Abram and his rock.
Though Barb had spoken often of the legend surrounding the rock and the hiking trail, I hadn’t known until today how much it had all meant to her. Even at the hospital, I wondered if she didn’t only ramble in confusion. Now though, seeing the quilt she’d labored over along with its prominent place on her bed made me realize how serious Barb had been. I thought of the woman, Elizabeth, whom my neighbor had mentioned, how she wanted Mary to understand something having to do with her ancestor.
But none of that would matter if I couldn’t find Mary.
I searched the pictures on Barb’s bureau and nightstand, dwelling on one black-and-white photo of a young couple with a little girl in pigtails. I held it up to within inches of my face, tried to make out Barb’s wrinkled profile hidden within the young woman, and thought I could see a glimpse behind her eyes.
The little girl had light hair like her mother, and while the picture was nice, it wasn’t helpful in finding an estranged daughter. I put the photograph down just as my phone rang from the other room.
I saw Jen’s name and answered.
“Hey.”
“Hey, I’m so sorry about your neighbor.”
“That’s okay.” I wanted to reassure her we weren’t close, and yet how should that matter? And whether or not we’d been close, in some ways we were bound tighter in her death than we’d ever been. “Were you able to find out anything? I know she has a daughter named Mary.”
“There’s nothing in her records, or that of her primary doctor.”
I pushed the screen door open and breathed in the fresh air. It felt strange to talk so blatantly about such things while I was alone in Barb’s home.
“What happens then? I mean, Matt and I could take care of the arrangements, I suppose . . .” Matt and I. That was how things used to be. Now though, my husband wanted to get away from me. But surely he would help me in this. He’d want to know of Barb’s passing and help if he could.
And yet Matt had left for his break. I could take care of this myself—a last tribute to Barb.
“We’ve contacted her primary, who will contact her lawyer. If there’s a will, it may help sort some of this out.”
“Right.” Barb’s lawyer would have Mary’s contact information.
“There’s nothing more you can do today, Sarah. You should take some time to do something for yourself, you know?” I heard her unspoken words, pulling me back to the reason I’d called in sick to work that morning—what seemed like eons ago. “I’ll see you here tomorrow, you think?”
“Yes.” I needed to go back to work, not only because the hospital depended on me, but because I needed to go on with life, to reach some sense of normalcy, to get my mind off Matt and Barb and stories and family. “Thanks, Jen. I appreciate everything.”
We said good-bye and I went back into Barb’s house to close up the windows. In the distance a gray cloud mounted the horizon. I turned from it and went to my neighbor’s empty bedroom. I ran my hand over the quilt, feeling the carefully crafted nips and tucks of thread and fabric beneath my fingertips.
Barb wished her daughter had known about Abram and his rock. She mentioned giving it all to me, that I would know what to do with it. But I didn’t. I only knew the legend. I didn’t know about Elizabeth or Barb’s family story. And quite honestly, I didn’t think I had the emotional energy to search for it in the attic and desk and closets of this lonely home. Maybe if it had all happened a week ago . . . but now, with my world seeming to cave in around me?
I tried not to feel anger at Barb. She shouldn’t have left me with this task. It wasn’t fair. This was her life, her daughter, her past sins and regrets. She did little all day besides pray and quilt. She should have made more of an effort while she was alive to make amends with her family.
Thoughts of my rings lost at the bottom of Abram’s Rock niggled their way into my mind. I had my own family troubles to attend. I had a job I’d been absent from, a son to say good-bye to. Jen was right.
None of this needed to happen today.
It’s funny the things I noticed now that Matt was gone.
How empty the bureau looked without his jeans, socks, and t-shirt upon it, prepared for the next workday. How my single toothbrush in its holder shouted up at me that I had failed, that I was destined for a life of loneliness, how my family would never be the same again. How the absent scent of his morning coffee brewed a bitter taste in the back of my mouth, one that echoed of anger and unfairness.
I became obsessed with our simple wedding photographs, with searching my husband’s young face for a clue of the trouble that would come seventeen years later. If there was a trace of this disaster, I didn’t see it. I had to believe these issues hadn’t built up over a long amount of time—that they’d cropped up and caught Matt by surprise just as much as they’d shaken me.
I left for work early the next day, as soon as Kyle caught the bus to school. I drove out of our finely manicured driveway and beneath the shade of a massive red maple I’d had to fight Matt to keep. Ten years ago when we’d bought the land to build the house, I’d been discontent. I’d wanted to purchase an old farmhouse a mile farther down the road, fix it up nice, maybe add an addition with a wraparound porch. Something with character.
Matt insisted we build our own home, something no one else “had a chance to screw up.” We built the huge boxy house I now lived in alone. He’d wanted to cut down the old maple, said they ruined the grass below their drop line. I fought him and he conceded. Besides the decrepit barn at the back end of our property, the maple was the only thing on our three acres older than fifty years.
Instead of taking a left out of our driveway and onto the highway, I turned right toward my parents’ home. I’d avoided Mom’s phone calls all day yesterday and since I hadn’t yet heard from Barb’s lawyer, there was something I needed to ask my father.
My stomach vibrated alongside the engine of my car when I saw a Rodrigues Landscaping truck in my parents’ driveway. A man with a red bandana and glistening arms ran a weed whacker around my mother’s flowerbeds. A lawnmower engine sounded from the backyard and my stomach settled. Matt was in Newport, not Swansea. Of course he wouldn’t neglect his Swansea clients. Only my parents weren’t true clients—they’d never paid a nickel for Matt’s services. When Matt married me, he’d offered to do the yard work for free, as their son-in-law. I used to visit with Mom over tea as Matt mowed their lawn and tended their flower beds and walkways. When Kyle came along, I brought him with me. Matt took him on the riding mower when he turned four. By the time Kyle was seven, Matt began sending one of his employees over to tend my parents’ lawn during the week. The only time he called Mom or Dad was to check on their landscaping needs.
I scooped up my purse and walked to the back patio, where my mother worked on a counted cross stitch. My father sat, intent on a commentary laid on the glass table, his Bible open to the book of Isaiah.
Maybe I’d come at a bad time. He didn’t like to be interrupted when working on his sermon.
“Knock, knock,” I said.
Mom put a hand to her chest. “Oh, Sarah! I didn’t hear you.” She got up and gave me a longer-than-normal hug, squeezing me tight then releasing me to hold at arm’s length. “How are you doing? You haven’t returned my calls.”
I wriggled from her grasp. “I know, Mom. Sorry. I’m okay, though, really.”
I allowed my gaze to travel to my father. He stood. “Hi, honey.” He gave me a light hug and I inhaled the smell of Old Spice and leather. “Glad you stopped by.”
“I’ll make some tea.” Mom slid open the screen patio door and jiggled it closed. I sat at the table with my father.
“Any word from Matt?”
I blew out a long breath that feathered my bangs to the side. I really didn’t want to talk about Matt. “No, Dad. He’ll be by on Saturday to pick up Kyle for the summer.”
He grunted.
“Were you able to talk through things, ho
ney?” Mom spoke through the screen door.
“We talked. Listen, I know you guys care, but this is something Matt and I need to work through ourselves.”
“How can you work through it if he’s not around?” Dad flipped his commentary shut. It rattled the glass of the table. “It’s just not right for a husband and wife to be apart. Unnatural.”
I wanted to remind him that the way we began our marriage—with Dad ordering Matt to marry me—wasn’t all that natural, either.
“Lots of couples separate for a time. You know, absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that?”
“What about a man and wife becoming one flesh and all that?”
I sniffed and concentrated on the bunches of white phlox embracing the walkway. The lawnmower engine died and the sound of the whistling kettle in Mom’s kitchen took its place. A moment later, Mom came out with a tray of Grandma’s Shelley teacups.
“When is Kyle done with school?” Mom placed a cup and saucer in front of me.
“He has the last of his exams tomorrow. I can’t believe he only has one more year of high school.”
“And what are his plans for the summer?” Mom smiled at me, then at my father, and I sensed the peace she wanted between us.
“He’s going to work with Matt in Newport.”
“Oh?”
“It’ll be good for them to spend some time together. And maybe I’ll go down for a weekend or two.” In truth, I’d only just thought of this idea. I didn’t know if Matt would be open to it.
“Seems to me you’ll have some time on your hands this summer, then. Maybe you’ll think about helping out with the VBS at the church this year? You’ve always been great with the children.”
I put my teacup down and straightened. “Actually, I’m thinking of picking up some hours at the hospital. Two nurses and a CNA are out on maternity leave.” I thought to add that I was also thinking of looking into schools—to finally pursue my long-dead goal of being a nurse practitioner, but the sudden thought gave me pause. Was I tempted to say it only to shock my parents into silence? To show them that I really wasn’t that worried about Matt leaving, that I was confident it would all work out in the end?
“Oh? Well that’s nice.” Mom pressed her back against the vine-patterned patio chair. “How is everything at the hospital?”
“It’s . . . okay. Actually, that’s kind of why I came. I’m not sure if you remember my neighbor, Barb?”
Dad cleared his throat and poured skim milk from the creamer into his tea. “She used to watch Kyle some, didn’t she?” He squeezed the Tetley teabag with the back of his spoon and placed it on his saucer. Excess liquid dribbled from the bag and slid toward his cup.
“Yes, a while back . . . she actually died yesterday at the hospital. A heart attack.” I purposely left out the part about how I had been so involved in Matt leaving I’d abandoned my neighbor in her time of need.
Mom covered my hand with her own warm one. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”
To my surprise, my bottom lip began to tremble, and I couldn’t rightly understand why. It must have been everything—not only my shaky marriage, Barb’s death, Kyle’s impending absence for the summer, but the compassion that now came from my mother, a woman I’d never felt particularly close to.
I shrugged, sniffed away my emotion. “I was the only contact she had listed on her medical forms. I’m hoping to hear from her lawyer today, but if not, Dad . . . I was wondering if you might be able to do a service for her?”
My father’s mouth tightened. I knew funerals, especially ones for those he didn’t know personally, were not his favorite thing. “Yes, of course.”
I tried not to be surprised at his answer, at the lack of hesitation, even at the kindness in his voice. “Thank you.”
We spoke for a few more minutes about Barb before Dad turned the conversation. “So does Matt think you working more is a good idea?”
“I didn’t ask him, Dad. And I don’t think I need his permission.”
“I just wish you’d talk to him, honey.”
“He doesn’t want to talk, and I can’t control him. When he wants to talk, he knows where to find me.” I gulped my bitter tea. About two more gulps and I could be out of here.
“You’re being difficult.” He sighed, rubbed his temples, forever feeling the need to be the pastor with all the wisdom and answers. Funny how in that moment I almost felt bad for him. He inhaled a deep breath, his slightly rotund belly expanding with the action. “But so is he. I wish I could drag him back the same way I did that night—”
I stood, needing escape. If not, I would blame our entire marriage mess on my father, which may not be that far from the truth.
Matt and I failed, but I think what my father hated more than anything was seeing his failure in all of it as well.
“I have to get to work.” I put my purse on my shoulder. “I’ll let you know what I hear about Barb.”
“Sarah . . .” Mom’s voice trailed behind me, but it was halfhearted. I gave her a smile, mostly so I wouldn’t feel guilt later, then kept walking toward my car, trying to dispel the animosity swirling within my chest. I grasped for control, but realized that if the last few days proved anything, it was that I had no control whatsoever.
Chapter 6
I took the exit to the hospital too fast, the last gulp of tea still sour in my mouth, right along with the conversation I’d had with my parents. What did they want from me?
But I knew.
They wanted me to throw myself into the work of the church, to be the perfect pastor’s daughter for once. They wanted me to tempt Matt back with sweet words and kisses and hearty meals, to drag him to church with me, where at once, he’d be converted.
Even if that happened, even if things were perfect on the outside, it wouldn’t change Dad’s perception of me.
I pulled into the hospital parking lot, found a shady spot beneath an elm, rolled down the windows, and killed the engine. An elderly man with a faded Red Sox cap assisted a woman with a walker to a Buick three spots down from mine. He held her elbow and together they shuffled slowly toward the car, their tennis shoes in unison.
Shuffle.
Shuffle, shuffle.
I wondered if they’d been in sync their entire lives.
If Matt didn’t come back home, we’d never grow old together. Maybe we’d never been in complete harmony, but he could have at least hung around long enough to help me with my walker.
I looked at the bare finger of my left hand. I’d been stupid to take the rings off in such a vulnerable place. I’d go back to Abram’s Rock and look again soon. If Matt found out I’d lost the rings, he would flip—they’d cost a fortune.
I remember sitting in our Nissan sedan outside the jewelry store on our fifth wedding anniversary. Matt looked over the console at me with a grin on his face that highlighted the dimple in his right cheek.
“What are you up to?” I asked.
“I thought it was time to get you some proper wedding rings.”
“Oh, Matt.” I twirled the weathered gold band on the third finger of my left hand—his mother’s old wedding ring. He’d told me it had been in a Reebok shoebox beneath his mother’s bed in the corner of their mobile home since the day they’d moved there, after his father left them. “I love this ring. I’ve had it since the day we married. I don’t want to change it now.”
Something in him shut down. His grin turned tight, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I thought you’d be happy.”
I placed my hand on his tanned forearm. The muscles tightened beneath the plain gold band I loved so much. “I’m happy I have a husband who cares enough to surprise me like this. But I don’t need you to spend a small fortune on new wedding rings. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep this one.”
He moved his arm from my fingers. “It isn’t all the same to me. We finally have some money, and I don’t want you wearing the ring of my parents’ failed marriage any longer than you have to.”<
br />
I reached out to him and he didn’t pull away. “I didn’t realize it bothered you so much.”
He didn’t admit that it did. “Let’s just go in and look.”
I agreed. Once he saw how much cash he’d have to dish out, I was certain he’d change his mind. Matt wasn’t cheap, but he knew how to handle money.
We came out of the store an hour later with two new rings—a one-carat diamond engagement that wrapped around a shiny ribbed platinum band. I cringed at the price and the unfamiliar weight of the metal and diamonds on my fingers, but Matt was smiling again and I had to admit, the rings were pretty.
Now, I rubbed the skin of my bare finger with my thumb. If I didn’t find the rings after looking later today, I’d dig out my old one—Matt’s mother’s—from my jewelry box and use it as a substitute for now.
My husband would just love that.
I pushed open the door of the car just as my phone rang. It was an unfamiliar local number, and I answered, knowing it could be Barb’s lawyer with news of Mary.
“Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Sarah Rodrigues?”
“This is she.” I checked my watch. I’d have to talk and walk if I didn’t want to be late for my shift. I shouldered my purse and waited for a blue sedan to cross the drive before I walked beneath the covered portico that led to the entrance of the hospital.
“Hello, Ms. Rodrigues. I’m Wyatt Sullivan calling on behalf of Barbara Lyne.”
“Yes, hi. I was with her when she passed yesterday. It was . . . unexpected.”
“My sincerest condolences.”
I drew in a breath and waved to the receptionist as I passed on my way to the elevators. “Thank you. I am glad you called. See, Barb mentioned her daughter, Mary, and I was hoping you had her contact information.”
Of course Mr. Sullivan had likely already contacted Barb’s daughter. I didn’t need to tell him how to do his job.
I entered the elevator and pushed the button to the third floor, cradling the phone against my shoulder while searching for my name badge in my purse.
The Edge of Mercy Page 4