Miranda Irene Greene
April 16, 1952 ~ July 7, 1993
“Hi, Mom.”
He said no more. Never felt the need. Dan simply bowed his head and remembered her smile, the touch of her hand, the way her hair curved under her chin in a perfect, platinum wave. He conjured her peaches-and-cream skin and the pale green eyes she shared with him. Whenever the bruising bloomed in these memories, Dan forced it back. He wouldn’t remember her as his father’s victim. She deserved better, even if she never believed so herself.
The sound of a car rolling slowly by turned his head. Dan returned Charlie’s wave, could not help smiling as the truck wound away. Their fearsome foursome got whacked in half when Henny died and Tim moved away, but if he had to choose which of them he’d stick close with, it was Charlie.
As he turned away from his mother’s grave, he noticed Charlie’s brake lights brighten. He slowed, stopped, and only then did Dan see Benny’s scooter in the shaded part of the cemetery where all the best families took up space. He hurried to the van where he could spy on her from its safe anonymity. Charlie and Benny talked. He helped her to rise. A moment later, she was zipping beyond the shady wood and out of sight. Charlie’s truck remained visible only a moment longer. Dan started the van and drove slowly, stopping where he thought she’d been parked.
What was Benny doing at this end of the cemetery? When they were kids, she used to hang out in the woods with her friends, but she wasn’t a kid anymore. Her friends were grown or gone and no longer frequenting such places. Dan left the car idling, and got out. He picked his way among the tombstones, looking for some sign or reason for her to be there. Why in the heck did he care anyway? Dan chuckled to himself. When it came to Benedetta Marie Grady, there was no sense in his head. Nothing more to it than that.
All the headstones were Wellers, dating back to the 1800s when Bitterly became incorporated as a town. Dan knew little of the history, but he did know the Bossy and Weller families were the rich folk of their day. They owned the general store, the lumberyard, and any other business that served to put Bitterly on any map. They built the best houses, kept the best land, and often served on what sparse government existed in so small a town. There were stories, rumors, even a few scandals involving the families. Dan had no patience for gossip. As far as he was concerned, most, if not all of town history was a load of gossip made bigger by long winters and bored denizens. But one could not live in Bitterly without knowing the names on the tombstones he searched now for the one Benny had been visiting.
Back along the wrought-iron fence were the newer graves. There hadn’t been a Weller descendant in Bitterly since 1976, and he only knew that because his sister and her then-husband bought the house from a family member long-gone from Bitterly, back in the mid-nineties. The family held onto the house for whatever reasons they had, but in the end, none of the Wellers wished to return to the town their family founded. The house was in bad shape, but Paul did right by it, Dan had to give him that. It was under his supervision the place was restored to what it had once been, right down to every odd quirk of the original builder.
Dan noticed the grass a bit flattened on one of those newer graves, wove his way to the site itself. The ground was definitely disturbed, as if someone had reclined in the grass. No wrappers or flowers or anything else to mark Benny’s presence in evidence, Dan was nonetheless certain this was the right spot when he read the names on the tombstone.
Katherine Weller Fiore
September 13, 1919 ~ January 28, 1976
*
August Fiore
July 4, 1908 ~ July 7, 1980
The cold, slithery feeling started at the base of Dan’s neck, worked up his scalp. She had blurted the name, pulled out the lie to toss at him, to get him to back off. He’d known it from the start, even if it didn’t hurt any less. But there was a reason she’d picked the name, and Dan was looking at it.
Dan went back to the minivan and put it into drive, but he kept his foot on the brake. He rested his head to the steering wheel. “You were wrong, Charlie,” he whispered. “Dead wrong.”
Letting go a long exhale, he let up on the brake and rolled away. Benny hadn’t come looking for him the night of Mabel’s party. She came for the same reason she had been visiting this old-not-ancient grave.
Were there handprints in the concrete?
Why had she wanted to know? Bits fell into place. August Fiore built the house Dan lived in with his sister and her kids. His was the name Benny gave as her pretend-boyfriend. Benny had fallen asleep on his grave. No matter how he rearranged the bits, they simply did not form any kind of picture Dan could decipher. Something about this grave and those handprints meant something to her, and he was going to figure out what.
Daniel Greene played the fool, but he wasn’t one. Charlie might have been wrong about the reason she showed up at a party already over, but Dan hadn’t imagined her laughter, her smile, or the easy silence between them.
Chapter 11
The Cricket Knows Her
Benny’s hands didn’t shake putting the key into the lock, even if her insides felt like Jell-O. She entered her apartment and went straight to the couch flopping into it and closing her eyes. What was real? What was dreaming? And how much of either was her own brain insinuating itself into both?
What would have happened if she’d taken Henny’s hand and followed where he led? Would Charlie have found her dead on Augie’s grave? Or her husband’s? The thought shuddered through her. Until Henny-in-her-dream held out his hand for hers, she hadn’t realized just how much she didn’t want to follow him into death, and it hurt almost as much as him dying in the first place.
Tears stung. Benny let them fall. She tried to tell herself it was because there were no guarantees that she would find her way to Henny. Augie’s wife wasn’t there to greet him when he died, after all. The lie tasted like metal in her mouth. The painful, glorious truth was Benny wanted to live.
She wanted to see her little cricket grow up, become a woman, and leave her. She wanted to love someone and be loved in return so the event was bittersweet and full of pride, not the end of meaning in her life. Those were the things she had wanted with Henny, things no longer possible. With him. But Benny had to admit, at last, she still wanted them.
Arms over her eyes, she stifled her sobs. The last thing she needed was her mother to come running. In her state, she would spill it all and that wasn’t something Benny wanted to do just yet. She tried to think about Savannah, about Augie or Harriet or anything besides this simple, sincere wish to not only live, but to live happily, and couldn’t. Shoving a throw pillow over her face, she screamed into it.
An arm slipped across her shoulders. Benny dropped the pillow. Nearly jumped out of the couch. Something fluttered up as if tossed, and to the ground. Peter pulled back, but his concerned eyes stayed on her.
“Sorry.”
“You scared the crap out of me.”
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Peter picked up the square bit of paper. He placed it gently onto her lap. “You sure?”
Benny looked down at the ultrasound picture, her cricket floating oblivious, her bits and parts decipherable only because Savannah had pointed them out to her. Peter nudged her.
“Girly stuff?”
Her eyes shifted to him. “Peter, I…”
“You left it in my car,” he said. “I wasn’t snooping or anything.”
“I didn’t say you were.” She picked up the picture, smiled a watery smile. “It’s a girl.”
Peter put his arm across her shoulder. “Do I have to ask who her father is?”
“Probably not.” Benny nestled into his shoulder. “It was just the one time. One time in six years, and I get pregnant.”
“You sorry?”
“No!”
“Then why are you being so sec
retive? It happens, Benny. It’s not like you have to marry him or anything.”
“I know. But…”
“But?”
“I might be kind of in love with him.”
“Benny.” Peter shifted, took her shoulders in both hands and shook her gently. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I know,” she wailed. “That’s why I haven’t told anyone. Why I’m afraid to.”
Peter quirked an eyebrow. “Not sure I follow you.”
“Henny. My husband? How can I possibly love Dan Greene? I’m a fraud and an oath-breaker.”
“Oath-breaker? You really are a dork.”
“Shut up, Peter.”
“You’re also an idiot.”
“Why am I an idiot?”
“Because that’s not what I was getting at. Jeez, Ben. Henny’s been gone for six years. Can you possibly believe this is what he wants? You never loving anyone? Ever?”
Benny grimaced. “It’s what I promised him. Forever.”
“And?”
“And falling in love with someone else breaks my promise.”
Peter chuffed. “Does not.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Did Ma and Dad stop loving Tim when you were born? Or you guys less when I was?”
“That’s different. We’re their children.”
“It’s not different.” Peter took her hands, kissed one, then the other. “You were always my best playpal, Ben. I still get that all-lit up feeling inside when I see you. Call it a Pavlovian response of childhood. So when I say this, please know it’s with all the love in my heart, okay?”
She sniffed. Nodded.
“You’re dumb as a box of rocks.”
“A dork, an idiot, and now dumb as a box of rocks. Gee, thanks.”
Peter laughed and hugged her roughly. “Because you know love doesn’t just go away. You, more than most people, are aware that a heart isn’t a finite space. You’re always going to love Henny, but it doesn’t mean you can’t love someone else, too.”
“Doesn’t it?” She hiccupped. “I’m afraid to find out.”
Peter slumped back into the couch. “What are you going to do about Dan?”
“I’ll tell him.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Before you go to North Carolina, or after?”
She gasped. “How did you…Tim.”
“Of course, Tim. He called and asked if you were all right. Thank goodness I answered and not Ma.”
The walls she built around her secret were crumbling, and with them went the ones she had unwittingly erected around her life. Benny pressed her hands to her cheeks.
“You won’t tell, will you?”
“It’s not for me to tell anyone anything,” Peter answered. “Just don’t be afraid to come to me, okay?”
Benny nodded. She let her hands fall. “When did you grow up, huh?”
“I’m not quite there yet.” He said. “I love you, Ben. I can’t stand seeing you cry.”
“I’m kind of tired of crying myself.”
They sat together in silence. Peter’s love and concern prickled like clicks of static electricity flicking up and down her arms. When he was a baby, and she, nearly a teen, he had been her favorite plaything. Tim had no use for the squalling, often stinky bundle of baby boy, but Benny fell completely in love. Peter was her shadow, one she never tired of trailing alongside her. On the day she married Henny, he was twelve and completely enthralled by his brother-in-law. When Henny died, Peter had been all of twenty and still enthralled with the brother-in-law suddenly gone from his life.
“Oh.” She sniffled. “Peter, I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Being so selfish. Grief does that, I guess. It narrows your vision down to a little pinprick that only lets you focus on yourself. But you lost him too. We all did.”
“Yeah. You know what the worst part is, though?”
She shook her head.
“Seeing your light go out, Ben. You were always, I don’t know, a free spirit. Always smiling. Laughing. Now, all you do is cry.”
“I know.” Benny rested a hand to her belly. The instant joy edged out the lingering sorrow. They were only flickers, but happiness was trying hard to flare back to life. “But things are changing, I think. I’ve got a better reason to stop letting grief being my whole world.”
Peter rested his hand atop hers. “You are reason enough.”
Her nose tickled. Her eyes stung. But Benny smiled a watery smile. Blowing her nose, she nudged him with her knee. “So? What’s going on with Charlotte McCallan?”
Groaning, Peter flopped back into the couch. “We’re just friends.”
“You were flirting with her.”
“I flirt with everyone.”
“No interest, then? She’s awfully pretty, and smart, and fun to be around.”
“She also talks. A lot.”
“True. You really going down to Cape May?”
“She gave me the cookies.” He laughed. “It’ll be fun. I have to get out of this town every once in a while.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t bolted yet. I always thought you’d be the one to fly, not Tim.”
“I did too.”
“So why haven’t you—”
“Got any names picked out yet?”
They didn’t speak quite at the same time. Benny was close to certain he’d cut her off. She let it go. Reluctantly. “Until today, I thought Cricket was a boy.”
“Cricket?”
“That’s what I’ve been calling her since I saw her jumping around on the screen. I have no idea what to name her.”
“Cricket is kind of cute.”
“If you’re a celebrity who smokes a little too much weed, sure.” She grimaced. “You have any other ideas?”
“Clarice?”
“After Ma?” Benny crinkled her nose. “No offense, but I’ll pass. She’s going to smother this baby girl enough as it is. Last thing I need is Ma making them matching outfits or something.”
“Well, you’ll think of something.” He sat forward, propping himself with an elbow. “And maybe Dan will have an idea or two of his own.”
“Let’s not go back that way again, okay?”
“Okay.” He pushed out of the couch and, simple as that, the subject dropped. “You want dinner? Ma put a plate aside for you.”
“What did she make?”
“Chicken cutlets, a salad and corn on the cob. And biscuits.”
“Hers?”
“Yup.”
“Yum. Sounds like I want dinner.”
Peter bent and kissed her cheek. Benny closed her eyes and let the joy of talking to him bloom. How long had it been since she allowed these little bursts of joy? She’d felt it, certainly, but curtailed it as quickly as it came. Like Valentine’s Day, when she woke to the stars and the cold and Dan’s body keeping her warm as a gooey marshmallow, when the joy burst so bright she would weep, only to remember Henny and grief and leave Dan where he slept.
Stop, Benny. Now.
“I’ll be down in a few.” She rose from the couch, adjusting the jeans riding up on her. She had to go shopping, buy some hippie-dresses she’d be more comfortable in. Dresses that would let her hide just a little longer. “I’m going to wash up a bit.”
In the bathroom, splashing water on her face, Benny looked closely at her face in the mirror. She looked the same as she did ten years ago, in her estimation. Her skin was still soft, unlined, and unblemished. She had never believed herself extraordinarily pretty, but cute was a word she could live with.
She pressed a towel to her face and rubbed it a little too roughly. Dan’s image appeared in the sparkles behind her eyes. He was handing her the lily from his garden.
Benny’s round, dimpled cheeks were rosy when she let the towel fall. She ran a comb through her hair, pinned back the bangs growing out. The aro
ma, conjured or real, of her mother’s chicken cutlets made her belly rumble. Sticking the ultrasound picture to the fridge, she ignored the little voice telling her not to be so bold. She trotted down to her parents’ place. After dinner, she was going to make Clarice Grady a cup of tea. They would sit out on the swing, sipping and chatting, exactly like they used to.
Chapter 12
Sing For Her An Elfin Mass
“Why so quiet, August?”
“I haven’t much to say.”
“That’s a new one. For you.”
“Be nice to me, Harriet. I am miserable. I have given Benedetta an impossible task, and only now that I’ve given it to her do I know how hopeless it is. I am doomed to this cemetery for all eternity.”
“There are worst ways to be doomed.”
“True enough. True enough. At least there are visits from Benedetta to look forward to.”
“Until she’s done grieving and doesn’t come here anymore.”
“Fanabala, woman, see what you’ve done? I am even more miserable than I was before.”
“Well perk up, y’ gobshite. Here she comes.”
* * * *
The sky was overcast, and the temperature quite cold for late June, even in Bitterly. Benny wished she wore more than a hoodie to work. Tempted as she was to forgo the cemetery and get home early, she drove straight through town and out the other side. Augie would be waiting, she was certain.
Before she put the kickstand down, there he was. The sensation was akin to the concerned clicks of static electricity she had felt from Peter the night prior. Benny kept her eyes carefully averted. “It’s okay, Augie. I’m not looking.”
“Bene, bene. It is good to see you, Benedetta.”
“Wow. You came right to the top of the pool, huh?”
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