not family and will only complicate things. You and Ford need to hash this out brother to brother. But no matter what happens, I’ll be waiting.”

  Although she was referring to the single moment in time they occupied, a warmth settled in his chest. He wanted her with him always.

  He got out of the truck, climbed the steps to the second floor, and stared at a door with Ford’s apartment number. It was nine at night. He fought the urge to retreat. Ford could be out partying or gambling on a riverboat or sleeping. Or he could be behind the flimsy piece of wood and metal.

  With one last look at the truck, he faced the door, squared his shoulders, and knocked. The sound of a chain rattling had his heart pounding. The door cracked open and revealed Ford, looking healthier than Mack had seen him in a long time. He’d put on much-needed weight, his hair was neatly trimmed, and his eyes had lost their shadows.

  “Hey, Ford. How’s it going?” Mack asked as if they were seeing each other across the dinner table after a day apart and not after the gulf of months that had separated them.

  If Ford was surprised, he hid it well. Although, their mother might have warned him of Mack’s arrival. She had been protective of Ford.

  “You’re a long way from home.” Ford made no move to invite him inside.

  “Are you busy? Can we talk?”

  “Is that all you want to do? Figured you’d want to rearrange my face.”

  “Not gonna lie. I did want to take you behind the barn for a while. Especially after the stunt Tarwater pulled on New Year’s Eve.”

  “That was Tarwater’s game. He was looking to humiliate Wyatt. Believe me, I didn’t plan it.”

  “His unnatural glee in the situation clued me in on that.” Mack hesitated on the threshold. “Can I come in?”

  Ford stepped back and gestured, shutting the door behind Mack.

  The apartment wasn’t anything special, but Ford had furnished it in new, comfortable-lookin
g furniture. A flat screen was mounted above a gas fireplace.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Ford moved toward a small kitchen.

  “Tea or a Coke would be good. Something with caffeine.”

  “How about a coffee?” Ford pointed to a fancy one-cup brewer.

  “Perfect. Thanks. I take it black.”

  Ford shot him a small smile. “I remember how you take your coffee.”

  It had been a long time since Mack had seen his older brother smile. Maybe even since before their pop had died. They were silent as the coffee brewed, the aroma bracing. Ford held out a mug, the dark brew swirling against white.

  “They’re engaged. Wyatt and Sutton, I mean,” Mack said to try to deflate the rising tension.

  Another smile from Ford, this one bigger and containing real happiness. “I heard. That’s great. How did Tarwater handle the glad tidings?”

  “Madder than a wet hen, as you can imagine.”

  They chuckled and sipped at their coffees, the silence less tense and more expectant. Mack set his coffee mug down. With his words hitching slightly, he asked, “Are you good? I mean, any more trouble with … stuff? You know I’ll help you, right?”

  Ford gave an audible swallow, his gaze fixed on the window like he was considering escape, even though the curtains were drawn. “I’m better. I haven’t gambled since I moved up here. It’s been a battle though. Winning gave me a high, if that makes any sense.”

  Gambling was an addiction like any other. “I want you to know if something changes, all you have to do is pick up the phone.”

  Ford nodded. “I appreciate that, but I’m working things out on my own.”

  As Ford didn’t mention any struggles with depression and anxiety, neither did Mack. Maybe one day, they could talk freely, but for now, they were still feeling each other out. “I’m glad.”

  “How is Ms. Boudreaux working out?” Ford didn’t take a seat or invite Mack to sit, but leaned against an island that separated the kitchen from the living area.

  “Surprisingly well.”

  “So you don’t hate me? Because sometimes I hate myself.”

  Mack rubbed his forehead. “I thought I hated you for a while. But I don’t. How could I, when half the problem is me?”