Forgiveness Road

by Mandy Mikulencak

  On that third morning, Cissy woke first. She’d been sandwiched between Janelle and Rita, and now squirmed to free herself. A thin yellow line of sunshine peeked through the drapes and cut across the three women.

  “Grandmother? Are you awake?” Cissy’s face, still splotched and puffy, was eerily serene, but a welcome sight.

  “Oh, Cissy! I knew you’d come through.”

  But Janelle had known no such thing. Ever since the murder, Janelle feared that when Cissy’s demons grew bold enough to show themselves, her mind would be unprepared to process the trauma. No one, not even Dr. Guttman, would be able to put her together again.

  “My mind didn’t crack, Grandmother.” Her sweet voice was pure and confident as if announcing a personal victory.

  “You’re a strong girl. You’re such a strong girl.” Janelle patted Cissy’s thigh.

  Rita listened to the exchange before speaking. “It’s just so goddamn unfair what happened to you. I can hardly bear it.”

  “Oh, Rita, I don’t think God is in Heaven dividing up fair and unfair, doling it out willy-nilly until half of us had heartache and half of us didn’t. I was just born to the wrong daddy and maybe the wrong mama, but I was given the absolutely correct grandmother.”

  This declaration triggered an avalanche of emotion in Janelle, but she refused to cry. Cissy would be okay now. She had to be.

  Rita finally glanced at the clock on the nightstand. She said she’d better check on Daryl.

  “I hope he’s not angry you’ve stayed with us so long,” Janelle said.

  “You have enough on your minds than to worry about my sorry life.” She left with a reassuring smile after Cissy promised to check in on her at the diner later.

  But Janelle did worry. Rita would forever be a part of Cissy’s journey back to herself. The thought of that drunkard motel manager punishing Rita for her kindness infuriated Janelle.

  “It’s time we clean this place up,” Janelle said, turning her attention to their room. “And we both could use some tending as well.”

  She called the front desk of the motel and asked for fresh sheets and towels. They’d kept the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door for so long, the cleaning staff ignored the room as if it wasn’t even there. The morning appeared to be a fresh start on many fronts.

  “I’ll walk over to the restaurant with you for breakfast. A bit of my strength has returned,” Janelle said. “Shall I braid your hair today? I might not do as fine a job as Letitia, but I could try.”

  Cissy pinched her own arm and yelped.

  “Good Lord, girl. What are you doing now?”

  “I was afraid this was all a dream, or that I was creating a space in my mind that was peaceful and happy,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”

  Janelle hugged Cissy and nudged her toward the bathroom. “Go on now and shower. You’ll feel worlds better.”

  After Cissy had showered and Janelle had bathed, they dressed quickly. Cissy sat on the floor in front of Janelle to have her hair braided. Because it was still wet, Janelle was careful not to pull too hard.

  “Put some elbow grease into it, Grandmother. I’ve never known you to be gentle with my scalp. Why start now?” She let out a high, childlike laugh.

  Janelle closed her eyes at its music and considered whether her next question would break a precious spell.

  “Ciss, do you need to talk about anything else? I know you’ve cried out an ocean of grief, but I don’t expect you to be strong on my account.”

  Cissy covered Janelle’s hand that now rested on her shoulder.

  “Do you need to talk, Grandmother?”

  “You’re a wise girl, Cissy. And I do have something I’d like to say.” Janelle helped her up off the floor so they could sit side by side on the bed. She drew in a deep breath.

  “Ruth said I did the wrong thing by insisting on the abortion,” Janelle said. “I want you to know I had your best interests at heart. It wasn’t an easy decision.”

  Cissy said she couldn’t imagine an instance when the decision would be easy for anyone, but she didn’t like how abortion sounded when spoken aloud. It sounded as ugly as the things her daddy did and asked that they not speak of it again.

  “I know everything you’ve done is to protect me,” Cissy said, gulping. “But when you can’t undo a decision, seems the smart thing to do is feel okay about it and move on.”

  “But, Cissy . . . I need you to forgive me.”

  She pulled Janelle close. When they pulled apart, Janelle saw heartache in her granddaughter’s face and would have done anything to bring back the laughter that filled the room earlier.

  “There’s not a thing in the world to forgive. But right now, I can’t talk about it.” Cissy jumped up and turned on the clock radio before plopping back on the floor in front of Janelle.

  The rockabilly tune comforted Janelle as she finished braiding Cissy’s hair. Janelle experienced a strange glimmer of hope that one day she’d be able to shed her guilt over the abortion, a guilt she’d not confessed to Ruth.

  “I’m not afraid anymore,” Cissy finally said.

  “You can’t know how happy that makes me.”

  Janelle continued to weave Cissy’s curls into loose braids, her hands slower than they’d been in the past. The girl sat perfectly still, not saying a word, and Janelle had to resist the urge to check on her mood. After a while, she answered Janelle’s unspoken questions.

  “You know, Grandmother. Only our minds keep those dark moments alive and breathing, and only our minds can put them to rest.”

  For the second time that morning, Janelle told her granddaughter how wise she was.

  * * *

  Janelle and Cissy sat in the restaurant much longer than it had taken them to eat. It seemed they both appreciated a break in scenery from the motel room, which had held so much sorrow and sickness in previous days. Besides, they needed to stay gone long enough for housekeeping to change the sheets and tidy the bathroom.

  Before they’d left, Janelle instructed Cissy to stand on the bed and put their money and jewelry inside the air-conditioning vent. Cissy didn’t understand Janelle’s distrust of people—Cissy still insisted most folks were good at heart even after what her daddy had done.

  Rita appeared joyful during her shift, and she sang soulful country ballads about long-lost loves and cheating husbands that caused people to let their eggs go cold while they listened. Cissy had once described her voice as angelic, and now Janelle understood that assessment.

  “She’s quite good,” Janelle said. “She could sing professionally.”

  Cissy related Rita’s dream of being a stage actress and that she only considered a singing career after her road trip to New York was cut short because of lack of funds. Janelle took the opportunity to ask if Cissy had dreams for her own future.

  “I’ve always been a live-in-the-present sort of gal and never thought beyond high school, Grandmother.”

  Everything in the diner seemed to hold her interest except Janelle’s questions. When she asked Cissy to pay attention, the girl looked down and to the side, but never in Janelle’s direction.

  “Is college even an option for someone who’s killed another human being? Seems that colleges would have higher standards,” Cissy said.

  “Truthfully, I don’t know the answer, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. Think of all the books you could read and all the people you’d meet. You never know what kind of career might strike your fancy until you do some exploring.”

  “Dr. Guttman said I could be a writer or reporter one day—like at a big New York newspaper. He said my list-making makes me good at details.” Her thoughts seemed to take her a thousand miles away. “Or, maybe I’ll just let the future show me my path.”

  Janelle lifted Cissy’s chin so that they could speak eye to eye. “Life doesn’t work that way, Cissy. At some point, you have to start envisioning what you want and make it happen.”

  Squeezing a lifetim
e of lessons into a minute—or even a day or week or month—was pointless. Yet Janelle feared what would become of this gentle and naïve child if she didn’t press her to stand on her own. Janelle’s declining health forced her hand.

  “If something happened to me, would you know what to do?” Janelle asked point-blank.

  “Why do old people always talk about dying?” Her attempt at a joke failed to hide her uneasiness. Janelle suspected her counting would start up any moment.

  “Why you gals so serious?” Rita quipped, filling their coffee cups on a break from her concert for the customers.

  “We’re not being serious,” Cissy snapped. “We just don’t feel up to chatting.”

  “Well, excuse me,” she huffed. “I’ll just come back when you’re up for socializing.”

  Rita turned on her heel and Cissy seemed to want to jump up after her.

  “She’s mad at me. I can tell. But it seems you and I are having a private conversation right now and I should try to concentrate on what you’re saying,” Cissy said.

  “She won’t stay mad, dear. And thank you for understanding what I’m saying is important. Now, back to what . . .”

  “Grandmother, if you got sick, I’d know to call for an ambulance. I know how to use a phone.”

  “And?”

  “I suppose I’d call Mama or Ruth, and then Dr. Guttman.”

  “Everybody faces death. I’m not afraid,” Janelle said. “Don’t look so grief-stricken just yet.”

  “How else should I look, Grandmother? I can’t bear to be without you. And not just because I’d end up back at the state hospital. I like living with you.”

  Cissy grabbed her glass of water and downed it in one gulp, ice cubes tumbling onto her upper lip. She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin and returned it to her lap.

  “Child, I don’t regret my decision to get you out of Mississippi. I knew I was sick when I left. And I knew it’d be difficult for us to stay away indefinitely, but my heart never raised objections because I just wanted you to be with family. I wanted you to be with me. These days have been the most meaningful of my life.”

  “Of your entire life?”

  “Yes, my entire life.”

  “I thought I’d cried myself dry, but here I go feeling all weepy again,” Cissy said. “But they’re happy tears this time.”

  They talked for almost an hour. Janelle asked her to promise not to panic if she fell ill and needed a doctor. Cissy did her best to have an adult conversation, but would change the subject if Janelle skirted the inevitable.

  “Can’t we just make the most of each day we have together?” Cissy asked.

  Now that Janelle was feeling stronger, she told Cissy they’d be leaving Nashville the next day. She even suggested another driving lesson and searched Cissy’s face for an excited reaction.

  “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to learn to drive more than anything.”

  “I do, Grandmother, I really do,” she explained. “But I finally made a real friend and I’m sad to think I’ll never see her again.”

  “Rita has been a treasure. I’ll be forever grateful that we ran into her,” Janelle said. “But, Cissy, you’ll make many friends in your life. Some for short periods and some until the day you leave this earth. Both kinds are important.”

  Cissy said she wanted Rita to be a forever type of friend. Janelle failed to understand her attachment to someone she’d just met two weeks ago. But then again, Rita was present when Cissy confronted the memories she’d buried for so long. Janelle and Rita were the only witnesses to that child confronting her darkest hours and rising above them.

  “Well, maybe you two should do something fun today to say your goodbyes,” Janelle suggested. “Maybe a matinee? My treat.”

  She pressed cash into Cissy’s palm and folded her fingers over the bills.

  “I’m headed back to the room to pack. You joining me?”

  Cissy said she’d rather hang out in the diner until Rita’s shift was over. She needed time to find the proper words to tell Rita how much she’d meant to her.

  Chapter 30

  Janelle had instructed Cissy to say her goodbyes to Rita, but was second-guessing her decision. Although she’d felt well enough to have breakfast at the diner earlier, the vertigo had returned and she perspired profusely. Her temples throbbed from a headache that had plagued her for the better part of a week.

  Where did Janelle think they’d go next? It wouldn’t be long before she’d be forced to end this ill-conceived trip because of her health. She couldn’t drive in her current state. Cissy had assured her that she’d know what to do, who to call, should Janelle become incapacitated. Janelle feared that time was near. Better to spare Cissy another traumatic experience and leave now while Janelle could still get them back home. When Cissy returned from the movie, Janelle would tell her it was time to go back to the hospital in Meridian. She hoped she could get through such a conversation without breaking down. She hoped her Cissy would understand.

  Janelle had traveled so far from normal, she didn’t know how to get back. She wanted her own bed. She wanted to sit in her rocker on the front porch. More than anything, she wanted to die at home, with the people she loved around her, including Ruth.

  She sat down on the bed and picked up the phone to make a collect call. Ruth answered on the third ring.

  “Mrs. Clayton!” she shouted. “Where are you? Why haven’t you called before now?”

  “After our last call, I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” Janelle had feared she’d lost Ruth’s affection for good after insisting on the abortion for Cissy. And if she had called, what was there to say? Janelle had been more than foolish. She’d been irresponsible.

  “I’ve been worried sick. We’ve been worried sick,” Ruth said.

  “We?”

  Scuffling noises muffled Janelle’s question. Then she heard a soft clicking noise.

  “Mother? Are you there?” Caroline asked.

  “Miss Caroline is with me,” Ruth said. “She’s on the other line.”

  The two talked over each other, their words melding into an incoherent jumble. Janelle couldn’t make out a complete sentence or question, except that the two of them had been united in their quest to find her and Cissy. She did make out the words “state police.”

  “You’re going to have to speak one at a time and more slowly,” Janelle said. The volume of their chatter exacerbated her headache. She wondered how she’d get through a whole conversation with the two of them. Janelle had so much to say, but her thoughts were getting muddled.

  “Mother, you’ve got to come home. Or tell us where you are. We’ll come get you and Cissy at once,” Caroline said.

  “That’s why I called,” she said. “We’re in Nashville at a—”

  “Nashville? What were you thinking?” Caroline asked, while Ruth muttered, “Lord have mercy.”

  Janelle hadn’t been thinking. While she didn’t regret arranging for Cissy’s abortion, she erred in not returning Cissy to the psychiatric hospital. After Cissy’s hearing, Mr. Whitney had been confident that she would stay no more than a year under Dr. Guttman’s care and would likely come home without any jail time. They all might have returned to some semblance of normalcy with time. Janelle only complicated things by taking Cissy’s future into her own hands. Yet, she’d come to know Cissy and love her more over the last two weeks than in the last sixteen years.

  Janelle’s compassion for Cissy stood in stark contrast to the way she’d treated Caroline since the shooting. She regretted not working harder to bring them all together. Instead, the old divisions between Janelle and her daughter had only widened.

  “Mother, the state police have been looking for you. They were going to call the FBI, thinking you’d crossed state lines. You could be in serious legal trouble.”

  “That doesn’t matter now.” Janelle didn’t fear the police. The cancer would claim her long before she could be tried and convicted for her impet
uousness. “I’d like to speak to Ruth alone for a moment. Then Caroline and I will talk. Okay?”

  After some protest from Caroline, Ruth spoke softly into the receiver. “How is Cissy?”

  “I think she’s going to be just fine,” Janelle said. “But I don’t think I have much time left, Ruth. I’ll have to get to a hospital soon. She shouldn’t have to deal with the doctors alone.”

  “You’re not going to die just yet, Mrs. Clayton. We have plenty of talks on the front porch ahead of us. And the fall color this year is sure to be something to behold.”

  Janelle lay back on the bed, the receiver cradled near her ear. Her breath grew ragged. “I’m not afraid, Ruth. I just called to hear your voice; to let you know . . . to tell you that I’ve been blessed to have you in my life.”

  Ruth’s sobs were audible over the line. “I’m not ready, Mrs. Clayton . . . Janelle.”

  Janelle longed to comfort her old friend in person, to have one last chance to hug her as they had done freely as children. Vivid memories of those days bubbled up: swimming in the creek, napping in the tall field grasses, playing Monopoly at the dining table on hot summer afternoons.

  “No need for tears yet, Ruth. I’ll see you in the next couple of days,” Janelle said. “I should give some details to my daughter, if you’d put her on the line.”

  Ruth handed the phone to Caroline without saying goodbye.

  “We’re at the Howard Johnson on the south side of Nashville,” Janelle said. “I don’t think I can drive us back home. Perhaps you could drive out to get us? Or call the authorities—”

  “I’m not calling the police,” Caroline said. “Of course I’ll come get you. Is Cissy there?”

  Janelle explained that Cissy was with a friend she’d made. She also relayed parts of their trip and how they ended up in Nashville by way of Memphis. Caroline chuckled at Janelle’s description of Cissy’s yearning to visit Graceland and the girl’s atrocious driving skills.

  “She regained her memory,” Janelle said. “About the pregnancy and abortion. She’ll be okay. Cissy is a strong, brave girl.”