The Taste of Her Words

by Candace Knoebel

  Maybe my mother was right. I should get over my own pride and ask for help. What choice did I have, other than going to my father? I couldn’t continue like this and stay sane. I couldn’t let him take Charlie.

  Swallowing through the ache in my throat, I tucked the phone in my pocket and headed into the living room, eyes frantically searching for my dad before I had a chance to back out.

  “Andy?” Mother asked when she noticed me. She stood in front of the china cabinet, picking out the dishes for dinner. “What’s wrong?”

  I wiped my eyes, not realizing tears had slipped free.

  “Nothing, Mom. Where’s Dad?”

  My lungs felt mangled, breaths jagged.

  She moved away from the china cabinet, confusion forming between her eyebrows. “He took Charlie fishing. He should be back soon. Are you sure it’s nothing? You look distressed, dear.” She paused, dropping her gaze on me. “You’re not about to have another one of your outbursts, are you?”

  Her words felt like the hot sting of a slap across my face.

  “Outbursts?” The word felt acrid on my tongue.

  “You’re unraveling, dear. Look at you,” she said, pointing to me with an unpalatable expression.

  Unbelievable. I looked over my shoulder, and then back at her, feeling trapped. Feeling like I suddenly couldn’t breathe. I needed… I needed fresh air.

  I turned and headed for the back door.

  The moment the sun hit my skin, I felt the pressure lifting from my chest, as if its rays seared away every ugly emotion. The sky was vast and endless, stretched out in front of me in streaks of blues and greens, like a painter’s thumb had smudged colors across a canvas.

  I felt my name whispered on the breeze. A stirring hunger for a taste of nature in my bones. Answering the call, I ran through the backyard, which stretched for miles and miles into the woods and didn’t stop as my feet plunged through the thick carpet of grass. I didn’t know where I was going, I just didn’t want to be around anyone or anything.

  I needed to think.

  When my lungs were on fire and my legs were begging me stop, I found my old tree house slumbering on top of the hulking, gnarled branches of an oak. The same tree I ran away from five years ago. I stared up at it in wonder as sunlight glittered through the canopy of leaves, the clattering of branches a child’s lullaby.

  It held so many memories within its bark. Too many secrets.

  It used to seem so big. Towering, like a castle in the sky. And maybe that was because I’d been so small, but it didn’t seem as unconquerable as it once did, and it made me wonder when the exact moment the magic from childhood was lost. When did the blinders of innocence fall, leaving our souls empty? Was it when we fell in love and had our hearts broken for the first time? Or was it something small and inexplicable? Something that happened with every miraculous beat of our heart, like the hands on a clock, ticking away the past, barreling us into the future?

  Sometimes, I wanted to be innocent again. I wanted to see the world in wonder rather than with exhaustion.

  I wanted to… I wanted to climb that tree. It was the closest thing I had to reclaiming that bit of my old self.

  Once I found good footing on the ragged planks of wood my dad had nailed into the tree as steps, I pulled. The muscles in my arm shook as they strained to lift me up. It was sobering, feeling every inch of my body exerting itself like it hadn’t done in so long, but I kept climbing until I reached the platform my dad built long ago, sweat beading along my hairline.

  The wood had warped in places, the white paint chipped away, exposing the platform to the elements, but the magic remained. I felt tucked away and removed from reality as I stared out into the golden sunset, realizing how high up I was.

  My stomach tightened. My heart beat was still trying to find a steady rhythm. I hated that I feared falling. I never used to fear it. But back then, I hadn’t known the cost of medical bills and the time off from work I’d have to take if I injured myself by trying to reclaim something intangible.

  I thought about getting down, but there was a small voice inside that begged to let this moment continue. Maybe I didn’t see through the same eyes I once had, but I could remember the feeling. And that was better than nothing. Maybe taking a minute to remember what it was like to be young and free was something I needed to do more.

  Because this felt good.

  The shade of the tree. The sturdiness of the platform underneath me. The way the wind rustled the leaves like music. I lay back, rested my feet on the railing, and crossed them at the ankles.

  Closing my eyes, I let everything go.

  Echoes of laughter dance circles around my heart.

  I sat up, eyes pinned to the hole in the trunk. Leaves, some dry, others mushy, hid the small container I kept buried inside. A small, black caterpillar with white and orange markings poked its head out of the hole, and I paused, realizing I had disturbed its slumber. I didn’t move as it inched out, moving along the length of a branch in tiny, pleating movements.

  Something I’d read somewhere hit me. About how caterpillars must experience isolation before they were given their wings. That was my life. Isolated. Stuck in hibernation, waiting for the surprise of beauty and freedom.

  Just like the tattoo on my back, I longed for the day I’d finally fly.

  Once it was out of the way, I brushed the leaves off the container, my stomach doing small, giddy circles. I popped open the lid and plunged a hand into the papers.

  This was who I was. Who I needed to get back to. I unfolded one that had tiny rainbow and butterfly stickers stuck to the front and smiled.

  Mend my heart with rainbows,

  Listen to me cry,

  Wrap your arms around me,

  Together, we will fly.

  I remembered writing it. There was a boy in junior high I’d been crushing on who I’d thought felt the same, but when he asked one of my friends to the dance instead of me, I’d felt a shattering of confidence. I had been sure he liked me. I’d felt it in the smiles we shared.

  But love was fickle at that age.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket, and, just like that, the magic was gone. There was no doubt it was Matt. And I’d been silly to climb this tree, because I wasn’t sure how I was going to get down without breaking an ankle or scraping my skin.

  Just suck it up and get down. You’ve experienced worse.

  I put the paper back in the container and placed it in the hole, pushing the leaves over it. A small part of me wanted to take them back to my room to read, but I felt like they belonged with this tree. That person… that girl who had big dreams and an open heart… she’d forever keep this tree, line by line. Word by word.

  I took my time climbing down and came away with only a few scrapes on my hands. Once my feet hit the ground, the dinner bell from the porch chimed, the sound far off. Charlie and my dad must have returned.

  I turned back to the tree, crestfallen. Maybe I’d never feel the sort of magic I’d felt when I was younger. Maybe that had been it for me. I just wished I’d savored it more. Appreciated it.

  I just wished… wished I could still find it.

  MUFFLED VOICES CAME FROM THE kitchen, but I passed by, knowing what I had to do.

  For the past ten years, I’d been living in a fog. Going through the motions to try to keep some form of control over my world. Matt wasn’t going to give up. Of that, I was certain. He didn’t like losing, and he didn’t like me because even though I took a lot of his crap, I still didn’t give him what he truly wanted—full and complete control.

  “Dad?” I asked as I knocked on the open door to his office.

  His face lit up the moment he registered me. He was on the phone, but he ushered me in with a wave and pointed to the leather chair in front of his desk.

  I sat, looking around the office as he finished up his phone call. It was just as I remembered it. The many fish he’d caught, stuffed and hung on plaques. The deep cherry-wood paneling and b
ookshelves filled with heavy books. The antique furniture that always made me feel like I was in a museum rather than a room in our house.

  “What can I do for my favorite daughter?” Dad said a moment later as he sat his phone on his desk.

  “I’m your only daughter,” I pointed out, smiling.

  He chuckled. “Doesn’t mean you aren’t my favorite.”

  My face turned serious the moment Matt popped into my head, and I could tell by the look in his aged eyes that he knew why I was there.

  “I… I need your help,” I admitted, looking at the tips of my fingers. Choosing a different lawyer over him had hurt him, but I’d been too young and stubborn to take his help.

  He leaned forward. “What happened?”

  “Matt’s going to try to take Charlie from me.” The words barely made it over the rock in my throat. “At first, I thought it was just a threat to try to scare me, but after we got here, he sent me these messages.”

  I pulled up the messages on my phone and handed it to him. He glanced over the top of his glasses, eyes skimming the onslaught of unforgiving words. Every second that passed, his face changed, eyebrows pulling together as darkness eclipsed his features.

  “I’m scared.” I looked up through the blur of tears in my eyes. “I’m scared because he’s won every case against me, and I just don’t know if my lawyer can pull it off this time.”

  He moved around the desk and took the chair next to me, pulling me into a warm hug. The same hug that always made me feel like I had a great big shield protecting me from the rest of the world.

  “Whatever you need, Andy, I can make it happen. You just have to say the words, and I’ll make your case a priority. He won’t win. I can guarantee that. I’m sure my PI could uncover things his lawyer has kept buried, because a man like Matt doesn’t walk straight lines.” His posture grew stiff, voice deepening to his legal tone. “And, quite frankly, I’m not sure how a deadbeat can just waltz in and win the way he has. Your lawyer should be barred for incompetence to lose a case as easy as yours.”

  I winced at his words, because he was right. And I was just as much a moron for trying to fight on my own, without my father’s help, knowing there was a chance I’d lose. I’d just wanted to do it on my own. I’d wanted to prove I was strong enough on my own two feet. That their disapproval of my choices didn’t keep me from becoming responsible and able.

  And by being arrogant and prideful, I’d only dug my hole deeper.

  “What do I need to do?” I asked through my shameful tears.

  “I’ll have my people call your lawyer and transfer what they have on the case over to us while I get my PI, Terry, to open an investigation on him. I want to know everything. Where he sleeps. What he eats. Who he sees. His past… From there, we will meet and discuss it after I’ve had a chance to go over everything, and then we’ll make a game plan.”

  I looked up at him, uncomfortable in my own stubbornness. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  His hand fell warm and comfortable on my shoulder as he gave it a gentle squeeze. “There’s absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Andy. Everything happens exactly as it’s supposed to. Of that I am sure. You’re here now, and I’m going to do everything I can to ensure Charlie’s safe and happy. I promise you.”

  In his eyes, in his promise, I believed him one-hundred percent.

  “Now, go freshen up before dinner. It’s our first sit-down together in five years. You know how sentimental she gets.”

  “About as sentimental as a goldfish,” I said under my breath as I stood.

  He looked at me for a moment, choosing to ignore my remark.

  “See you at dinner,” I added, and then headed to my room.

  6

  M E M O R Y L A N E

  Let me take your pieces and glue them back together.

  Art.

  That is what you are.

  IT FELT STRANGE BEING BACK in town.

  Not much had changed aside from a new, fancy restaurant replacing an old one in the main strip. Red, white, and blue banners were strung on the front of the shops. The front doors, usually left open to welcome any who passed by, were kept closed to shut out the heat. A large sign was planted in the tree-lined median, broadcasting the upcoming festivities. Even the historic houses that surrounded the tiny town had been given a patriotic makeover.

  Some of the owners sat outside their shops, watching the trickling of newcomers head in on foot. I waved to a few people strolling down the sidewalk, and then spotted Mr. Hadley making his way from the diner back to his hardware store.

  The rickety old window to my truck squeaked as I rolled it down to shout a hearty hello in his direction. He looked up, squinted, and then grunted when he recognized me.

  Eight years later, and the dust still hadn’t settled.

  The one and only light on the strip turned red, so I slowed the truck to a quick stop, beginning to regret coming back. The scent of waffle cones from the ice cream shop carried on the tail of a breeze. This light always took forever. I’d hated it when I was younger. I couldn’t remember how many times I’d been late for school because of it.

  Mrs. Rollands, the town florist, made her way across the street carrying a cake that was as big as she was. There was no way she could see past it, so I pulled my truck into a parking spot and hopped out.

  “Here, let me help,” I said as I opened my arms to take the cake.

  “Oh,” she said, somewhat startled. “Thank you. I had this made for my granddaughter. She’s turning fourteen today.”

  Finally, someone who can leave the past in the past.

  “Well, tell her I said happy birthday,” I said as we made it onto the sidewalk. “Where are you heading?”

  It was then that she looked my way. The moment she recognized me, her eyes widened. My stomach dropped somewhere around my feet. “Oh, just… let me grab my son.” She pointed to the new restaurant, backing away as if I were a predator about to strike.

  “Mrs. Rollands… really… I can carry it for you,” I said, trying to follow, but she wasn’t listening. She’d turned, moving in a clipped pace toward the restaurant.

  I should’ve remembered that time didn’t dispel rumors. It only left room for them to grow.

  A man came out, waving at her. It had to be her son, because he seemed too young to be her husband. He took one look at me and his smile faded. Of course it would. What man wanted the town’s black sheep helping their elderly mother?

  Every nerve in my body was stiff as I kept walking, despite the awareness of onlookers gaping. “I noticed she was having trouble, so I figured I’d give her a hand,” I said as I approached. I handed off the cake and tried to smile.

  Hesitantly, he thanked me for helping.

  “It was my pleasure,” I said, keeping my face straight.

  I left them standing there, whispering to each other about my return. I didn’t look back as I hopped in my truck and took off, heading out of the tourist area toward the tucked-away part of town. It was a quiet, peaceful drive underneath the trees, but it didn’t ease the discord inside my head.

  I didn’t know why I thought things would’ve changed. If the scenery didn’t, why would the people?

  It took ten minutes to get from town to the road my parents lived on. A few houses were scattered on the surrounding, hidden by endless acres of woods. The Hales lived a few miles down from us, closest to the main road. I passed by their house, wondering if Andy was already there. I had no way of knowing because I didn’t know what she’d be driving.

  I thought about turning into their driveway. They were already expecting me. The welcome I’d get there would be far better than the one from my father, but I knew Mom would be crushed if I didn’t pay her a visit before heading to the Hale’s place.

  The gates were already opened when I turned into my parents’ driveway. They always left them open, welcoming anyone who wanted to pay a visit. The two-story home still held the same charm I remembered. Mom loved planting flo
wers and making wind chimes. There were handfuls swinging in the breeze above the porch.

  Dad was on his lawn mower, plowing through the grass like he always did on the weekend—a creature of habit—while Mom pruned the hedges wearing the apron I got her for Christmas a few years back. They looked up when I parked.

  Mom was the only one smiling.

  “Dean,” she cried as she dropped the shears and rushed over. I lifted her up in the air and hugged her close. She smelled of freshly turned soil, a scent that brought back memories of kneeling next to her as a kid, digging into the earth as we hummed and planted herbs and flowers.

  Her hands cupped my face as I set her down, green eyes scanning over me. She looked as beautiful as she always did with flowing brown hair banded with streaks of silver that shimmered underneath the sun. There was an aura to her that always made me—everyone—feel welcome and calm. A magic in her presence that made people want to be around her.

  “I know it’s been a couple of years since I’ve seen you, but you look so much older. More handsome.” She patted my cheek, eyes misting over. “You shouldn’t wait so long to visit me.”

  Guilt was a heavy stone in my stomach.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said as Dad hobbled over. “Your back still giving you problems?” I asked him as I offered him a hand to shake.

  He hesitated before he took it. He was exactly as I remembered. Eyes closed off from everyone. The same square jaw and heavy-browed expression I saw reflected in the mirror. How the two of us could look so much alike, yet be so different was a mystery.

  “He refuses to visit the chiropractor Doctor Thornland recommended,” Mom said, giving Dad the eye, trying to dissuade the already-present tension. She put her hand against his chest. “I swear if you’d just go, you’d feel better.”

  He grunted and stood a little straighter. “There’s nothing a chiropractor can do for me aside from try to pop my back, and that isn’t going to help.”

  Mom pulled her hand away and shook her head as Dad grunted some more, and then headed up the brick steps into the house, mumbling something about needing a stiff drink.