A Long Time Gone

by Karen White

  Something about being alone with him in his kitchen, with him dressed only in a towel, was making me babble, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “I had Adelaide’s remains cremated. I’m going to wait until Chloe is back to have the service. I think she’d want to be here.”

  I choked on the last word, having no real idea of what Chloe thought anymore. I still left messages on her voice mail every day, but for all I knew she never listened to any of them. And she’d never called me. I sometimes even found myself doubting the wisdom of asking for custody, wondering if it was what she wanted. But all I had to think about was Mark telling me the only child he’d ever wanted was Tiffany’s, and I felt more committed than ever to bringing Chloe home with me. To work with her in the garden, along with my mother, the three of us coaxing life from the earth, nurturing our wounded souls among the seeds and sprouts.

  Tripp was silent as he poured coffee into two mugs. I wondered if he was this way with everyone, or his silent tactic to get people to spill their guts was something he reserved just for me.

  “Tommy said if I wanted to go the legal route, I could get a loan and use the farm as collateral. If it were just my life we were talking about, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But I can’t do that to Tommy. Or Mama. So I’ve had to do a lot of creative thinking instead.”

  He just nodded, his eyes regarding me carefully. “I like what you’re doing to your hair,” he said as he made my coffee—one sugar, two cream. Like he’d always known that.

  I patted the back of my head. “Mama French-braided it for me this morning. She seems to enjoy it, and I’m grateful each day she still remembers how.”

  He placed a mug in my hands. “So you’re here to tell me I’m right?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The pie. The flowers.” He took a sip of his coffee, an eyebrow shooting up in question.

  “It was more to say thank-you. For not giving up on me. For being nice to me even when I didn’t deserve it.”

  “That’s for damn sure,” he said, leaning against the counter and taking another sip. “But you also wanted to tell me I was right, didn’t you?”

  I held the mug with both hands and went to look out the large bay window into the backyard. “You could put a pool back here, you know. Or just do a beautiful outdoor kitchen. I could help. . . .”

  The kiss on the back of my head surprised me. “You’re welcome.”

  Something warm and viscous slipped through my body, making me shiver. “I don’t deserve you,” I said, the first honest words I’d said to him in a long, long time.

  I waited for him to say something, but of course he didn’t.

  “Which is kind of a stupid thing to say, because you’re not mine, but I’ve been thinking, well, hoping, that maybe we could start over—well, not go back to kindergarten, but if you could just give me some time to show you how much you mean to me, and how I can make it up to you . . .”

  He reached around me and took the mug from my hand, and I heard it being set on the kitchen table behind us. “You’re still finer than frog’s hair, Vivi.”

  I turned to face him, realizing too late how close he was standing. I didn’t move away. “You know, Tripp, I don’t think that would be a compliment coming from anybody else. But there’s something in the way you say it . . .”

  His kiss made me forget what else I wanted to say, along with all of the reasons that for years I’d denied my feelings for this man, and how I could have ever believed that I belonged anywhere else but here.

  OCTOBER 2013

  I fixed the plastic wrap over the last peanut-butter pie before carefully stacking it in the back of my new SUV with the boxes filled with pies, the chain with the two baby rings tucked securely inside my sweater, close to my heart. On each of my three trips out to California, I’d worn it as a form of security, a reminder of why I was there. The love between a mother and her child was an unbreakable bond. It made each time Mark said no less defeating, empowering me to try again.

  I’d begun to see cracks in Mark’s refusals, suspecting that I’d been right about Chloe’s behavior since her return. I hadn’t been able to speak with Tiffany, because she’d had such bad morning sickness that she’d been hospitalized and was now on bed rest at home. I wanted the baby to be born strong and healthy, but a part of me couldn’t help but hope that Chloe was playing her Marilyn Manson CDs as loudly as the speakers in her room allowed.

  I hadn’t told Chloe about my visits. This battle was between the adults in her life—and I never wanted her to think that the reason I won was because her father let her go.

  Tommy appeared on the front porch with a nursery flat filled with tiny sunflower sprouts. He’d rebuilt Bootsie’s greenhouse, and I’d thought it appropriate that the first plant I’d grow in it was her favorite. I’d make sure there was a row of them up against the garden fence in the summer, their faces smiling in the sun and reminding me of her.

  “Carrie just called—she’s at the festival and says there’s already a good crowd. She found a red-and-white-checked tablecloth and she’ll have it all taped down by the time you get there with the pies.”

  “Great—thanks, Tommy. And I think I’m all set here—you go ahead. I know Carrie’s been waiting for you to take Bo on the Tilt-A-Whirl.”

  I winked at him, remembering the Harvest Festivals of our past, when no matter what remedy Bootsie offered, anytime Tommy got swung in a circle, he would get sick. In all those years, I didn’t think he’d ever been given the time to digest a single cotton candy or saltwater taffy.

  “You got the ring?”

  He patted his pocket for Bootsie’s engagement ring, which had belonged to Adelaide but had been left at the jewelry store to be resized at the time of her disappearance. I’d found it in the dining room server when I’d been polishing the silver. She must have placed it there the last time she’d polished, then forgotten where she’d left it. It had been like a little wink from both women, and when Tommy had mentioned his intentions of asking Carrie to marry him, I’d known it was a sign. “Yeah. I figured I’d do it before the Tilt-A-Whirl so I don’t throw up on her.”

  “That’s probably a good plan.” I hugged him tightly. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe we can make it a double wedding.”

  “Or not,” I said, although without much conviction. “And one of those pies in the fridge is for you—but only one. The other three are for Cora, Mathilda, and Mrs. Shipley. If one of them is missing I’m going to tear off your arm and beat you with the bloody stump.” Bootsie used to say that, usually directed at Tommy and his habit of stealing food and leaving a trail of crumbs.

  “I’m scared,” Tommy said, and I could hear the grin in his voice, and it made me smile.

  The harvest had been a good one, and it had made us both start thinking about the future. I’d always loved the cycle of the harvest, of how each spring we’d plant the seeds and each summer we’d watch the fields fill with creamy white and pink blossoms that soon became white puffy bolls looking like old ladies clustered on a church pew. And then in the fall the fields were emptied again, preparing for the long sleep of winter. The never-ending cycle was a familiar one in the delta, and it brought me comfort now, helping me believe that after the cold of winter, spring would come for all of us.

  I looked up, noticing for the first time the white pickup truck parked at the side of the house. “When did Tripp get here?”

  Tommy barely paused long enough to shrug before jumping into his own truck. “Must have been when you were in the kitchen getting the last of the pies.” He waved, then backed out a little faster than necessary.

  I knew Tripp had been on call all day, so I hadn’t texted him, knowing he’d communicate with me when he had a spare moment. It must have been an unusually busy day, because I hadn’t received a single text or phone call. I’d been just about to text him
with a reminder that he was supposed to meet me at my pie booth at the festival at seven.

  I began heading toward the house to look for him when I realized that Cotton wasn’t at his usual spot at my side. In fact, I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen him. I remembered when Tommy’s dog had died, how he’d gone out to the swamp when he knew it was time, and we knew where he’d gone only when the buzzards appeared above the cypress trees.

  My heart tightened. I could never face Chloe again if I let something happen to her dog. I began jogging slowly toward the back of the house, hoping he might be at the back door, where I kept a water bowl for him.

  Sunset was still about an hour away, but the light had begun to fade, the russets and yellows of the trees in the swamp toned down to shades of gray. I stopped at the sound of voices, trying to determine where they were coming from.

  “What the hell happened to my lima beans? And is that a greenhouse? How lame.”

  “It’s not ladylike to swear.” Tripp’s voice.

  “Yes. Sir. But where are my damned lima bean plants?”

  I ran blindly to the garden and stopped at the open gate, wondering if the light was playing tricks on my eyes. The dog yipped, alerting the others to my presence. Tripp smiled broadly, but I barely noticed him, I was so focused on the black-clad girl with the lopsided French braid and black combat boots. I could tell that her mouth was fighting between a scowl and a smile, the smile eventually winning. And suddenly Tripp’s words popped into my head. Sometimes it’s those who are hardest to love who need love the most. I knew I’d have cause over the years to remember that, and the thought didn’t scare me at all.

  “Chloe!” I half shouted, half sobbed. I ran to her and wrapped my arms tightly around her, not caring if she hugged me back. “How did you get here?”

  “In a plane,” she muttered against my chest as I squeezed my arms around her. She was resistant at first, but I didn’t let go, couldn’t.

  I was smiling through my tears, half-afraid that I was imagining her standing there in my garden. “I missed you so much, Chloe. Oh, sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  I finally pulled back, but I kept my hands on her arms, frightened that she might disappear if I didn’t touch her. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

  Her lips trembled, and I could tell she was struggling to hold it together, and had even made half an eye roll before she finally gave in and threw her arms around me. “I love you, too, Vivien. I’m sorry I never told you.”

  And then she was hugging me, too, and we were both laughing and crying and talking at the same time about everything and nothing at all, each of us clinging to the other as if we never wanted to let go.

  My mother appeared in the kitchen door, peering out, no doubt attracted by the noise. “Hello?”

  Chloe pulled away from me, then stepped through the gated fence so my mother could see her.

  “JoEllen!” she shouted, spreading her arms wide, and I laughed and cried some more as Chloe ran into them and hugged my mother hard.

  Carol Lynne held Chloe at arm’s length. “Let’s go inside and fix your hair.”

  Chloe looked at me, her smile not completely eradicated by her practiced twelve-year-old nonchalance. “Wendy texted me and invited me to hang out with her at the festival. She said there’s a hayride and there’ll be some cute boys. I know it’s lame and all, but it’s too dark to work in my garden, so . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked at me expectantly.

  “Sure. I can drive you, but you’ll have to hurry. And all your clothes are up in the closet if you want to change. Not that you have to,” I added quickly.

  “Whatever,” she said with a heavy sigh, and all the months of missing her and worrying about her disappeared, making it seem as if she’d never left. Which was exactly how I’d wanted it to be when I’d allowed myself to dream.

  She followed my mother into the kitchen, but paused to turn back and speak. “I got your voice messages. And I listened to every one.” A corner of her mouth quirked up. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, wanting to do cartwheels across the lawn, but contenting myself with just smiling stupidly as the dog bounded into the kitchen past Chloe, and the door shut behind them.

  I turned to Tripp, my arms held out from my sides in complete wonderment. “How?”

  He wrapped his arms loosely around my hips. “I figured Mark kept telling you no not because he didn’t want to say yes, but because he didn’t want to tell you yes. So instead of going dove hunting like I told you a few weeks ago, I took a little trip out to the West Coast and made me a little appointment for some cosmetic surgery.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to imagine what that meeting must have been like.

  “I wish I could say that there was lots of arguing and tears, but there wasn’t. He seemed almost relieved. I told him we wanted her every summer and every other Christmas and Thanksgiving. He threw in birthdays, too.”

  “Does Chloe know about that part?”

  “No. All she knows is that you and her father came up with an arrangement, and he gave her a return ticket here for the weekend as an early birthday present.”

  “She’s only staying for the weekend?”

  “She’ll be back for a whole month at Christmas. And I told Mark I wanted it in writing, just to make sure.”

  I kissed him gently. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

  He shook his head slowly, pretending to think. “I have no idea. But I expect you to spend the rest of your life trying to show me.”

  “I don’t know if that’s going to be long enough.”

  He kissed me back, and then arm in arm we walked toward the ancient yellow house, with its peculiar turret and the old black bed my mother had recently vacated, stating that it was mine now, and that it was time for me to start having babies. I hadn’t shared that yet with Tripp, but I would. Soon.

  A pair of crows flew to the new cypress sapling that I’d planted, which looked odd among its taller pine neighbors. I remembered what Mathilda had told me about how crows stay together for generations, all of the adults feeding the young, the wayward adults welcomed back to the nest whenever they returned. I hoped it was a mating pair, and that they would bring their children and their children’s children back to see the tree grow. And to watch as I brought my children and grandchildren to sit beneath it.

  I have decided that when I repaint the inside of the house, I will keep the watermark on the wall, a reminder of those who’ve gone before us who connect us to this house and the land. We are all separate boats on this river of years, never expecting to see the boat before or behind us except when the current of time unexpectedly pushes us together, touching but never altering our course. We are born to fight the bends and curves of our own rivers, pushing back that which will not give, understanding where we are meant to be only when we let go and let the river take us back to the place where we began.

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  1. “Home means so many different things. . . . It’s where your people are.” The author creates such a dynamic sense of place for the reader through sensory details and evocative objects such as the heirloom black bed, the watermark from the flood, and the lost diary. What things or memories evoke “home” for you?

  2. Does Vivien get the closure she needs with her mother once she returns home? How do Bootsie’s death, Carol Lynne’s dementia, and Vivien’s reliance on prescription drugs complicate things?

  3. What is the effect of Carol Lynne’s dementia on those around her? As a reader, what was it like to encounter Carol Lynne only through her diary?

  4. In one of her diary entries, Carol Lynne notes, “There’s something in the ways of mothers and daughters, I think, that makes us see all the bad parts of ourselves.” Do you think this is true? How does this apply to the Walker women? Does each woman grow emo
tionally from this realization?

  5. “Because it was something I’d been born with, a poison in the blood I’d inherited from my mother and she from hers and way on back before anybody alive could still remember.” When they left home, what ghosts was each Walker woman chasing? What made each woman return?

  6. Carol Lynne’s diary also reveals the following sentiment: “[Bootsie] just smiled and told me to wait until I become a mother, and then I will understand that my real destiny will be decided by those not yet born.” What does Bootsie mean by this? How do children shape the futures of the Walker women?

  7. Did you suspect the identity of the body earlier in the novel? How does this “ghost” affect the lives of the Walker women?

  8. How does the author use objects or heirlooms such as the watch and ring to unite the characters’ stories across multiple generations? Is there an heirloom you’ve inherited that is loaded with meaning or inspires curiosity about the past?

  9. Did you have any trouble shifting between time lines, which run from the 1920s to the present day? Which era or woman’s story was your favorite?