Bitter Truth

by C. J. Carmichael

  Her aunt reached across the table to pat her hand. “We’ve seen the specialists, including a very good neurologist in Missoula. All the tests show the same thing. There is no physical cause.”

  “If these delusions are new, maybe it would be worth seeing the specialists again.”

  “Possibly.” Her aunt hesitated before adding, “But I think it’s more likely that your presence in the house is bringing back memories for Rosemary. She’s very sensitive to any change in her routine. It’s going to take some time for her to adjust.”

  “There has to be some way I can help her.”

  “I know you worry about your mom. I worry about you. You’re young. These should be fun years. Maybe things went sideways for a bit in Seattle, but you could easily find a new job. Maybe even patch things up with Craig.”

  Tiff’s gaze dropped to her cell phone, charging in the dock next to the phone. “Funny you should say that. I had a message from him recently. Totally out of the blue.”

  “Oh?” Marsha scooped up the remainder of the pie crumbs and finished off her pie. “What did he say?”

  “He...sounds like he wants to see me again. He might even be open to renewing our relationship.”

  “Would you like that?”

  “Craig is great.” He was cosmopolitan and fun and with him Tiff had done things a girl from Lost Trail, Montana, could only dream about. They’d gone to museums and art galleries, done the club scene, tried all the trendy restaurants.

  She’d loved that Craig knew nothing about her background or family history except for what she chose to tell him. With him she’d been granted a fresh, tragedy-free life.

  He was the only child of wealthy parents. The worst hardship he’d had in life was when his trust fund had tanked in 2009.

  A part of her had known she couldn’t get away with playing “city-girl Tiff” forever. The past was bound to crash in on her, and so it had when Dr. Pittman and Justin, in Seattle for business last winter, invited her out for dinner. They had a fun time, but that night Tiff dreamt about her mother and her dead brother and father.

  Her insomnia—always hovering, ready to create havoc with her life—returned with a vengeance and she began screwing up at work, and destroying her relationship with Craig as well. A stupid, late-night drink and hookup with one of her clients had marked the curtain call for that phase of her life.

  “If you still love him, or feel you might love him again, don’t you owe it to yourself to do as he asks, and take that second chance?”

  “I used to really like the person I was when I was with Craig. But I’m not sure that was the real me.”

  Her aunt was quiet, and when she shook her head slowly Tiff could tell her answer had disappointed her.

  “Tiff, your family’s tragedies have defined and limited your mother’s life. I’d hate to see that happen to you.”

  Justin had guessed the Stillmans would take some time digesting the contents of Lacy’s will, but two and a half hours into their ninety-minute appointment, they were still asking questions. He tried a few discreet glances at his watch, but no one took the hint.

  He wasn’t going to make lunch with his father and Geneva.

  He’d be lucky to get this family out of here before Cora Christensen showed up for her one o’clock. The old school teacher and administrator would probably arrive early and it was already twelve-thirty.

  In the end he had to be direct. “I’m afraid I have another appointment. Why don’t you discuss this as a family and let me know if you plan to contest.”

  Ushering them out of his office was like herding bison—almost impossible and more than a little dangerous. He shook hands with each of them, and inched them closer to the door. To make sure there would be no unpleasant encounters in the stairwell, or outside his building, he followed them to the street and waited as they climbed into their assorted vehicles.

  Eugene and Em and their sons were in a ten-year-old Dodge truck, quite a contrast to the top-of-the-line Ford F-450 that Clayton, Vanessa and Nikki climbed into.

  Even as they were driving west out of town, Justin spotted Cora approaching from the east. Her ramrod posture and no-nonsense gait were very familiar to him after years of seeing her patrolling the hallways at Dewbury Academy.

  He could tell she’d seen him, so he waited.

  Back in the day, he’d been one of her favorite students, but he hadn’t been oblivious to how she treated the other, less fortunate kids. Cora had been a master manipulator, pitting students against one another, undermining the confidence of weaker children, and all under the guise of being nurturing and caring.

  What Lacy had shared about the other woman had only lowered his opinion of the woman.

  Cora was like a month-old candy apple. Sickly sweet on the outside but rotten at the core. The metaphor was especially apt for Cora because she cared so much about appearances. Unlike most teachers, she hadn’t chosen favorites based on academic brilliance but on a combination of family standing in the community and the student’s physical attractiveness.

  Which explained why he—the doctor’s son, golden-haired, blue-eyed and tall—had caught her favor.

  The downside of being one of Cora’s pets was that the other kids in the schoolyard tended to hate you. He’d been lucky to have Willow as a champion back then. Fearless and confident, she’d stood up to the kids who wanted to ostracize him. And from her, he too had learned to be brave.

  “So good to see you, young man.” Cora had groomed herself for the occasion. Her white hair was curled and frozen into place with a spray that was thick enough to gleam in the sunlight. On her lined face were visible touches of blue eye shadow, pink rouge and lipstick, but the colors weren’t quite where they should be, as if they’d been applied with a shaky hand, or by someone with poor vision. She wore a brown wool coat with a pale pink scarf at her neck, and sensible rubber-soled boots on her feet.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Christensen.” He clasped her hand between both of his, striving for a smile that was suitably friendly, while respecting the formal nature of this meeting. “Are you okay taking the stairs, or would you prefer the elevator?”

  “I’m not as active as I used to be and the walk was long. Let’s take the elevator.”

  On the way up he asked how her Thanksgiving was.

  “Fine. There was a dinner at the church. I went to that. It’s what I usually do for holidays, since I have no children. But that’s the price I pay for devoting my life to my students.”

  There was a note of reproach in her voice. Perhaps she wondered why none of her favored students ever invited her to join them for the holidays.

  Justin wasn’t about to enlighten her.

  Once in his office, he offered coffee and she accepted.

  “Cream and sugar, please.”

  He added both, then put some chocolate and vanilla cookies on a plate. The Stillmans had devoured all the freshly baked ones, so he had to take some from a package he’d bought from the Girl Scouts that fall.

  To his surprise Miss Christensen took two and ate them in rapid order between gulps of coffee.

  He took his seat. Rearranged some papers to give her time to finish. “You must be curious about the purpose for this meeting.”

  “I expect it has something to do with Lacy’s will. Or, more accurately, a provision in her late husband Jack’s will.”

  Justin paused for a second to gauge her expression. She looked...pleased with herself. “You knew about the life tenancy?”

  “It’s what Jack told me he would do. Of course, I had no guarantee he actually followed through on his promise.”

  Cora took a sip of her coffee, then set down the mug gently. She would have been appalled to know she had a smudge of chocolate on her upper lip. Justin could have handed her a napkin, but didn’t out of a perverse sense of loyalty to Lacy.

  “I suppose you’re wondering why Jack Stillman would leave me his family house.” There was a smugness in Cora’s watery blue eyes,
an air of superiority that made Justin’s dislike veer toward hatred for a moment.

  Maybe if he hadn’t been so fond of Lacy, he wouldn’t be finding this so difficult. But he’d admired Lacy. For all her flaws, she’d been a straight-shooting person. The very opposite of the woman before him.

  “It’s not my business.”

  “True. But I don’t mind telling you Jack Stillman had a thing for me back in the day. And he was grateful for all that I did for his sons.”

  Thanks to Lacy, Justin knew there was a hell of a lot more to the story. He reminded himself of his professional obligation.

  “That’s not my concern. My job is to handle the legalities. Once the will goes through probate, the house and land it sits upon will be yours for as long as you live. Again, this is a life tenancy. Once you’re gone, the property will revert to the Lazy S corporation owned by Jack’s descendants.”

  Miss Christensen considered for a moment. “There would be a certain...satisfaction in moving into Lacy’s house after all these years. But I am getting older, and driving is an issue. I suppose I could let it out?”

  Ah, Jack, how could you be such an asshole?

  “Yeah, you could. I believe Lacy’s grandson Tom is looking for a place to live with his girlfriend.” At the wake Justin had overheard Tom and his girl discussing what they would do to the place if they could move in. “Maybe they would rent it from you.” It would be irritating for the family to pay for what should be theirs. But at least they wouldn’t have strangers in their midst.

  “Where would the fun be in that?” Cora asked.

  Distaste curdled in his gut. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

  “I think you do.”

  He could guess. She wanted to make life uncomfortable for the Stillmans so she would probably find the most obnoxious tenants possible.

  Cora reached over his desk and squeezed his hand. Her skin felt cold, her fingers bony. “You were always one of my favorites.”

  He knew.

  But she would never be one of his.

  Saturday, November 25

  By Saturday Thanksgiving was ancient history at Raven Farms. Turkey leftovers had been divided into meal-sized portions and stacked in the freezer. Tiff and her mother had cleaned the main-floor rooms and disposed of the cornucopia. It was time to bring on Christmas.

  It had been more than ten years since Tiff had been involved in decorating the house for the holidays. Usually by the time she made it home from Seattle, it was already Christmas Eve and the house and grounds were perfect.

  Dragging the boxes from storage and pulling out generations’ worth of ornaments brought back some of the happiest memories of her childhood.

  At the very back of the boxes she found Casey’s old train set. It had been his Santa gift when he was six and every year after that he’d insisted on setting up the train so it ran a circle around the Christmas tree.

  Since his death, though, the train had remained in its box.

  Tiff opened the lid and gently removed the engine. This was no cheap toy. Her parents had found her brother a beautiful vintage set and added pieces to it every year. Finding out which new car would be in his stocking was always the highlight of Casey’s Christmas.

  “I’d almost forgotten about that train set.”

  Her mother had come up from behind her. Feeling guilty, Tiffany returned the locomotive to the box. “Sorry, Mom. I’m probably not supposed to be touching this.”

  Her brother’s room had been enshrined after his death. Tiff could still remember the day her father had removed Casey’s jackets from the pegs on the mudroom wall and carried them up to his bedroom closet. Nothing of Casey’s had been given away or donated to charity. Maybe it was wasteful, but her mother had said she couldn’t stand it if she saw another boy wearing something of her son’s.

  “We should put the train around the Christmas tree again this year.”

  “Really?” She couldn’t believe her mom had suggested it. “I think...that would be nice. I’d like to have something that reminds me of Casey around. Not that I ever forget him.”

  “I know you don’t. But I agree. I’ve missed the train. Would you mind setting it up?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Tiff interpreted her mom’s change of heart about the tree as a good sign, a sign of healing. Later that day, after they’d strung the lights on the tree and hung all their favorite ornaments, she pulled out the box. Her aunt frowned when she noticed her piecing together the track.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Mom asked me to.”

  “Really?” Marsha frowned. Then shrugged. “I just hope it doesn’t bring on one of her sad moods.”

  For a moment Tiff considered putting the train back. But despite her aunt’s reservations, she felt certain this was the right thing to do.

  Later that night, after the tree was decorated, the mantel and stair handrails strung with greenery, and the wreath hung on the front door, Tiff warmed up turkey leftovers for dinner. They ate in front of the TV.

  A Christmas movie was playing, a sweet story with a little romance, a cookie exchange, and a happy ending under a garland of mistletoe. It was just the sort of story Tiff’s mom loved, and one of Marsha’s favorite actors was playing a lead role, so it was the perfect show for them to watch.

  As the final credits scrolled, Tiff couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed and at peace hanging out at home. Even her mom looked contented.

  Then the doorbell rang and, immediately, Rosemary tensed. “Who could that be?”

  “No idea.” Marsha pushed on the cushions to stand, but Tiff beat her to it.

  “I’ll go see.”

  Tiff checked out the window before unlocking the door. Doc Pittman, dressed in a black wool coat, with a scarf twisted around his neck, stood on the front porch. He looked cold. And worried.

  Quickly Tiff opened the door. “Hi, Dr. Pittman. Come on in. Sorry to keep you waiting. We were in the family room watching TV.”

  “I apologize for interrupting. It’s just—I’ve been trying to reach your aunt. She’s not answering her phone.”

  Now that he was inside, Tiff noticed a sheen of moisture over his eyes. Tears. From the cold...or something else?

  Then he blinked, and turned his head toward the sound of her aunt’s approaching footsteps.

  “Hello, Clark.”

  Somehow her aunt had found the opportunity to put on a quick coat of lipstick.

  “I’m sorry you couldn’t reach me. We were watching a movie and my phone was up in my room charging. Why didn’t you try the landline?”

  “I didn’t want to bother the entire family. Could we talk privately for a moment?”

  “Come into the study.” Marsha gestured with her hand for the doctor to precede her.

  Tiff hesitated, wondering if she should suggest her aunt use a different room. Just that afternoon Tiff had been catching up on paperwork. She’d left invoices strewn all over the desk. She wasn’t even sure she’d closed the Excel spreadsheet on her computer.

  But she’d never claimed the office as her personal work space. And her aunt was used to having the run of the house...a privilege she’d certainly earned during all the years Tiffany had been living in Seattle.

  So she said nothing, just quietly headed for the kitchen where her mother was washing their empty cocoa mugs. Behind her she could hear her aunt say, “I assume there’s a problem at the clinic?”

  “Uh...yes. Quite a big problem.”

  From his manner, Tiff thought the problem was a lot more personal than that. She picked up a towel to dry the mugs. “Mom, have you ever wondered if there’s something going on with Aunt Marsha and Dr. Pittman?”

  “You mean romantically?”

  Tiff nodded.

  “I know they have a close friendship. I suppose it’s possible. But why would they keep it a secret?”

  Exactly. “Has Aunt Marsha ever had a serious boyfrie
nd?”

  “In high school she and Eugene Stillman were an item. That ended when she went to nursing college in Missoula.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  Finished with the washing, her mom released the water, then folded the dishcloth neatly. “Honestly, that’s the last time I remember her dating someone special. In college she had a lot of fun, but never got serious about just one guy. Once, when I was eighteen, our parents allowed me to go to Missoula and visit her. It was at one of the parties she took me to that I met your father.”

  “Did she know Dad?”

  “I guess she must have since she introduced us.”

  Her mom winced, the telltale sign of an impending headache.

  “You’re tired. Let me make you some tea.”

  Her mother waved her away from the kettle. “You and Marsha coddle me too much. I can do it.”

  Tiff stepped aside, but it was difficult to watch her mother’s shaking hands as she filled the kettle, then the way she set her mouth, as if denying her pain, as she waited for it to boil.

  “We like helping you, Mom.” Perhaps she shouldn’t speak for her aunt. “At least, I do.”

  “Thank you, honey. It’s so lovely having you home. If I was a good mother I’d encourage you to spread your wings and leave Lost Trail, like Marsha thinks you should. You’re so beautiful and smart. You could set your sights a lot higher than opening your own accounting business in the wilds of Montana.”

  “This is my home. And you and Aunt Marsha are my family.” She thought of mentioning the message from Craig, but decided to wait until she had a better idea about what she was going to say to him. It was nice to know her mother wanted her here. But she wished she could be certain her presence was helping.

  Her aunt Marsha didn’t think it was.

  Her mother’s strange behavior on Thanksgiving evening seemed to confirm that. But then there were moments like this one... It was all so confusing, trying to figure out what was best for her mom and for herself. She ought to consider her aunt as well. Maybe if she didn’t feel so tied to looking after her sister and the farm, her relationship with Clark Pittman would be smoother.