Dad opened his eyes and smiled. “It’s still hard to believe you’re really here. I figured we should talk. Kathy’s got a plan to get me on some strong pain medication, and after that I don’t know how well I’ll be able to communicate.”
“I’m sure you needed the medication a long time ago,” Sunny said, shaking her head. “You deserve not to hurt.”
“That will come soon enough.” He drew a deep breath and grimaced. “Soon enough.”
“What did you want to see me about?” She sipped the water and held up the glass. “Are you thirsty? I can get you something to drink.”
“I’m fine. I just wanted to have some time with you. To have you tell me what you’ve been up to—where you’ve been. Maybe answer any questions you had. Especially if you needed to talk about Mom. You look so much like her. Sometimes just seeing you makes me feel as if she’s still here.”
“I’m sure it was hard for you to lose her. I can’t imagine any two people more in love than you and Mom.”
“She was the light of my life.” He smiled and closed his eyes. “I never knew anyone with more patience or understanding for my needs. She always seemed to know what I needed before I did.” He opened his eyes again and Sunny thought they looked a bit clearer. “Do you want to talk about her death?”
Sunny was taken aback by his abrupt question. “Kathy told me about some of it. Probably most of it. I know she blames me, and I feel that’s only right. I mean, Mom stopped eating and taking care of herself because of my running away.”
“That’s true enough.” Dad reached out and took her hand. “Sweetheart, I won’t pretend that you had no part in it. It wouldn’t help anything. You already blame yourself, and nothing I say will change that. And too, there are consequences for our choices. Mom had consequences. You have consequences.”
“The worst of it is, Dad, I can’t even tell you for sure that back then I would have done things any differently had I known what would have happened to Mom.” Sunny bit her lower lip and took a deep breath. “I feel horrible for saying that. It makes me sound so ruthless—selfish. But I was. I was horribly focused on my own needs. I hate who I was back then.”
“I think it shows a huge mark of maturity for you to say that you don’t know for sure that it would have changed things. Most folks would say, ‘Oh, if I’d only known I would have done things this way or that way.’ When in truth, they probably wouldn’t have changed things at all. The fact that you realize that is a credit to your sincerity.”
“Yet it doesn’t change the past.” Sunny looked beyond him to the fields outside. “There’s so much I wish I could go back and change. So many poor choices—bad decisions. Times when I felt clearly I should have done one thing, but instead did something else. I often wondered how things were here for you all—if things were running smoothly in my absence. I liked to believe that everyone realized just how right I’d been about everything. I imagined you all gathering for dinner, commenting on how you’d only wished you’d seen the truth sooner.” Sunny smiled. “Does that shock you?”
Dad shook his head and gave her a hint of a smile. “Not really. Sounds like the old Amy.”
“I just wish now that I could have known the truth then. I hurt so many people. Today I ran into Mrs. Stover at the grocery store. She spoke her mind and made it clear that she blames me for Mom’s passing. I was so shocked that she would just come right out and say it—but at the same time I was almost relieved that she had. Kind of like with Kathy. She’s made no pretense of being glad to see me, and I really can’t blame her—but it hurts so much.”
“It’s the consequences of your actions,” her father said. “I wish I could spare you the pain of them, but we each have to deal with the decisions we make.”
Sunny nodded. “I know. Kathy and I were talking about that earlier. Still, I don’t understand why you would spare me the pain, after all the pain I caused you.”
He frowned. “Because you’re my daughter. If I could take the pain for you—if the pain of this disease could somehow ease your own misery, I would gladly bear it.”
Blinded by her own tears, Sunny squeezed her father’s hand. “I know you would. Dad, I’m so sorry for all I did.”
“I’m partly to blame,” he said. “I should never have given you the money to begin with.”
Sunny thought for a moment. She knew in her heart it wouldn’t have made a difference. Oh, she might never have met Mitch and been lured into his control had she not been well set financially, but then again, there were plenty of men like Mitch who would have used her for other gain.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference, Dad. I would have gone with or without the money. I was desperate and selfish. Nothing else drove me.”
“I guess I’ve always known that.” He moved to the right and let out a groan. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for your pain, Dad. I think people spend entirely too much time doing that. I’m determined to apologize for the things that I actually had something to do with. Like Mom. I’m sorry I caused Mom’s death.”
“Her weak heart caused her death. You couldn’t know that she had a heart condition. None of us did. When she was young she had rheumatic fever. It damaged her heart severely, yet no one ever picked up on that. That condition was aggravated by her depression—not eating, throwing up when she did eat, crying for hours on end after you left. But there’s something else you need to know.”
“What?” Sunny asked, dropping her hold on Dad to wipe her tears. She could hardly speak for the lump in her throat.
“Mom was responsible for her sickness too. She knew she was hurting herself, but she let the sorrow overcome her. She didn’t turn to me or even to God for a time. She knew better. Sometimes we know better about something . . . then do what we want to do anyway.”
“Like me.”
He nodded. “Yes. But there’s something more.”
“What?”
“Mom forgave you, just as I did. You are no longer held responsible, even for whatever part you played. The problem was dealt with long ago. You didn’t even know it, but shortly before she died, Mom and I knelt together and prayed. We asked God to forgive you—to forgive us. We asked God to ease your sorrows when you learned the truth, and we pleaded with Him to bring you home.”
“Oh, Daddy.” Sunny eased against his chest and sobbed. “I love you so much. I loved you both, and only after leaving did I realize just how much you meant to me. Nothing was ever right again. Even when it seemed to be good, it was always tainted by the past. I just wish I could have talked to Mom. I wish I could have heard her say I was forgiven for leaving—for the way I treated you all.”
Dad held her close. His embrace was weak yet reassuring to Sunny. He patted her gently. “I have a way for you to hear from her,” he said softly.
Sunny leaned up. “What are you saying?”
He pointed to the dresser. “Top drawer. There’s an envelope there for you.”
Sunny straightened and went to the dresser. She pulled open the drawer and looked inside. Sure enough, there among her father’s socks was an envelope. She picked it up and realized it contained more than a letter.
“Your mother made a tape and wrote you a letter as well. I think it comforted her to know that someday you would have these and be able to hear her voice—see her writing.”
“Oh!” Sunny held the envelope close. It was more than she could have ever hoped for or even imagined. She could not speak as her tears once again spilled over. All she could do was hug the letter to her breast. It was almost like hugging her mother.
“They look real good,” Jim Meyers said as he considered the horses Kathy brought into the pen. “That sorrel has long been a favorite of mine. Too bad your dad had him gelded. I think he would have made a good sire.”
“He was just too spirited,” Kathy said, giving the horse a pat as he came up to the edge of the pen. He seemed to understand they were talking about him.
“Your father was
always a good judge of horseflesh and men,” Denton Meyers declared. Jim’s father was probably some twenty years older than Kathy’s father, while Jim was at least ten years Gary Halbert’s junior. Both men admired her father, however, and had maintained a friendship with him over the years as they ran the town’s ranch and farm supply store.
“They’re great to ride. I had Phoebe out just the other day.” Actually it seemed to Kathy as though it had been a million years ago. Since Sunny had come, everything including time felt skewed.
“Well, you know they’re going to a good home. We’ll see they get the best of care.” He handed her a check.
“I know you will, Jim.” Kathy pushed away from the pen and tucked the check in her jeans. “I’ll help you get them loaded.”
She tried not to think of how she was losing yet another piece of her childhood and life on the farm. Soon enough it would all be gone, but losing it bit by bit seemed almost cruel. That was something else she resented Sunny for. Sunny had no attachment to anything here on the farm. She could easily walk away and never think twice about the things Kathy loved so much. Sunny would have it easy compared to what Kathy was enduring.
If I could have afforded it, I would have just stayed here. But of course that was out of the question. The farm and sale thereof was going to be used to pay her father’s debts, with the remainder being her inheritance, especially given the fact she’d used most of her trust fund just to keep things up and pay the farm’s mortgage and utilities. There was no job in Slocum that would enable her to make a living—much less one that would pay well enough to keep up this property.
Besides, she told herself, Kyle was in Colorado Springs. If there was any hope of rekindling what they had once had, she would have to go there. Of course, it was unlikely he would even want to have her back in his life. Her Aunt Glynnis said Kyle had never married. He always asked about her—always wanted to know the details of her life and how she was doing—but that didn’t mean he wanted her back. Kathy had made him promise when she’d sent him away that he wouldn’t call her or write to her. She had known the pain would be impossible to bear if he were in her life, but only from the fringes.
During the short time after her mother’s death and before her father’s illness, Kathy had worked up the nerve to call him but had learned from her aunt that Jackson Pharmaceuticals, where Uncle Will had helped Kyle land a lucrative job, had sent Kyle abroad for some kind of specialized training. By the time he returned, Kathy’s father was ill. She assumed God had intervened to keep Kathy from having to send Kyle away twice. Obviously it was her lot in life to care for her dying family members.
Still, Kyle had told her that he’d wait for her. Wait forever, if that’s what it took. Kathy liked to imagine him waiting for her, loving her from afar . . . but at the same time she hated the thought. She did not want him to put his life on hold for her—not when she knew how painful it could be to have everything on perpetual pause.
“Well, that does it,” Jim said as his father headed for the truck. “Any offers on the place yet?”
“No, I’m afraid not. The Realtor is going to advertise in some other papers. He thought we might spread out and send some ads to Kansas City, Oklahoma City, and even the Denver area.”
“It’s such a great place. I’d hate to see it torn up into parcels,” Jim said, looking beyond Kathy at the house. “I’ve seen folks sell out like that, and it always makes me sad to see another farm destroyed.”
“I know, but farming isn’t what it used to be. Most of the time you’re lucky to break even,” Kathy said. “It’s just not a good time for sellers, or so my agent tells me.”
“Keep your chin up, missy. An offer will probably come soon. Summer’s on us and schools are out. Folks will be looking to relocate before school commences again.” He gave her a brief wave and headed back to the truck.
Kathy watched Jim and his father pull out of the drive, taking the four horses with them. She tried not to get emotional about the situation.
“I’m doing the right thing,” she told herself aloud. “It has to be this way.” But a part of her couldn’t help but wonder how different things might have been. It hurt so much to watch the things she loved slip away. How could she hope to make Sunny understand her pain? There was a part of Kathy deep down inside that wanted more than anything to embrace her sister and create a new bond. After all, once Dad died, Sunny would be all that was left of their immediate family—of the security Kathy had once known in childhood.
“We’ll always be best friends,” Kathy had promised Amy when they’d been all of ten and eight. “Nobody will ever come between us.”
The words haunted Kathy now. The pledge had obviously had no value to her sister when she’d made the choice to leave. She’d broken the trust, and Kathy was unconvinced that it was worth mending.
Sunny made a frantic search through the house for a tape player. She grimaced at the thought of having to ask Kathy. She didn’t even know if her sister was aware that their mother had left the tape for Sunny. What if she wasn’t and it proved to be just one more thing that separated them and caused ill will?
The letter had been brief and had only whetted Sunny’s need for more. Her mother had expressed her worry about where Sunny had gone and whether she’d ever see her daughter again. She talked about how she prayed Sunny would come home before she died but knew her time was short. She promised she had said more in the tape, and perhaps that’s why Sunny felt a growing need to hear it.
“Maybe I should just drive over to Hays and get a player,” she whispered to the air. If she did that, Kathy wouldn’t need to know. She sighed. Hadn’t this family suffered enough from secrets and unspoken thoughts?
She heard Kathy come in from the back porch. The screen door always made a distinctive sound when it opened or closed. Sunny smiled at the familiarity. It was nice that some things had not changed in her absence.
Sunny deliberated for a moment, wondering if Kathy would linger there in the kitchen or seek out Dad. Surely she would want to check up on him. But as she strained to listen, Sunny was convinced by the scraping of the chair against the kitchen floor that Kathy had decided to remain where she was.
She marched with a determined step to the kitchen, but slowed down with the last few steps. “Do you mind the intrusion?” Sunny asked.
Kathy looked up from the table. She had a stack of mail in front of her. “I figured you’d still be with Dad.”
“He was tired. I didn’t want to overtax him.”
Kathy nodded and went back to sorting. “I have some sandwich fixings in the fridge if you’re hungry. I suppose I should really start planning better for our meals. I’ve let the supplies get way down since I knew I’d soon be leaving.”
“Who bought the farm?”
Kathy grimaced. “No one, yet.”
“Oh. I figured the way you were packing and . . .”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
Sunny could see that Kathy was upset and decided to change the subject back to their meal planning.
“I can always buy food for us,” Sunny offered. “I was thinking about going to Hays for a couple of other things anyway. Maybe if you made a list, I could just get it all while I’m there.”
“I suppose I could.”
Kathy’s response surprised Sunny. “Good. I’d like to help.”
Her sister straightened and met Sunny’s gaze. “Did he give you the letter and tape?”
Sunny felt almost as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She could only nod. She felt helpless to ask about the tape player situation, but Kathy seemed to have the matter under control.
“There’s a radio cassette player upstairs in your old bedroom. I put it there to listen to music when I’m sorting out junk.”
“Thanks. I did look around a bit to see if there was one down here,” Sunny admitted. “It was one of the things I thought I might need to buy in Hays.”
“No sense in it unless you
need one otherwise.”
Sunny fidgeted with the hem of her blouse as an awkward silence fell between them. Kathy went back to work looking through the mail. She seemed grateful for something to do.
Finally Sunny blurted out the one question she could not seem to force from her mind. “How did you know about the tape?”
Kathy shrugged. “I helped her make it.”
The statement made Sunny feel even more uncomfortable. “You helped her make it?”
“She was too weak to do it alone. She couldn’t remember how to make the thing work, so she asked for my help. She worked on it a little each day for about two weeks.”
Sunny didn’t know what else to say. She put her hand into her pocket and felt the tape for reassurance. “I guess I’ll go listen to it.”
“I’ll make us some lunch.”
Sunny went upstairs without further comment. She wanted desperately to hear her mother’s voice—to know whatever Mom wanted to share with her, yet she was also worried about Kathy. Apparently the sale of the farm, or lack thereof, was a real concern. Sunny made a mental note to ask about it again later.
Pushing open the door to her old bedroom, Sunny felt the past come rushing at her. The faded pink print curtains still hung at the single window. Her mother had made those curtains and Sunny—no, Amy—had despised them. She had shown her mother some curtains she liked in a catalog, but rather than buy them her mother had tried to make them. They were a poor substitute, and Amy had made certain her mother knew it.
I was so cruel. So inhumane. Mom had given her best, and it wasn’t good enough. And haven’t I suffered at the hands of others for that same reason? Always giving what I think is my best, only to have it pointed out to me that I’m a sorry second best?
Sunny put her hand over her mouth, as if to keep any of the miserable thoughts from being vocalized. Then she spotted the tape player and made her way through the stacks of boxes, many open and awaiting attention. It was a sad collection of the wreckage that had been their lives.
Where My Heart Belongs Page 8