by Diane Munier
Later that evening, Danny found me sitting on the front porch. He had bathed our children and put them to bed. He maneuvered his leg to sit beside me. I knew he'd been on it too much. I knew he pushed himself almost as far as he could go each day, and he felt it was never enough. He was so glad to be alive.
He pulled me to him close and kissed my cheek, then I turned to him and we kissed on the lips. "What are you thinking," he said. "Did you talk to her about the garden?"
"Yes. She doesn't want it disturbed."
He waited. He knew there was more. So choosing my words with the care of a craftsman, I told him the story that had come together in me.
And after, we are quiet as we sit there. He started with holding my hand, but soon, he held me.
"When we're born," I said, "we enter on…maybe page two hundred and forty-five of many other people's stories. No wonder she's watched over me…protected me.
She said my mother was never the same after losing Eugene and that baby. She said that's when she changed."
I always admired his comfort with silence. His warm kiss on my temple was what I needed.
"It's eerie to think that's a grave," he said.
"I'm putting a ground cover there. And a bench for her. It's not right that it looks like a weed patch. I guess…she couldn't fix it. What could she do? How hard for her to let my mother have another baby...me. That's why she got so much access to me. Mama was repenting to her. And Mama was sick."
"I'm grateful she kept you safe," Danny said.
"She kept Mama safe too. Always. Can you imagine if Lonnie would have seen Eugene's baby? I wouldn't be here. Lonnie would have killed her. But it's like he knew things weren't right. He knew something. He didn't want anything to do with me…or her either. He only stayed to get this house, I think, then he didn't live long enough…."
More long silence.
"Danny…we don't have any secrets, do we?"
He shook his head. "I've told you pretty much everything. Even most of Vietnam."
"There is one thing that bothers me sometimes. I know I asked this before…a long time ago…but that oil spill on the stairs at Lonnie's old shop…that grease…you can tell me…did you ever have anything to do with that?"
He leaned and put his forehead on mine. He was so handsome now that he'd been home and grown strong over the years again, and he was happy. He didn't have to tell me, but I could see it on him. He was never shy in telling me what I meant to him. Our love only grew stronger. I was so in love with him I still got excited the minute I knew he was home or in my proximity. He told me a million times in a million ways it was the same for him. I knew it was uncommon. But still…did he have a hand in what happened to Lonnie?
"I wasn’t even around,” he said.
"It was Robert," I said.
He looked at me, his eyes even darker in this inky light.
"I just want to know," I said.
"Like you tell me…what good will it do?" He breathed out. "Lonnie went down there sometimes. We been through this. Robert said he was pissed off over the will. Robert called down before he left the shop and Lonnie wouldn’t’ come up so Robert left him in his stinky hidey-hole and went home.
“I know all that,” I said.
"It's the past," he said pulling me to him and squeezing me. “Some things you just say….thank you.”
I put my hand on his face. “That’s a little harsh.”
“He was harsh. I’m just telling the truth.”
He held me for a minute. I guess I’d never know for sure. I guess it didn’t matter. If he admitted to sneaking back and pushing him I’d find a way to understand. But that’s not how it was. I just never believed Robert would have the guts to do it without a stronger man’s encouragement. Now I’m just telling the truth.
"Hilly," Danny said, "I haven't told you lately…but the best thing that ever happened to me was the night I went under the streetlight to hear that pretty little girl who lived up the street tell stories. As for Lonnie…best thing I did after that was to walk in his shop that day and get the wind knocked out of me when I saw you."
I was a crier. And a pregnant crier. I loved the way he said this. He made me feel shy. He could do that still. "Yeah," I whispered, "it was the same for me."
For all the pain and grief around us, it's like we were always meant. He was my Danny. This was my home. And all of those who had met inside of me, laying down their stories, laying down their brokenness and their love, they were the thunder in my heart. And now…in this life…for my time on this earth…I was theirs.
About the Author
Living comfortably in the heart of America, a fake extrovert who is genuinely introverted. Lots of good story tellers in my small world, then I started first grade. They put me in the middle reading group (probably based on my math scores) and after one class moved me up to group A. That was the conscious beginning of loving story.