“Let’s go home. I’m tired, Grandpa.”
“Sure, son.” He picked up his glass and smiled. “You can drive. Got your permit on you, right?” he asked, then knocked off the rest of the drink.
“Of course. I always have it.”
“Come on, then,” he said. “I’m ready.”
I sat behind the wheel of his mint ’68 Shelby Mustang. I’d been waiting my whole life to drive it. Black leather, bucket seat, 5-speed on the floor, painted white with a Ford blue racing stripe down the center. My dream car.
Driving the winding hills with utmost care, I listened to Grandpa rattle on.
“Sonofabitch thought he’d pull one over on the stock market,” he said. “Here this guy has all this capital in a failing corporation, and then he gains more overhead by acquiring another.”
A quick glance at him.
His hands shot in the air. “Oh, shit!”
I looked back at the road. A flash of brown. A deer? I nailed the breaks. BANG!
My head bounced off the steering wheel. Glass crackled, shattering all over the dash. Tires skidded across the highway. The car spun in a wide circle. Pop! The side of my head smacked the window. I jerked the wheel to the right and the car caught the shoulder.
Action. Reaction. That’s all it was. The car tilted one way, and then it rocked, flipping over the side of the hill. We were airborne. My stomach bottomed out like I was falling in a bad dream. Bam! We slammed the hill. The car flipped. Bam! The noise pierced my ears. My head snapped back against the seat. I held up my arms to shield my face. Glass flew around like thousands of razorblades, cutting my skin. We rolled, then rolled again.
Bam! The car landed on its hood and stopped.
A pop and a fizz as steam spewed from under the hood. I scrambled to unbuckle my seatbelt, falling face first into the steering wheel. Grandpa hung in the air, limp and lifeless. I twisted around and grabbed him.
“Grandpa! Are you okay?” I choked. “Grandpa?”
My knees were on the ceiling of the car. Grandpa hung from his seatbelt like a ragdoll.
“Grandpa! You gotta wake up!”
Nothing.
I let him go and pressed my blood-soaked hands over my face.
I’d killed him, I sobbed. I fucking killed him!
Okay, that’s enough of that shit. My therapist is crazy. I shouldn’t have done that.
Fuck it. I’m going for a jog.
Oh my gosh. Tyler was driving that night. I had no idea. My chest wrenched with compassion. Empathy. After reading his words, I felt like I’d witnessed the wreck, like I’d been standing on the side of the road as the car flipped through the air. His words. He had to write it down to tell me. It must’ve been too painful to relate the story out loud.
After I turned off the lights to go to sleep, I replayed the story over and over in my mind. No wonder his grandpa’s death had messed him up so much. The guilt he lived with was eating him alive, yet it explained so much – all the miles he ran every day, the overachieving, his need to be trusted. It all led back to that night.
Chapter 30
The middle of September brought on a do-or-die period for the crops. Mark and I had worked every day, managing to cover almost three acres, but we needed to re-walk what had already been picked. Impossible at best.
My alarm went off early on a Saturday morning. I crawled out of bed and headed to Mark’s room. Bam, bam, bam. The door swung open.
Already gone. I huffed and went back to my room to get dressed.
When I walked in the barn, Old Dog was lying on the floor with his ears curled by his paws. Pathetic eyes glanced up at me. He scrambled to stand.
“Ba-woo, ba-woo!”
I patted his head. “Good morning, you old thing.”
As I headed outside, he followed right behind me. The morning felt pleasant and cool, inviting in the autumn air. After a few minutes, I stopped and listened to a mockingbird singing high in the trees. I imagined how proud the bird was of himself for mimicking everything from a doorbell to a cricket. I returned to picking, satisfied with my solitude. Mark could stay gone as long as he wanted.
About an hour later, I heard a car in the distance. I looked up at the house from the far end of the field. Mark. About time.
I turned around and grabbed a red pepper. Another distant rumble. I squinted, unable to place the sound. Old man Cramer must’ve been chopping wood.
I loaded my hands with red peppers and stuffed them inside my sack. Repeating the process, I topped off my bag and scanned the rows for any misses. Damn. I’d missed a lot. At least my sack was full. It didn’t matter as long as I had a full sack.
Voices in the distance floated in the breeze. I looked at the backyard and gasped.
Mark, Ruby, Mr. and Mrs. McAllister, Emma, Pastor Larry and his wife Sue – they were all headed my way with a crowd of faces behind them that I didn’t recognize. All of them were walking toward the field, carrying various kinds of bags, like they were here on a mission.
I wanted to shout and jump as I ran down the row to meet everyone. Then, I saw Woodrow at the back of the pack, limping along. Oh my gosh... even Woodrow?
I ran to Mark and wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Thank you,” I said in his ear.
He quickly returned my embrace and let go.
“All right, all right,” he huffed, pushing me away. “It’s no big deal.”
“Are you kidding? We’re killing ourselves here. This is amazing!”
I gave Ruby a hug and then Emma.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I said to Emma.
“Girl, you know I’d never miss helpin’ y’all.”
“Now, we got all the people we could gather,” Ruby said. “Let’s get this harvest finished. You’ve done a fine job, but it’s time for some help.”
“Thank you!” I turned to Mark. “You lead ’em.”
“Let’s do this!” He clapped his hands like we were hitting the football field.
Mark separated people to cover three rows on either side of them. Emma and I went to our designated areas with Old Dog close behind. A dark-haired guy named Steve and another lanky man named Josh, parked two full-sized pickups by the field for us to empty our sacks into. Mark pulled our truck up behind theirs, giving us three means of transportation for hauling to the processing plant. Everyone fell into place with Mark’s instructions, surrendering their Saturday afternoon to help my family.
As the morning moved on, people rotated back and forth from the field to the trucks, filling and dumping their sacks. I was bent down, picking an armful, when I heard someone walk up behind me.
“How’s it going?” Mom asked.
I beamed a smile over my shoulder. “Look at how much we’ve gotten done. That guy over there,” I pointed, “he’s going to take a load to the plant soon, and we still have all day. Can you believe all these people are doing this for us? I don’t know half of them.”
“Your dad does,” she said. “Mark went to Ruby’s and told her what was going on. Between the two of them, they rounded up half of Morris Chapel, a few from Saltillo and Savannah. I believe that couple over there live in Adamsville.” She shook her head. “People never cease to amaze me.”
“I can’t imagine what Dad would have thought. Look at how they love him.”
“He would be very humbled to see this.”
I wrapped my arms around her. She clutched me tight.
“Mom, it’s going to happen,” I said. “We’re going to get these crops out.”
“Thank you, Elsie. Thank you for everything.”
Her gratitude meant the world to me. She let me go, and then she grabbed my empty sack, pulling it over her shoulder.
“Have you told Dad about this yet?” I asked.
“No, he’s been sleeping most of the morning.”
“Can I? I can’t wait to tell him what Mark did.”
“Of course.” She gave me a loving smile. “You’ve done this, too.”
Tears filled my eyes. We’d fulfilled our promise. That was all that mattered.
After lunch a few people had to leave, but we still had twelve helpers to keep us going until six that night. Each truck made five trips, giving Mom fifteen loads. On top of it, Mark had another load he could deliver on Monday, and if the weather held, we could still harvest some more. Kind souls from three counties. Maybe they did have a soft heart for outsiders... The strange Northerners who’d gotten lost. But they’d found a good ole Yankee in Dad, falling in love with him despite of where he came from.
After the last car pulled away, I ran inside to tell him. Pulling a chair next to his bed, I grasped his hand and replayed every detail. From Old Dog finding me, to the townspeople rallying to support him, to the amount of money we earned.
As I recounted everyone’s generosity, he struggled to keep his eyes open, but when I said, “Everyone loves you, Dad. You’re such a good man.” He undeniably squeezed my fingers.
After his unexpected response, I let my tears flow. He was proud. But I wanted him to see what we’d done. I wanted him to feel it like I did. I wanted him to get out of bed and walk the field with me. Bittersweet victory.
“I love you so much,” I whispered.
I sat there a bit longer, and then Mom came in after she’d taken a shower. I was ready to clean up, too, so we switched, and I headed to the bathroom.
After I crawled in bed, I opened up Tyler’s journal.
August 14 - How am I ever going to leave her? I can’t. I’m irrational. I want to skip next semester. I want to say fuck it, and not go. Wouldn’t that be stupid? I’ll just throw away everything to stay in a town I can’t stand. Nana’s crazy. The dementia is worse than Mom and Dad want to admit. The other night, she forgot about the chicken breasts on the stove, and the pan scorched. I cleaned it up. She didn’t even seem to care that dinner was ruined. Oh well. I’ll tell Dad again, but he seems to be oblivious. I hope it isn’t because of Alexis. When I took Elsie to my house, I noticed he didn’t go back to Memphis when we left the Country Club. He turned down the side street toward Alexis’ house. Mom asked me about it. I couldn’t tell her. I’ll talk to Dad later, but seriously, if he’s fucking around, I’m gonna be pissed. I get that he’s 43, and probably bored to death, but cheating isn’t cool. Hell, he’s the one who taught me that! Ugh. Just another thing I need to deal with. Nana having me followed is enough. I still have to go talk to my uncle. There goes my checking account.
August 16 - The shower’s running and I need to get in. I’ve never fucked up so bad. Elsie and I had three days... Three days that I couldn’t wait to spend with her. They’re shot. I blew it. How can I ever tell her how much I love her? She doesn’t know the half of how fucked up I am. I couldn’t tell her. I tried... I tried to tell her about Grandpa, but the words... I couldn’t say them without breaking down. Crying in front of her? That’s worse torture than my nightmares. I would’ve been a blubbering mess. She has to understand I’m not violent. I only beat Bobby’s ass because he had his hands on her. I tried to walk away. I’d grabbed her hand, her warm and comforting hand, and then the next thing I knew, I was rolling across the gravel again. All I wanted was to get her out of there. To leave. Fuckin’ scumbag. I hate Bobby Dale.
I gotta get out of here. I have less than seven hours. Fuck! What can I give her? My cologne. No. That’s stupid. A photo. Wow, that’s even dumber. She can draw me from memory. I’ll write her a letter... I don’t have time for that. But. Wait. I could give her this. It’s everything I tried to say, but couldn’t.
His last words were scribbled across the page in black ink.
Elsie,
We’re all at the mercy of circumstance.
I love what we’ve made of ours.
Please, don’t give up, hold on to what I’ve said,
And please, wait for me.
I love you.
Tyler
I closed the journal and texted him.
Me: I finished reading :) Thank you.
Several minutes later...
Tyler: All good?
Me: More than I can say. I miss you.
Tyler: That’s a relief. I miss you, too. Love you.
Me: I love you, too.
Chapter 31
Early October had brought in cooler air and rusty hues lacing the forests. Mark and I started watching football together again. As we shouted at the TV, it felt like old times before the accident. Mom hated football, so she left us alone to our Sunday afternoons and sat with Dad.
Tyler texted one Sunday night.
Tyler: Headed to Tallahassee this weekend for Regionals. 4 days. Be back by Monday.
Me: Good luck. Love you
Tyler: Love you
I stared at the phone. I hadn’t talked to him for almost two weeks. Should I call? I never called him first. Dying to hear his voice, I pressed his name.
“What’s up?” he answered in almost a whisper.
“Just miss ya. Wha’cha doing?”
“Oh... hold on.”
Noise filled the background like he’d just stepped into another world; people chattering, clanking sounds like silverware and plates. A girl’s voice. “We’re ready for you, Tyler.”
My stomach rolled over. What the hell was he doing?
“Elsie, I’ll call you back. I’m at a fundraiser, and they’re waiting for me. I’m sorry.”
“Okay.”
He didn’t call or text for the rest of the week.
By Friday, I had a permanent knot in my throat. I went to Mom and Dad’s room to say goodnight. Dad looked right at me when I came in. I placed my hand on his and smiled.
Mom’s eyes brightened. “He’s doing really well.”
“Looks like it.”
“Will Tyler be back for Thanksgiving?” she asked.
I shrugged. The knot wouldn’t let me talk about Tyler.
“Are you okay?” Her face full of concern. “Did something happen between you two?”
“I’m fine.” I gave Dad a kiss on the cheek. “Love you, Daddy. I’m so glad to see you’re feeling good. I’ll come in before I go to school tomorrow.”
He blinked, and it almost looked like he smiled. An unfamiliar hope rose inside of me. Could he really get better? I gave Mom a hug and left them alone.
As I walked down the hall, Mark was headed to his room.
“Hey, I never told you,” he said. “When Bobby got out of the hospital, he left town.”
That was a relief. “Good. Have they dropped the charges on Tyler and you?”
“Yeah. They dismissed the case when Bobby didn’t show up for court.” He opened his bedroom door and turned back. “And guess what? I asked Megan out.”
“That’s cool.”
“She’s adorable. I can’t imagine how hard it would’ve been to take care of Dad without her.” He flashed a cocky grin. “A nurse would make a damn good wife.”
“She probably will.” I started toward my room. “Goodnight, Mark.”
“You okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Goodnight, sis.”
An hour later, I sat on the bed, finishing the sketch of Old Dog when my phone buzzed. Heart pounding, I hadn’t heard the sound since Sunday.
Tyler: You must think I’m a real jackass.
Me: I don’t know what to think right now.
Tyler: Can I call you?
Me: Do you have to ask?
My phone rang seconds later.
“Hi,” I answered.
“Hey,” he said in a gentle tone. “How are you?”
“Confused.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t return your call. I was at a black-tie fundraiser for my department and had to give a speech. This week’s been crazy.”
I imagined him in a black tuxedo and the thought made me ache inside. “Okay.”
“What are you confused about?”
I rolled my eyes. Was it just a guy thing to be so thickheaded?
“I�
��m... You’re so... I have no idea where we stand right now,” I blurted out. “Tyler, you haven’t called or texted. I’ve felt like an idiot all week. You say you’re a recluse, but that’s bullshit. You’re always doing something.”
“Whoa... calm down. This is what I’ve been talking about—”
“Don’t tell me I have to trust you. I’m trying really hard, but you just drop off the face of the earth without warning.”
Dead silence.
I’d just whined like a little girl. I remembered Zach warning me that wasn’t the way to Tyler’s heart. An audible breath came from the other end of the line. I felt his irritation as if he stood in the room. Shit.
“It may be hard for you to believe,” his tone low and methodical, “but I do think about you. Incessantly. I get that you trust me, but you have to trust that nothing’s changed, even if we can’t talk. I got stuck at that gala event. Class sucked all week. Plus, cross country. I’ve been running ten to twenty miles a day since school started. I’m exhausted.” He sighed. “I just landed in Florida, and I’m finally settled in the hotel. Regionals are tomorrow. Please, tell me we’re all good. You have no idea how much I need to hear that right now.”
“We’re all good,” I said. “I’m sorry. I just miss you.”
He let out another heavy sigh. “I miss you, too. Like more than I can even say. Seriously. I’d kill to just drive to you and never go back. I’m burned out.”
How could I be so self-centered? He’d been working his ass off for months, and all I did was pine over his absence.
“You sound really tired.”
“I’m fucking bombing one of my classes. I’ve never had this problem.” He chuckled. “See? That’s how much I think about you. It’s killing my grades.”
Life Happens on the Stairs Page 25
