Fences: Smith Mountain Lake Series - Book Three

by Inglath Cooper

I reach out and press my hand against the top of the door, preventing her from opening it. “About eighteen years overdue to be exact?”

  “I have to go, Tate,” she says, unwilling to look me in the eyes.

  “Get in the car,” I say, taking the keys from her hand.

  I walk around to the passenger side, open the door, and slide onto the seat. She hesitates for long enough that I’m thinking she might run. But she gets in, her hands locked on the steering wheel, as if she’s prepared to take off even though I have the keys.

  “What do you want, Tate?” she asks in a quiet voice.

  “The truth. That’s all.”

  “You know the truth.”

  “Yeah, I do. And you knew it too.”

  She glances out the side window, but I can see her bite her lip, and a flash of pain crosses her face. She doesn’t answer for so long that I’m not sure she heard me, but then she says, “It was a really stupid thing to do.”

  There is so much regret laced through the response that years of pent-up anger flicker inside me, and I’m suddenly doubting everything that I had thought to be true. I start to ask her what she means, but decide to wait for her to go on.

  “You were always nice to me, and you didn’t deserve what I did to you.”

  “That’s a hell of a thing to say at this late date. You changed the course of my life. Do you realize that?”

  She turns to look at me then, nodding once with a look of shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Tate.”

  “Why are you sorry?” I ask, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.

  “Why not then, when it might have mattered?”

  “I wish I had an excuse that would make me something other than what I am.”

  “And what is that?”

  “A puppet, I guess.”

  It’s about as far from an answer I would have expected as I can imagine. “Whose puppet?”

  She glances out the window. “I don’t blame anyone for what I did except myself. And I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

  “How am I supposed to understand any of what you’ve just said, Angela? You accused me of trying to rape you.”

  She looks down at her hands, bites her lower lip. I have a feeling there’s something else she wants to say but can’t bring herself to.

  “Can we please just leave it at the fact that I’m truly sorry, and if I could erase what I did, I would?”

  “You think it should be that easy?”

  She shakes her head. “I just don’t have anything else to offer you.”

  The rage that had been pounding at my chest twenty minutes ago suddenly loses its fire, and I find myself feeling something very close to pity for Angela Taylor. How many times over the years had I thought about what I would say to her if we ever saw each other again? How I had wanted to cause her the same kind of pain and loss she had caused me. None of those scenarios had ever come close to anything like this.

  Before I can give in to the desire to do exactly that, I drop her car keys into her lap, get out, and walk away.

  61

  Jillie

  WHEN AN HOUR has passed and Tate still hasn’t come back, I leave Corey with Kala, who is again sleeping, and walk around the hospital to see if I can find him.

  I see the back of his head from the side door of the main lobby. He’s sitting on a bench in a small park designed to give patients and visitors a respite from the stress of the hospital.

  “Hey,” I say, walking over to sit down, a couple of feet separating us.

  “Kala okay?” he asks, not looking at me.

  “She’s asleep again.”

  “That’s probably good.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yep.”

  We’re quiet for a few moments, and then I say, “What happened, Tate?”

  “Angela apologized,” he says, “for falsely accusing me.”

  “She did?”

  He nods, shrugging. “Go figure, huh.”

  “Why after all this time?”

  “No idea.”

  “Did she say why she did it?”

  He shakes his head, then says, “She said something about being a puppet. But then also that she didn’t have anyone to blame but herself.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. I spent a lot of time thinking about what I would say to her if I ever had the opportunity. Turns out it fell a little flat. I know this sounds crazy, but I almost felt sorry for her.”

  “The Angela who came into Kala’s room earlier isn’t the Angela I’ve known. Even a week ago, I would never have believed she would do what she did today.”

  “It doesn’t change anything that happened, but it was like I was talking to a different person.”

  I reach across and put my hand on his. He turns his palm up, and it connects with mine. “I wish I had—”

  “Don’t,” he says softly. “It’s the past. Let’s just leave it there.”

  I want to protest, tell him again how sorry I am for believing, even for a little while, that he could ever do what Angela had accused him of. But he’s asking me to leave it alone, and telling myself it would be selfish not to, I do.

  62

  Jillie

  LUCILLE IS IN the room visiting with Kala when we get back. She looks up with a worried look on her face, saying, “I can’t believe this happened.”

  “I’m okay, Lucille,” Kala says, patting her arm.

  “Well, I can see that,” Lucille says, “but only because you’re tough as nails.”

  The compliment brightens Kala’s smile, and she says, “It was a really big snake, Lucille.”

  “Probably eight feet long,” Corey pipes in.

  Kala doesn’t bother to correct her. “Don’t cry, Lucille. I’m fine.”

  Lucille wipes the back of her hand across one eye, and says, “When you get old, you’re allowed to cry whenever you want to. It’s one of the few perks.”

  I walk over and give her a hug, thanking her for coming.

  “What can I do to help?” she asks. “I’m assuming Kala will be here overnight.”

  “Yes,” I say. “I haven’t really figured out—”

  “You stay here with her, and I’ll stay the night with Corey.”

  “Oh, Lucille, would you?”

  “Of course, I will. She looks like she’s about to fall over. Why don’t I take her home, get dinner started, and give her an early bedtime?”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  “I can bring you some dinner back and a change of clothes if you’d like,” Tate says, looking at me.

  For some ridiculous reason, tears well in my eyes, and I do my best not to brush them away and bring attention to them. I have no reason to cry, except for the fact that it’s really nice to have support, real support, from people you care about when you need it.

  63

  Tate

  I DON’T KNOW how Lucille does it, but she manages to get Corey settled and content playing games on her iPad, while fixing a dinner that smells amazing, as well as packing an overnight bag for Jillie.

  I eat with Corey, both of us competing for most compliments delivered to Lucille in the course of one meal. Lucille finally tells us to hush and just eat.

  She makes a to-go dish for Jillie, and after I run upstairs and take a shower, I head back to the hospital. I’ve just gotten into town when my phone rings, and I see Lucille’s number. I answer, hoping nothing has happened with Corey.

  “I just realized I forgot to put Jillie’s toothbrush in the bag,” she says.

  “Okay,” I say, relieved that it’s nothing alarming. “I’ll stop by the drugstore and get her one.”

  Just inside the Rocky Mount town limits, I turn in at the CVS, run inside, buy the toothbrush and some toothpaste and am getting back in my car when I notice two women in the lot across from me who appear to be having a heated conversation. I realize then that the one in the passenger seat is Angela. And then I recognize Poppy Sullivan. He
r expression is angry, and she is speaking quickly, so intent in whatever she’s saying to Angela that she doesn’t notice me watching them.

  It’s an odd thing to witness, and I’m still wondering about it when I reach the hospital a few minutes later. Angela and Poppy were friends in high school, but it’s a little surprising to see them together now.

  I’m pulling out of the parking lot, when Angela glances my way. We meet eyes, and something like guilt flashes across her face before she quickly turns her head and looks the other way.

  64

  Jillie

  THE NEXT FEW weeks feel as if they’re made up of pieces of a dream. Things I’ve hoped for. Once imagined might be part of my life, but long ago accepted as impossible.

  Kala’s leg continues to heal. She’s able to put weight on it again, and the swelling is almost completely gone. A week after getting out of the hospital, she’s nearly back to her old self, insisting she can do anything to help around the farm that Corey can.

  And it’s amazing how quickly the place has come together. Tate hired John Moran, a neighbor down the road, to bring his tractor over and mow the fields. They look immaculate, if empty, of the horses I remember grazing there.

  The sixteen-stall barn has a fresh coat of sand-colored paint; the windows and stall doors trimmed in white. I’m in the barn office early this Saturday morning, cleaning the walls and molding, when my cell phone rings. It’s not even seven o’clock yet, and I grimace a little at Angela’s name on the screen.

  “Hey, Angela,” I say, hearing the cautious note in my own voice.

  “I tried to talk Mother into letting the girls have their ponies. I thought she would eventually agree, but she’s having them sent to a sale barn in North Carolina this morning.”

  “What?” I ask, shock bolting through me. “She wouldn’t.”

  “She is,” Angela says, and I can hear the ragged edge of tears beneath the admission. “I don’t know why she couldn’t just let the girls have them.”

  It’s the closest I’ve ever heard Angela come to criticizing her mother. “What is the name of the place they’re being taken to?” I ask, forcing calm into the question.

  “Thatcher’s Livestock Sale Barn. It’s a two-hour drive.”

  “Angela, can you please beg her not to? We’ll come and get the ponies today. Pay her whatever she wants for them.”

  “Her mind is made up,” Angela says softly, a thread of shame running through the words. “I heard her tell the driver she doesn’t want them back, if they don’t sell in the regular ring. They’ll go to the slaughter ring after that.”

  A sickening wave of horror and anger floods through me. “Thank you for letting me know.”

  “I’ll text you the address of the place,” Angela says.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask her, certain it isn’t something she would have once done for me.

  “Please let me know when they’re safe,” she says, without answering my question. She clicks off then, and I stand for a moment, frozen beneath the awful realization that my mother-in-law truly hates me. Worse though, is the fact that she could do this to her own granddaughters out of spite for me.

  65

  Tate

  JILLIE’S VOICE IS nearly frantic when I pick up the phone at just after seven. I listen in disbelief as she tells me about Angela’s call. I don’t even know what to say in response except that I’m going with them. But the whole time I’m getting dressed, fury burns inside of me, for the heartlessness of Judith Taylor.

  Twenty minutes later, we’re in the car and heading down Route 40 toward Route 29. I’d made a quick pot of coffee, bringing two cups with us. Jillie pours some from the thermos and hands it to me.

  “Where are we going, Mama?” Corey asks in a sleepy voice from the back seat.

  “To a horse sale,” Jillie answers.

  “Are we buying us a horse?” Kala asks.

  “Maybe,” Jillie says.

  “What about our ponies?” Corey asks. “Are we not going to see them again?”

  Jillie turns in the seat, and I can see she’s trying to reassure Corey without telling her something that isn’t true. “I want you to,” she says softly.

  Both girls fall quiet then, and Jillie looks out the window, her coffee mug clasped in her hands. I want to tell her everything is going to be okay. But the words stick in my throat, and for the second time in our recent history, I push the speed limit as much as I dare.

  66

  Jillie

  WE ARRIVE AT Thatcher’s at just after ten. We’d stopped once for a restroom break, but other than that, drove straight here.

  The parking lot consists of two grass fields on either side of the gravel entrance. Trucks with trailers attached fill the rows outside the enormous, metal building. From inside, I can hear the rhythmic voice of an auctioneer.

  Tate parks quickly, and we both get out of the car. I ask Kala and Corey to hurry, and they both look at me as if they have no idea why I’m acting this way.

  “We don’t want to miss out,” I say.

  Corey takes my hand, and Kala walks next to Tate. At the entrance of the building, we stop at the registration booth. A woman with yellow, blonde hair and heavily penciled, dark eyebrows smiles at us and says, “You folks going in to the sale?”

  “Yes,” I say. “What do we need to do?”

  “I’ll need you to fill out this registration form, and that will get you a number for bidding.”

  “Has it started?” I ask, hastily providing the info requested on the form.

  “About an hour ago,” she says with a cheerful smile.

  My heart drops, and I say a silent prayer that the ponies haven’t already been sold. I feel Tate’s hand on my shoulder, pushing the fear aside under his soft reassurance.

  “If you’d like to preview what’s left to be auctioned off, you can take a walk through the barn just to the right of the main building. Here’s your number,” she says, handing me a paddle board with 340 written on the front. “You’re all set.”

  I thank her, then turn to Tate and say, “Should we walk through first?”

  “Let me look inside and make sure they’re not already out there,” he says close to my ear.

  I nod, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it against the wall of my chest. Corey is still gripping my hand, as if she knows something isn’t quite right. Kala follows Tate before I can call her back.

  Within a couple of minutes, I spot them coming out of the barn. He shakes his head, and we walk quickly to the other barn. Just inside, a man in coveralls and a John Deere cap nods at us and says, “Can I help you?”

  “We’d like to see the horses left for sale.”

  He points at the row of stalls to our right. “Twelve more to go. All these along here.”

  “Thanks,” Tate says, and we glance in the first stall to find a pitiful, old mule staring back at us from a defensive position in the back corner. His hip bones are sticking out, and I can count every rib on his side.

  Tate reaches a hand inside the stall to rub the mule’s nose, but he doesn’t even lift his head, the look in his eyes reflecting the kind of disillusion that leaves a crack in my heart.

  In the next stall is a small pony with hooves so long I don’t know how he can possibly walk on them. They curl up and over in a curve, and I have to look away because I cannot imagine how painful they must be.

  Tate and I exchange a look of disbelief at what we are seeing. We keep walking, this time just glancing in the stalls as we go, neither of us able to linger on the mistreated faces of these animals who have ended up in this place. Kala and Corey walk behind us, and I wish for some way to send all of these poor souls to safety, even as I know that is impossible.

  We’ve reached the last two stalls when Tate stops abruptly and looks at me. The soft whinny coming from the second stall is immediately recognizable. Kala glances at me in disbelief, then runs to the front of the stall, squealing in delight. “Munchy!” she screams
.

  The pony hangs his head over the door, nuzzling Kala’s neck with his soft nose.

  And now Corey has found Cricket in the other stall. Tate lifts her so she can reach out and rub the little mare’s face.

  Both girls look at me at the same time, confusion marring their happy expressions.

  “Why are they here?” Kala asks. “I thought Aunt Angela was trying to get Grandma to let us have them.”

  “She did try,” I say quietly.

  “But she wouldn’t?” Corey asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Did she send them here?” Kala asks in horror.

  I don’t know what to say. I am reluctant to complete this picture of their grandmother, but I also cannot lie to my children. “We’re here to try to get them back,” I say.

  “We’re buying them?”

  “I hope so,” I say, praying that I won’t have to disappoint them in this.

  What if we can’t? What if there’s some reason why this won’t work out? I feel suddenly sick at the thought of having to leave this place without these ponies.

  As if he can tell what I’m thinking, Tate puts a hand on my shoulder and says, “Let’s go inside and be ready to place our bid.”

  “Can we stay here with them?” Kala asks, sounding more like a little girl than she has in years.

  “Let’s all go in,” I say, aware now that I have to protect them as much as I can from an outcome other than the one we’re hoping for.

  We leave the barn, Kala and Corey looking over their shoulders at the ponies until we are in the sale area. Bleacher seats surround a small stage, where a man wearing a vest with “Thatcher Sales” on the front leads in the old mule we’d seen in the first stall of the barn.

  Laughter rises up from the seats around us. A smoke-roughened voice to our right throws out, “He don’t look like he could pull a fire alarm, much less a wagon!”

  I look down at the broken old mule, and something tightens inside my chest, a sob threatening to rise up out of me. I feel Tate’s gaze on me, but if I look at him, I’m going to lose it. So I don’t.