by Karen White
In my mind’s eye I could see Cal taking everything out of the closet and throwing it away, angrily tossing into big black plastic bags the memories of his childhood. Plucking clothes from the rack and hurling them in the bags without bothering to remove the hangers. He never did things by halves, or with muted emotions. It’s what made him a great firefighter, a saver of lives—because he never thought twice about what he needed to do. Yes, I could see him discarding his childhood into garbage bags. But I had yet to understand why.
“Wow,” Owen echoed as he spotted what must have caught Gibbes’s attention.
On a high shelf was another LEGO structure, its blue and white bricks glaring against the faded paint of the closet walls. It was huge, much bigger than anything else on the bedroom shelves, and not as cleanly formed. It seemed as if this one had been made freestyle, without an instruction sheet that explained which brick to place where. It was hollow on the inside, large enough for small LEGO people to sit inside, their sightless stares looking out through holes in the bricks that acted as airplane windows.
“It looks like a DC-six,” Owen said matter-of-factly. Gibbes glanced at Owen with raised eyebrows.
“Our father was an airline pilot,” I explained. Our father. The words had stuck on my tongue for a moment, as if to release them meant I couldn’t consider myself an only child anymore. I’d known it for ten years, but this was the first time I’d had to acknowledge it.
“I want to be an aeronautical engineer when I grow up,” Owen said. “So it’s important I know this stuff.”
I wondered whether he announced those kinds of things when he was out on the playground with other boys, and I felt another urge to mess up his hair and undo his top collar button.
We watched as Gibbes gently took the LEGO plane from the shelf and placed it on the desk. “You’re more than welcome to play with any of the LEGOs, Rocky. I know you’ll take good care of them.” He looked at the boy as if he, too, wanted to rumple the dark brown hair.
Gibbes eyed the tall chest of drawers. “I wonder if there’s anything in there.”
Owen shook his head. “No, sir, there’s not. When I folded my clothes and placed them in the drawers, I saw that they were all completely empty.”
Gibbes’s eyes met mine again, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether he was picturing his brother in this room, erasing himself drawer by drawer, hanger by hanger. But he’d left his LEGO creations, and a part of me wanted to know why.
“Have you not been in here since Cal left?” I asked.
He hesitated. “No. He didn’t like me messing with his stuff when I was little, and I guess after he left I figured he wouldn’t want me in here.” He paused, and it was as if a ghost passed between us. “I’m guessing this is exactly how Cal left it.” His voice held something indefinable, something that bridged wistfulness with loss, and I thought again of the husband I’d known and how I’d felt neither at his passing.
Gibbes headed back into the hallway, scanning the art on the walls, pausing to touch a frayed section of wallpaper, the edges curling in on themselves like the legs of a dying spider. He continued to the locked attic door and turned the knob, looking at me with a frown.
“Mr. Williams doesn’t know where the key is and said he would send over a locksmith.”
He stared at the closed door for a long moment. “My grandmother had a workshop up there when I was little.”
“A workshop?” I asked. “What kind?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure—I wasn’t allowed in the attic, and then, after Cal left, my grandmother locked the door and didn’t go up there anymore. I think that’s where she made her sea-glass wind chimes.”
I wanted to ask him why—why Edith had made so many wind chimes, and why she’d stopped going into her attic workshop. And why Cal had tried to erase himself from this house and his previous life. But I’d come to realize that Gibbes had probably been asking himself the same questions for two decades.
His phone vibrated and he removed it from his pocket. After looking at the screen, he said, “We’ll have to finish this another time—I’ve got to head back to the office. Apparently there’s some kind of stomach bug going around the under-twelve set and they’re inundated. I’ll call you later to set up a convenient time to come back.”
I held back a sigh. “I’ll be happy to look through closets and drawers between now and then. Obviously anything of personal interest or value will be up to you, but maybe if you could give me an idea of what you’re looking for, that would make this process go a little faster.”
The look he gave me was part amused, part annoyed, and I had to stop myself from flinching.
“Old photo albums. My mother was an amateur photographer and I remember her putting pictures in the albums up until the time she died. There are photos of Cal and me when we were kids. I’d like to see them again.”
His words surprised me. I hadn’t expected him to be sentimental, to want to peer into a past he seemed to have moved beyond, or see photos of a brother who’d left him behind.
We’d reached the top of the stairs and he paused to let me go ahead of him. I walked to the front door and pulled it open. “Let me know when you can come back to finish, and I’ll see if I can find any of those albums.”
“And the key. Let me know if you get into the attic. I’ve always wondered what my grandmother did up there.” He stepped out onto the porch. “Please tell Loralee I had to go and I’ll take a rain check on the coffee.”
I nodded and was about to close the door when I thought of something. “Was Cal allowed up in the attic?”
Gibbes looked at me oddly. “Yes, as a matter of fact. He was.”
We regarded each other in silence, and again I thought of Cal’s spirit walking between us, casting shadows like smoke blocking the sun.
“Good-bye,” I said suddenly, closing the door before Cal’s name was said again, conjuring a ghost neither one of us wanted to see.
chapter 7
LORALEE
Loralee leaned back on the pretty garden bench and closed her eyes. Owen—she couldn’t think of him as Rocky no matter how much she tried—was upstairs in his room playing with LEGOs. He wouldn’t take apart the pieces that had belonged to Merritt’s husband, but instead used his own to make an airport, a runway, and other planes to play with alongside the original ones. When she’d asked Owen whether he was keeping Cal’s planes intact so Merritt wouldn’t be sad, he’d shaken his head and told her that he wasn’t taking them apart because he felt that Merritt would do it herself when she was ready.
Merritt was upstairs in her room taking everything out of the dresser drawers, armoire, and closet, cataloging everything in a notebook before placing it all in boxes marked TOSS, GIVE AWAY, and GIBBES. Loralee slid her feet out of her shoes, feeling it was safe with nobody looking. Her mama had taught her that lipstick, manicured nails, and high heels would always make you feel better than you actually did. And she’d been right, to a point. Lately nothing made Loralee feel good or less tired, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t keep trying.
Opening her eyes again, she found herself staring into the face of the crooked stone statue, sticking catawampus out of the dirt like it had been carelessly tossed from heaven. She placed her journal, which she’d been sketching in, next to her on the bench and leaned toward the statue, wondering whether he had a name. He looked like one of those saints that Molly O’Brien—her best friend from Gulf Shores—had all over her trailer. Her mama was Catholic and was always asking for Saint So-and-so to find her keys or Saint What’s-his-name to send her a good man who was easy on the eyes and long in the pocket. She’d also asked for a saint’s help to make Loralee’s mama better when she got sick, but Desiree would have none of it, saying if it was her time to go, it was her time to go, which was probably why she continued to smoke three packs a day until the day she died. Mama had had a strong faith, but had never cared too much for religion, although she’d had more than one come-to-Je
sus meeting with her daughter during Loralee’s wild years in high school.
“Loralee?” The back screen door slammed shut as Merritt made her way down the steps into the garden.
Loralee quickly slid her feet into her heels and stood. The sudden movement made her light-headed, and she gripped the back of the bench while remembering to smile. “I’m over here,” she said, not wanting to risk her balance by waving. Waving would probably annoy Merritt anyway.
Merritt approached the bench, then stopped, her hands on her hips. “There’s a stone rabbit statue on my front porch. Do you have any idea where it came from or why it’s there?”
“I found it at Walmart over on Robert Smalls Parkway when I took Owen to the grocery store this morning, and all of their garden statuary was on sale. Isn’t he adorable? I left him there so you could decide where you’d like him, although if you ask me, I’d say this old guy here could use some company.”
Merritt blinked rapidly, like she was hoping each time she opened her eyes she’d see something different.
Loralee continued. “You can dress him up for each holiday. I actually have a Santa outfit and an Uncle Sam hat and jacket. I think it makes a house look more festive for the holidays.”
Merritt didn’t smile. “I find that hanging out a flag or putting up a Christmas tree usually does the trick.”
Loralee had a brief flash of her old homeowner association meeting, where she could insert Merritt at the head of the table. Loralee sat carefully, her eyesight still spotty. “Yes, well, you don’t have to put the bunny in the front yard. Like I said, I think it would look great back here.”
Merritt was about to speak, but her attention was distracted by something next to Loralee. Loralee followed her gaze to her pink book, held open by the elastic band.
“Do you like it? It’s just a rough sketch, but I wanted to show you what your garden is supposed to look like.” She picked up her journal and held it out for Merritt. “You can still see the original beds, and I recognize a lot of the plants, since they also grow in Gulf Shores. Same climate, I guess.
“Anyway, when we knew we’d be in the same place for a while, Mama always grew pretty flowers, and she had a nice vegetable garden so I wouldn’t miss out on eating my greens. When we moved into the trailer, we had flower boxes so we wouldn’t notice the rust so much. I think I could make this place look real nice again. A lot of the work will be removing all these weeds, although I hate to do that, because I feel like I’m judging which plant is right and which is wrong, and I was raised not to judge, because then I might be judged.” She forced a smile, trying desperately to get Merritt’s face to soften, to stop looking as if she were always bracing for a crash. “I thought maybe I could help you bring the garden back to its original beauty, give you a nice place to sit and read or drink sweet tea. There’s even enough green space for a little pitchback for Owen. He’s not great at baseball, but maybe he just needs more practice.”
When Merritt still didn’t smile, Loralee felt her own smile faltering. Desperate, she blurted out, “My mama always said that to plant a garden meant you believed in tomorrow.”
“A pitchback for Owen?” Merritt asked through lips that looked like they were made of glass.
Loralee was relieved Merritt chose to mention the pitchback instead of bringing up her mama again. She relaxed. “Yes. I think once we get all the overgrowth cleaned up, there will be plenty of room. . . .” The last word trailed off as she watched Merritt’s expression.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “We’ll make sure that it’s not near any windows, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Merritt sat down heavily on the bench and took a deep breath. She flattened her hands, with their short unpolished nails, against her shapeless black skirt. “You’re planning on staying longer than a week, aren’t you?”
Loralee bit her lip, tasting lipstick, and realized her mistake. It seemed all her hopes and plans had lunged ahead of where she actually was. Which was nowhere, really. She’d made it past the front porch and inside Merritt’s house, but not really much farther than that. Definitely not far enough to where she could tell Merritt that she and Owen planned to stay awhile.
Loralee considered denying it, but knew there was no point. The truth would come out eventually. It always did—something else her mama had taught her. So instead she nodded, not taking her eyes from Merritt’s, almost afraid that if she did, Merritt would bolt like a scared deer.
“Yes. But like I said before, I promise you we won’t be any trouble. I’ll cook and clean for you and you won’t even know I’m here. Mostly I just want you to get to know Owen. Your daddy would have wanted that. I’m sure he would have put it in writing if he’d known some tractor-trailer was going to plow into his car that day on his way to work. But he talked about it a lot, and that’s why I knew I had to bring Owen.” She swallowed nervously but didn’t lower her gaze. “Since we gave up waiting for you to knock on our door.”
Merritt didn’t move or say anything for a long while, which made Loralee nervous. It had been her experience that people who thought for a long time before they spoke usually had something to say that Loralee didn’t want to hear. And that meant she always wanted to postpone the response with chatter.
“I was thinking that it looks like this saint statue was placed on a tree root or a rock, which is why he’s all crooked. I bet standing that way all day long gives him a headache! Anyway, I was thinking we could dig him out and reposition him so that it looks like he and Mr. Bunny are having a conversation back here under this big oak tree. . . .”
“Is it money? You said my father left you enough money that you didn’t need to worry, but I’m wondering if you just said that so I wouldn’t guess the real reason you’re here. But it has to be money; otherwise why would you have packed up your lives and ended up here with me?”
“Money . . . ?” Loralee stared back at Merritt, wondering whether she’d missed part of the conversation, thinking she might have been distracted by imagining what a little mascara and lip gloss and a blouse in any color other than beige might do to enhance Merritt’s appearance and probably her attitude.
Merritt continued. “Was the life insurance not enough? Or did you already go through it? My settlement was generous, but I assumed my father had left the bulk of his estate to you and Owen. He was the kind of guy who’d make sure you were taken care of. Did you spend it all?”
Loralee blinked, trying to erase the sting of tears. She gripped her pink notebook to her chest, squeezing hard and wishing she could open it right then and there and write down what she really wanted to say to Merritt. Jumping to conclusions is often the only exercise some people get, and is always easier than finding the patience to discover the truth.
She opened her mouth to defend herself, to tell Merritt she was wrong. But a river breeze had found its way to them in the forlorn garden, playing with the wind chimes and twisting the oak leaves so their silver undersides seemed to wink at her as if they were in on a joke.
Loralee lifted her chin. “You’re right. We’re broke. I have no means to support my son, and I’m desperate to find a place to stay until we can get back on our feet again.”
Merritt looked at the dancing leaves, too, but instead of seeing winking leaves she appeared to see something else she couldn’t take charge of or make go away.
“Does Owen know?”
Loralee thought quickly, then shook her head. “No. I kept money aside for Owen’s expenses, and that’s what I’ve been using to buy him clothes and food, and the gas that got us here.”
“Did you sell your house?”
Loralee nodded.
“And the money from that, where did it go?”
Loralee kept her chin and voice steady. “We had a lot of debt. Mostly credit cards. They’re all paid off now.”
“And your medications? How are you paying for those?”
Loralee felt like she’d swallowed a cotton boll, wondering how M
erritt knew. She relaxed slightly when she remembered her purse falling and the pill bottles rolling across the floor. “I’m covered for another couple of months and then I’ll have to figure something out.”
Merritt nodded, her gaze focused on the statue. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth right at the beginning?”
Loralee didn’t pause. “Because I thought you’d turn us away if it looked like we needed more from you than you were ready to give.” She watched as the shadows in Merritt’s eyes darkened as she realized that Loralee was right. It reminded Loralee of Owen as a toddler, with crumbs on his face and chin, denying that he’d eaten a cookie. Just because you say something over and over and believe it with all your heart will never make it true. It was one of the first truths she’d written in her journal.
Softly Loralee added, “You have your own burdens, and it was never my intention to add to them. I’d hoped that we could help each other until I got on my feet again, and that it would bring you and Owen closer. He’s your flesh and blood, Merritt, even if I’m not. Unfortunately, we’re a package deal, but I’m hoping you can overlook that.”
Merritt stood, smoothing her hands on her dull skirt as if wiping away a stain. An ugly plastic headband held back her beautiful hair but couldn’t control it from blowing in the breeze, shifting in the muggy air like an impatient child hopping from foot to foot. The thought made Loralee want to smile, recalling a photograph of Merritt as a little girl wearing sparkly red shoes and a pink tutu she’d made herself. Loralee was sure that girl was still inside Merritt somewhere. What she didn’t know was whether the little girl who loved bright shoes and designing her own outfits was buried under too many years of sorrow to find her way out. She hoped not. For Owen’s sake, she really hoped not.
Merritt’s voice was strong, almost as if she’d been practicing saying the words in her head. “Despite what you might think, I loved my father. We were all the other needed for a long time after my mother died. Until you came along and he didn’t need me anymore, although I still needed him. I never forgave him, but I never stopped loving him.”