by Anita Higman
“No. Not at all.” Lane rose. “Let me give you some privacy.” She stepped into the kitchen.
Mason answered the phone. “Hi.”
“Hi, son.”
“Is Dad okay?”
“He’s at home this time. I can’t convince him to go to the hospital or to let me call 911.” All the usual animation was gone from his mother’s voice. She sounded so weary.
“I’ll come over. Maybe I can convince him to—”
“Your father said he didn’t want to spend his last moments in a hospital bed surrounded by plastic hoses and strangers.”
Mason gripped the phone. “I guess I can’t blame him for that. But I’m still coming.”
“Do come. This may be the last...” Her voice broke, and he knew she was crying.
“I’ll be on my way soon. Bye.” Mason coughed, feeling a little lightheaded. He’d known such a moment was coming—when he’d be forced to say his final good-bye to his father. He’d prepared himself a hundred times, and yet the feeling was worse than he’d ever imagined.
Lane came back in the room, looking worried. “What is it? Is your father okay?”
“No.” Mason rose. “I think he’s dying.”
Her hand covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Mason. I’m so very sorry.” She came towards him and took him into her arms. He let her comfort him as he put his arms around her.
“I need to go.” Mason gently pulled away. “I’m sorry. We’ll have this conversation. It’s important. But I need to go now.” He went to the door, and Lane opened it for him.
“Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?” Land lifted her hands to her face, her fingers trembling.
“Pray for us all. My father is ready to go. But I’m not ready to let him go.”
“I will.”
Mason started walking toward his car but then broke into a run. He had no idea if he had hours left with his father or minutes, but he felt a strong tug of urgency.
Chapter Thirty-one
Trudie flipped the TV off, wondering why she’d ever bothered turning it on. All the programs looked the same, and not much of it was worth watching anyway. She headed to her studio.
The phone rang, and she caught it in the hallway before the machine picked it up. She saw that it was Mason calling. She reached for the phone and then hesitated. What should she do? For a moment, she stood in a fit of indecision. She walked away and then went back to answer it. “Hi. Trudie speaking.”
He paused for a second. “Hi. This is Mason.” His voice sounded raspy.
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s about my father...he died.”
“Oh, Mason.” Trudie sat down on a chair in the hallway, clutching her heart. “I’m so sorry.”
Mason was quiet for a moment.
“When is the funeral?”
“It’s ten o’clock a.m. on Tuesday at Pine Forest Community Church.” Mason cleared his throat. “It would mean a lot to me if you would be there.”
“I will. Absolutely.”
“Thanks.”
It tore Trudie to pieces to think of Mason’s grief. She knew he’d loved his father deeply, and so she knew his sorrow would be acute.
“You know how it is to lose a parent. You’ve lost both.”
“Yes. I do know.”
Mason paused. “It’s hard to see through the fog.”
“Time helps, but I’ve never forgotten.”
“Nor would we want to.”
“You’re so right, Mason. We wouldn’t want to.”
They went quiet again, but it seemed to be a good kind of silence, like between two old friends, and a comforting moment, just knowing the other person was on the line. “Will you be okay? I’m here if you want to talk about your dad.” Trudie cradled the phone in her hands, wishing she could say the right words to comfort him.
“I’m sure I’ll be ready to talk on Tuesday...if you’d like to listen.”
“I will. Of course.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you Tuesday then.”
“Yes. Would you like me to call Lane? I know she would want to be there.”
“That’s a good idea. Thank you.”
When Trudie hung up, her heart had never felt so heavy. She wondered how Mason would deal with the loss. Then she thought of his future. Would he be the new director of Wimberley Funeral Home?
On Tuesday Trudie thought the funeral had gone beautifully. There had been a presentation of Mr. Wimberley’s life, showing special moments he’d spent with his family and his many friends within the community. Several hundred people passed by the casket afterward, and Trudie and Lane were among them. Mr. Wimberley had been a striking man with a dignified and kind face, and Trudie regretted that she’d never gotten the chance to meet him.
After the service and the burial and the luncheon were all coming to a close, Mason walked up to them once more. “If you both have the time, I’d like to show you something.”
Lane tucked her clutch purse under her arm. “I would love to.”
“Of course.” Trudie shuffled her feet.
“I assume you’ve both heard of the old bridge at Black Cat Ridge,” Mason said to both of them but looked at Trudie.
“Of course.” Lane smiled.
“It’s that old bridge that goes over the San Jacinto River.” Trudie looked at him.
“Yeah.” Mason nodded. “Below that bridge is where my father used to take me fishing when I was growing up. I haven’t been down there in years. I don’t even know what it looks like anymore. But I have a need to see it now...that is...if you both would like to go.”
“It might be very therapeutic.” Lane pursed her lips.
Trudie clung to her purse, not knowing what to do and wondering if she should bow out of their little excursion.
“All right then.” Mason pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. “Let’s go in my car.”
They said their good-byes to Mrs. Wimberley and a few lingering relatives. After he opened his squeaking and slightly askew car door for his guests, he drove them out onto Loop 494 North.
Trudie decided to go along but sat in the back of the car, allowing Lane to sit in the front with Mason. She couldn’t help but grin as she watched her sister taking sneaky glances around in the car. Lane must have thought, “Why would such a successful man drive such a rickety vehicle?” But to Lane’s credit she said nothing about it. She did, however, squeeze the very life out of the front seat. Mason was a good driver, so she wasn’t sure why Lane would be so tense, except for the fact that she loved him and was still unsure of his feelings. That made sense.
They exited Hamlen Road, drove around under the bridge, and parked. They were alone, except a stray cat or two. Trudie wondered if that was how Black Cat Ridge had gotten its name. They all got out of the car and looked around. The old ornate bridge with its two arches was still there— now in all its rusty glory. Old-fashioned lamplights had been added as well as a ramp so anyone could take a stroll across the bridge. Nice touch.
Mason pointed ahead of them to the river. “Right over there is where my father and I used to fish.” He removed his black suit coat and pulled off his tie and tossed them into the car. “Are you two going to be okay with your shoes?”
“We’re just fine. But are there snakes down here?” Lane asked as she surveyed the ground.
Trudie grinned at her sister. “Since when did you get so citified, Lane Abernathy? We used to play with snakes on the farm.”
“Correction.” Lane pointed at her. “You played with snakes, and I was always running from you.”
Trudie chuckled. “Perhaps that’s true. And I guess there could be some copperheads around here.”
They all walked toward the riverbank with Lane watching her every step. Unfortunately, her sister already looked wobbly in her stilettos as she sank into the sandy ground. Poor Lane. To Trudie, high heels always seemed as stable as walking on pogo sticks. She glanced down at her flat pumps. They were therapeutic-loo
king and ugly, but at least they were comfortable.
“Here’s the spot.” Mason came to the edge of the bank and sat down. He looked back at the two of them. “Lane, you look like you need some help.”
“I’m fine.” Lane laughed him off, but she still appeared to be about to topple over. “Thank you, though.”
Lane and Trudie both made it to the edge of the water and then stood on either side of Mason. The sound of the traffic above them turned into a monotonous roar, but it didn’t drown out their voices.
Trudie looked down into the green murky waters of the San Jacinto River, wondering what sort of living thing stirred just beneath the surface. Probably something bulbous and slimy and glutinous. Maybe she’d paint the creature when she got back to the studio.
Mason rested his arms across his knees. “We caught some pretty good-sized fish in there. Mostly catfish. I always felt sorry for Mom, though. She usually got stuck with the cleaning.” He said the words quietly as if he was speaking to no one in particular.
Lane crossed her arms. “I used to fish, but I just hated putting the worm on my hook.”
“First time I hooked a worm...I was ten.” Mason grinned. “I got woozy.”
“Did you?” Trudie looked at him.
“I managed to keep my food down. But mostly just from the fear of being embarrassed.” He chuckled. “But I got over it eventually...that queasy feeling. Somehow I felt I had to.” His tone took on a pensive quality.
“So, do you still go fishing?” Lane swatted at an insect.
Mason looked up at her. “I do. I go hunting too.” He seemed to wait for her reaction before he went on.
There was a lengthy pause. “So what sorts of animals do you hunt?” Lane dabbed at her face with a wad of tissues.
“Deer mostly.”
Lane’s expression went sour. “You don’t mean Bambi, do you?”
Mason laughed.
Lane crossed her arms. “Doesn’t it seem sort of barbaric?”
“Not any more so than buying hamburger at the grocery store.” He grinned. “Well, if it counts for anything, whatever I kill, I have processed. Whatever I don’t eat, I give to my family and friends.”
Lane lowered her gaze, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry, Mason. I didn’t mean to question your morals. Please don’t take my silly ramblings seriously.”
He didn’t respond for a bit, but then said, “Sometimes our ramblings carry more weight because the words come from our heart before we have a chance to censure them.”
Lane’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no. I guess I’ve offended you.”
Mason laughed. “There was no offense taken.”
“Okay. I’m glad.” She stared at him for a moment and then pressed a tissue against her face.
Feeling herself slip into a quiet mode, Trudie eased herself down onto the riverbank.
Lane looked around in the sand and smoothed her black linen suit, but didn’t sit down.
Trudie couldn’t blame her for standing, since her suit looked expensive, and it certainly wasn’t machine washable.
Mason watched Lane. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you two stop at home to change before I brought you out here. It’s not really a good place for nice clothes. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you back?”
“I’m sure.” Lane put on her most congenial smile.
Mason pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and unfolded it on the ground for Lane. “It’s not much, but it might help.”
“Thank you.” Lane clutched her purse and lowered herself onto the piece of sheer fabric. “That was very genteel of you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Once Lane was on the ground her high heels suddenly seemed too high. She tried to find a way to get comfortable, but it appeared impossible without getting her clothes dirty.
Trudie felt sorry for her. Most of the time, Lane’s shoes look ultra chic, but at the moment she just looked miserable.
Lane picked around in her purse, pulled out the program from the memorial service, and started to fan herself with it.
“There’s supposed to be a Spanish treasure buried over there somewhere.” Mason pointed behind him, away from the river.
Lane seemed to study him. “I suppose I heard about that legend years ago. Seems to me if it had any real merit the city would come out here with a backhoe and dig up the place. Try to find it. You know, settle the matter once and for all.”
Mason breathed in deeply. “Yes, I guess that would be one way to handle it. But sometimes I think people are more interested in the great stories passed down than they are in reality. Besides, treasure would be spent, but myth holds romance forever. Well, at least for as long as the tale is told.”
Lane smiled at him but said no more.
They all sat quietly for a while, listening to the katydids and the roar of the traffic above them. The air seemed to get heavier, if that were possible. Trudie was afraid to say anything to Mason. She remembered Job’s friends. They didn’t fare so well in helping their friend with their multitude of words. Instead they became a burden to him by not remaining quiet and just grieving.
Mason pressed his hands over his head, letting his fingers run through his hair. “I suppose my only regret is that my father didn’t see his house filled with grandkids. He would have loved that. But the timing wasn’t right.”
Lane fidgeted on her square of cloth. “Did you have any other siblings or was it just the one brother...who passed away?”
“Just the one brother. Nate.”
“Oh.” Lane licked her lips.
“My mother loves kids too.” Mason rolled up his sleeves. “Who knows? Maybe I can make it up to her.”
Lane stopped fanning herself. “Make it up to her with children?”
“Yes.” Mason turned to Lane.
“So, you really do plan to have lots of kids then? You weren’t kidding?” Lane rested her palm on the ground and leaned toward him.
“No. I wasn’t kidding.” Mason released a chuckle. “Of course my wife would have some say in the matter. But I do like kids. Always have. Most of my friends have kids, and so I get a kick out of baby-sitting for them sometimes. It gets pretty wild and noisy, but I haven’t lost my sanity yet.”
Trudie liked listening to Mason talk about his life. In fact, he amazed her with every word he said.
“I had no idea.” Lane shook her head slowly as if taking it all in. “I mean I’ve known you for a while now, but I honestly don’t remember you talking about how much you loved children and your hopes for a big family. Although I guess I just never asked.”
Trudie wasn’t sure, but she thought Mason may have figured out the mystery of why she’d backed away from his life. And now he was allowing himself to be transparent so that Lane would have an opportunity to see inside him—perhaps parts of him that he hadn’t revealed before. Seemed like wisdom. Lane might grow to love him all the more for it, but then again, she might see that they weren’t quite as compatible as she’d first envisioned.
Lane loosened the hold she had on her purse, stared at it for a while, and then with some resignation in her gesture, set it on the ground. “Well, I’m afraid Trudie is the one who does well with kids. They love her at the children’s hospital.”
“I’m sure they do...love her.” Mason turned and looked at Trudie, catching her gaze for the first time. He had a lost expression, but his eyes were also filled with what looked like yearning.
Trudie felt her eyes sting a little with tears, so she looked away.
“I know this comes off whiney,” Lane said, “but I’ve coiled myself into a knot, and I can’t seem to get up without being unladylike. I’m sorry.”
Mason quickly came to Lane’s rescue and helped her up. “This was my fault.”
“No, I was happy to come.” She released Mason but continued to look at him. “I have a question for you. Please, though, only answer if you want to.”
“Ask away.” He handed Lane her purse.
“What will happen to you now? Will you be taking over your family’s business?”
Mason turned back to face the river but didn’t say anything for a few moments. “Yes.” His voice seemed resolute, but without joy.
Lane dusted off her suit. “But what will happen to your business?”
“I’m not totally sure yet.”
Quiet settled amongst them again as they stared out at the river. Trudie watched the flow of the water as it made its way slowly but steadily to wherever it was destined to go.
“You’ve been through a great trauma,” Lane went on to say. “Don’t you think it might be wise to wait about making such a life-altering decision?”
“I’ve been thinking about it on and off for years.” Mason slipped his hands into his pockets. “I want to honor my father’s wishes.”
“I think I do understand now.” Lane gently shook out his handkerchief and handed it back to him. “I’m sorry, Mason. But I just can’t take this heat any longer.”
“I shouldn’t have kept you both out here so long. Why don’t we go?” Mason reached down to Trudie. He lifted her off the ground and for a moment he held her, perhaps longer than was necessary. For a second she thought he might not let go. When he released her, Trudie could see that Lane had been watching.
As they all hiked back to the car in the smoldering heat, Trudie wanted to say so many things, wanted to comfort Mason, but the right words didn’t come.
They drove back to the church, making comments on the river and the bridge and the heat. Later in the parking lot, Trudie and Lane gave Mason another round of condolences and hugs, and then in his gentlemanly-like fashion, he helped them into Lane’s car.
As they pulled out of the parking lot, Trudie glanced back. Mason waved at them, but his expression appeared as immeasurable as the Texas sky above them.
Trudie clutched the material on her black dress and fought back the tears. She’d never felt so lost, since her heart was no longer her own. Secretly, she’d given it away—to Mason.
Chapter Thirty-two
Trudie placed her pile of watercolor paintings neatly on the worktable. She had gone through them about fifty times, organizing them and then rearranging them so that Wiley would get the best impression of her work. She wondered what he would think of her watercolors. Were they lovely and salable or childish and boring? Now that the time had come for a viewing, she was a wreck.