Not One of Us

by Debbie Herbert

  “Why?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Why?”

  “I did what I had to do.” Her gray eyes darkened and glowed with fierce determination. “No regrets.”

  “You knew I loved Deacon.” I hurled the accusation at her. “You knew how much it hurt me when people said he and his family went into hiding to save themselves from the Mafia. You knew how much I grieved for him.”

  Zach entered the room. “Mimi knows.” His singsong words danced around us. “Mimi knows. Mimi knows.”

  The familiar echolalic phrase shook me to the core. “Go back in the den and watch TV, Zach.”

  “Eat!” he demanded.

  I rose on shaky legs. “I’ll fix you a plate—then you go eat it on the couch.”

  My hands shook as I buttered him a piece of cornbread, scooped pintos into a bowl, and then carried it out to the living room. I set it all down on the coffee table.

  “Tea,” Zach said. For my brother, today was just another day, same as any other.

  I returned to the kitchen, poured a glass, and took it to him. Mimi remained stoically seated in her chair, back stiff and unyielding. I sat across from her.

  “You say you did what you had to,” I began, resuming the confrontation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I had a ton of medical bills from the doctors treating your mom. I could never hope to pay them on a house cleaner’s salary.”

  “You could have declared bankruptcy.”

  “And then I had to raise you and Zach,” she continued, as though she hadn’t heard me. “If Buddy hadn’t paid our bills for a time, I couldn’t have done it. The state would have taken custody of you both and put you in foster care.”

  “You’d have found a way to make it work,” I insisted. If there was only one thing left I knew for sure about my grandmother, it was that she was a survivor. A woman who did what she believed necessary for herself and her family. “You can’t justify covering up all these murders. When I remember all the times you welcomed Buddy into our house, knowing what he did.” I stopped and swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “All the times he ate dinner with us. When he came to my high school graduation and gave me a set of diamond earrings.” I shuddered. “The man was a monster, and you helped him. That makes you a monster too.”

  A single tear rolled unchecked down Mimi’s paper-thin cheek.

  I reached across the table and laid my hands over her frail, thin ones. The same hands that had cooked and cleaned for me and my brother when we had no one else. How could I not still love her? No, she wasn’t a monster with no feelings or conscience. Mimi hadn’t asked for forgiveness, but she needed to hear the words anyway. “I forgive you because of all you did for Mom. For Zach.” I drew a shaky breath. “And for me.”

  Mimi nodded, her lips trembling. “Are you going to tell the cops?”

  I’d wrestled with that very question nonstop. Where, exactly, did the bounds of family loyalty lie? What was the right thing to do for Zach, for my grandmother, and for Deacon and his parents? My deathbed promise to Mom haunted me. I’d told her I’d take care of Mimi and Zach. How could I have known the twisty, dark depths that rash promise would lead to? In the end, I’d made my decision. Good or bad, it was done.

  From the window, I spotted a familiar car rounding the bend near our home. She was right on time.

  “I’ve already packed your bags, Mimi,” I said wearily, my energy spent. The anger was gone, and only sadness remained. “All the arrangements have been made.”

  Her faced whitened. “Wh-what? Are you sending me to jail, then?”

  “No. Not that. I can’t afford Magnolia Oaks, but there’s a bed available at a home in Mobile. It’s not posh, but it’s clean and comfortable. The staff seems nice.”

  She didn’t speak for a full minute, and I held her gaze, steady and resolute. Finally, she nodded, accepting my decision.

  “I wouldn’t want to live in the same building as Tressie anyway.” She attempted a weak smile, slowly rising from the table. “I had enough of Tressie and Buddy growing up.”

  It was the first time I could remember her voluntarily even mentioning her childhood.

  I also rose. An apology formed on my tongue, but I didn’t speak the words. Yes, this was hard, but it was a necessary thing. The right thing. And it hurt like hell to send her away. But what was love without trust? Without respect? She’d refused to discuss her past, but over the years I’d gathered bits and pieces that wove together a tale of brutality. They’d had an alcoholic, violent father and a mother who cowered in fear of him rather than trying to protect their children. All three siblings—Buddy, Tressie, and Mimi—had grown twisted, their emotional maturity forever stunted. An unholy trio of damaged minds and hearts.

  No doubt Buddy was the worst of the bunch. Tressie had grown selfish and coldhearted. She’d focused all her love on a child who didn’t love her in return. According to Ardy, she’d never been an easy person to live with because of her hair-trigger temper, but Jackson’s death had completely broken her.

  And then there was my Mimi.

  She had so much goodness in her. Nothing would ever shake my faith in that. It was hard to reconcile an image of her at the Cormier home, mopping up Deacon’s and Clotille’s blood while their lifeless bodies lay on the floor.

  And yet, she was guilty. Her culpability in the crime was undeniable. A warped sense of family obligation must have driven her to help Uncle Buddy. If she’d turned in her brother, Uncle Buddy would be in prison, and Raymond Strickland would be enjoying a long-overdue freedom.

  A rap sounded at the front door, and Mimi shot me a questioning look.

  “Door,” Zach announced unnecessarily. “Get door.”

  “It’s Rose. I thought it’d be easier this way.”

  “Seems you’ve thought of everything.”

  I pulled Mimi’s packed suitcase from the broom closet and followed her into the den. Mimi sat beside Zach on the couch and pulled him to her for a hug. He leaned out of her grasp, avoiding physical contact. I wished for just this once he’d surrender to a giant bear hug, but that was not his way.

  “Bye, Zachary. I’ll miss you. Be a good boy, you hear?” Her voice warbled, and she swallowed hard. “Jori will take good care of you.”

  “Bye-bye,” he said, scooting away. Of course, he had no idea the goodbye was permanent. My heart ached for the pain I knew Zach would feel in the days and weeks ahead.

  “I’ll bring him to visit on Sundays,” I promised Mimi.

  “Only if he wants to come and it comforts him instead of confusing him.”

  Rose tapped on the door again and then opened it, taking in our sad little tableau. “You ready, Oatha?” she asked softly.

  Mimi stood, one hand on the sofa arm, supporting her weight as she straightened. She looked older, frailer. I silently handed Rose the suitcase, unable to speak. Rose patted my arm. “I’ll be right outside the door.”

  I tried to harden my heart at this goodbye, but the damn thing was already broken and bleeding. I stood there shaking, feeling as vulnerable as a motherless child.

  Mimi slowly walked to me. When she was within a foot, she raised both hands. I half thought she was going to shake me, but instead she cupped her weathered palms against my cheeks.

  “We’re both going to be all right, Jori. You’ll see.”

  And then she was gone. What was left of my family was reduced to only one.

  Chapter 41

  JORI

  The shade provided no relief from the scorching sun. Its rays penetrated every tiny crevice of the trees’ canopy, contributing to humidity so thick it clogged my lungs with every breath. My sojourn would have been more pleasant even later in the day, but I wanted to return home before dark completely blanketed the bayou. I wouldn’t risk Zach stumbling on a tree root and twisting an ankle.

  He lagged several paces behind me, frowning, his attention on the ground’s narrow path. Clearly, he was unhappy with this excursion. Ever since Mimi left
last month, I’d taken him on daily late-afternoon walks, convinced that the exercise and fresh air were good for him. He’d spent too many years cooped up with Mimi in the house playing with LEGOs and watching TV. I’d also begun taking him to Saturday social events in Mobile, which he disliked even more than these walks. So far, my efforts had been an epic failure, but I still persisted, convinced that in the long run he’d benefit from being out in the world more.

  Tegan Blackwell had been a real friend in this trying time. She’d provided me with names of counselors for Zach and me, respite care resources, and best of all, she’d suggested her twins as babysitters so I could have more free time. Zach surprisingly accepted and liked Luke and Linsey.

  Dana and I still got together occasionally, but I’d never feel the same warmth toward her as before. Too much baggage in that relationship. And yet, I did respect Dana for playing a major role in bringing down the drug ring and corruption at the highest level in our bayou. At first, I was leery of her claim, but I’d checked it out with Tegan, and it was indeed true.

  Zach and I had visited Mimi a couple of times at the nursing home. I’d sat in the lobby while Zach spent time with her in her room. Mimi and I had exchanged glances but not spoken. Maybe someday we would. Maybe not.

  “Just a little farther, Zach,” I encouraged. “We’re almost there.”

  His head rose. “Home?” he asked hopefully.

  I couldn’t help laughing. “Not yet. Soon.”

  I returned my attention to the sprawl of saw palmettos, pine, and cypress. It was all starting to blend together, indistinctive and unfamiliar. Never, ever would I have believed it possible to forget the way to my special spot. I’d seriously underestimated the power of time and distance to change the landscape and my memories.

  Had I unknowingly passed by the smidgen of land I’d once claimed as special? Were my treasures forever lost?

  I was ready to turn around, conceding defeat, when a particular cypress, several feet taller than the other trees, caught my eye. Could it be? I hurried forward, my heart zinging at the sight of the crooked creek winding near the cypress. Once a foot wide, the creek had dried almost to nothing. All that remained were a mere two inches of stagnant water that stained the ground and saturated clumps of pine needles, leaves, and twigs.

  I wiggled the backpack straps from my shoulders.

  “Want some water, Zach? Let’s sit down and rest.” I dropped to the ground and patted a spot beside me. Zach regarded it dubiously, tired but unwilling to get dirty. Anything gritty on his skin inflamed his texture issues. I handed him the canteen, and he leaned against a tree, drinking quickly. He’d be ready to return home, pronto. With or without me.

  I’d better finish my business quick.

  I pulled the trowel from the backpack and stood. Aligning heel to toe, I counted. One foot, two foot . . . seven foot. I was close to the creek. Hopefully, close enough that the dirt would be damp and uncompacted. The circle of heavy rocks I’d placed there remained, half-buried in the dirt.

  Thirteen years ago I’d chosen this spot because it was far enough from the cypress that there was space among the intricacies of its root system to bury my small mementos—sprigs of baby’s breath from the prom corsage, the promise ring Deacon had given me only a week before he died, and melted candle wax from the memorial service I’d held right here, witnessed only by the silent trees and the scampering wildlife solely concerned with their relentless hunt for food.

  My unborn baby.

  Now as then, I whispered my truth. “I wish you had lived. I wish a part of Deacon had lived on.”

  I placed a hand on my abdomen, remembering the terrible cramping and loss of blood that had accompanied the miscarriage less than a month after Deacon’s disappearance. I’d endured it alone, afraid to tell Mimi or anyone what was happening. With only two missed periods under my belt, no one besides Deacon knew of the pregnancy. I hadn’t even been sure about it myself until the last couple of weeks before the end.

  Behind me, Zach coughed and announced, “All done.”

  I began to dig in earnest, upturning small clumps of clay mixed with sand. I only had a couple of minutes left until his patience ran out.

  A tiny circle of silver glinted in the dark earth. Tears streaked my face as I held it up. The diamond was smaller than I remembered but was more beautiful, more precious than ever. I motioned for Zach to hand over the canteen and poured water over the ring, washing it clean.

  “What do you think, Zach—should I wear it?”

  “Ring,” he said, tapping my fingers.

  I slipped it on. It felt right. Like this was where it belonged—attached to living flesh instead of buried underground. The time for mourning had long passed. I filled up the hole in the ground with the upturned soil and patted it down as smooth as I could. From the backpack I removed the LED tea light candle I’d brought, flipped the switch on, and set it atop the pile. I figured the battery would die sometime during the night. Maybe one day I’d return alone and light a real candle and stay until it burned out. For now, I had my brother, and that was family enough.

  I took one last, lingering look at the turquoise sky visible through the canopy of ancient trees. “Forgive me, Mom?” I whispered. “I did what I thought was right. Zach’s in good hands. I promise.”

  A gulf breeze rustled through the woods like a gentle affirmation. Mom had been a tender soul, unspoiled by Mimi’s inner darkness. Sometimes, as a child, I’d thought Mimi the stronger of the two, but today I knew different. With each generation that passed after Mimi’s tyrannical father, his influence had been diluted. I’d gather the best qualities from both of the women who’d raised me and move on. I stood, dusting dirt from the seat of my jeans, and smiled at my younger brother.

  “Let’s go home, Zach.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To my editors Megha Parekh and Charlotte Herscher for their assistance in developing my stories to their fullest potential. Their insight, vision, and editorial expertise are always spot on and delivered with large doses of clarity and kindness. I cannot thank you both enough for all you do for me.

  And to my literary agent, Ann Leslie Tuttle of Dystel, Goderich & Bourret LLC, who was the editor of my very first published novel, a quirky mermaid paranormal romance/mystery that she spotted in the midst of thousands of manuscripts by unpublished authors. She remained my editor for numerous other books until, in a serendipitous turn of fate for me, she became my agent. Her unwavering advocacy means the world to me both professionally and personally. My deepest appreciation.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2013 One Six Photography

  Debbie Herbert is a USA Today and Publisher’s Weekly bestselling author. She has always been fascinated by magic, romance, and Gothic stories. Married and living in Alabama, she roots for the Crimson Tide football team. Herbert enjoys recumbent bicycling and Jet Skiing with her husband. She has two grown sons, and the oldest has autism. Characters with autism frequently land in her works, even when she doesn’t plan on it.

  For more information, visit www.DebbieHerbert.com, and sign up for her newsletter to receive a free novella! Connect with her on Facebook at Debbie Herbert Author or Debbie Herbert’s Readers and on Twitter at @debherbertwrit.