Crossing Tinker's Knob

by Cooper, Inglath

  Becca absorbed this before saying, “What could they do for her that we’re not already doing?”

  “Maybe nothing. Maybe something.”

  She laughed a hollow laugh. “That’s certainly a glowing recommendation.”

  “I’m not sure you’re going to have a choice, Becca,” he said, his face drawn with regret.

  “I can’t send her away, Dr. Hayes.”

  “Becca,” he said, his tone losing the distance of doctor-patient, infused now with compassion. “There are very few families who would do what you’ve done. But this kind of dedication doesn’t come without a price. How long can you keep carrying your sister?”

  Becca looked at him and said the only thing she knew to say. “For as long as it takes.”

  Dr. Hayes reached for his prescription pad, writing for a few moments and then tearing off the single paper. “At some point, you need to start thinking about yourself, Becca. That’s okay, you know.”

  Without answering, she took the prescription from him and left the office.

  IT WAS THE kind of early summer day they used to love as kids. The sun so bright against the blue sky that it was nearly painful to look at it. The air smelled like fresh cut grass and fully bloomed flowers.

  With Emmy in the seat next to her, Becca waited in the CVS drive-through while the new medicine was filled. She paid the cashier and pulled back out to the main road. She started to make the right hand turn that would take them back home and then on impulse, turned left instead. “I think maybe you need a change of scenery,” she said to Emmy, grinding the old truck’s gears to fourth and rolling down her window to let in the warm air.

  She stopped again at the McDonald’s drive-through, ordering them each a Big Mac, fries, and a Coke, foods they rarely ate. Today, Becca felt the need to step outside normalcy. Today, she felt as if the boundaries were choking her. And it was only as they sped down Route 40 toward the lake and the house she had begun to think of as hers that she felt them begin to loosen.

  45

  The Light

  Our roots say we’re sisters, our hearts say we’re friends.

  - Author Unknown

  Now

  Please don’t worry, Becca. Everything is going to be all right.

  Of course I don’t say the words out loud. My lips are no longer capable of making their sound even as they run through my head, perfectly formed.

  Becca’s hands grip the wheel with the kind of determination that gets a person places in this life. This is Becca. Always looking ahead to the next roadblock, trying to foresee the inevitable, plan a way around it.

  I want to tell her that I know bad things happen to everyone in this world. That sometimes people get past them. And sometimes those bad things break them. That some things just happen no matter how much we fight against them. She wouldn’t believe me though. It’s simply not in her nature to give up. And given the choice, she will never let me, either.

  I look at my sister, at the worry drawing her mouth into a tight line where smiles used to form so readily. I wonder which of us has suffered the most. I think it could be easily argued that Becca has, that as long as I am here, she will continue to do so.

  Here in this admission is the answer for us both.

  There is only one way out. The understanding came to me some time ago, my mind glimpsing the solution in pieces at first. It was a relief, really. To finally see that I have an exit, one I can step through at any time.

  Riding along in our old truck, warm spring air swirling through the lowered windows, I know without question that time has come. The certainty of this lifts some of the heaviness from my chest, and I can actually breathe better. I can only pray that in the end, all will be forgiven.

  46

  Embers

  Our hearts are lamps for ever burning…

  - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Now

  Matt was at the hardware on Franklin Street when he saw Becca drive by. He’d been buying a couple gallons of white paint for the front porch railing on his grandmother’s house. Searching, in truth, for a physical distraction from the incessant round of questions looping through his head.

  He paid a talkative cashier, and then without giving himself time to consider the wisdom of it, got in the Land Rover and drove after Becca. From the stoplight on Tanyard, he spotted her white truck a half-mile or so in front of him. He followed her out of town and took the left turn onto 122, hanging back a bit, certain she would stop if she saw him.

  Twenty minutes later, she took the right to the lake house. He followed still, close enough now for her to easily see him in the rear view mirror. But she didn’t slow down until she pulled in at the back of the house. She got out of the truck and walked over to his window.

  Becca looked at Matt for several moments, her face revealing an inner struggle, a pain he didn’t recognize. “Matt,” she said. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “No,” he agreed. “I probably shouldn’t.”

  She considered this, then glanced over her shoulder at the truck where her sister sat on the passenger side. “I thought Emmy might like a picnic out here.”

  “Good day for it,” he said. “Would it be all right if I join you?”

  She hesitated. She knew she should send him away. This, of all things, was none of his business. But she simply did not have the stamina for another battle today. “Two Big Macs should be enough for the three of us.”

  He got out of the Land Rover and walked across the grass with her to the truck. She opened the door and took Emmy’s arm, helping her out. Matt went to Emmy’s other side and put a hand to her elbow, glancing at Becca for permission. In her eyes, he saw relief, as if it were the last thing she’d expected him to do, the last and most welcome.

  They chose a spot close to the lake’s edge where they could hear the gentle lap of the water against the red clay shoreline. They spread out the quilt Becca had brought along, and Matt set the food at one corner, before helping Emmy to sit on the opposite end.

  She looked up at him once, and he was hit with the feeling that she recognized him. She didn’t speak though and looked off at the tranquil surface of the lake.

  Becca divvied up the food, putting a portion in front of each of them.

  “I’m really not hungry,” Matt said, feeling guilty now for horning in on their lunch.

  “There’s plenty,” she said.

  They ate without talking, neither Becca nor Matt doing their food justice. Emmy picked at hers, eating almost nothing.

  Matt brought up a variety of subjects, uncomfortable with the silence. They talked in generalities about the growth at the lake, how people were selling their homes up north and moving to Tinker’s Knob for their retirement years. How the population increase would change things. Some, for the good. Some, not so much.

  Once they’d finished eating, Becca stood and said, “I think I’ll get Emmy a chair from the porch.”

  “I’ll give you a hand,” Matt said, following her to the house. They each took one side of the old rocker and carried it back. Becca helped Emmy to stand and then sit in the chair, facing the water.

  “There,” she said. “That’s better.”

  Emmy folded her hands in her lap and tipped the chair back and forth, something in her face lightening with the motion.

  Becca looked at Matt. “Would you like to walk along the shore?” she said.

  Matt nodded. “Sure.”

  “I’ll be within sight, Emmy,” Becca said, placing a hand on her sister’s shoulder and then walking toward the water.

  Matt followed, glancing back once to make sure Emmy was okay. He caught up with Becca, and they walked side by side, silent, until they reached the shade of a large oak that grew close to the water.

  “Is she like this because of what happened with John?”

  Becca glanced up, her eyes wide, the question clearly startling her.

  “This morning over at the cafe,” he explained, “someone was telling me
about how he died. One of the waitresses there.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That it was a horrible accident. And Emmy never got over it.”

  She stared off at the lake. “I guess she never did,” she finally said, her voice wavering with emotion. “You think that it will get better. That with time, a person can heal. But some wounds aren’t like that. Some wounds are . . . forever.”

  Matt absorbed the words, felt their hollow echo. “I’m sorry, Becca.”

  She nodded, and then, “A few times, we thought a medication might be making a difference, but eventually, they all seem to stop helping. Doctor Hayes says she has to want to get better, that there must be a balance between medication, our love for her, and her own will to live. I guess I’ve thought we could keep pulling her along until one day, she would reach out, and that she would want to come back.”

  “This all happened just after I left for college,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me, Becca? Why didn’t you let me know?”

  “You had another life to go on to.”

  “And I thought you were going to be a part of that life. Is this why you ended things between us? So that you could take care of her?”

  She glanced away, shaking her head. “Oh, Matt, that was so long ago.”

  “And I’ve never forgotten any of it.” He made no attempt to hide the emotion in his voice.

  She looked at him then, her eyes brimming with tears. “We both knew it would never have worked.”

  “Did we?”

  “We should have.”

  Several beats of silence passed, and then Matt reached for her hand, the action automatic. He wasn’t thinking of vows or lines that shouldn’t be crossed. Of the different lives they had led. Or what such a gesture meant. He saw the pain in her face and felt it reverberate through him like the whiplash that follows a sudden stop in motion. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, just held her hand, comfort his intent. But with the connection came awareness of other things. Of the delicacy of her hands, as surprising to him now as it had been eighteen years ago, hands capable of making things grow, hands capable of making him feel things he had never before felt.

  Something bowed within him, and for a moment, he didn’t let himself look up, certain she would pull away. When he finally looked at her, her eyes were liquid with sadness and regret, for her sister, he knew. But he sensed there was more. That here, in this moment, she had let down her guard. That she felt the same grief he felt for the loss of what they had once been to each other. And for the walls separating them from ever finding their way back to it.

  “Becca,” he said.

  “Don’t,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “It will only make it worse.”

  “How could it?”

  “Matt, please.”

  He glanced at the spot where Emmy still sat, rocking in a barely discernible motion. He stood in pained silence, certain that nothing could feel worse than the forced release of something you never wanted to let go of in the first place.

  ∞

  Then

  NEVER IN HIS life had Matt both dreaded and looked forward to something so much. On the one hand, the thought of leaving for college and being separated from Becca filled him with the kind of anxiety that kept him awake at night wondering if he could stand being apart from her. And on the other hand, he told himself it was just a matter of time before they could be together again in the same place.

  Becca had already made some calls about completing her GED. And although at first she had been hesitant, as if she was considering doing something wrong, she had told him just the day before that she was excited about the classes she would be taking and getting back into studying again. She had yet to tell her parents about her plans, saying she would do so when she felt the time was right.

  Matt had finished his last day at the farm two days before, using the time since then to pack and tie up loose ends before driving to Charlottesville on the eighteenth. For their last night together before he left, he had planned something special, telling Becca only that she would need a bathing suit and an appetite.

  He picked her up at four o’clock, getting out to open the station wagon door for her, then glancing up to see her mother standing at the living room window, watching them go. At the look on her face, he faltered for a moment, lifting his hand and offering a respectful nod as he walked back to his side of the car.

  From the beginning, he had been aware of Mrs. Miller’s disapproval of his interest in Becca. She had made little attempt to hide it. Today, though, it wasn’t disapproval he saw in her lined features, but something more like concern. Fear, even.

  He had no idea what to make of that, telling himself that eventually she would come to see that he would never hurt her daughter.

  Matt pulled out of the driveway and headed for the main road, silently reaching for Becca’s hand and clasping it in his. He felt her sadness, saw, too, how she tried to hide it beneath a cheerful expression.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She looked at him then, her blue eyes going liquid.

  “We’re going to be okay. I promise.”

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  “Did your mom give you a hard time about going out with me tonight?”

  “You could say that,” she said.

  “It’ll take time, I know,” he said. “But I’ll prove to her that I’m good for you, that I would never hurt you.”

  She leaned over then and put her head on his shoulder, linking her arm with his. They drove the rest of the way out to the lake house in near silence, the imminence of their parting hanging heavy on them both.

  Matt pulled up at the back of the house, turning in the seat to look at her. “I came out earlier today and did some things. I want this night to be special, Becca.”

  She leaned in and kissed him. “Thank you. And it will be.”

  They got out then and walked to the house, Matt stopping her at the back door. “Wait here a minute, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, smiling.

  He went inside and hustled through the few things he had left to complete, opening the door finally and waving her in. “Close your eyes and take my hand,” he said.

  She did as he asked and followed him down the short hallway and into the small dining room, which he’d transformed with white candles and yellow roses. In the increasing dimness of dusk, the candles flickered shadows across the floor and ceiling.

  “Okay,” he said. “You can open your eyes.”

  She did so, staring for a moment at the room and the table set with white plates and crystal glasses. “Oh, Matt,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Gran gave me a few tips. Plus she did the cooking.”

  “I think I’m actually glad about that,” she said, smiling.

  They went into the kitchen, warming up the food on the stove and doing their best to avoid talking about what was ahead, even as it loomed over them like a huge black cloud.

  They took their time with dinner, the roast and potatoes tender and delicious. For dessert, there was chocolate cake with chocolate icing, but by this point, they both picked at it, their appetites decreasing as the few hours they had left together slid by.

  Becca pushed her plate away after a few bites, saying, “Everything was wonderful.”

  “Why don’t we go for a swim?” he said.

  “Okay.”

  They cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher, working side by side, mostly silent. They changed into bathing suits then, meeting outside on the porch that faced the lake.

  By now, dark had settled, the moon a circle of light on the water in front of the dock. They walked across the yard hand in hand, not saying anything until they reached the end of the pier.

  “Are you up for a swim?” Matt said, running his hands through her long hair.

  “Only if you promise not to let go of me.”

  “That’s easy,” he said, lowering himself into the wat
er and then turning to look back at her. She unbuttoned the cotton cover up she wore over a pink bathing suit, letting it drop to the floor. Matt swallowed once, his body responding the way it always did at the sight of her.

  She put her arms by her sides and dropped into the water straight as an arrow, only to resurface sputtering and laughing. She reached out an arm and slipped it around his neck.

  They swam out a bit and then back, teasing and splashing water, grabbing onto the dock’s edge and kissing until they were both breathing hard.

  Matt slipped his free arm around her waist and pulled her up close. They stared into each other’s eyes, Matt letting everything he felt for her show there. And then he spoke the words he’d been holding inside for weeks. “What would you say if I said I want to marry you someday?”

  Her eyes widened, as if it was the last thing she’d expected him to say. She glanced off, and then looked back at him, shaking her head. “Don’t say things you’ll wish you could take back at some point.”

  “Why would I take it back?”

  “For all the reasons we’ve talked about before.”

  “Becca,” he said, brushing the back of his hand across her cheek. “I’m not going to go to Charlottesville and decide I want another girl. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.”

  She didn’t say anything for a few moments. “I guess I will,” she said.

  He smiled. “You guess you’ll marry me? Or guess you’ll trust me?”

  “Both,” she said, reaching up to kiss him again.

  Her mouth was soft and seeking against his, and there with the water making gentle slapping noises against the sides of the dock and the buzz of a boat in the distance. Matt had no idea how he was going to bring himself to leave her the next day.