Dreams of Falling

by Karen White

  I love Margaret Darlington and wish to spend the rest of my life with her. I know she feels the same, despite our difference in opinion about whether I should enlist. I love my country, and I am compelled to serve it in any capacity and do my duty as you did and our ancestors have done. Enlisting was the toughest choice of my life, and that decision does not lessen how I feel for Margaret. Please make sure she knows that.

  I think we are all born with just half a heart, and we are meant to spend our lives looking for the other half. Margaret is mine, and I am hers. I haven’t doubted that from the moment she took my hand on the dance floor at the Ocean Forest. That’s how I remember her—gold hair shining under the moonlight as she danced in my arms.

  All the plans and hopes in the world can’t make our dreams come true, which is why I’m calling in the debt. I behaved dishonorably, and even though I asked Margaret to marry me, she said no—but only until I’d changed my mind about enlisting. I don’t blame her. This isn’t what she planned for. But we can’t always plan for everything, can we? Life has its own plans sometimes, and we’ve no choice but to follow.

  I need you to promise me, Boyd, that if something should happen to me, you will repay the debt you owe me and take care of my Margaret. And if there is any result from my transgression, I’m counting on you to do the honorable thing by me. You know that I would do the same thing if our positions were reversed. But of course they’re not. You’ve always known how to turn away from temptation and do the admirable thing. I’m not nearly as strong.

  Be well, Boyd. I hope you never have to read this letter. And if you do, then I thank you with all of my heart. Knowing you are there for Margaret brings me the greatest comfort.

  Your brother,

  Reggie

  Ceecee tilted her head back, looking up at the sun to reassure herself that it was still there. She was light-headed and feverish and thought she might throw up. She wanted to dive into the cool water of the river, deeper and deeper until she’d run out of breath and simply let go of this world. “Are you going to marry Margaret, then?”

  He let out a long breath. “Yes.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ve gone over and over all the options with Margaret, and she’s turned them all down for one reason or another. She won’t give up the baby because it’s the only thing left of Reggie. I mentioned that you and I could raise the baby as ours, but she won’t hear of it. She’s adamant that the baby remain with her. She is the child’s mother.” He drew a long, shuddering breath. “Reggie is not only my brother, and the baby my niece or nephew, but I owe Reggie my life. I can’t ignore that. I don’t have a choice.”

  “Of course you do,” Ceecee said, not caring about the desperation in her voice. “Reggie wouldn’t ask you to do this if he knew how we felt about each other.”

  He was already shaking his head before she finished speaking. “It’s not Margaret or Reggie I’m thinking about. It’s the baby. The only hope for a future for that child is if I marry Margaret now and let the world believe that it’s mine. A healthy child is the one good thing that can come of all this. You see that, don’t you?”

  Ceecee shook her head. “I want to. I do. But all I can see right now is a lifetime of emptiness, and Margaret walks away with everything. Just like she always has.” There. She’d said it. The words she’d thought for years. The truth of what her mother had been trying to tell her since they were children. “I’m sorry, Boyd. I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but you’re wrong. We belong together. You and me.” She didn’t care that her face was streaked with tears and mascara. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing.

  He took her hands in his and kissed them. “We do, Sessalee. We do belong together. But doing the easy thing is rarely the right thing. Think of the baby. Of that innocent life whose future depends on us.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “We can pretend the baby is ours—yours and mine. It will be the thing that we can share.”

  She wrenched her hands away and shook her head. “It’s not enough, Boyd. You know it’s not enough.”

  He put his hands behind her head and brought her face close to his. “It has to be, Sessalee. We’ll just have to make it be enough.”

  Boyd reached up and tugged at her ponytail, setting loose the ribbon she’d put in it that morning that now felt like a million years ago. “What are you doing?” It didn’t sound like her voice any more than she felt like the same Sessalee Purnell she’d been when she’d put that ribbon in her hair.

  “I’m putting a ribbon in the Tree of Dreams,” he said, drawing out a pen from his shirt pocket.

  She stared at him uncomprehendingly.

  He flattened the ribbon on his leg and began scribbling something on the fabric. Her gaze traveling to the black opening, she remembered the first ribbon she’d put in there, about her finding the perfect man. And how Margaret had written the same thing.

  “Don’t.” Ceecee scrambled to her feet.

  But Boyd had already stood and was stuffing the ribbon deep into the tree’s trunk. When he turned to look at her, beads of sweat covered his forehead. Ceecee grabbed his wrist and pulled him away from the tree. “What did it say?”

  He looked at her as if he didn’t understand her question.

  She tugged on his arm. “What did you write? On the ribbon?”

  His eyes, dark and brooding, bored into hers. “‘I will love Sessalee Purnell until I die, and will hope every day that we will find a way to spend our lives together.’”

  “Don’t, Boyd. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it. You can’t marry her and love me. You can’t have it both ways. We will both die inside trying.”

  “I have to try, Sessalee. Because this is breaking my heart, too. I don’t believe in this stupid tree any more than you do, but I can’t imagine it will make our situation any worse.”

  “No!” she shouted, straining forward toward the tree, desperate to pull out the ribbon. But Boyd held fast, wrapping his arms around her before pressing his lips against hers. She was lost for a moment, in his kiss and in the love she had for him, until the sound of the returning martins made her open her eyes to see the darkening sky filled with the rattle of birds coming home to roost.

  * * *

  • • •

  When Ceecee returned to the house alone, Bitty was waiting for her on the porch swing, an ashtray full of cigarette butts at her feet. “I found more in Mr. Darlington’s study. Want one?”

  Ceecee shook her head, listening as Boyd’s car disappeared down the drive, and tried to think about what she was supposed to do next but couldn’t. So she stood on the bottom step and looked up at Bitty. She opened her mouth to say something, to scream, or cry, but there was nothing left. She was an abandoned shell on the beach, whole and unscathed on the outside, but hollowed out and empty inside.

  Bitty stood and took a step forward, her arms outstretched, but Ceecee shook her head, knowing that if she received one ounce of compassion, she’d start to cry and never be able to stop.

  “They’re getting married,” Ceecee said with the same tone she’d have used to compliment her on her shoes or hairstyle.

  “I know.” Bitty’s face was pinched, as if she’d just been forced to taste a bitter medicine. “I tried to talk Margaret out of it, to look for other solutions, but her mind is set. For her, it’s perfect. She gets a husband and a baby, all without shame. Her biggest worry is that the baby will be big when it’s born so no one will believe it’s premature.”

  Bitty’s voice warbled, and Ceecee had to look away, knowing that if Bitty started crying again, there’d be no hope for either one of them.

  “Friends forever, right?” Ceecee said, and tried to laugh, but it came out wrong.

  “Don’t let her do this, Ceecee. Please don’t.”

  Ceecee shook her head. “Boyd says he’s doing it for the baby’s sake.”

  Bitty’s
face was hard. “And Margaret is doing it for her own selfish reasons. If she loved you like she says she does, she wouldn’t do this.”

  Ceecee could only stare at her friend, knowing everything she wanted to say had already been said. Every possible solution and outcome had already been dissected and discarded.

  “She wants to see you,” Bitty said.

  “Now?”

  Bitty nodded. “It has to happen sooner or later, so you might as well get it over with. Do you want me to come with you?”

  Ceecee shook her head. “No. I’d best do this alone.”

  “I’ll be here when you get back. I’ll go ahead and pour some of Mr. Darlington’s scotch and have it waiting for you. You’re probably going to need it.”

  Ceecee made her way up the elegant staircase, leaning on the banister because she wasn’t sure her legs could bear the weight of her grief. She made it to the wide upper hall, the tall doors on either end opened to create a cross-breeze that did almost nothing to alleviate the stifling heat. A maid came out of Margaret’s bedroom, carrying an untouched food tray. Her face was apologetic—either because of the untouched food or because she knew what was happening.

  Ceecee stepped inside and stood in front of the door, blinking at the sudden darkness. The curtains had been drawn, and even though a ceiling fan and a floor fan were turned on high, they only shifted the stifling air around the room. Margaret sat in the middle of the bed, a pile of white lace-covered pillows behind her that matched the virginal white nightgown buttoned up to her neck. Her pale face almost blended into the bedding, and all Ceecee could think was, Good.

  “You’re not dying,” Ceecee said, marching over to the large French doors that faced the river and throwing them open. A welcome breeze cooled her forehead, calming her. She spotted the Tree of Dreams across the yard and quickly turned her back on it.

  “I’m so sorry, Ceecee. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” The voice coming from the woman on the bed wasn’t recognizable as Margaret’s. It was timid and hesitant, so unlike the forceful, confident tones of the friend she’d known and loved. It made Ceecee pause, feeling a moment of sympathy for the woman on the bed who’d lost so much.

  But then she thought of Boyd, and what Margaret had done, and she continued her march around the room, throwing open curtains and turning on all the lamps. Because she still couldn’t get her nerves under control, she refilled the water glass on the bedside table, her hands shaking so badly, she thought she might drop it.

  “Thank you,” Margaret said softly.

  Ceecee didn’t respond but stood looking down at Margaret, her emotions ricocheting between pity, anger, and grief. “For what?” She knew, of course. She just wanted to hear Margaret say it.

  But what Margaret said next wasn’t what she’d expected to hear at all. “For your loving and generous heart. For your sacrifice. For your friendship.”

  Ceecee could only stare at her.

  Margaret pressed a handkerchief to eyes that were bloodshot and sunken, a fact that Ceecee didn’t castigate herself for feeling good about. “I’ve done a terrible thing. To you. To Boyd. And I’m more sorry than I can ever say. But I can’t figure out another way out of this.”

  Ceecee remembered the look on Boyd’s face as they’d sat under the Tree of Dreams, the dreams and plans she’d made for their life together. “So you’ve made up your mind, then. You’ve decided there is no alternative to ruining my life.”

  A fresh torrent of tears cascaded down Margaret’s sallow cheeks. “I know there is no way I can ever make this up to you. If only it were just me. But it’s not. There’s another, innocent life to protect. It’s Reggie’s baby, and I owe it to his memory to do whatever I can to make sure his child is loved and cherished and taken care of for the rest of his or her life.”

  Ceecee allowed her gaze to move down the bedclothes. Margaret’s slim frame showed no sign yet of the baby growing inside her. She felt the edges of her heart soften, curling like a rose petal. But not for Margaret. For the baby. She remembered what Boyd had said, and she felt a small stab of light filtering through her dark thoughts.

  “I want to be godmother.”

  Margaret looked up at her with a surprised and tear-stained face. “You do?”

  “Yes. I do. I want to be an important part in this child’s life. You at least owe me that.”

  Margaret nodded. “All right.” She attempted a smile, but it looked like a grimace on a skeleton hung out at Halloween. “I never imagined my life without you or Bitty. No matter what, I want you both in my life. And in my child’s life.”

  Ceecee thought for a moment, frowning down at Margaret. “If it’s a girl, I want you to name her Ivy.”

  “But that’s the name you always said you would give your daughter if you ever had one.”

  “Yes, it is. But it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting married and having my own children now, does it?”

  Fresh tears oozed from Margaret’s blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Ceecee. I’m so very sorry. I know how inadequate the word is, but I hope in time that you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  Ceecee pulled her chin up. “It’s not me you have to wait to forgive you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Boyd’s the one who will have to live with you for the rest of your lives. You’d better hope he finds it in his heart to forgive you. And himself.”

  Margaret straightened her shoulders. “I can make him happy. I can be a good wife to him.”

  Ceecee took a step forward, pointing her finger at Margaret’s chest. “Don’t you ever say that to me again. Do you understand? I will be a part of your life because of the child, but I will never, ever think of you and Boyd as husband and wife. I will never see you that way. Because he was never meant to be yours.”

  Margaret pressed her back against the headboard to create distance between them, but she didn’t lower her gaze. It was as if for the first time they saw something new in each other, something that equalized their standing. Something unexpected and just as terrifying.

  Ceecee stepped back. “I’m going downstairs to tell the maid to bring the food back, and I will stay to watch you eat every last bite. This baby will be born healthy and strong, and I will come here every single day to make sure of it.”

  She began walking toward the bedroom door, stopping when Margaret spoke again.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Ceecee. I loved Reggie with all my heart. If it weren’t for his baby, I’d happily die. If I could bring him back, you know I would.”

  Ceecee turned to look at Margaret. Softly, she said, “So would I.” Then she left the room, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

  twenty-eight

  Larkin

  2010

  I sat at the nearly empty counter at Gabriel’s ice-cream shop, slowly sipping at my Brown Cow. Music played from the speakers, and I gave Gabriel a questioning look. “‘Runnin’ Down a Dream’ by Tom Petty. Definitely eighties. What’s up with that?”

  He shrugged. “It’s Tom Petty. One of the few who are allowed to share a playlist with the classics.”

  I laughed, looking around the store. Being here was a welcome break; I continued to do my job remotely, with almost daily reassurances to my boss that I would be back soon. As Gabriel finished with a few customers, my gaze settled on the mural. Recalling what Mabry had told me about my mother always hiding a small image, I climbed off the stool and moved closer. But all I saw was what I’d seen before, the tree and the river, and the three girls with their backs to the artist. It was a beautiful, peaceful scene, yet there was something about the colors used for the background, and the visible strokes of the artist’s brush, that agitated the image. Like shaking a snow globe distorts the picture inside.

  I stepped back to get a different perspective, seeing for the first time a nearly hidden
edge, tucked into the back corner of the room. I put my glass on the counter and moved away a table and two chairs to see it better. There, in the crease where one wall ended and another began, was Carrowmore, painted as it must have once been, with its graceful columns and still-intact roof. This hidden picture was larger than the other ones I’d seen, making it easier to make out the details. I leaned forward. In a first-floor window, a fork of orange-yellow flames shot out from the shattered frame. Behind the flame, a shadowy figure was barely visible—the shape of a woman with red hair.

  I jerked back, as if I’d just seen something obscene.

  “Are you all right?” Gabriel put his hands on my shoulders, steadying me.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “Look.” I pointed to the corner.

  Gabriel whistled softly. “Never saw that. Your mama came in not too long ago, said she needed to add a few details. I got busy with customers and didn’t see what she was doing, and she left before I could ask what she’d added.”

  “Do you remember when that was?” I asked.

  He thought for a moment. “Yeah—either the day before or maybe the morning of her accident.”

  I stepped closer again, trying to see if I might have missed any other details. There was another blurry image in an upstairs window, and I squinted to see it better. There were flames in the background here, too, but pressed against the window frame were the blurred faces of two women, both blond.

  “I can’t believe this was here all this time and I never noticed.” Gabriel shook his head. “One thing she did tell me while she was painting it the first time was that she was trying to paint her nightmare so that it would be stuck on the wall and out of her head. She didn’t want to answer any of my questions, so I didn’t press her to explain. I wish I had.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Hey,” he said, squeezing my arm. “I have something to show you. Something your mama gave to me.”