by S. K. Grice
Melissa tapped the window again. “Are you okay?”
My legs trembled, drained of strength, but I had to be strong. I had to trust nothing bad would happen if I didn’t finish reciting my mantra. With the help of therapy and new medication, I’d gained a modicum of power over the compulsions. I could pretend I was sane, even if, deep inside, I was full of self-doubt.
I hopped out of the car and pressed the electronic lock. I could do this. “We have to stop meeting like this.” My attempt at levity didn’t hide the crack in my voice.
“This is all too much to take in.” Melissa shook her head and pressed a tissue to her nose. “I didn’t even know Patsy was sick.”
“She died of a broken heart. I’m sure of it.” I gulped the lump of regret lodged in my throat. I’d visited Patsy more often after Annette’s death, did my best to be supportive. Instead, I’d been so consumed with my own grief that I hadn’t noticed her declining health.
If I’d noticed her sooner, I could have taken her to the doctor—maybe saved her life.
Guilt urged me to pick at the slime under my nails. But I didn’t.
We made our way to the chapel as haunting organ music became louder with each step. The ache in my chest deepened. My feet wanted to run, to go someplace where none of this was real, but I barely had the strength to walk.
Melissa linked her arm in mine. “It’ll be over soon,” she whispered. Inside the church, she pointed to the pews on our left. “I’ll be with the gang. We’ll all catch up with you at Patsy’s house after the service.”
I waved at my old school friends, gawking at me with forced smiles and sad eyes. Back in high school, Annette and I had given them nicknames. The monikers had stuck. Demure Denise Voss looked serene in her navy twinset and pearls. Nasty Nancy Miller was here in a strapless black dress and accompanied by her quiet husband, Richard.
After my college years, I’d rarely seen the group. Our lives had taken different directions. Denise had married a naval officer, who I’d rarely seen around. Nancy and Richard had dated since high school and gotten married a few years after graduation. Two kids later and they’re settled into suburbia. Melissa was divorced, renting someplace at the beach. A beach rat, Annette had called her—a local’s term for an adult who still lived like a party-hard college kid in a rented beach shack. My marriage to Aaron had put me on the other side of town for the past twelve years. I hardly knew these people anymore.
Melissa slipped away into the pew, leaving me standing in the back of the church, reluctant to move forward. The vibration of organ pipes pulsed deep into my bones. Noise and crowds, my two least favorite things.
A hand pressed on my shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
It was Noah Baker. His father, Officer Baker, sat in a wheelchair, hiding under a ball cap and a baggy brown suit. The old man looked past me like he’d never seen me before. I’d heard he’d suffered a stroke and was showing early signs of Alzheimer’s. Though, the red eyes and tears streaming down his cheeks told me he remembered Patsy.
I turned to the younger Baker. Athletically built, dark hair and eyes, and a clean-shaven face. He’d become a cop, too. Like father, like son. He looked at me as if he had more to say but remained silent. I understood. We all wished we could say something meaningful. “Thanks, Noah.”
Making my way down the aisle, I spotted Jackson Howell, another member of the beach rat pack. He sat alone looking at his cell phone, his mop of brown hair flopping over his face. He’d been at Annette’s funeral too. Lately I’d wondered how different my life would have turned out if Annette and I hadn’t taken the blotter he’d sold her. Would I have reacted differently that night if I hadn’t been afraid of the drug’s unpredictable effects? I shuddered. I couldn’t allow those memories to resurface.
This was no time for those thoughts. I took a deep breath and held my head high as I walked down the aisle searching for my family.
Familiar faces in the crowd blurred together, but I heard their chatterbox whispers as I passed.
Poor Jolene.
She was so close to Patsy and Annette.
Looks like she’s hanging in there.
My heartbeat slowed. There he was. On the right, second row from the front. The slicked-back dark hair of my ex-husband, Aaron. Our eight-year-old twins turned their smiling faces to me, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. My babies.
How I missed Jennifer’s round brown eyes and eager smile. And Eric’s new buzz haircut and the scrape on his face from a skateboarding mishap made me realize how much was going on without me. They’d inherited their father’s olive skin and dark hair, while I stood out like the pale, red-headed stepchild. At least Aaron had had the decency not to bring his girlfriend. The funeral was bad enough. Seeing another woman with my children would have been a different kind of death.
I had no bitterness. All I wanted was to regain my shared custody rights. The past year had been a challenge. With the DUI had come the loss of my license, my children, and my dignity. I’d hit rock bottom but was crawling out of the dark hole.
I’d screwed up and needed to redeem myself. I’d do anything to make things right, to take away the pain my shattered mind had caused my children. Anything to reassure them Mommy wasn’t sick anymore. I’d wracked my brain over this and decided the best thing to do was set a good example. Model kindness and tolerance.
I looked to the front row for Patsy’s family. She’d stayed true to her word and never remarried. Devoted her life to hobbies, parties, me, and Annette. Patsy’s only sibling, Lola, twisted around and gave me the stink eye, scowling as much as her Botoxed face allowed. I’d been in her sour company half-a-dozen times, the last time at Annette’s funeral.
Lola would’ve flown in from her ranch in Texas, but she wasn’t with her husband or two sons like at Annette’s funeral. Instead, she was with a flat-faced man, fortyish, with dark hair and a suit. He nodded at me like I was supposed to know him. Did I? I took a deep breath. I forgot a lot of things these days.
Aaron stepped out into the aisle and touched my arm. “Hey.” He wore a dark suit and smelled like he always had—of soap and deodorant. My heart didn’t thump the same way it had when we’d met, two years after I’d graduated college. Back then, I’d managed to convince him I was levelheaded and loveable. We’d had several good years in our marriage.
Until the first leaf had arrived in the mail and twisted my head with obsessive thoughts and memories which I couldn’t share with anyone.
Ten years married. One year separated. Three months divorced. I still found him attractive, though the romance was dead. The divorce had been amiable. We’d sold our house, split the profits and moved to separate homes. Shared custody fifty-fifty until I’d totally fucked up.
“Thanks for bringing the kids.” I slid past him to my children, who scooted down the pew to make a space. Flutters rippled through me as I took my seat. I drew them close and kissed their soft cheeks. God, how I missed my babies. “I can’t believe how fast you’re both growing,” I whispered.
Eric tugged the sleeve of my dark green dress, his voice not as quiet. “Can we come to your house next weekend?”
Jennifer looked at me with pleading eyes. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I stroked their shiny brown hair. “I’ll talk to your father about it later, okay?” I sat back, hating that it was because of me my children were heartbroken.
Lola turned from the pew in front of us and shot me a glare hot enough to melt the stained-glass windows. She wagged a finger. “We need to talk when we get to Patsy’s house.”
I’d rather have poked out one of my eyes. What could the old biddy want to say to me? But I’d committed to attending the reception which Patsy’s longtime friends and neighbors, the Nichols, had organized. I half-smiled. “Of course.”
Keeping my head together. That was all that mattered. A clear mind and more time with my children so that I could prove to everyone I was a capable mother.
The organ music stopped
. I tapped my finger on my thigh thirty times and blanked my mind from the service.
After Patsy’s coffin was lowered into the grave next to Annette in the church’s cemetery, I followed the procession of cars through the winding rural roads for the five-minute drive from the church to Patsy’s house. New houses had sprung up along Crab Creek Road, along with a corner Mini-mart convenience store and gas station. The cars turned left onto Willow Road. On my right was part of the McDougal family land. A forest of imposing pines with a thick underbrush of wax myrtles, holly, and woody vines—the woods where Annette and I had once picked wild blackberries. An acre of land had been cleared years ago for a house they’d never built.
On the left, Patsy’s twenty-five acres looked the same as the day I’d first visited with my mom thirty years ago. The wood-sided country house faced the road and sat smack-dab in the middle of two acres of cleared and manicured lawn. The overgrown forest still surrounded all but the front of the house.
I soaked in the nostalgia one last time. This had been the place I’d always felt I belonged, and after today, I’d never come back. The end of an era. Another death.
I parked in the driveway as I’d always done. Patsy had told me long ago that this property would stay in the family. Lola’s son would likely move in with his family immediately, and I would never park in this driveway again. Shame that he hadn’t bothered showing up for his aunt’s funeral, but part of me understood. He’d just seen his cousin buried five months ago. This much heartache was tough to handle.
Patsy’s neighbors from down the road, Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, stood on the verandah at the front of the house, stone-faced and ordinary—doppelgängers for the middle-aged country couple in Grant Wood’s American Gothic painting, but missing the pitchfork. Mrs. Nichols waved.
I waved back but wasn’t ready to go inside and mingle with the mourners where I’d have to face the pitiful looks of grief. My children came first.
I continued around the side of the house, to the backyard where I’d asked the twins to meet me. This was their favorite spot—under the gazebo next to the family tree, where they’d often played hide-and-seek or eaten snacks at the picnic table under the shady oak leaves.
The family tree was seventeen years old and at least thirty feet high. The long branches reached out in perfect symmetry, like a giant spade from a deck of cards. A beautiful work of nature feeding on a secret so deep that it didn’t exist.
After Patsy had named the tree, life went on as usual. Annette and I had gone back to college. The tree had grown steadily through the years. Patsy had fertilized it religiously through the seasons, determined to help the tree grow tall and strong. She’d set up a canopy and picnic tables nearby for her annual Fourth of July parties. She’d put up a white gazebo. The same gazebo Aaron and I had exchanged wedding vows under, back when the family tree had been only ten feet tall.
I had a strange affinity with the tree. It had become a part of the landscape of my life and had grown to represent the familial love I’d shared with Patsy and Annette. With each passing year, I’d treated it more and more like a troubled sibling, torn between my love for it, and my hatred of its secret.
Usually, the tree looked beautiful, but in rare moments, like when a shard of buried memory flashed in my mind, the tree turned as hideous as an ogre.
But it was easy to forget, to live a lie when no one ever questioned me.
I inhaled and slowly released my breath. This was the end of a bygone era. The parties and celebrations. The love and laughter. Sadness squeezed my chest, and all I wanted was to be alone.
Goosebumps crept over my skin. I jerked my head around. Noah was on the deck looking at me. No. Watching me. We locked eyes, and he turned away.
My hand twitched, my pulse making a beeline to my brain and alerting all my senses. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d read my mind.
“Mom!” Jennifer called from behind me. My heart missed a beat, and I switched off thoughts of Noah. I turned. My children ran across the lawn toward me with outstretched arms and bright faces. I stooped to one knee and embraced them. “Hey, guys.”
Eric pressed his face against mine. “I miss you, Mommy.”
The worry in my son’s eyes only made me more determined to fight for my time with them. “I miss you more.” I held them tight, never wanting to let go. How sad that the little time I had to spend with them was today at a funeral reception.
Aaron strolled casually across the lawn, lagging behind and giving me more time with the twins. Though, I’d given no him no reason not to agree to more access time. Over a year had passed since my DUI arrest. I had my compulsions under control. But it was important I prove I was mentally sound, too, because I needed the child custody court to agree I was capable of caring for my children.
Aaron waved. “Hey, nice service the Nichols put together for Patsy.”
I stood, brushing cut grass off my bare knees. “They’re good people.”
Aaron hugged me like a friend. “How are things going for you, Jolene?” Compassion colored his tone.
I forced a smile. He already worried I teetered on the edge of crazy. If he thought I wasn’t coping with the grief, I could kiss off any chance of getting my custody rights back. “As well as could be expected. Life goes on. Right?”
His gentle eyes looked past my calm façade. “This is a big loss. We all loved Patsy.”
My shoulders tensed. Being with Aaron reminded me how much I missed the person I’d been only six years ago. Before the leaves had started coming. Back when my life had been complete. I’d lived a normal existence with family and friends who loved me unconditionally. I’d had control of my thoughts.
I used the counting and tapping to disassociate from the obsessive thoughts the stalker brought on. The more I counted, the more distance I put between me and the looming sense of dread. Counting and tapping. It was better than hand-scrubbing, and it calmed me. I needed these rituals to ensure the rest of my day would run smoothly.
I couldn’t explain my obsessive thoughts and compulsions to Aaron. How could I explain something I didn’t understand myself? The one time I’d mentioned the feeling of being followed, he’d turned cold on me. Said he’d hit his tipping point and I was losing my mind. After seeing his reaction to talk of the stalker, I didn’t dare mention my paranoia about the mysterious letters with leaves I’d been getting in the mail.
Problem was, I wasn’t sure what was going on in my obsessive brain. Wine had become a good friend. Too good. Fuck. If only the DUI arrest hadn’t have happened with the children in the car, after I’d picked them up from school. That had been a new low, and the pain and shame had made my obsessions stronger.
The final blow had come on our tenth anniversary when Aaron had said he didn’t want to live another day with my compulsions and drinking. He’d left me. Found a more stable woman, as he’d put it. Over time, I’d learned to stop obsessing over all of the mistakes I’d made in our marriage. I needed to stay present. To look to my children—my future, not my past.
I finally managed to speak. “Thanks. I appreciate all the support you’ve been giving me. I’ll get through this.”
The twins each pulled at an arm. I hated having to let go, but this conversation wasn’t for their ears. “Guys, can you go wait for me at the gazebo for a few minutes? I need to speak with your father for a few minutes.”
Eric took off for the gazebo. Jennifer waited, disappointment on her face.
Aaron sighed. “I have to leave in an hour. We have other plans this afternoon.”
I stroked Jennifer’s cheek. “This won’t take long, sweetie, I promise.”
Jennifer nodded and slinked away. I waited until the twins were out of earshot, and then met Aaron’s eyes.
He narrowed his gaze. “Everything okay?”
“I want to talk about spending more time with the kids.” I glanced at the twins tossing a ball in the gazebo then back at Aaron.
“It’s not just up to me, Jo
lene. We need to get your therapist to agree. And you haven’t really proven that you’re ready.”
“How can I prove I’m ready if I never have time alone with them?”
His eyes turned to my hands, then back to me. “What about the drinking? And all that counting and hand-scrubbing shit? You still doing that?”
“No, I’m not.” My cracked cuticles itched, but I didn’t flinch. At least I’d toned it down enough for no one to notice.
“I want you to spend more time with the kids. I do. It’s just…when you get drunk and the kids see blood on your hands….” He shook his head. “They’re too young to understand.”
I shriveled inside but stood as tall as a sunflower. I hadn’t fully forgiven myself for terrifying the twins, but I was moving ahead one day at a time. The new medication would help prevent a repeat performance. I was willing to do anything to prove I was ready to have my custody rights back. “It won’t happen again. I have the drinking and OCD under control now. My therapist will back me up.”
“Good. Then we’ll work something out. India signed them up for surf camp and some swimming lessons….”
I tried to listen to what Aaron was saying, but my eyes darted to the redwood deck behind the house and the guests sitting under the umbrella-covered table and on the chaise lounges, drinks in hand. My attention zeroed in on Noah, talking to white-wine-swilling Nancy and Denise.
His crossed arms and hard-set jawline weren’t signs of grief, but scrutiny. That made me uneasy. I sensed danger. But I was also learning how paranoia was just a symptom of my OCD. It made me sense danger at random times, so I’d been working to set the worries aside before they became obsessive thoughts.
Aaron’s voice cut through my thinking. “How do you foresee this happening?”
“What…? Oh, the twins.” I couldn’t hide the jitters in my voice. I turned my back to Noah. “Since it’s summertime, I hoped to have them for at least a few days.”
Aaron’s attention shifted toward the house. I followed his gaze. Lola came stomping across the lawn directly toward us.