by Flite, Nora
The music began—fast-paced acoustic guitar, a throaty hum. Cynthia had a voice like someone who swallowed gravel for breakfast, though she looked young and angelic in her photos. “Sweet lime, warm sand, I'll be the marcher, you be the band...”
No good. Even happy music made me sob.
My bluetooth-connected phone started ringing on my dashboard, cutting the song off short. I saw it was Aubrey. Wiping my eyes, I sniffled and answered. “Hey, what's up?
“Oh, you ok? You sound like you've been crying.”
“Just listening to that Cynthia girl. Her music is... emotional.”
“Yeah it is. You getting yourself worked up for her show?”
“Huh?”
“She's playing at Summer Heat today. I think she goes on around 2, but I have to check the flier.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Dammit! The Gibraldi event, I totally forgot!”
“Haha, very funny.”
“I'm serious. I'm an hour out of the city, nearly to my granddad's farm. Ugh, I'm so sorry, I should really be there to make sure it goes well. Do you want me to turn around?”
“No, that's silly. I'll go in your place.”
My instant reaction was to wonder if she could handle it. Then I felt dreadful, because of course she could. Aubrey knew everything about the Gibraldi project—more than me, honestly, since I'd forgotten it was today. “That's a great idea,” I said earnestly. “Thank you. Please tell them I'm sorry I couldn't go, and call me or text me if you want my advice. It might take a bit for me to respond, the cell service at the farm is spotty.”
“It'll be smooth sailing,” she laughed.
That made me think about the riverboat date with Conner. Tightening my jaw, I breathed deep. “Thanks again for saving my ass, Aubrey.”
“That's what best friend's are for.”
I took another long breath, holding it for a second. “When I get back tonight, let's get together.”
“...Maya, are you sure you're okay?”
“No,” I laughed bitterly, new tears building in my eyes. I wiped them with my wrist. “I'm not okay. I'll tell you later, I have to go.” Crying and driving wasn't a good mix.
Twenty miles later and I was pulling my car up the sloping road to my Pappy's farm. The bright sun cast a glare on my windshield—I hit the brakes, squinting through the light. What's going on with the sun? I wondered, cutting my engine. I didn't remember things looking so...
“Oh no,” I whispered. It took me two tries to unlock my door and get out of the car, that's how shocked I was. I didn't believe my own eyes until I was crouching in front of the flattened stump in the grass.
The oak tree from my childhood was gone.
I ran my shaking hand over the wood-grain. The screen door jangled on the porch as it opened then shut. “It came down in the last storm,” Pappy said, holding the railing, watching me somberly. “It's been on the verge of falling for some time. It's a miracle it didn't land on the house.”
I gazed blankly around the huge front yard. “What happened to all of it?”
“Teddy Marshall, friend of mine. He came out with a few guys who cut it into chunks. I let them haul it off for firewood.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Maya-bean, are you crying?”
“Am I?” I laughed, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes. “I guess I am. I'm sorry, I'm so happy your house didn't get smashed, really, I'm just... I can't believe it's gone.” My shoulders shook; I bent over the stump, trying to control my sobs. “I'm sorry, I'm freaking out and I don't know why, it's so stupid, sorry!”
“Stop apologizing.” His strong hands came down on my upper arms—I startled, staring up at him. Had he made it all the way down the steps by himself?
“Pappy, careful, you don't have your cane.”
“I'm fine. You're the one in tears,” he reminded me. His voice was hard but his eyes were warm. “Come on, up. Let's go inside before you attract a bunch of coyotes who think there's an animal dying in my front yard.”
That made me laugh a little. I got to my feet, but was shocked by how my knees were less stable than jelly. With our bodies shoulder to shoulder, we supported each other up the porch and inside the house.
TO MY RELIEF, HE DIDN't pry into my breakdown. We both knew it was about more than the oak tree. Seeing something that had always been so certain, so consistent in my life, gone without any fanfare, left me grief-stricken. It hammered home how fragile time was.
Every moment I'd spent with Conner... it might as well not exist; destroyed like the tree being burned for firewood. At least the wood would keep someone warm. His memories only brought me icy regret.
Eager for something to do, I jumped into action when Pappy suggested he could use help organizing boxes upstairs. As tough as he tried to be, he wasn't supposed to climb steps, especially not alone. A fall would be disastrous.
There was a fine layer of dust on the boxes stacked haphazardly in the guest room. Had my aunt really been cleaning this house? It didn't look like it. But maybe she hadn't made it to this room yet. Maybe going through old boxes of memories was too much for her. It was giving me a whole gnarled ball of feelings, for sure.
Lifting a box that wasn't stable sent two more toppling to the floor. “Shit!” I scrambled to make sure nothing inside was broken. Flipping open the top of one of the boxes, I found a photo of my mother looking back at me. She was cradling a baby in her arms. I knew this picture because I had a copy of it framed on my bookshelf at home.
Sitting on the floor, I pulled out the picture. Underneath it was one of my mom showing off her swollen belly. Smiling helplessly, I shuffled photo after photo into a stack. It was a snapshot back into the past. Toddler aged me chasing a fluffy orange cat, infant me with my wobbly cheeks. Here, my aunt standing next to me in a scarecrow costume. My barely-crawling-self was wearing an over-sized pumpkin, the hat heavy with a curly green vine.
My face hurt from my constant smiling. I'd have to make copies of these pictures. The next one I flipped over was one I'd never seen. There was a big white and blue cake on a picnic table. I was sitting behind it, tasseled birthday hat strapped into place because I was only a year old, and probably kept trying to yank it off and chew it.
My mom was standing behind me.
So was a man with a thick mustache and rich brown eyes.
I didn't need to be told who it was. The picture was like every other quintessential birthday photo that family's took. I didn't know this man's face, I didn't have to. There was only one person it could be.
“Dad,” I whispered.
Cold fingers walked down my spine. Next came a rush of heat that tingled my scalp. What was I feeling? Anger, disgust, betrayal, regret... every emotion came together in a messy bang.
Mom had told me my dad left when she was pregnant. But here he was, at my first birthday party, beaming proudly for the camera. Why had she lied to me?
I tried to calm myself with a deep breath but I just sucked in stale dust, coughing painfully into my elbow. Papers went fluttering all over. Scowling at how sloppy I was being, I collected everything one by one until I had an organized pile.
Once again, I stared down at my father's face. I could ask Pappy about him. But was that a mistake? Opening that door might bring more pain. It had been easier to imagine my dad as never being around. It left a new scar to know he'd stood beside me as I blew out my first candle, and still, after meeting me, knowing me, he'd abandoned us.
For now, I'd settle for packing the boxes.
I bent down to return the pictures to where I'd found them. At the bottom of the box was a tiny binder. I knew that binder. It had been an ever present decoration on the kitchen counter while I hovered on a stool, watching my grandmother cook.
Amazed by my find, I pulled out the recipe book like it was a hidden treasure. In a way, it was. Wiping off more dust, I cradled it to my chest, jogging down the stairs. “Pappy?”
“Done already?” he asked, turning tow
ards me from his seat on the twill green and yellow couch. “Or just looking to take a break?”
I held up the book in front of me wordlessly.
His eyes widened, the lines in his face smoothing, making him look younger. “Your grandmother's recipe book,” he marveled. “I knew it was packed away somewhere in this house.”
“I found it at the bottom of a box.” I almost said what else I'd found, then bit my tongue. Thumbing the pages, I browsed over the writing with my heart swelling in delight. “It's been years since I had one of her caramels.”
Pappy pushed himself from the couch with a grunt. Using his cane he hobbled towards me. I gave him the book; he ran his thumb over the paper, tracing the faded ink. The letters my grandmother... his wife... had written so cleanly. My handwriting was almost as nice as hers. It gave me some pride, knowing that. “How would you like to taste them again?” he asked softly.
“I'd love it.”
WE SAT ON THE PORCH in peaceful silence. My hands were sticky, though I'd washed them three times. The recipe had worked and Pappy and I congratulated ourselves on doing a decent job replicating my grandmother's caramels.
“Not perfect,” he'd said honestly.
“Not this time,” I'd agreed with a sly smile.
That had made him laugh happily. Now, we rocked on the long bench that hung from the wood beams, the wind playing across our cheeks, my hair tickling my lips.
Scanning the grass, I caught sight of a tabby cat with a torn ear. Its green eyes darted to my face. I froze, watching curiously. I hadn't seen any cats last time I was here and had wondered if Pappy had stopped feeding them.
It slipped towards the house, then turned deliberately towards a rose bush. The porcelain plate of cat food was barely noticeable. It felt like a sign to see an act of kindness my Nana had indulged in until her last days.
My grandfather sighed like a house that was settling. “When your mother was a child, she never wanted to do any wood-work. She liked learning to cook from her mother.”
“Her and I are so different.”
“Your aunt Jemine? She liked making birdhouses, like you.”
I blinked at that information. My toes pushed at the porch, slowing my swaying until I stopped entirely. “Did mom and her sister get along as kids?”
“What siblings get along?” he chuckled. He gave me a side-eye. “They became better friends as they got older. In fact, they were inseparable, always supporting each other, never a bad word said, until...”
“What?” I asked eagerly.
Pappy's frown was massive, it created crevices all down his jowls and throat. “It's not my place to tell you.”
“Please, my mom won't. She just dodges and complains about how bad my aunt is now. What changed?” He said nothing, eyes fixed on the gaps in the porch boards. “I saw a photo upstairs. Of my dad.”
He snapped his head around. There was a deep well of grief in his eyes that made my blood cold. “Oh, Maya-bean. You shouldn't have seen that. I thought all the photos were gone.”
“Why get rid of them, why did everyone tell me my dad left before I was born?”
“It wasn't something we planned. Your grandmother and I wanted to keep the peace. We always wanted our children to be happy, make their own choices. Your mom and your dad were... bad for each other.”
I leaned towards him anxiously. “What happened?”
“Peach was always strong minded. She loved someone, who were we to judge their character? But Jemine, well, she wasn't capable of being silent. I think she sensed he—your father—was a bad seed before anyone else did.”
“What was his name?”
“Patrick,” he sighed. “Peach and Patrick. Your mom loved the alliteration.”
“Did he just up and leave, and why would that make my aunt and mom fight?”
He plucked a caramel from his pocket, chewing it slowly, thoughtfully. “I was never one for gossip. But I have two ears, and one works well enough. Your mother and dad fought a lot. Before she was pregnant, then more after you were born. Patrick had a violent side that got worse with alcohol. The man loved to drink. And Jemine... she was always so angry at her sister for tying herself to someone like him. Your mom had ambitions, like you.” He gave me an indulgent smile. “On some level, I think Jemine was disappointed. She was never as driven as Peach, but I think she was okay with that if it meant her sister did great things in her stead.”
I pulled my knees to my chest, hugging them. I was learning so much about my family and their relationships with each other. “The photo I saw was of my first birthday.”
“I remember it,” he said somberly. “Your father and mother got into a terrible argument. I could hear it here, on the porch, when they were out by the barn.” He pointed, his voice getting gruffer, angry in a way I wasn't used to. “He hit her so bad he chipped her front tooth. She was holding you in her arms when he did it. That was the last straw for Jemine. She stormed across the field and cracked him in the jaw, then she called the cops, though Peach begged her not to. Patrick said if he got arrested, she'd never see him again. He kept his word.”
He said nothing else. He didn't need to. I got it.
I'd never known Mom's tooth had been damaged from something so awful. I'd never pried, just assuming it was something like a bad fall or a thrown baseball, something simple. Innocent.
To know my daddy—no, I hadn't thought of him like that before, I wouldn't start now—had been the one to do it... to his own wife... it pissed me off. But now I knew why everyone pretended he'd never been around. That was less shameful than the truth. I related more to my mother's secret than I wanted to.
And my aunt, she'd been the rift. It wasn't fair of my mom to blame her sister for making Patrick abandon us. Jemine had done us a favor. The bitterness my mother carried was toxic.
“I hope someday they can move past all that,” I whispered, dragging my toes on the porch. I gripped the swing's chains tight. “It's so sad to think of them hating each other over something that's not their fault.”
“Time can be a wonderful thing as far as healing goes. It can also harden scars until they're impossible to remove.” He lurched forward, balancing his weight on his cane. I moved to help him but he waved me off. “I'm fine, I'll be right back.”
“Okay,” I said, watching him nervously as he shuffled into the house. He wasn't gone long. Brushing the screen door aside, he came to me, holding out a yellow folder.
“Here, take this.”
“What is it?” I asked, opening the top.
“I keep meaning to give it to someone who'll keep it safe, then finding excuses not to. Guess it's been hard to let it out of my sight. It was the last thing your grandmother and I ever worked on together.”
I scanned the documents he'd handed me. “Pappy, this is your will.”
“That's right.”
“And you wrote it with Nana? That means it was done over ten years ago!” My brain ran a mile a minute. “Nothing was changed,” I whispered in wonderment as I read the pages. “You're dividing everything in your estate up equally between my mother, my aunt, and... me.”
“Of course,” he chuckled kindly. “You sound surprised.”
“Because I am! I thought you wanted me to show I was dedicated to having a family. You couldn't have known if I'd get married, or have kids, or any of that ten years ago!”
His eyes tightened, deep wrinkles getting even more cavernous. “Maya-bean, why would any of that matter?”
I wanted to shout It shouldn't! It doesn't! I couldn't find my voice.
All along, Pappy had never let his affection waver for any of us.
Regardless of how I, or my mother, or my aunt chose to live, we were family. We were loved.
And we always would be.
Chapter 19
Names
THE SUN WAS DOWN WHEN I pulled up to Sutter's bar. The event had cleared out, but there was still a crowd drinking, some playing pool, others just talking in groups
in the corners.
Aubrey waved at me when she saw me enter. “Over here, stranger.”
“Hey,” I said, sitting on a stool. “I got all the text messages you sent. I couldn't download the videos until I was a few miles away from the farm. Everything looked great, though.”
Tilting her head to one side, she squinted at me, her rouge lips puckering. “Yeah, yeah. Tell me what happened between you and Conner.”
My heart jumped into my throat, I couldn't respond for a few seconds. “How did you know something happened to us?”
She gestured with her beer bottle. “You're not wearing your ring.”
“You noticed.” I held up my hand, flexing my fingers. “You have a keen eye.”
“That's why you keep me around.”
Laughing lightly, I ordered a beer for myself. “That's one reason. Thanks for always being here for me. In friendship, and in work stuff. You saved me today. I owe you, Aubrey.”
“Eh.” Pushing her shoulders up nonchalantly, she finished her beer with a yawn. “My work isn't done.”
“How do you mean?”
“You're pretending I didn't just point out your bare finger. Tell me why you're all depressed about your fake fiancé.”
I cringed at the label. “Don't call him that.”
“Why? It's true. He wasn't really going to marry you.”
“If you're trying that trick where you make me so mad I defend him, I won't.”
“Geez. He must have really done you wrong.”
Looking off to the side, I scrunched my body deeper into my jacket. “I was an idiot to trust him. I should have known better. Especially after what happened with Ben.”
Aubrey put her hand on top of mine on the bar. “You never told me what Ben did.”
I looked down at her perfect pink manicure. I could easily push her away. I had before, after all. Aubrey had wanted to know about my ex and I'd always dodged.
Not anymore.
“Once I tell you, you'll look at me differently,” I warned her.