“I can deal with this. Your life isn’t here anymore. You’ve been saying that since you’ve been back and you’re right. At Sutton’s you have a real chance to move past this. To be happy. To be safe.”
“If I’m not safe here, then neither are you. So I’ll leave when you do.”
She’s turns around. “I could make you go,” she says.
“You could try,” I answer.
She runs a hand through her hair. “I’m trying to do what’s right. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do for you. From the very first moment, every decision was supposed to be the right one. But none of it is right. I’m not sure it ever was. And I don’t know what to do anymore. God, I should have done so many things differently….”
“Like what?” I ask.
Her head pops up. “What?” Her eyes are frantic.
“If you could do one thing differently, what would it be?”
She lets out a deep breath, hesitates another moment. “I would have been braver,” she says, then disappears from the room.
Excerpt from the diary of Leonard Trudeau:
Step two—Shaking the trees
In years past, I patiently waited for the pecans to fall to the ground of their own accord. I discovered that the ones that fell early were near rotten by the time the rest were free from the trees. So now, we shake the trees, knocking loose every nut, no matter how ferociously they cling to the branch. It’s delicate work but important and the payoff is worth the effort you expend.
Noah—Summer of 1999
Abby died quietly in her sleep on an early Tuesday morning in mid-July. I knew something was wrong when the flowers I cut for her sat untouched on the front porch. Betty called all the necessary people and now they’ve come and gone, taking Abby away with them.
Gus hasn’t set foot out of the house and I can’t bring myself to go in.
I’m sitting on the front porch steps, cutting off every person that shows up so Gus and Betty don’t have to talk to them. They come in a steady stream, bearing casseroles, cakes, salads, and every other type of food no one that lives here wants to eat. The second they leave, I dump it all into a garbage can around the side of the house, dish and all.
Maggie is one of the last to arrive, but she’s with her mom and we act like strangers. She’s crying hard and I can tell her mother doesn’t understand why.
Just before they leave, Maggie turns around and says, “I can come back for the dish later.”
I nod and once her mom’s car turns onto the main road, I dump the food.
The dish, too.
11
I’m nervous walking to the cafeteria on Monday even though the school day so far has been one of the better ones I’ve had since I’ve been here. No one here is trying to be my friend but most have stopped spewing hate right to my face. Maybe they’re as exhausted by all of this as I am.
I pull open the door to the cafeteria and see Pippa across the room, near the corner. She gives me a small wave when we make eye contact then points to the lunch line with a questioning look, but I hold up a brown bag, letting her know I brought my lunch. I cross the room and stop a few feet away, just enough that someone wouldn’t automatically assume we’re together. Even though Pippa said she didn’t care about being seen sitting with me, I’m going to give her the option to go somewhere else.
“We don’t have to eat in here,” I say.
She pulls out a nearby chair and throws her bag on the table. “Here’s good.”
I sit across from her rather than next to her, with my back to the rest of the room. I know everyone will be looking at us but I don’t want to look at them.
She pulls one of those insulated bags out of her backpack and starts unpacking it. Sandwich, water bottle, string cheese, and a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, her favorite.
“I thought eat lunch with me meant you were actually going to eat,” she says after she swallows a bite of sandwich.
I laugh and dump the contents of my brown bag on the table. Mom wasn’t feeling well this morning and I was running late so Aunt Lucinda offered to pack my lunch. I didn’t consider at the time that since she doesn’t have kids, she’s never had to pack a lunch in her life, so I’m not surprised that Pippa’s eyes get big when she takes in the odd combination on the table in front of me. Mom and Aunt Lucinda are different in a lot of ways, but none so much as their culinary capabilities.
“I’m not sure if it’s the can of tuna fish or the Vienna sausage that’s got me the most concerned,” Pippa says, then takes another bite of her sandwich.
“Definitely the sausage,” I answer. “I’m pretty sure these were left over from when my grandparents were still alive. And it’s not a pop top so I have no idea how I’m even supposed to open it.”
She lets out a shy laugh then pushes the Reese’s across the table. “I’ll split these with you.”
I give her a big smile and tear open the package. I eat half the peanut butter cup in one bite and she rolls her eyes. “You’re eating it all wrong.”
I knew this would get her. She’s funny about the way she eats anything that has chocolate in it. For Reese’s she likes to punch the center part out, leaving behind the solid chocolate edge so she can save that for last.
“It’s mine and I can eat it any way I want,” I answer before shoving the rest of it in my mouth.
She gives me a smile but her eyes keep bouncing from me to whatever is going on behind me. If I had money to bet, most everyone in the room is watching us, trying to figure out why she’s sitting with me. And probably her friends are motioning to her and trying to mouth questions at her. I’m glad I can’t see any of it.
“Tell me what’s going on with you,” I say and her eyes fly back to mine.
“When? Today? The last six years?”
I slide the Reese’s package back across the table to her. “Any of it. All of it.”
She shrugs and plays with the cap to her water bottle. “You guessed right about the journals. I’m still writing. I’m also in the drama club. I submitted a play I wrote at the end of last year and it was chosen for this year’s school play.”
This seems like a really big deal but she says it like it’s not. She watches the top spin and refuses to look at me, so I wad up the brown paper bag and throw it at her.
“Hey!” she says when it hits her in the forehead. “What was that for?”
“The play you wrote is going to be performed by this school and you said it like you’re letting me know what’s on the menu for the hot lunch tomorrow.”
“It’s not a big deal. There were only two entries. I’m pretty sure they’re regretting making it a contest. It’s not going so well.”
“Why?” I ask.
She shakes off my question. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay, what else do you want to talk about?”
She shrugs again. “I don’t know. You’re the one who wanted me to sit with you.”
Pippa seemed comfortable when I first sat down, but I can tell the crowd behind me is getting to her. I want to talk to her, hang out with her, but not like this.
“It’s cool. I’m not really hungry.” I stand up and throw the unopened cans in my backpack. “I’m going to head to the library and finish my English homework.”
It’s like she wants to say something but the words won’t come out. I step away from the table and I hear a soft “O.”
I look at her over my shoulder. “Really, it’s cool.” I should let her out of the bet since she seems so uncomfortable, but I don’t. I can’t. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”
She nods and her friends rush the table before I’m halfway to the door, peppering her with questions. She doesn’t seem to answer them, or maybe she’s just waiting for me to leave first.
I spin around and exit the cafeteria. The need to ditch and head to Gus’s is strong, but the fear of being sent to an alternative school is stronger. I’m heading to the library when I recognize a girl off to th
e side, sitting at one of the picnic tables in the common area. She’s reading a book and seems oblivious to everyone and everything around her.
I shouldn’t talk to her. I shouldn’t go anywhere near her, especially after how bad things were between her brother and me, but the feeling that I should try to make things right with at least one person who was hurt by my dad pushes me toward her table.
“Hey,” I say when I’m a few feet from Sarah Frazier.
She snaps the book shut and stares at me. The pain on her face almost brings me to my knees, and I realize no matter what, I can’t invade her space like this. “I just want to say I’m sorry. About your dad,” I say then turn away.
I should have learned my lesson after my run-in with her brother. I get a few feet from her before she says, “I’m sorry about yours, too.”
This stops me in my tracks. Spinning around, I search her face, waiting for her to blast me or curse me or something, but she just watches me closely.
I move back toward her table and sit down on the bench across from her. I haven’t seen Sarah in a long time. Not since our families vacationed together after my freshman year in Mexico. Reed was a couple of years older than me and treated me like some stupid kid, but Sarah was just a year behind me so I spent most of my time with her. She looks the same, though. Same brown hair, same freckles, same brown eyes.
We watch each other and I can tell she’s trying to gauge what I want, but even I don’t know what that really is.
“I’m so mad at him, you know. For getting in the car in that condition,” she says. “I keep thinking that if he had called a cab he would be alive, and then he could prove to everyone he didn’t know what your dad was doing. Now that’s all anyone will remember about him.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah, I feel the same way about my dad. I mean, not that it’s the same. Not that my dad running off is the same at all. I mean I’m mad, too…at what he did.”
She nods and gives me a small smile. “No, I get what you mean. They both left in ways we don’t understand.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Are y’all going to be okay? I mean, not okay with what happened but…I should just stop talking right now.” God, when did I become so awkward talking to a girl?
She laughs this time and it feels good to hear it. “We’re waiting until Christmas break and then we’re moving to Jackson, Mississippi, where my grandparents live. There isn’t anything left for us here and it’s been really hard on Mom and my brother. Me, too. But I didn’t want to transfer halfway through the semester, so they’re waiting for me to be done.”
“I saw your brother. I thought he was off at college.”
Sarah bites her bottom lip. “Mom needs him here. She’s not handling things well. He’s hoping to go back next year,” she adds. “He’s working down at Joey’s right now and hating it.”
Yeah, I got that vibe.
With nothing left to say, I get up from the table.
“They stare at me, too. For different reasons, obviously, but it’s all the time. It sucks.” She holds up her book. “It helps to have something to block it out.”
“Thanks,” I say. She was nicer to me than I deserve. “Even though it’s usually a painful experience, I’m here if you ever want to talk.”
“Thanks, Owen. I tell myself every day…I’m not my dad. And you aren’t yours, either.”
• • •
In my daily ritual of googling Dad’s name to see if any other information has been uncovered, I run across the ad for the auction of our house and all of the contents. Every piece of furniture, every pot and pan and mirror and rug…everything is listed for sale. I click on the tab “Boy’s Room” and see all of my things laid out for the public’s inspection. The bed, the matching side tables and lamps, my desk, and even the bedding are up for grabs.
I feel sick.
“Did you get finished in section four?” Gus asks. He stops the golf cart a few feet away from the tractor and I shove my phone in my pocket, pushing away the fact that even the books on my shelf are for sale.
“Yeah, just finished,” I answer.
I spent all of Saturday and Sunday raking under the trees and finished up the last section this afternoon.
“Good. We can start shaking by the end of the week then. Pecans look ready. The only section that needs to be cleaned is the Preacher Woods.” Before I can crank the tractor, he says, “Next time you and your friends stay in that house, you need to let me know.”
My mind scrambles for an excuse but he holds his hand up before I can get the words out. “I get it. Sometimes you just need a place to crash. But give me a heads-up next time, okay?”
“Okay, thanks.” And before I can talk myself out of it, I say, “Tell me what Dad was like when he lived here.”
Gus leans back in the seat and props one foot up on the short dash. He stares off, his gaze getting lost in the distance. Finally, he turns back to me and says, “He was a damn fool for your mother. Fell for her hard.”
“I always thought they met in college.”
Gus shakes his head. “Your grandmother sent your mom out here to deliver a casserole when Abby was sick, and your dad was working on one of the tractors in the yard.”
“I’m sorry about Abby,” I say. I saw the small cemetery near the back of the property earlier today. One of the names on a tombstone was Abby Trudeau, and based on the engraving, she’s been gone a long time.
Gus rubs a hand across his mouth and nods. “She was a wonderful woman gone way too soon.” He seems lost in thought for a moment.
“So Mom hung out here, while Dad lived here?”
Gus nods. “Yeah, she did.” He’s about to pull away but he stops when I keep talking.
“Mom’s been getting some threats. I’m thinking it’s someone who lost a bunch of money and thinks she knows where it is. Or they think she knows where Dad is.”
Gus leans forward on the steering wheel. “What kind of threats?”
“Phone calls mainly. Someone threw a brick through her window at our house. Our old house.”
“She’s told the police, though, right? They know what’s going on?” Gus asks.
I nod. “Yeah, but they don’t have any idea who it could be. There’s this one guy, Detective Hill, who seems like he halfway gives a shit, but that’s it.” I’m not sure why I don’t mention the note that was left on my window. Maybe I’m worried that if he thinks someone might mess with his truck, he’ll take it back.
“So this detective thinks it’s someone lashing out and there’s no real danger?”
I shrug. “I guess. That’s what he told me when I asked him. I keep trying to think of who it could be but the list of people is so long that it could be almost anyone in town. Any guess who it is?”
Gus drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Well, since I don’t go to town, I’m not sure who’s still there, but I know the list of people who lost money is long.”
“Did he steal from you, too?”
It looks like my words physically hurt him. “Yeah, he stole something from me.” Gus pulls the cart around, back toward the house. “You got about an hour until dark. See if you can get the trees in the Preacher Woods raked.”
I crank the tractor and slowly make my way to the back of the orchard. It’s been killing me knowing that Dad screwed Mom over so badly, but it’s almost worse that he did the same to Gus. Just one more reason why I need to find him.
Noah—Summer of 1999
The soft knock on the door doesn’t come as a surprise, but I can’t force myself to get up to open it.
Maggie pushes the door open and searches for me in the dark.
“Noah, are you here?” she asks in a quiet voice.
“Over here,” I answer.
She moves through the small room and sits on the edge of the bed, her hand resting on my arm.
I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping the pain is enough to stop me from breaking down. Pushing to a sitting position, I maneuver around
her until I’m off the bed and across the room. I know I’ve hurt her by moving away from her, but I can’t handle her consoling me right now.
I shouldn’t need consoling. I mean, one look at Abby and you knew she didn’t have much longer here. Hell, I barely knew her. I shouldn’t care that she’s gone. I shouldn’t care what Gus is doing in that big house all alone. I shouldn’t care that Maggie wouldn’t hardly look at me when she was here with her mother.
“Noah,” Maggie says in a near whisper. “It’s okay to be upset. I’m upset, too.”
“Abby’s family is insisting there be a visitation at the local funeral home before the burial here. As much as Gus hates the idea of that, he doesn’t have it in him to fight them over it. So when we’re at the funeral home, and I’m standing there making sure Gus doesn’t freak out on everyone, or run off or fall on the damn floor, are you going to be able to talk to me? If I feel like I’m about to fucking fall apart because a woman I barely knew had the ability to take a chunk of me with her when she died, will you be able to hold my hand?” I spit out. I’m being mean on purpose. I can’t get any more attached to this place. I’m leaving as soon as I have enough money saved, no matter what I promised Abby.
She jumps up and races across the room to me, throwing her arms around my waist. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to say. My parents…you don’t understand how they are.”
“I understand you’re ashamed of me. Don’t get me wrong, I get it. I’m not the kind of guy you bring home. Just one you fool around with while you’re killing time before going off to college. I just wish you never would’ve acted like you wanted me to meet your friends. To go with you to town and let everyone see us together. You changed the game on me.”
She hugs me tighter while my arms just hang loosely by my side. “No, it’s not like that. I’m not ashamed of you.”
“The last time I talked to Abby was the night I waited for you to pick me up. She liked my haircut. She told me to look out for Gus…after.”
The Lying Woods Page 12