What We Take For Truth

by Deborah Nedelman

  Just as Grace pulled her chef’s knife from its holder to begin chopping the vegetables for dinner, the phone rang.

  “Grace dear,” Rose’s voice sounded hesitant. “I don’t think I should come to dinner.”

  “Rose, no! What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing, really. I’m feeling tired. I don’t like the idea of driving back up to the house in the dark. I’m just not ready. We’ll do it another time.” Her words ran together in a rush, gaining conviction as she spoke. “I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

  Stunned, Grace put the phone down slowly. This wasn’t like Rose at all. What was going on? She grabbed the phone and quickly dialed the Dyers’ number.

  “Hello?”

  “What’s really going on, Rose? Are you sure you’re OK?”

  “Oh, I’m fine, Grace. I told you. I’m just not ready for an evening out.”

  “OK. Well then, let’s chat for a bit.” Grace had more than dinner on her agenda; she might have to put off showing the cabin to Rose, but she wasn’t about to pass up this chance to find out more about Charlie. “I visited the cemetery the other day.”

  “Go to see your father, did you, dear? I went to Jackson’s grave too. It’s kept up pretty well, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, mostly. But I didn’t go just to visit my dad and Jackson.”

  “Oh?”

  “You remember the other day, when you came into the café? I asked you if you knew Charlie Roberge? I was hoping you could tell me more about him. I just can’t understand how I didn’t know about his family.”

  “Yes, well, they moved away a long time ago, honey. I think… let’s see… you were probably four or five. You had other things to focus on then and you probably weren’t paying too much attention to what was going on with other people. They just moved away—I think they went to Seattle.”

  “How old was he then, when they moved away?”

  “Oh, let’s see… I guess he was around thirteen or fourteen, you know that was such a long time ago, wasn’t it, Grace? My memory is a bit hazy going back that far.”

  “That’s fine, Rose, you have already told me more than I knew. But now I’m really curious. If he got out of here at thirteen, why on earth would he come back here now? Does he have any other family around here, a brother or sister or something?”

  Rose didn’t respond for several seconds. “I don’t… Oh, my memory is just terrible... it’s been a long time.”

  “Well, it’s strange, don’t you think? Why come back to Prosperity now? It’s not as if he’s going to find a job around here. I asked Walt about him the other day and he acted so weird, like there was some big secret about this guy or something.”

  “I’m sorry, Grace. I am getting tired now.” An unfamiliar tone of irritation had crept into Rose’s voice. “I’ll come down to the café in a day or two.”

  “OK, I’ll stop talking. Just answer one last question: why would Charlie give Walt money and buy him a new set of clothes?”

  “I don’t know!” There was no mistaking her anger now. “I can’t keep track of everybody. Good night, Grace.” Click.

  Grace was stunned. She couldn’t remember Rose ever treating her so rudely. As she took stock of the vegetables lying half-chopped on her cutting board, she tried to sort out the last few days. Ever since she’d started asking about that guy, Charlie, people had been acting strangely. She scrapped the onions and celery into a container, stored them in the refrigerator, and climbed the ladder to her loft. Often, she could sort things out when she wrote in her journal. This time, though, her head spun with questions and she couldn’t imagine where she’d find the answers.

  What is going on? Why would Rose lie to me and get so angry when I asked about Charlie? If there is one person who keeps closer tabs on people in this town than I do, it’s Rose. And what’s Walt hiding? If I weren’t keeping my own secret from them, if my conscience were clean, I’d be pissed. I don’t know the rules in this new world. Are traitors allowed to get mad at the folks they’re betraying?

  And now I’ve got another problem. Kev. He’s seen me in the mornings walking past his house on my way to the trailhead. People think Kev is stupid, but if anyone is going to figure out what I’m doing, it’ll be him.

  “What do you think, Kev? Is my chocolate pie as good as Jane’s?” The piece of pie Grace put in front of the boy was smothered in whipped cream.

  “Too much white,” Kev said flatly. “Why do you take a walk for exercise every morning? Mommy said you don’t want to get fat, but I said ‘maybe, maybe not’!”

  “Well, your mom is right about that one. I do not want to get fat, Kev. So, I’ll hold off on the whipped cream on your pie, and on mine.”

  Grace knew how this would go. When something changed in Kev’s world, he’d talk about it obsessively until he made some sense of it. His questions would call too much attention to her treks.

  Grace slept fitfully that night. The only thing she’d resolved was that her morning routine had to change. Rising an hour earlier than usual, she went down to the Hoot Owl and packed up the protestors’ order. Then she circled around the back of the mill to stay off Kev’s street, adding an extra half mile to her hike.

  “I’ll just be coming up once a week,” Grace told Chelsea the next day. “Folks are starting to talk.”

  “Too bad. We’ll miss your fresh cinnamon rolls!”

  Jason stepped forward. “Just tell them what you’re doing. They’re bound to find out anyway. Aren’t you tired of lying?”

  Grace wanted to scream, but she pinched her lips tight, pulled on her pack and stomped out of the campsite. The wind was gusting through the high branches—the gods gossiping about her foolishness.

  Jason was right about one thing—she was making herself sick keeping this secret. The thought of the town finding out made her hands shake and her stomach clench. But if Grace could hold on for just one more month, there was a chance she could get on top of the bills. It wasn’t clear why, but business had started to pick up. Some folks had a bit of money in their pockets.

  And something else was happening: a shift, too subtle to name and so welcome Grace feared looking too closely might jinx it. A quiet sense of purpose was crawling back onto the shoulders of a few of the men—it was as if they’d shaken off that coating of doom everyone had been sinking under. Their boot steps sounded firmer on the Hoot Owl’s wood floors, they settled into their seats with the fatigue of working men—their legs stretched out in front of them, their hands swollen and veined from labor. They dropped crumbs of conversation with their crumpled napkins and the few coins they left tucked under their empty plates. She picked these up and rolled them slowly between her fingers. Grace didn’t want to press, ask anything directly, the wounds of lost work were still tender and hot. And worse, she feared being lied to. All her life she had trusted these men—most had been close friends of her father, had had his back in the woods, and had grieved his loss by her side. But the shifting ground she’d felt when Rose had refused to give her an honest answer about Charlie had unsettled even these bonds.

  Deceit was passing through Prosperity like a virus. Sitting back and watching the epidemic spread was driving Grace batty. She needed some straight answers. If she could untangle the secrets around who Charlie was, Grace had a feeling everything else would start to come clear. She would start with Henry. She’d drag the story out of him. She’d withhold his coffee if she had to.

  Grace made her way down the mountain and slipped past the mill and her unlit cabin. She entered the café through the back door, greeted Lyle, and barged into the dining room. A few early morning hikers were sitting in the corner booth, mumbling over their bacon and eggs, but no one sat at the counter. None of the other tables was occupied. For the first time in years, Henry Martin hadn’t shown up at the Hoot Owl for breakfast. This could not be a coincidence.

  Now Grace was on a mission.

  She picked up the phone and called Jane in Seattle.

 
***

  When Grace capitulated and made a deal with the protestors, she nearly choked on the bitterness. She had told Jane it was not something she ever wanted to talk about again, and if her aunt even hinted that she was pleased about it, Grace would never talk to her about anything. Their conversations had been brief financial reports and little else since. Until this morning.

  “You know, people who don’t manage bankrupt cafés in backward logging towns don’t all have to get up before dawn, Parrot.” Jane woke with sarcasm on her lips. Always had.

  “This is important and it’s driving me nuts. You’re the only one who can tell me what’s going on.”

  “OK.” Grace could hear her aunt rustling around, probably looking for a cigarette. “Shoot.”

  “Who is Charlie Roberge?” The sound of a match striking, an inhale, and a long silence.

  “Jane?”

  Nothing.

  “Jane? Who the hell is he?”

  “Where did you hear that name?”

  “He’s here. I met him when I was hiking down from…” Grace glanced over at the group in the corner. “You know. He was going up and I was going down. Early. Real early. I thought maybe he was a state inspector or something, no pack. But Henry said no, he’s ‘one of us.’” She made air quotes with her right hand. “But he wouldn’t tell me anything else about him. Neither will Walt or Rose. Everybody seems to know him, but they won’t talk to me about him. What’s the big secret?”

  “Well, I don’t know why he’s there, but I suppose it’s time.” A weariness crept into Jane’s voice. “You get yourself down here—let Lyle take over things for the day. This isn’t a conversation for the phone. Let me know which bus you’re on and I’ll meet you at the station.”

  “Wait. What’s the big deal?” Grace gripped the receiver with both hands. She tried to keep her voice down. The backpackers in the corner were looking at her. “Just tell me now. I don’t want to go to Seattle.”

  “Listen, this is a long conversation and I’m not going into it on the phone. If you really want to know who he is, come down here. A day in the city won’t kill you. Call me back when you know which bus you’ll be on.” And Jane hung up.

  Chapter 13

  The bus wheezed to a stop, and Grace peered through the grubby window. The bus had traveled a convoluted path to cover a crow’s thirty miles from Everett to Seattle; in the course of the trip the sky had cleared, and the gray had given way to a strong, defiant blue.

  “Damn,” she muttered under her breath. Her early morning hike had been cold and wet. Now, when the afternoon weather was perfect for a hike in the mountains, she was stuck in Seattle.

  Only a few months ago she’d been eager to live in the city. During the last months in Prosperity, the draw of this place had dulled, and its harsh energy now set her nerves on edge. Her body stiffened with city-armor as she grabbed the straps of her backpack, pulled them tight, and stepped off the bus. Wariness widened her peripheral vision, turning every stranger into a potential threat.

  Jane stood huddled against the building, a cigarette dangling from her hand. Grace relaxed a little as she caught her aunt’s eye.

  “Well, you got me to the city.”

  Grace was stunned by how exhausted her aunt looked. Jane’s eyes were swollen and there was no sign of her sassy grin.

  “What the hell is going on? Are you OK?”

  Jane pushed herself off the wall and groaned softly.

  “Let’s go get some food.” The two women started down the crowded sidewalk. Pigeons scuttled and bobbed in the gutters, their iridescent feathers flashing among the garbage and stink. Crumpled in a dim doorway a person whose gender was unidentifiable under the caked dirt and tattered clothes sat cross-legged holding a cardboard sign. Whatever you can spare. God Bless. Grace stuck her hand in her pocket and pulled out a couple of quarters. She dropped them in the upturned cap.

  Jane looked over at her niece and rolled her eyes.

  “I know, I know.” Grace mumbled into her aunt’s ear. “I just can’t stand the thought of living on these streets.” Looking around she asked, “God, don’t you miss the woods?”

  “There are lots of trees around, Parrot. Ask me if I miss Prosperity.”

  Grace knew better.

  Jane steered her niece toward a restaurant. She paused a second to toss her cigarette onto the sidewalk and then pulled open the thick wooden door and walked in. They were greeted with a pungent mix of spices and stale air and the sounds of clinking glass and low voices.

  At a long, polished wood bar a few men in shirtsleeves hunched over their drinks. Jane, nodding to the bartender, headed to a corner table toward the back and pushed her purse across the bench before she sat. Grace followed slowly, her eyes gradually adjusting to the dark.

  When she reached the booth, Grace dropped her pack, kicked it under the table and slid into the seat across from her aunt.

  “I don’t know how you can live in the city, Jane. I’ve only walked a few blocks and I already feel beaten up. I know it isn’t healthy for you.”

  Jane shrugged.

  Again, Grace noticed the weariness on Jane’s face. Was it just that Jane was getting old? Grace wondered about her aunt’s health, but knew better than to question her. Jane had always hated talking about her body almost as much as she hated the confines of Prosperity.

  “You look good, Parrot. The café must not be getting you down yet.”

  “Everything’s fine, hunky-dory, great. Now tell me who this Charlie is. I could almost believe there was some kind of conspiracy between you and everyone else in Prosperity, except that you don’t speak to anyone else in town.”

  Jane check her watch, waved a waiter over and ordered a beer. She looked at Grace. “It’s after two. You hungry?”

  Grace shook her head impatiently. Her eyes were wide and her lips set in a tight line.

  “Ok, I’ll take that for a no, then.” Jane looked up at the waiter, “that’s it for now.”

  She took a pack of cigarettes out of her purse and put them on the table and made a ceremony of reaching for the tin ashtray, sliding it across the table, tapping a cigarette out of her pack and lighting it. Grace began drumming her fingers on the table.

  Finally, Jane spoke.

  “Honey, first thing I need you to know is that I love you and I loved your dad and your mom.”

  Whoa. Grace was stunned. She’d never heard anything like this from her aunt.

  “People don’t always make perfect decisions when they love people,” Jane continued, then looked away. Grace got the distinct impression this was all rehearsed. Jane sighed and turned back to Grace.

  “Oh, hell, you were just a little girl and you couldn’t have understood; we had to protect you.”

  “Well, I’m not a little girl now and your protection is about to drive me insane.”

  “Yeah, well. If you want to sleep with Charlie Roberge, if that is what this is all about, go ahead. No harm in that. He’s probably a pretty good-looking man if he takes after his father at all.”

  “What the hell? No, I don’t want to sleep with him! Damn it, Jane—are you going to tell me who he is or am I going to have to beat it out of you?”

  The waiter showed up with Jane’s beer at this point.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I think you better bring me a whiskey too.” She turned back to her niece.

  “Your mother ran off with Charlie’s dad. There, is that clear enough for you?”

  “What? ‘Ran off?’ I was four when she died. When did she have time to ‘run off’ with anyone?”

  Jane shook her head and sipped her beer, “You really wanted to believe that, so we figured it was the best thing.”

  “‘We?’”

  “Warren and me.”

  Grace stared at her aunt, wondering if she’d gone completely nuts since she moved to the city. “Wait a minute. What are you saying?”

  Jane leaned forward and looked into Grace’s eyes. “You heard me.” />
  “My mother didn’t die? She just left me and ran off with some guy?” Grace’s mouth formed the words, but her mind couldn’t comprehend them.

  “Left your dad. You were sort of collateral damage, as they say. She was in a bind, honey. She and Nathan, Charlie’s dad, well… she was pregnant.”

  Grace sat back. She felt the blood draining from her face.

  “Let me get this straight. My mother was sleeping with this guy and got pregnant by him while she was still living with Dad and me. And then she just went away with him and left us?”

  “There wasn’t any ‘just’ about it. But yeah, that’s what happened.”

  How could she believe this?

  “So what, everyone in town knew what she’d done and they all kept it a secret from me all my life? How is that possible?”

  “Well, you know, your dad was a pretty special man, and nobody in that town was about to cause him any more hurt than he’d already had. What with Annie, and the war and all.” The waiter came over with the whiskey. Jane took it from his hand before he could put it down and took a swallow. “He couldn’t talk about her; he was too hurt and too angry. He couldn’t tell you what she’d done. So when you started saying she was dead, we all went along.” She threw the rest of the whiskey back and set the glass down in front of her. She looked into Grace’s eyes now.

  “We saw you working it out, finding a way to be OK with it and we thought if you were OK…”—her voice was almost a whisper now— “… maybe then he’d be OK. And, you know, it worked, more or less.”

  Grace didn’t know what to say or do; she put her hands flat on the bench on either side of her to keep from falling over. The whole world was tipping out of balance. A minute, or maybe a century, passed in silence and then Jane looked down and reached for her coat.

  “What happened to her?” Grace demanded.