Bitter Truth

by C. J. Carmichael

  “I’d like to think so. But you can’t know that for sure.”

  “Oh, yes I can...Brother.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sunday, December 24

  On the morning of Christmas Eve Tiff’s mother said to her, “Let’s go for a drive.”

  A month ago, Rosemary would never have suggested such a thing. But she’d progressed a lot the past two weeks. Tiff was game. She went to get her purse and her coat.

  “Want to drive?” she teased her mom.

  Rosemary shuddered. “I can’t remember the last time I was behind the wheel of a vehicle. I do want to start driving again, but not in snowy, winter conditions.”

  It hurt to think how much of her life Rosemary had lost in a druggy haze. So Tiff did her best not to. She didn’t want to miss the future by nursing bitterness about the past.

  “Where should we go?” she asked, when they were both buckled in.

  “Let’s drive up to the ski hill. We can have a burger and a beer for lunch.”

  “Sure.” Her mother had been weaned off all her drugs and had been given the all-clear by her new doctor. Anything was possible now, Tiff liked to think. Maybe she’d even talk her mom into skiing again in the New Year.

  As she drove down the lane she passed Kenny in his truck. He gave a wave as he headed in the opposite direction. He was going shopping in Missoula today, he’d told her.

  The farm was closed for the season, they’d sold almost their entire inventory of trees. The ones that were left would be ground into chips and used as compost or to line pathways.

  The county plow had been through that morning, so the roads were clear, at least for now. Flurries were forecast for later that evening, but there shouldn’t be enough accumulation to cause problems. Good news for holiday travelers.

  Tiff set the radio to a station playing Christmas carols, then turned it off when she caught the refrain for “Silver Bells.” That had been one of Aunt Marsha’s favorites. She’d hummed it when they were decorating the tree earlier that month.

  Back when life had seemed so normal.

  Tiff wondered if there would ever come a time when she and her mother could speak of Marsha without feeling overwhelmed with pain and anger. Would they ever be able to remember the good times? But how could they, when so much of their lives had been built on Marsha’s deceit?

  Once when Tiff had been avoiding a root canal, she’d managed to chew on just one side of her mouth for several months. That’s what Marsha was to them now. Something rotten, to be avoided at all costs.

  A sign ahead said LOST TRAIL SKI RESORT, 8 MI. Tiff followed the arrow, turning right onto a mountain road only just wide enough for two cars to pass. Spruce and pine grew tall on the road to their left, boughs lightly sprinkled with snow that gleamed in the late morning sunshine.

  The road fell off sharply to the right, without so much as a concrete curb or wooden posts as a barrier. Tiff drove slowly, and concentrated fully. It wasn’t until they were halfway to the ski hill and she saw the white cross that she realized why her mother had wanted to come here.

  “Stop the car.”

  “Mom, I can’t. What if another vehicle comes along?”

  Her mother pointed ahead. “There’s a turnout up there. Should be room for you to pull over.”

  Tiff examined her mother’s face. She looked serious, but calm. “Are you sure?”

  Gaze focused on the cross, her mother nodded.

  Tiff inched the car forward. Sure enough there was a turnout area thirty yards or so beyond the cross. She tucked her vehicle into the spot and put it into Park.

  “Now what?” Tiff asked.

  Her mother swallowed, then released her seat belt and got out of the car.

  Tiff did not have a good feeling about this, but she followed.

  Outside the chickadees and nuthatches were cheerfully passing secret codes to each other, as they flitted from tree to tree. Sunlight fell on her mother as she stood at the far edge of the road. She peered down the mountain ledge where her husband had lost his life.

  Sixteen years ago.

  Two months after Casey’s death.

  “I remember,” her mother said.

  Tiff felt a little girl’s fear at those words. Her mother had never talked about the accident before. She’d been in a coma for several days after. When she’d finally regained consciousness she hadn’t been the same mother. The change had been put down to a combination of brain injury, shock and grief.

  At what point had Marsha started adding her cocktail of drugs to the mix? They would never know for sure, but Tiff suspected it was a long time ago. Those ritual mugs of herbal tea had been part of her mother’s routine for as long as Tiff could recall.

  “What do you remember, Mom?”

  “We’d gone skiing for the day, Marsha, Irv and myself. Irv and I were still mourning and didn’t want to go. But Marsha convinced us. She’d said the fresh air and exercise would be good for us.”

  Tiff nodded. It had been a school day, otherwise she would have gone too.

  “I remember ski conditions were excellent that day, not that I cared. I went through the motions of skiing but I didn’t go a minute without thinking about Casey. I think Irv enjoyed the skiing though. I hope he did.”

  That had been her father’s last day on earth. Tiff hoped so too.

  “We were on our way home and Irv was driving. He was talking about Casey. We’d seen a boy about the same age as Casey when we were leaving the hill and that started Irv thinking.”

  Tiff shoved her hands into her pockets. The bitter cold didn’t seem to affect her mother. She was totally preoccupied with the memories of that long ago day.

  “Irv started ranting about the odds of Casey having a heart defect when there was no history of it on either side of the family. And yet Dr. Pittman, whose wife had died because of heart problems, gave birth to a perfectly healthy son on the exact same day.”

  The world around Tiff disappeared in that instant. All she could see was her mother. “He knew. Dad knew. Are you certain you’re remembering correctly?”

  Rosemary wrapped her arms around her middle and slowly nodded. “I had a glimmer of a memory this morning. Then when I saw this place—it all came back to me. I remember Irv saying that. Then Marsha began arguing with him, she was yelling. And then she reached over from the back seat and shook Irving’s shoulder hard. And that’s when it all goes black. We must have run off the road then.”

  She was trembling now. Tiff moved closer and put her arms around her mom. “Marsha caused the accident.”

  “Yes.”

  It would have been easy to discount her mother’s story. It had been a long time ago. Why was she only remembering now? But when Tiff thought about all Marsha had done to them, she felt certain her mother was right.

  “Marsha was afraid once my brain injury healed I’d remember. That’s why she kept me drugged.”

  Tiff nodded. “The accident never made sense to me. Dad was such a good driver. And he knew these roads so well.” The story about him avoiding a deer—Marsha had made that up. And there’d been no one to contradict her.

  “Marsha killed him. She stole my child from me and she killed my husband.”

  Tiff held her mother tighter. What words could she say? There were none.

  Tiff drove her mother home. In the kitchen they sat at the island and let it all sink in.

  “I’m not sure why that memory came back today of all days,” her mother said.

  “Maybe your subconscious knew you were finally strong enough to remember.”

  “Am I? Strong enough?”

  “You are, Mom. Want me to make some tea?”

  “Marsha always made me tea. I don’t want to ever drink it again.”

  Tiff opened the cabinet where Marsha had stored the herbal teas. Inside almost a dozen assorted boxes were stacked neatly. Chamomile, licorice root, peppermint, and more. She pulled them out and tossed them all into the trash.

&nbs
p; Her mother clapped. “Good riddance. I swear I’ll never drink a cup of herbal tea again. Now put on a pot of coffee and I’ll make us some fried egg sandwiches for lunch.”

  Tiff started to cry as a huge wave of relief washed over her. Her mother sounded strong, confident.

  She sounded like the mother who had called her out for leaving wet towels on the floor. The mother who had scolded her to finish her homework. The mother who had helped her put together a poster for her fourth grade science project.

  Tiff had been so afraid her mom would backslide after what she’d remembered today. That she would want to go to bed, that she’d check out, and disappear on her again.

  Her real, true mother had been gone for so long. But she was back now.

  “What’s the matter, honey?” Rosemary brushed a tear from Tiff’s cheek.

  “I’ve missed you. So much.” She threw her arms around her mother’s neck the way she’d done as a child and she let the tears come. Her mother cried too, and then soothed.

  “Marsha stole so much from me. From both of us. But we’ve got each other. We’re going to be okay.”

  At five o’clock Tiff went to Kenny’s with an invitation. “Mom wants to know if you’ll join us for dinner. You’re welcome to come to church with us after, and then the community potluck at the Lazy S.”

  “And I thought this was going to be a quiet Christmas.” He stepped back. “Come in for a minute.”

  The cottage had never looked cozier. A crackling fire, Spade sleeping by the hearth, and a tall, spindly tree in one corner, garnished with hundreds of tiny white lights.

  “You decorated for Christmas.” She clasped her hands together. “I love Charlie Brown trees.”

  Kenny fingered a branch of the scrawny Douglas fir. “I had to save this one from the wood chipper.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Tiff turned from the tree to him. Fate had been kind when it sent this man to Raven Farms. “I haven’t properly thanked you for saving my mom and me.”

  “I don’t need more thanks. But there is an outstanding dinner invitation on the table.”

  He caught her gaze and held it. The cabin seemed to grow warmer with each second. Slowly Tiff walked toward him and he met her halfway.

  “When?”

  “Are you free New Year’s Eve? I thought I’d book a restaurant...and a hotel...in Missoula for the night.”

  The slow burn between them flared. His eyes were magnets, pulling her closer.

  She didn’t need to worry about her mother. Sybil would make sure she got to Eugene and Em’s annual party. A night of escape and romance would be the perfect end to a most imperfect year.

  “I’m in.”

  Tiff wasn’t overly religious, but the Christmas Eve service that night was a comfort and a tonic. As the choir sang “Silent Night,” she could almost feel the pieces of her heart coming together and melding into a whole. There would always be scars, some of them deep and ugly, but she wasn’t broken. Not anymore.

  When the service was over, Kenny squeezed her hand. She saw compassion and understanding in his eyes when he smiled. Had he felt it too, that wave of benediction washing over them?

  During dinner she and her mom had filled him in on the version of events her mother remembered from the day of the car accident.

  Tiff had asked Kenny if he thought it possible for a memory to suddenly return, sixteen years after a traumatic event.

  He’d said someone who didn’t know the facts of the case or the people involved might be skeptical. But he was inclined to believe her mother.

  She’d loved him for saying that. She was beginning to think she loved him, period.

  Later it felt good to be among friends and neighbors at Lacy’s old house. Tiff moved through the crowd with her mother by her side. Rosemary was still a bit uncomfortable in a crowd.

  Mulled wine simmered on the stove and every inch of the dining room table was covered with food, from baked ham, to hot potato salad, green beans, salads. Somehow Em made room for her mother’s platter of cookies.

  “Here you are.” Sybil came up to them wearing a vintage Christmas sweater. Her red-and-white eyeglass frames looked like twisted candy canes. “Rosemary, I’ve been dying for a piece of your shortbread. It won’t feel like Christmas until I have some.”

  “Try this.” Rosemary handed her a pretty snowflake-shaped cookie. “I hope you like it. I have a tin in the car, just for you.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “We’re the lucky ones.” Impulsively Tiff gave her a big hug. “You’ve been such a good friend to Mom all these years.”

  “I wish I’d figured out what Marsha was up to and put a stop to it years ago. I never did care for the woman, but I still find it hard to believe she was capable of so much evil.”

  “I have more to tell you,” Rosemary said. “I remembered something about Irv’s accident today...”

  “Really?”

  As the two women moved toward a quiet corner to talk, Tiff looked around for Kenny. She couldn’t see him anywhere. Dr. Pittman and Justin must have reached a truce because they were engaged in a lively debate about land management with Clayton and Eugene. Next to them Debbie-Ann and Farrah Saddler were chatting about their plans for Christmas Day.

  Tiff slipped through the crowd and moved closer to the Christmas tree. Geneva and Ashley were both asleep on the floor. Someone had drawn a hand-knitted blanket over them. She inched past them to a cushioned seat built into a bay window. It was too dark to see the view outside, but she knew the Bitterroots were out there, stalwart guardians of the west.

  “So this is Christmas in Lost Trail.” Kenny joined her, handed her a mug of mulled wine.

  “Do you like it?”

  “It has a crazy appeal, yes.” He sipped the wine, then made a face.

  “Not a mulled wine fan?”

  “I like the idea. But not the taste so much.”

  Nikki spotted them and headed over with a tray of sausage rolls. “Grandma would be so happy if she could see everyone gathered here.”

  “The house looks beautiful. Who decorated it for Christmas?”

  “We all did. We wanted to have one, last family bash here before Miss Christensen turns the place into an Airbnb.”

  “She wouldn’t?” Tiff was appalled.

  “That’s the rumor. Excuse me, I have to keep passing this around. Aunt Em will be annoyed if these aren’t all eaten while they’re warm. She spent hours making them today.”

  Tiff nibbled on the pastry, watching as Kenny finished his in one bite. From the corner of her eye she spotted Zak entering the living room with Nadine Black. “I wonder if they’re here together...?”

  Kenny followed her gaze. “Hard to say. They seem pretty enthralled with that painting over the fireplace.”

  “It’s a Charlie Russell.” When Kenny didn’t look impressed she added, “Worth about a million and a half.”

  Kenny whistled.

  Tiff caught Zak’s eye and waved for him to join them.

  Kenny took a second, longer look at the painting. “It’s a nice picture. Better than some of the abstract mash-ups I remember seeing on a field trip we took in grade school. But I can’t imagine paying that much for it.”

  “Fortunately you don’t have to.” Zak joined them, a plate of sausage rolls in one hand, a beer in the other. “There’s a gallery in Great Falls that’s happy to fork over the money.”

  “I’m with Kenny.” Nadine stepped up alongside Zak, also with plate and beer in hand. “I think it’s a crazy amount to pay for a painting. You could buy a small ranch for less.”

  “You interested in a small ranch?” Tiff asked.

  “Hell yes.”

  “She just bought one,” Zak said.

  “Only ten acres. But it’s a start.” Nadine looked over-the-moon excited.

  Tiff and Kenny both congratulated her, then Tiff grabbed the cuff of Zak’s shirt-sleeve.

  “Zak. I’ve been dying to tell you something. My mom remember
ed something important today.”

  Zak and Nadine listened raptly as she relayed the drive with her mother to the ski hill, their stop at the commemorative white cross, and her mother’s sudden recall of what had happened the day of her father’s accident. When she finished, Nadine shook her head grimly and turned to Zak.

  “I told you there was something suspicious about that accident.”

  “Really?” Nadine had been living here less than a year. “The accident happened over sixteen years ago. How did you know about it?”

  “I told her,” Zak said. “When she first started working with us, I filled her in on some of your family history. Casey’s death. Your dad’s crash. She wanted me to pull out all the accident reports. She couldn’t believe his death was an accident.”

  “You were right,” Tiff said. “It wasn’t an accident at all.”

  “Though maybe it would have been easier for you and your mom if it had been,” Nadine said.

  “The truth has been buried in Mom’s subconscious for a long time. Now that it’s out, she can begin to heal.”

  Tiff glanced over at Justin. He looked so healthy now. But there was a long road ahead of him before he could be cancer-free. She was going to be there to help him with that. Maybe along the way they would capture some of the feelings that a brother and sister should have for one another.

  “Marsha had a lot to answer for,” Kenny said. “She took the easy way out by killing herself.”

  “This afternoon Mom and I wrote a letter to her. We thought it would be cathartic to lay out in writing every wrong she’d done to us, every crime, every hurtful thing. Then we burned the letter because we knew that unless we put the bitterness behind us, even in death she would win.”

  The crowd was thinning out, it was time to leave. Zak wasn’t quite ready, though. He’d been looking everywhere for mistletoe. You’d think a traditional family like the Stillmans would hang some somewhere. He was tired of mysteries and puzzles and death. It was time for mulled wine and presents and kisses.

  “What’s that?” Nadine pointed to a ball of greenery by the back door. Then she laughed. She knew exactly what it was.