by Lynne Gentry
“Did you?”
“You better bet I did.”
I tell her about swimming in the freezing crystal waters, but I leave out the part of how glorious our lovemaking had been under the big oak where Martin rests without me.
As Aria’s panning the view, it hits me. I have lied to Ira. I lived with Martin for all those years. We worked side by side. Raised children together. And yet, I didn’t really know him. I knew he struggled to find his calling. I knew his dreams never seemed to pan out. But I didn’t know the depths of his grief were as deep as mine. That part of himself he hid from me.
Maybe some secrets are memories not meant to be told.
“Keep an eye out for rattlers,” I remind Aria. “They’re thirsty this time of year.”
Ira heeds my warning and bangs his walking stick so hard it scares up a couple of jackrabbits. Teeny jumps. Aria squeals with delight and I laugh, not one of those safe little chuckles I’ve allowed myself over the years, but a full-on, belly-shaking, joy-filled laugh.
This is how I pictured my life. Long nature walks with my grandchildren, a godly man, and a future as big and cloudless as the Texas sky. I inhale deeply of the scents of the rugged country that has tried to break me for the last forty years. When it’s all you can do to survive, it’s hard to dream. Harder still to keep living. I’ve had to let go of so many of my notions about life, children, and even my husband.
“The cemetery is just ahead.” I point toward the single large tree that shades the bluff. “Under that live oak.”
Aria pans her phone like a movie camera toward the hill. While she records for a few moments, I catch my breath. “Got it.” She pokes her phone. “Can we go to the river, too?” She’s asking off the record. “I’m dying to see it.”
A shudder runs through my bones and shakes some sense into my brain. Three old people have no business taking a child to the river. “No.”
“Please, Nana,” she begs. “I’m not a baby anymore.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“No.”
Aria sandwiches her phone between her praying hands. “Please, Nana.”
“No, Charlotte Ann,” I snap. “Don’t ask me again.”
Aria steps back, her jaw hanging like I’ve slapped it loose. “I’m not my mother.”
My mind can’t recall what I’ve just said. Obviously, it was inappropriate, especially when the resemblance between Aria and Charlotte is undeniable. “Yes, you are!”
I don’t know why I haven’t seen the similarities between them before. A person would have to be blind to argue otherwise. Aria is a carbon copy of her mother. Always has been. Same lithe body shape. Same long fingers. Same blonde hair and blue eyes they inherited from Martin. Caroline, on the other hand, carried my petite frame and dark features. Until this very moment, it has always seemed to me that Aria favors her Aunt Caroline more. It must be their temperaments. There’s no denying that Aria’s spunk resembles Caroline’s take-no-prisoners view of the world. But the unusual expression currently radiating from Aria’s eyes is so unlike Caroline and so much more like her mother’s, my stomach churns.
Charlotte has always been vulnerable to what others think. And Aria, though she wants to disobey me, cares deeply about how I’ll view her if she defies me. She’s curious, yet frightened, and she needs me to appease her intense desire to know everything. I can see now that I erroneously placed too much weight on Aria’s headstrong personality. Seldom do I ever misjudge a child so completely.
“Very well,” I clasp her hand firmly. “But you will not take one step beyond what I allow. Understood?”
“If I do fall in, you don’t have to worry. I’m a great swimmer.”
So was Caroline. “Do you want to hear about your grandfather or not?” The threat won’t hold her back forever, but hopefully it will give me time to think. To devise a way to keep her away from that deadly ledge. “Turn that phone off. There will be no filming or recording of any of this.”
Aria slips her phone into her pocket. “Thanks, Nana.”
I take the lead, despite Ira’s objections. Aria and I skirt the cemetery and head for the granite outcropping high above the river. When we reach a point about three feet from the edge I stop. Not out of fear for Aria’s safety but out of concern for my own stability. Heavy memories threaten to buckle my knees. I don’t trust myself not to topple forward.
“Oh. My. Gosh.” Aria gasps. “This. Is. Gorgeous.”
Despite my granddaughter’s slaughter of the English language, I have to agree with her assessment. Far as the eye can see, the landscape rolls between limestone hills and valleys. Below us, the lazy babble of the Frio belies the hard work it’s doing to carve a path through the fossils captured in the canyon walls. The determined current carries me back to the wonderful moments I’ve spent pondering the enormity of God from this very spot.
“That’s close enough.” I tug Aria snug to my side. She’d have to take a running leap to fall but coming back here does something to my equilibrium. Upends me by the roots and sets my world to wobbling. Frankly, it’s me who needs the steadying.
Ira flanks my other side. “No wonder that developer wants to get his hands on your property. This view is worth more than all the natural gas they’ve sucked up from my piece of dirt.” His grip on my elbow infuses me with courage.
I inhale the refreshing scent of spring-fed water. “Martin always wanted to build a house on this bluff.”
Aria snatches up a small stone and sends it sailing. “I wish I could see the swimming hole.” She turns to me. “Please.”
I nod reluctantly. “Hang on to me.”
As we inch forward, terrifying memories ignite. Within a foot of the place where everything changed, I stop. “I can go no further.”
“Maybe if you sit and scoot to the edge together.” Ira suggests.
“I don’t think so.” I look to Aria’s face, praying the child will give me a pass. But there is a longing to know, to find the pieces missing from the puzzle of her life that I can no longer ignore. “Very well, but don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t. I promise.” Aria helps me lower myself to the ground. Next, she and Ira lower Teeny to a seated position. Ira waves off Aria’s offer of help by saying, “Someone better stay upright in case Sara and Teeny need a hand getting back on their feet.”
“Good idea.” Aria drops beside me.
Teeny pushes her sliding bow back to the top of her head. “This is as close as I’m going.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Ira says. “You girls need to settle this on your own.” He pats my shoulder. “I’ll only be a shout away.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I tell Ira. “This is a job for her mother.”
He shakes his head. “We’re here now.”
“Please, Nana. I have to know.”
Arms linked, Aria and I scoot toward the ledge. The rough limestone sands my house dress as we inch forward. The moment my ankles are suspended in thin air, it’s as if I can no longer breathe. Then Aria scoots and I have no choice but to go along. By the time my knees bend over the sharp edge of the ledge, my heart is a thundering waterfall between my ears.
“Oh. Wow!” Aria’s voice echoes in the canyon.
My gaze, however, is a stone dropped into the river thirty feet below. The swimming hole is not the dark ugly place of my memory. Instead, I can see every rock and crevice in the unexpected twenty-feet-deep indentation in the riverbed.
Aria hurls a rock into the crystal-clear depths. It sinks almost exactly where Caroline perished. Aria tugs on my arm. “Look, you can see all the way to the bottom.”
Beneath the swirling ripples, its Caroline’s dark eyes staring up at me. They’re wide. Terrified. And pleading for my help, help I failed to render in time. A shudder slices through me. “That’s not necessarily a good thing.”
“What happened here, Nana?” Aria’s question echoes in the canyon.
I swallow the boulder-sized lump in my throat and point to the large branch of the live oak tree hanging over our heads. “There used to be a tire swing here.”
“Nooooo!” Charlotte’s scream rips across the pasture. “Get away from that ledge, Aria.” She’s huffing and waving her red heels like an enraged bull. “No, wait. Don’t move a muscle until I get there.”
“I’m in trouble,” Aria whispers as she scrambles to her feet.
“No, I’m the one she’s mad at.” I motion to Ira. “Can you help me to my feet?”
Charlotte puffs up the bluff. “I told you stay put.” The slit at the side of her skirt has ripped to almost her thigh. The sharp grasses have sliced her legs bloody. Her hair clings to the sweat trickling down her angry face. “What’s going on?”
Before I can explain, Aria jumps to my defense. “I asked Nana to tell me about my grandfather.”
“Momma?” Charlotte’s gaze cuts to me.
“It’s time she knows.”
“That’s not your decision.” Charlotte points a shiny heel at me. “I’m her mother.” Charlotte waves Aria to her with her empty shoe. “Step away from the edge, Ari.”
“No.” Aria turns and jumps.
“Ari!” Charlotte drops her shoes, plows past me, and dives head first into the hole that’s already claimed two Slocums.
Chapter 31
CHARLOTTE
Wind whistles in my ear as I dive toward the small body struggling beneath the water’s clear surface. There was a time when diving from this height was second nature to me. Daddy would stand on the bluff, toss a stone into the swimming hole, and expect me to pierce the center of the radiating circles with greater accuracy than most men can nail a target with their hunting bows. But twenty-five years of staying clear of the water has rendered me clumsy and slow. I do my best to adjust my hurtling approach to land within a few feet of where I saw Aria go down.
My clumsy entry into the Frio’s icy waters knocks the breath from my lungs. I’ve forgotten how cold this spring-fed water remains, even in the heat of summer. Denying myself the luxury of a slow adjustment, I force my body deeper. Toward the frantic fingers reaching for salvation.
I’m coming, Aria. Hang on.
Kicking with all my might, I fight the steady current and descend until I’ve nearly reached the murky cloud caused by Aria’s kicking near the bottom of the swimming hole. Where is she? Head whipping right then left, my arms thrash the stirred-up silt for an arm, a leg, a piece of clothing. Anything. Straight ahead, I spot a small hand clawing through the haze like it’s looking for ladder rungs.
My hand sweeps back and forth, but I’m too far away to make the connection. Kicking hard, I thrust my body in the direction of where I’d seen those precious long fingers reaching for help. My open hands close on nothing.
No. I can’t fail. Not this time.
Lungs screaming for breath, I kick deeper.
Suddenly, a hand breaks through the dirty cloud, wraps my wrist, and pulls me down. I clasp onto Aria’s wrist, tug reassuringly, then reposition my body toward the splash of sunlight overhead. Aria understands my meaning and immediately calms. Then, as if she’s suddenly remembered that she’s an excellent swimmer, she pushes off the bottom and we bullet toward the light.
My head breaks the surface first. I yank hard and Aria pops up beside me, wide-eyed and gasping. We suck in short, precious breaths as we tread water, our grips still firmly locked upon the other’s wrist. I pull her toward me. All reprimands dissolve.
Her trembling body presses the cold from my bones. “Got enough left in you to swim for the bank?” I ask.
Her teeth are chattering and her lips are blue, but she manages a small nod.
It’s all I can do to let go of her. To trust that she can follow me. But I don’t have a choice. We’re too spent to stay here. I search the canyon for the point of the bluff, the marker by which I’ve always made my way to shore.
Standing dangerously close to the razor-sharp edge is my mother. Clenched fists raised like a lighthouse beacon. Terror flashing on her face.
“Come on,” I say. “I’ll show you how to get out of here.”
By the time Aria and I can pull ourselves upright in knee deep water, Momma and Ira have managed to scramble down the canyon’s overgrown path. My mother waits on the bank. Although her arms are outstretched, the panic has left deep lines around her eyes. I’m not the only one who has just relived the dark moments of Caroline’s death.
Momma wades into the river, water rushing over her rubber boots. She wraps an arm around Aria’s waist. “Are you all right?”
“Sorry for scaring you, Nana.” Aria allows herself to be smothered in kisses.
“Take hold,” Ira has waded in now. He offers Aria the end of his walking stick and she grabs hold with both hands. “Don’t let go.”
Momma turns her attention to me. She looks like an angel in the shaft of sunlight that encircles her. “Come on. You’ll catch your death.”
I want to take her hand, but my ability to move has washed downstream along with the last of my adrenaline rush. Waves of what might have happened flood my mind. Violent shudders shake me limb to limb. My knees buckle and I fall into Momma’s open arms.
She holds me upright. Her embrace feels the way I remember. Strong. Loving. Safe. We are, in this safe and grateful moment, the way we were before death split our worlds.
Momma pulls back and cups my wet cheeks with her bony hand. “I thought I’d lost you, Caroline.”
A cloud drifts over the sun and the spell is broken.
Chapter 32
CHARLOTTE
The eight-foot-long Happy Birthday, Aria banner I had expedited from an online sign shop flaps between the porch pillars. Over the sounds of jazz music, mesquite-scented smoke drifts from the grill where Bo’s flipping burgers, Ira’s telling goat stories, and Itty, dressed in athletic shorts and an old A&M t-shirt, is graciously supervising.
Inviting Momma’s doctor to the party was Aria’s idea. I think she wants to impress him with the memory regimen she’s designed and the improvement it’s made in Momma’s mental state. Frankly, that river stunt my mother pulled makes me think the opposite is true. However, I have to admit the addition of Itty’s pile of jazz LPs and the old portable record player he brought to spin them has certainly given an uplifting air to today’s festivities.
Out on the lawn, Momma and Teeny are trying to weight the tablecloth on the picnic table with paper plates and enough foil-wrapped ears of corn to feed the entire county.
I descend the porch steps. “Need help, Momma?”
“I haven’t forgotten how to secure a tablecloth, Charlotte Ann.” This is the first time she’s gotten my name right since the river incident.
I raise my palms. “Have at it.”
“What’s so funny?” Momma asks.
“Nothing. It’s nice to have your help. That’s all.”
“I’ve always wanted to give Aria a birthday party.” She turns her back and moves the platter of corn closer to the center.
The implication that I’ve failed her when she was the one who nearly got my daughter killed aggravates every nerve in my body. I start to defend myself.
Winnie cuts me off with a sharp elbow jab to the ribs. “Let it go.”
I step aside, giving my old friend room to re-stock an ice-filled galvanized tub with bottles of soda. “I can’t win.”
“Looks to me like you’re winning.” Winnie dries her wet hands on her broom skirt and nods toward the porch where Aria and Ember are dancing around the swing to one of Itty’s Coltrane records. “For a kid who claims she doesn’t have any friends, seems like this impromptu party has made your girl pretty happy.”
“Aria said she just wanted family. I had to work to get her to invite Ember.” I lift my phone and snap a pic that captures the joy on Aria’s face. Before the river, idyllic moments like these would have barely registered. But now, after nearly losing the most precious thing on earth to m
e, they’re treasures. Snapshots I’d walk over hot coals to keep from losing.
This new appreciation I have for the loss my mother suffered when she had to bury her child and the possibility of forgetting everything she ever knew about Caroline’s existence sits heavy on my chest. Since the day I pulled my own daughter from the river, I’ve struggled to breathe.
“But once this is over, Ari and I have to have the see-why-I-want-you-to-stay-away-from-the river conversation and all the points I’ve earned will probably vanish.”
“You went into the water and you both came out okay.”
“This time.” I slip my phone into my back pocket. “I can’t go through that again. No, I take that back. I won’t go through that again.”
My gaze seeks out the source of my mother’s laughter. She and Teeny have joined the men at the grill. Itty opens a couple of lawn chairs. He teasingly incites a geriatric argument over the taste of frozen lima beans versus fresh, a subject Momma seems determined to win. How she can remember her view on lima beans when she has no recollection of taking my daughter to the river is a mystery I cannot solve. Itty howls when Momma points out food is meant to be eaten, not used as a cold poultice to reduce swelling.
Winnie’s elbow to my ribs snaps me back to the present. “Itty seems to fit right in.”
“What?”
“The handsome doctor looks like part of the family.”
“He’s known us forever. We went to school together,” I say, shutting this line of questioning down. “Momma was his third-grade teacher.”
“When I asked the good doctor about the records he brought, he said he’s hoping the music will remind you of high school jazz ensemble and entice you to join his band.”
“Until I’m certain Momma and Aria won’t be pulling anymore river escapades, I can’t add another responsibility to my plate.”
“I think living in fear of what could happen is...” Winnie points to the dust cloud speeding up the lane. “Someone’s late to the party.”
I tent my hand over my eyes. “Everyone we invited is here.”