Emily, Gone

by Bette Lee Crosby

  He stuffed the remainder of the turkey sandwich back into the bag and tossed it.

  Sorry was no longer enough.

  The next day Murphy carried a cardboard box home from the grocery store, packed the remainder of Vicki’s clothes in it, and passed it off to Mrs. Palmeyer.

  “I doubt she’s coming back,” he said, “but if she does you can give her this.”

  He then handed her a ten-dollar bill, said he was sorry about the stroller Vicki had taken, and hoped the money was enough to pay for it. Mrs. Palmeyer nodded and stuck the ten in her pocket.

  That same afternoon, Murphy loaded the car with his things and headed back to I-24. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do or where he was going. Vicki once mentioned a sister; maybe he’d try and look her up. Maybe not. When he got to the junction, he turned south. He’d never done much more than pass through Nashville, and that seemed like as good a place as any for a man looking to make a new start.

  Murphy clicked the radio on, twisted the dial until he came to the group America singing “A Horse with No Name,” then he hit the gas and joined in.

  LARA’S FIRST BIRTHDAY

  February 5, 1972

  The fifty dollars Vicki took was gone before the month was out. Although she tried to stretch the cash, it went: a dollar here, a dollar there, until there was nothing but a handful of loose change in her pocket. In mid-October, after the leaves had changed color and the air had taken on a chill, they were sitting at the supper table when Vicki announced that she was going to get a job.

  Angela was in the process of loading a mound of mashed potatoes onto Kenny’s plate and stopped with the serving spoon in midair.

  “You can’t possibly!” she said. “What about Lara?”

  “Don’t worry—Martin Marietta has a night shift. If I get a job there, I could have her ready for bed and let you tuck her in.”

  A smile slid across Angela’s face as she dropped the potatoes onto Kenny’s plate.

  “Well, I certainly don’t mind taking care of her, but you working all night . . . ?” The thought trailed off with an implied question mark hanging at the end.

  “I think it’s a terrible idea,” Kenny said.

  Both women turned with a look of astonishment. Angela spoke first.

  “Why?”

  “Because Vicki isn’t strong enough. Mothering a baby all day and working all night is enough to wear down a healthy person; what do you think it would do to someone as fragile as she is?”

  “I’m thin,” Vicki argued, “not fragile.”

  A look of disagreement had already settled on Angela’s face. “I’ve seen you looking better. Kenny’s right; the night-shift thing is not a good idea.”

  Without looking up, Vicki stuck her fork in a piece of chicken and aimlessly moved it from one side of her plate to the other. “I’m not comfortable with you guys paying for everything. I need to have some money of my own.”

  “We’ll give you a weekly stipend,” Kenny said, not backing down. “It’s not much, but—”

  Before his suggestion had time to settle, Vicki began shaking her head.

  “Absolutely not. That’s flat-out charity.” With her eyebrows pinched together, she thrust out her nose, making it obvious there would be no changing her mind.

  “Don’t get insulted,” he said. “It’s not charity; it’s family helping family!”

  “Enough,” Angela cut in, not giving the discussion time to become an argument. “There’s no rush to judgment here. Let’s take some time and think it over. With clearer heads I’m sure we’ll find a way to work this out.”

  Later that evening, Angela took Vicki aside and asked if she’d be willing to work at the diner.

  “Dimitri needs an extra server for the supper shift. It’s part-time, from four o’clock until eight.”

  “Part-time? What’s the pay?”

  “With tips you’d probably make as much as you’d make working full-time at the factory, and you’d be able to spend most of the day with Lara.”

  Vicki gave a hesitant smile. “You wouldn’t mind babysitting every afternoon?”

  “Mind? Why, I’d be thrilled! You know how much I love that little munchkin.”

  And so Vicki became a part-time waitress, and Angela became a part-time mother. Every afternoon Angela rushed home at three, scooped Lara into her arms, and spent the remainder of the day with her. Before the first snowfall of December, Lara was calling both sisters “Mama.” It would seem with all Vicki had done to make the child hers, she’d object to this, but she didn’t.

  “It’s okay for now,” she said jokingly, “but sooner or later she’ll have to know who her real mother is.”

  Angela tried to laugh it off, but her smile was stiff and brittle.

  That Christmas, Lara began crawling. Up until then you could sit her in the middle of the living room with a scattering of toys, and she’d stay put. That was before she saw the Christmas tree. With its colored lights and shiny ornaments, it was too much to resist. When the electric train whistled and began circling the tree, she stretched her tiny arm forward as far as it would go, then tipped over and took off. From that day forward, there was no keeping her still.

  The Monday after Christmas, Kenny came home with a brand-new Kodak Super 8 movie camera and projector. By New Year’s Eve he’d shot three cartridges of film and sent them off for processing. When Angela complained that $300 was a lot to spend on a spur-of-the-moment impulse, he laughed.

  “Just wait,” he said. “There will come a time when you’ll be darn glad we’ve got these pictures.”

  Of course, time would prove him right, but back then no one could have possibly foreseen what the future would bring.

  On February 5, they celebrated Lara’s first birthday. The date marked the birth of the stillborn baby, but it was a full month before Emily Dixon would turn one year old. Months earlier Vicki had merged both babies into one, and this date would forever be their birthday.

  She came home from work that day carrying a stuffed teddy bear nearly as big as Lara, a musical jack-in-the-box, and a set of stacking blocks that were soon scattered across the living room. Angela baked a cake, then frosted it with pink icing and placed a single candle in the center. When she tried to show Lara how to blow out the candle, the little one got so excited she smooshed her face into the creamy icing and came up laughing. Kenny filmed the party start to finish.

  Once the film was processed, he set up the projector, and as they watched they all laughed as they had the first time. When the film flickered to an end, Angela threw her arms around Kenny’s neck and kissed him.

  “You were right,” she said. “Capturing these special moments on film is the best present you could have ever given our family.”

  Perhaps it was the mention of family or the thought of celebrating such a milestone without him, but that night Vicki could not rid her mind of Murphy. Long after everyone else was asleep, she was remembering the touch of his hand and the feel of his body lying next to her. When she closed her eyes, she saw Murphy with the movie camera in his hand. She saw him laughing the way Kenny laughed, and she saw herself throwing her arms around his neck.

  She tossed and turned for half the night. When the want of him became so powerful that she could no longer stand it, she climbed from the bed and tiptoed quietly into the kitchen. Sliding the drawer open, she removed an envelope and notepad, then carried them back to her room.

  In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, she opened her heart and let her feelings bleed onto the paper:

  I hope you can forgive me. I know I was wrong in not trusting that you would keep my secret, but at the time I was frightened. Now I know how foolish that fear was. You are as much Lara’s father as I am her mother, and you deserve to be part of her life.

  Perhaps it’s not too late for us. Perhaps this love I still have for you is powerful enough to persuade you to pick up the pieces of the dream we once shared and start over. I pray for this every day.

/>   Lara and I are your family, Murph. We need you. I need you.

  I’ve never stopped needing you.

  After she said all there was to say, she folded the letter, slid it into the envelope, and addressed it to Russell Murphy at the Wynne Bluffs address. Tucking the letter into the side pocket of the tote bag she carried back and forth to work, she climbed into bed and closed her eyes.

  EMILY’S FIRST BIRTHDAY

  March 10, 1972

  Helen Dixon understood loss. She knew this day was coming, and she’d prepared for it. Sorrow was not a thing that could be forgotten or washed away, but it could be softened and made easier to live with.

  As the first ribbon of dawn edged the horizon, she rapped softly on the front door of her son’s house. They were seldom up this early, so Helen waited a few moments, then drew the key from her purse, unlocked the door, and made her way into the kitchen. After she’d set the coffee on to brew, she arranged the homemade raisin biscuits on a platter and took out the jar of blackberry jam Sadie Jenkins had sent.

  She’d planned on making an omelet, but before she could crack the first egg, Rachel was standing in the kitchen doorway. Helen smiled, then turned back to the stove.

  “I thought maybe we could get an early start today,” she said. “I have several things to do and could use your help.”

  Rachel stood there, her hair hanging limp at the sides of her face and dark circles making her eyes appear hollow. She made a feeble attempt to tie the belt of the robe she’d pulled on over her nightgown, then left it hanging loose.

  “What kind of things?” she finally asked.

  “Mostly errands. Return some library books, pick up my prescription, stop by the fabric store. I need to make new curtains for the living room; the ones I have are just about falling—”

  “Do you know what today is?” Rachel asked, her voice as pointy as an ice pick.

  Helen pushed the skillet to the back of the stove, then crossed the room and took Rachel in her arms.

  “Of course I do,” she said softly. “My granddaughter’s birthday is something I’ll never forget.”

  The tears welling in Rachel’s eyes overflowed, and she dropped her head onto her mother-in-law’s soft shoulder.

  “Oh, Mama Dixon,” she said through tears. “I don’t know how I can make it through this day.”

  Helen pulled Rachel closer, held her until the sobbing slowed, then spoke in a gentle voice.

  “Grief is a terrible burden for anyone to bear, but it’s sometimes easier to live with if you let others help you.”

  “How can anyone—”

  “Emmy was George’s baby too,” Mama Dixon said. “And she was my granddaughter. Our hearts hurt the same as yours.”

  Rachel pushed back just enough to look into Mama Dixon’s face. “But George seldom says anything . . .”

  Mama Dixon gave a knowing nod. “Because he wants to stay strong for you. He loves you more than anything in the world, Rachel. That’s why he keeps his sorrow to himself. It’s his way of trying to lessen the load you’re carrying.”

  Rachel lowered her eyes and looked away.

  “I didn’t realize . . . ,” she said, but it seemed terribly inadequate in the face of such a revelation.

  It was almost ten by the time Rachel was dressed and ready to leave. As she climbed into the car, she pushed aside the books scattered across the front seat. Helen glanced at her watch and said they’d have to hurry.

  “Why?” Rachel asked. “The library is open all day.”

  “I know, but I promised Sadie I’d have these books back before eleven.”

  “Sadie? Is she working at the library now?”

  “No, she’s there for a meeting, but she asked that we stop and say hello.”

  Rachel gave a weary sigh. “I doubt that I’ll be very good company today; maybe I should just wait in the car.”

  “And insult Sadie?” Helen gave a feigned gasp. “I think not. You need to come in and say hi.” Noticing the frown on Rachel’s face, she added, “We don’t have to stay long. When you’re ready to leave just give me a nod, and we’ll get going.”

  Helen parked in an open spot near the front of the building, then hurried into the library, dropped the books on the front desk, and continued back to the meeting room with Rachel trailing behind. As soon as they stepped into the room, Rachel spotted a dozen familiar faces. She turned to Mama Dixon.

  “You never mentioned this was a meeting of the Hesterville Women’s League.”

  “I didn’t?” Helen offered the pretense of forgetfulness, but a gentle smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  These women were Rachel’s friends. Friends she hadn’t seen in months; women whose calls she hadn’t returned. The desire to turn and run darted across her mind, but before she could move they surrounded her.

  “Thank heaven you’re here,” Natalie Dennis said. “We’re in desperate need of a chairperson for the library restoration committee.”

  “I’m willing to cochair,” Kathy Foslein said, “but I can’t handle it alone. I’m terrible with design concepts, and that’s something you’re good at.”

  “I don’t really think—”

  “At least say you’ll consider it,” Natalie pleaded.

  The word no was in Rachel’s mouth, but it didn’t come out. As she stood there trying to find her voice, Sadie walked over, slid her arm around Rachel’s back, and guided her over to the empty chair.

  “We’ve ordered in lunch, so at least stay and have a bite to eat.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to,” Rachel said apologetically, “but I’ve promised Mama Dixon that I’d help—”

  Already seated in a chair at the end of the table, Helen waved her off.

  “We’ve got plenty of time,” she said. “Those curtains can wait another week or two.”

  “Well, okay,” Rachel said and gave a reluctant shrug.

  When the ladies got back to their discussion of potential events to kick off the restoration campaign, Rachel at first seemed uninterested. She leaned back in the chair, picked at the loose button on her sweater, and fidgeted with her wedding ring, sliding it on and off. Although the conversation bounced back and forth like a tennis ball, she was lost in her own thoughts. When Kathy asked her opinion of the poster campaign, she came up short.

  “Sorry,” she said, shaking herself loose of the memories, “I missed part of that.”

  Kathy held up the poster a second time and explained how the plan was to put one in every shop window.

  “It’s less expensive than ads or mailings,” she said. “What do you think?”

  “It’s good, very good,” Rachel replied, but there was no fire in her words.

  Lunch arrived a short time later, and the library restoration plans were pushed aside. After everyone was settled with a plate of food in front of them, bits of conversation began to circle the table. There was talk of new books to be read, recipes tried, and spring gardens that would soon be planted. Although a good portion of Rachel’s thoughts were elsewhere, she gave a nod of agreement from time to time and twice mentioned the delicious raisin biscuits Mama Dixon had made.

  The meeting ended at three, and by then Rachel had said she would consider their offer to cochair the library restoration committee but couldn’t promise anything.

  “I have good days and bad days,” she said solemnly, “and on bad days I can barely force myself to get out of bed.”

  By the time they climbed back into the car and started for the pharmacy, Helen noticed the strained look on Rachel’s face had softened.

  Later that evening, after the supper dishes had been washed, dried, and put away, the two women took steaming mugs of coffee and sat on the front porch. The warmth of the afternoon sun had vanished. Rachel bundled herself in George’s heavy cardigan and covered Mama Dixon’s shoulders with a wool afghan. After they’d settled themselves with Rachel on the wicker settee and Mama Dixon in the rocker, Rachel looked over and smiled.
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br />   “Thank you for what you did today.”

  “Thanks aren’t necessary. I was glad to have you along to help with my errands.”

  “Mama Dixon, you didn’t need any help, and you know it. You dragged me to that meeting so I’d see my friends and not spend the day crying.”

  “That may have been a consideration, but I was telling the truth about needing those new curtains.”

  “We never did get to the fabric store.”

  Mama Dixon creaked back and forth in the rocker and smiled. “Well then, I guess we’ll just have to try again tomorrow.”

  For several minutes Rachel sat there, her cold hands wrapped around the warm mug, her voice silent. Finally she set the cup aside.

  “It’s my fault,” she said, the words sorrowful and heavy as a cast-iron skillet.

  Mama Dixon’s eyes widened. “Your fault for what?”

  “Losing Emmy.” Rachel swiped the back of her hand across her eyes and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I forgot to lock the back door that night.”

  Mama Dixon pushed herself up from the rocker, came across to Rachel, took hold of her hands, and looked square into her face.

  “You’re not a perfect person, Rachel; no one is. You’re human. You make mistakes just as any human does, but you can’t go through life blaming yourself for what happens.”

  “This wasn’t a little mistake. We lost Emmy because of it.”

  “You can’t undo what’s done. But you can forgive yourself and move on with life. I know right now that sounds impossible, but it’s not. I did it, and you can do it too.”

  “You did what?”

  “Forgave myself for what happened to Tommy.”

  Still holding Rachel’s right hand, Mama Dixon lowered herself onto the settee. “I don’t talk about this very often because even though I’ve forgiven myself and learned to live with it, the thought of what happened to Tommy still pains my heart.”