by Lynne Gentry
I kick a rock and wonder if Mom really had business in town or if she needed time to slap another layer of paint on the truth about my grandfather. It’s been hard to concentrate on anything else today. I’m glad Mom’s not here. If Nana has forgotten the lecture Mom gave her, maybe I can get her to tell me what really happened.
Music floats through the screen door as I climb the porch steps.
“Nana!” I call.
“In here, Caroline.” Nana responds.
Caroline?
I step into the dining room where Ira and Teeny are seated at the long table, their eyes closed like they’re listening to my grandmother play my audition piece flawlessly, but I think they’re asleep.
“Nana.” I don’t want to startle anyone, so I talk just loud enough to be heard over the piano. “I’m home.”
My grandmother turns her head toward me. Her fingers freeze on the keys. Her mouth drops open. “Caroline? What are you doing here?”
I look behind me thinking someone must have followed me in, but the hall is empty. “It’s me, Nana. Aria.”
“Aria who?”
“Your granddaughter.”
Nana’s eyes squint like she’s looking me over good, then she snorts. “Don’t be silly, Caroline,” she says. “I’m far too young for grandchildren.”
“In your dreams.” I pull out a dining chair and drop my backpack onto it.
The noise startles Ira awake. “Aria.” He smacks his lips and drags his palm over his face and bald head. “Didn’t hear your mother drive up.”
“She didn’t. I rode the bus.”
“Of course she rode the bus, Martin.” Nana picks up the ruler she uses to point out sections on the sheet music that I’ve butchered. She points the ruler at me. “Where is Charlotte? I’ll tan that girl’s hide if she missed the bus because she’s daydreaming on that stage again.”
My gaze darts from Ira to Teeny, who are stirring to full alert, then back to my grandmother. Her brow is wrinkled. “Nana? You okay?”
She cocks her head back and forth as if she’s trying to bring me into focus. “Caroline, answer me. Where is your sister?”
“I don’t have a sister, Nana.”
“Don’t get cheeky with me, young lady.”
I turn to Ira. “What’s going on?”
The old man pushes back from the table. “Sara’s been a little confused today.” He comes and sets a calming hand on my shoulder. “After you left this morning, we worked with Bojangles, but Sara couldn’t seem to remember what to do. She became more and more agitated. So, in an attempt to settle her, I suggested the piano. She’s been playing for hours.”
“Wait here.” I tear from the room and race upstairs. In the closet my mother and I share, I pull out the tub of games I’ve made. Unsure which one will work the best, I tote the entire heavy container downstairs. “Game time.” I plop the tub upon the table. “Everyone gather round.”
“I don’t have time for games, Caroline.” Nana’s in perfect command of the piano. “I must get this piece smoothed out before my audition.”
“What audition?” I ask.
“Juilliard.” Nana fingers race over the keys. “They have only a five percent acceptance rate and Daddy will not be happy if I’m passed over again.”
I look to Ira, panic swimming in my eyes. “What’s happened to her?”
He simply shrugs. “You have any number games in that box of tricks?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe if we start a game with numbers, she’ll join us.”
“Good idea.” I dig out my homemade Bingo cards. “Aging doesn’t have to mean losing memory, or forgetting the people you love. Research shows that some seniors even get smarter, right?”
“Use it or lose it.” Ira spreads out the cards. “Come on, Teeny. Let’s show this kid what a few years in the old-folks joint can do for your Bingo skills.”
I pass out the playing chips and dump a sandwich baggie filled with slips of paper into a bowl. “We’re starting a math game, Nana.” My grandmother plays on without even acknowledging me. “We’re not waiting on you.”
Ira and Teeny take turns drawing then I call out the math problem they’ve selected. While we carry on a rowdy game of adding and subtracting, my eyes cut to Nana. She’s playing the piano, her eyes closed and her head thrown back like she’s the only person in the world.
“Aria,” Teeny taps the folded piece of paper in my hand. “Call out the next problem.”
“Yeah, sure.” I look at the paper, but the numbers are blurred. I have to blink away tears. “192 plus 189,” I shout over Nana’s crescendo.
Nana abruptly stops playing. “Three hundred and eighty-one.” She swings her legs around on the bench. “Everyone knows that, Aria.”
Teeny plops a chip on a square on her card. “Bingo!”
I flip over the piece of paper. “381.” Nana’s answer is right on the nose. Plus, she knows me.
My Nana is back.
My stomach’s turning celebratory cartwheels, but I’m a little reluctant to shoot off fireworks just yet, so I test her. “Nana, if you’re not going to play, then please refrain from helping the other gamers.”
“Give me one of those cards, Aria.” Nana slides off the piano bench and takes the seat between Ira and Teeny.
Ira smiles and pushes a huge stack of chips Nana’s way. “Feeling lucky, are you, Sara Slocum?”
Nana taps her temple. “Luck has nothing to do with it, Ira Conner.”
I can’t tell you how good it is to hear Nana calling people by the right name. We spend the next thirty minutes drawing math problems from the bowl and shaking our heads at Nana’s ability to spout the answer before I can even turn the paper over. Now that her brain is limbered up, she’s completely shaken free of the cobwebs she’d been tangled up in all day. I decide not to waste this moment and hit her with the question that’s been burning a hole in my head all day.
“Nana, is my grandfather buried in that little cemetery by the river?”
Ira and Teeny look up from their Bingo cards. Fear that I’ve said the wrong thing is written all over their wrinkled faces.
“How do you know about that place?” Nana sounds angry at me, but I don’t care. I’m tired of everyone acting like I’m some stupid little girl.
“I saw two headstones under a big tree the day I came to look for you and Mom after you and your friends broke out of that senior citizens home.”
Nana studies my face. I can’t tell if she’s forgotten who I am again or if she’s trying to decide whether or not to tell me the truth.
“Yes,” she finally says. “Martin wanted to be close to...”
She trails off. I’m not sure who’s buried beside my grandfather but I’m guessing it’s my mother’s sister. “Will you take me to see my grandfather’s grave?”
No one speaks. Except for the pounding of my heart and the faint tinkle of Bojangles pecking away at the bell in his cage, it’s as quiet as LaVera’s bedroom the day I found her lying face down on her vanity.
Nana slowly pushes her stack of chips toward me. “When will your mother be home?”
“I don’t know. She said she had to beat the tax man to the punch.”
My grandmother’s eyes narrow, but they’re clear as the Frio that runs under the bridge. “What punch?”
I shrug. “She saw a sign with Sam Sparks’ name on it and suddenly she was talking about murder.”
“Let’s go.” Nana stands and offers me her hand. “While I still own enough ground to be buried in.”
Chapter 29
CHARLOTTE
Ira wants Momma to buy a couple of goats,” I tell Winnie on our way back to Addisonville after a quick trip to the county seat to pay Momma’s delinquent tax bill.
“With the amount of senior-tax exemptions I just negotiated with the county assessor, Sara will be able to afford a whole herd of goats.”
“I don’t need one more thing to feed, water, or put to bed.”
> Winnie rolls the window down. “They’ll keep the weeds in check.”
I cast a sideways glance at my take-no-excuses friend strapped into the front seat of my mother’s old car. Her hair is swirling around the contentment on her face.
“When did you become such a country girl?”
“I love it here.” Winnie inhales the scent of ashe juniper whipping through the open windows. “This life suits me.”
“It’s about to kill me.”
“I never said you had to ask Ira and Teeny to move in.” Instead of trying to tame her hair, Winnie throws her head back and lets the wind sweep it away from her face. “I was thinking more of inviting them to stay for a long weekend visit.”
“Go big or go home!” I crank the wheel and put us back on the highway. “It’s the Slocum way.”
“You had them sign liability waivers, right?”
“Are you going to give me some credit or keep hounding me?”
“Have you forgiven your mother?”
“If Momma’s happy. I’m happy.”
“Not really.” Winnie reaches behind her head, grabs her unruly strands, then nails me with her best courtroom stare. “I don’t know what’s worse—knowing my suggestion guilted you into becoming a martyr or watching you pretend that adding two strangers to your household makes y’all a family.”
“Momma’s lost her filter,” I confess.
“Did she ever have one?”
“With children, yes.” I barrel on down the road. “This morning, she told Aria my dad killed himself.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”
“Yes, but...”
“But what?”
“But I don’t think my daughter’s ready to hear the story of my father drinking a bottle of Jack Daniels and jumping off a cliff.”
“Aria’s smarter than you and your mother put together. Sooner or later she’s going to figure all of this out. Wouldn’t it be better to tell her yourself?”
“I found pictures.”
“Of?”
“The moment the tire swing rope broke and Caroline...you know.”
“Your dad was taking pictures?”
I nod. “It must have eaten him alive to know he might have saved her if he hadn’t been drunk and so focused on his stupid dreams of capturing the perfect picture.”
“Does your mother know about the photo?”
“If she did, I wouldn’t have ever seen it. She always protected him. I don’t think she would have told me Daddy was drunk if I hadn’t caught her on the bluff getting ready to chuck his boots and his last empty Jack Daniels’ bottle into the river.”
“So, you’re worried that if Aria finds out about your father, she’s going to want to know about Caroline.”
“If I pacify Momma’s sudden urge to clear her conscience, my daughter gets hurt. If I protect my daughter’s childhood, Momma’s mental health will decline a little faster. No matter what I do, someone is going to get hurt.”
Winnie clasps a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Balancing everyone’s needs is a heavy burden for a woman whose shoulders are already slumped under the weight of her own guilt.”
“That day is a bad movie I can’t quit watching.” We pull up to LaVera’s house...I mean Bo and Winnie’s house. “I substitute different scenarios into what actually happened.”
“But it never changes the outcome does it?”
“No.”
“That’s because your sister hit her head on the ledge.” Winnie unclicks her seat belt and swivels toward me. “I’ve read the autopsy report. Caroline was dead before she hit the water. It’s time to let all of this go, C.”
I’ve read the same report a hundred times and yet I wonder if Caroline could have been saved if I had stayed longer, helped Daddy untangle her, instead of panicking and running for help.
“What about Aria’s birthday party?” Winnie shakes my arm. “Charlotte?”
“What?”
“You can’t change the past. Why not try focusing on the things you can do something about? Like Aria’s birthday. She’s turning fourteen in a few days. You’re planning a party for her, right?”
“She doesn’t want one. Says no one will come.”
“Never easy being the new kid.”
“Not sure how hard she’s trying to fit in or make friends.”
“Give her time. She’s a strong girl.”
“I hope so.” My fingers tap the steering wheel. “James texted me today.”
“And now we finally get to the bottom of what’s really bugging you.”
“He’s filing for divorce.”
Winnie’s brows rise. “I assumed you’d already filed.”
“I guess I...”
“Hoped it would go away?”
“Things have been a little hectic.”
“Girlfriend, this twenty-some year impasse between you and your mother is proof that trouble doesn’t just go away. James is forcing you to deal. Let your idea of the perfect life go. Tell Aria the truth. And to protect your own sanity, start living each day as it comes.”
“Easier said than done.”
Chapter 29
SARA
Ira’s palm buffs his bald head as he watches me shed my Dearfoams. “You sure you want to do this without talking to Aria’s mother?”
I wrestle a pair of snake-proof rubber boots out from under the bench near the back door. “Charlotte may control my checkbook, but she has no say about when I go, where I go, or with whom I go.”
“You’re your own woman. And I think your daughter’s come around to that...” Ira’s pause causes me to lift my head.
“But?”
“But...” he proceeds cautiously, “I do believe Charlotte has the final say over what her daughter is and is not told.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”
“This isn’t about taking sides, Sara.” Ira crowds onto the bench. “Deciding when to tell Aria dark family secrets should be a family decision.”
“Ira,” I clasp his hand. “I don’t know how long it will be before the memories slip away and I can’t remember what happened there.”
His squeeze is calming. “Why would you want to tell that sweet child things better forgotten?”
My eyes map the folds and crevices of Ira’s weathered cheeks. The bulbous shape of his large nose. The sheen on his smooth, tan forehead. How long do I have before I can no longer recall the name of this kind goat farmer from Hillsboro, let alone how much his friendship has come to mean to me?
“Some things are too important to be forgotten.” I turn a boot upside down, a habit I developed years ago when I stuck my foot in and got stung by a scorpion. “My daughter and granddaughter have come home. But that hasn’t made us family. How can we be a family if we don’t really know each other?”
“But telling a little girl about suicide—”
“I thought I knew Martin. But I didn’t. Not because he didn’t try to tell me, because he did with every bottle of liquor he emptied.” I take Ira’s hand. “I didn’t know how badly Martin was hurting because I didn’t want to know.”
“Sara, you’ve had a hard day.”
“No, I haven’t.”
Ira stays my hand. “Most of the day your mind was...well, it wasn’t playing fair with you.”
“What did I say?”
Ira’s too much of a gentleman to rub my nose in the sugar bowl where he found my watch when he fixed my tea. “That don’t really matter, does it?”
“It matters to me, Ira.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “You were a little girl trying to please your daddy.”
“Sweet Moses! That was a waste of a perfectly good day.”
“Sara, Charlotte wouldn’t want you doing this alone.”
“Then she shouldn’t have missed the bus.” I cram my feet into the boots. “Aria!” I call.
She rushes onto the porch wearing boots like I’d told her. “I’m ready, Nana.”
“Get my clippers
. I want to snip a few roses to take to your grandfather.”
Ira follows us down the porch steps. “At least let me come with you, Sara.”
“It’s a free country.”
Chapter 30
SARA
It’s nearly the end of August and I’m sweating like a glass of iced tea on good furniture as we climb toward the bluff. Rose thorns pierce the glove of my clenched hand. Teeny and Aria flank me. Ira insists on going before us. He looks like Moses with his floppy straw hat and that long stick he’s brandishing through the knee-high weeds.
Aria snags my elbow. “Tell me the story of how you and Grandpa found this place.” Her genuine interest in my past snags my heart. She clicks something on her phone and turns the camera toward me.
“What’s that?”
She lowers her phone and weighs whether or not to tell me the truth. “I want to get your stories down, record them before...”
“Before it’s too late?”
She bites her lip and nods. “Please.”
The idea that she can capture this lucid moment pleases me. “Good thing I put on some lipstick.”
“LaVera would be pleased. Berry Nice suits you.” Aria holds up the phone. “Okay, for the record, how did you and Pops end up buying Fossil Ridge.”
“Pops?”
She shrugs. “Goes with Nana, don’t you think?”
I sigh. “Your grandfather and I were young. We had dreams of owning a place in the country. Every weekend, we drove the back roads out of Addisonville searching for land. One day we spotted a fence row posted with a few faded Keep Out signs. That was like shaking a feed bucket for a hungry horse to your grandfather. He talked me into climbing the fence row. We hiked several miles through weeds just like these.” I proceed to tell her about climbing to the granite outcropping and being stunned by the beauty of the Frio river canyon. “Right then and there, your grandfather peeled out of his clothes and jumped in.”