The Feel of Echoes

by Mari Labbee

  He sipped coffee, thanked the road gods for his solitary ride, and thought about his father. The heart attack had come on suddenly; in one moment, he was gone. Matt frowned. The news had surprised him in the expected way, but it also brought a wave of feelings that he didn’t know quite how to handle. He always thought that maybe things would be better or at least different, with the benefit of time and distance, but all chance of that was gone now.

  He was heading into a fight, trying to convince his mother to sell the farm that had been in her family for generations, would be a challenge. So far his mother would not hear of it, no matter how many facts were presented about the dire state of her finances. She wanted to keep it at all cost. The original 240 acres were a mere 80 now; his father had been selling off small parcels for years now, and it barely produced enough to live on. Competing with large corporate outfits was a losing battle; it just wasn’t the same world anymore. It seemed stubborn to him to want to hold on to it at all cost, but then he knew what it was to have a dream, and he couldn’t fault her.

  The real battle was that his mother wanted him home to stay, to run it, to save it, actually. But Matt knew there would be no saving it. No amount of protest could make her understand.

  His younger brother, Tom, wouldn’t be able to run the farm anymore. Matt had expected that his brother would eventually move on. Tom had many reasons for this, least of all a wife and twin babies. Strong sense of duty was a description that might be used to describe Matt too, and it was that very thing tearing him apart.

  The thing he couldn’t figure out, though, was how Susan figured into this. Could his mother be desperate enough to involve her?

  Susan was single again. Her marriage had collapsed a few years ago, and remarkably, his mother suddenly didn’t seem to mind that Susan had broken her engagement to Matt to elope with that now defunct husband. Enough horrors could not be said about her then. But somewhere in the course of time, Susan had fallen back into grace and become family. This would make everything much more difficult.

  A lot had happened in the last six years; he wondered how he would feel seeing her again. She’d left him wary about relationships. He kept his feelings close, in no short part because of how they had ended. He couldn’t date casually without emotional connections. He just wasn’t wired that way, no matter how much he wished he could be.

  Since showing up in Whittlebee, he’d been propositioned pretty steadily—flattering, of course. Some of them were persistent, but he had stayed away from any real relationship. It was a small town, and he knew how things worked. Unless he was sure about someone, he wasn’t about to start something.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Being in the small house was like stepping back in time. Virtually every piece of furniture he remembered was still there and in exactly the same place. The same pictures on the walls, of him and Tom growing up, dozens of them, one for every school year, still occupied the same spaces. The mantel, however, was a shrine to the twins. His mother had met him at the door with Well if it isn’t the prodigal son. He had prepared himself for that little bit of sarcasm and the scoff when she saw his bare feet in topsiders. Despite that, it was good to see her.

  He was staying in his childhood room, and it felt strange to be there again. The bed was still pushed up against the single window that looked out over pin-straight rows of corn stretching to the horizon. It was the room where he read Moby Dick and had fallen in love with something he had never seen. And in there, he felt a familiar heaviness return.

  “A beautiful service,” said a woman he’d never met as she took his hand.

  “Thank you,” Matt responded.

  She nodded, and with a pained smile and narrowed eyes, she bowed a little—the body language of mourning. Matt and his brother, Tom, had been greeting people as they arrived at the house after the funeral. There were some he knew, but those he didn’t far outnumbered them. His mother and Tom’s wife, Betty, were busy with the food. Every once in a while he’d get a pat on the back with He was a good man. We’ll all miss him. He wondered how many knew that he and his father had barely spoken in over six years; prideful, they would say, on both sides. Of course, Matt was gracious, accepting all their thoughts and prayers knowing they genuinely meant it.

  He didn’t notice her walk up, but then he heard her voice.

  “Hello, Matt.”

  He’d been talking to one of the neighbors about organic fertilizers, and suddenly there she was. Her voice transported him back beyond the years he’d been gone, back to being fifteen. Though he didn’t want to, he knew he might see her while he was here, and now the moment was here. He waited for something to happen. There was no boom, no lightning or thunder, no cymbals crashing, nothing. There was nothing.

  “You look great,” Susan said.

  “So do you,” he said, meaning it.

  Her keen features had softened, and there was something yielding in her eyes. Something that hadn’t been there in all the years he’d known her.

  “I’m so sorry about your father,” she whispered, moving closer.

  The awkward silences would begin now. He had never been good at small talk, and that had not changed over the years. Plus, this was someone heavy with history. What do you say after so many years and with so much between them? He couldn’t think of a thing.

  “How do you like being home?” she asked. Everyone here had asked him the same question.

  She was nervous. Probably had the same thoughts going through her head that he had going through his.

  “Good. It’s good to see everyone.” He paused. “The twins have gotten big.”

  She nodded. “They have. They’re at a fun age. My daughter just loves them.”

  “Daughter?” he asked.

  Susan nodded. “She’s three.”

  “Really? That’s…great,” he said.

  “Well, she’s a handful. She’s with her dad this weekend.”

  Matt nodded. Daughter. Susan had a daughter. Nobody had warned him ahead of time about this; he’d have to talk to Tom about that. He was standing in the house he grew up in talking to Susan. It was surreal, and his mind rebelled against this parallel world.

  “So how do you find everyone?” she asked. “Oh, I’m sorry. I think I just asked that.”

  He laughed lightly. “Good, like I said, but it’ll be good to get back.”

  She frowned. “Oh, I thought—” She was interrupted by Betty, who came rushing over.

  “Susan, would you mind? Need your help for a moment.” She turned to Matt. “Matt, she’ll be back in a jiff.”

  She wasn’t back in a jiff. In fact, Matt barely saw her the rest of that afternoon.

  His mother was at the sink, washing dishes. The kitchen table behind her was stacked with casseroles and Tupperware, enough to feed them until next year. Without stopping, she gestured at the table.

  “I have no idea what we’ll do with all these. I suppose Tom and Betty could take some. Some will just go to waste.”

  She sighed and then asked cheerfully. “Did you get a chance to talk to Susan? Doesn’t she look lovely?”

  Matt set a platter down on the counter by the sink. “Yeah, she did.”

  His mother continued. “And her little girl is cute as a bug’s ear. Wait till you meet her.”

  He paused, thinking about how to say what he wanted to without starting something.

  “Ma, since when did you and Susan become such good friends? The last thing I remember you saying is that she would burn in hell or something to that effect.”

  His mother gave a little shrug. “Well, you know everyone makes mistakes. You have to forgive and forget. Time heals all. Look at me. I’ve had to forgive and forget you leaving us.”

  There it was. But it came much sooner than he’d expected. Eventually, they would have it out, but it wouldn’t be tonight. He would be here another week. There would be plenty of time to discuss everything.

  “Well, it’s been a long day. I’ll help Tom an
d Betty finish cleaning up out there and head on up to bed.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Morning.” Tom came around the barn where Matt was working.

  “Morning.”

  “Brought you some coffee.” Tom held out a cup. In the other arm, he balanced one of the twins.

  “Thanks.” Matt accepted the cup, took a sip, and then set it on the ground next to his tools.

  “Which one is this?” he asked.

  “Lee Ann,” Tom said.

  Matt presented his finger, which was promptly grasped by a chubby hand. The toddler smiled a gummy smile up at him, and he smiled back.

  “She likes you,” Tom said. “Likes big fingers.”

  They both laughed as Matt straightened up and turned back to work.

  “I was going to get to those clapboards next week,” Tom said.

  “No use having my visit be a complete waste,” Matt said positioning another board against the barn.

  “We’ll be leaving week after next. I’ll be starting work at the Caterpillar dealership in Spring Valley next month,” Tom said.

  “Where’s that at?” Matt asked as he hammered a nail into the board.

  “North of Cedar Rapids. We’ll be closer to Betty’s folks.” Tom hesitated. “I’m real sorry I can’t stay here, but…”

  “Hey.” Matt looked up. “You gotta take care of your own. This isn’t your fault. It’s nobody’s fault.”

  Tom hesitated then said. “Look, I’m sorry they got Susan involved in this. I told Betty—”

  “Tom, I’m here to help, not to stay. I already told everyone that. I have a life away from here—one I’m not going to give up.” His voice was strong. “I know what they’re trying to do, but Susan will not change anything. Nothing will make me stay.”

  Matt stopped what he was doing, looked up at the sky, and laughed lightly. “You know, I have Susan to thank for a lot. Her calling off the engagement, if you can call it that, is what got me to leave. If we’d gotten married, I probably would never have gone, and I’d be here, farming like everyone else, except I’d be miserable.”

  He looked at his brother. “I don’t want this to be a war, Tom, and you’re the only one who can help with that. You know how things are. We have to convince her to sell this place; there is no way to save it.”

  Tom nodded. “I know, I know.”

  In three days, he would be gone. He’d kept busy with work, which there was plenty of, starting early every morning, going until night. But this morning he didn’t get outside right away. Instead, just after breakfast, he and Tom would talk to their mother. He wasn’t looking forward to that. She had a way of ratcheting up the anxiety in whatever space she occupied. It was all he could do to stay focused and not let his emotions swallow him.

  “Ma, Tom and I need to talk with you.”

  “Oh, tonight would be better. In fact, Susan—”

  Matt cut her off. “We need to go over the plans to sell the farm. Now, Tom spoke to Henry Clarkson, and he’ll be by later this week with an appraiser. We have to think about what figure to set the price at. I’ll be helping out financially around here until we find a buyer, but we have to sell as soon as possible.”

  His mother rose and headed toward the kitchen.

  “Mom,” Tom called after her, “Matt and I have looked at this every way possible, and selling is all there is. There is no way to make the farm work.”

  She spun around. Her eyes were two narrow slits and her mouth a tight slash below reddened cheeks.

  “Yes, there is!” she yelled. “Matt, if you came back and took over, it would be all right. I know it would. You’re like your father. He made it work, and you could do that.”

  “Is that what this is about? Replacing him? No, I’m not like him. And he couldn’t make it work. That’s why it’s been sold off piece by piece until there’s hardly anything left!”

  Tom interrupted. “Mom, this isn’t something either Matt or I can fix.”

  She collapsed in one of the chairs nearby and buried her head in her hands, covering her ears and murmuring softly.

  “I won’t sell it. I won’t. I can’t.”

  He sat outside. The late-afternoon air was cool and a welcome relief from the heat that he’d left behind in Whittlebee no more than a week ago. The last couple of days had been hard, the turmoil hitting all of them. He was feeling drained and exhausted, not physically but mentally—an exhaustion that kept him up nights. He hated seeing his mother so upset. But there was nothing he could do about that. Or was there? He’d been thinking about that. How bad would it be to come back, to try to come up with something? Maybe he could find a solution for all of them. It didn’t even need to be permanent. He could come back, figure something out, get the farm on its feet again, and then go back home. But there was only one way to do that. He took another sip of beer, not wanting to think anymore, and suddenly his thoughts turned to the house on Jackal’s Head Point, and Bri. He hadn’t thought about her since he’d been here. With tightly knit brows, he took the last sip in the can of beer he held. Out in the distance, a car turned into the farm. He laughed. Susan’s car had just turned in and was headed down the long dirt driveway, a trail of dust billowing behind it.

  She got out of the car and went around to the passenger side. Leaning in, she undid the safety straps in the car seat, pulled the child out of it, and then closed the car door.

  Matt had gotten up when the car came to a stop and was now standing on the top step of the porch.

  “So this is her,” he said, gesturing to the child in her arms.

  Susan nodded. “Ann.”

  “Hmm-Same as your mom,” he said, stepping off the porch and looking at the child. “She looks like your mom…a little,” he said. In reality though, she was the spitting image of Susan.

  Ann stared at Matt for a long while before giving him a huge grin. Then she buried her head in Susan’s neck in a fit of giggles. Susan laughed and set the child down but kept a hold of her hand. Just as she did, Melinda—the farm’s Manx cat—came around the corner and made a beeline for them. Ann stuck her hand out and pulled on the cat’s ear. Melinda was big and blocky but as mellow as vanilla custard and the same color too. She lay down at the child’s feet, and Ann plopped down next to her. Susan let go of her hand and walked up the porch steps with Matt.

  They settled on the porch swing side by side. After a few minutes of silently regarding Ann and Melinda, she spoke first.

  “It’s so good to see you, Matt. It really is.”

  He nodded. She continued.

  “It’s a beautiful sunset, isn’t it?”

  He nodded again. “It is.”

  “Your mother loves having you home, but you probably know that.” She laughed.

  “She does.” Matt wasn’t about to discuss any of the goings-on of the past few days. He wasn’t about to discuss family matters with her. His mother might have come around to thinking of Susan as family again, but he hadn’t.

  “I think you’re actually quieter than you used to be, if that’s possible,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance.

  Matt felt the heat rise to his face. He wasn’t one for games; it was something he hated.

  “Susan,” he began slowly, “the last time we talked, it was you telling me that you had eloped with someone else while engaged to me.” He turned to look at her now. “I’m finding it a little strange sitting here, watching your daughter playing with the cat not ten feet away. We can’t have these silly conversations as if nothing happened, not after so long. Believe me, I’m over anything we had, and I would’ve thought you’d be too. So why are you here? What is this about?”

  She looked down and, in a small voice, said, “Matt, I know I hurt you. I never stopped thinking about you, not for a moment. I know it’s hard to believe now.”

  Matt scoffed and chuckled. Now that was unbelievable. How does one think about another while running off with someone else?

  “I was just so young, and I wasn�
��t sure of…pretty much anything then,” she practically whispered.

  So it wasn’t about marriage; it was about being married to him. Matt thought back to how he had been ready to give up everything for her. Even knowing that his heart lay elsewhere, he had been prepared to stay here so she could stay close to family-so they could have a family. Then that night…the night the floor fell out from under him. The memory didn’t sting as it had once, but it was still clear.

  “When I ran into your mother a few months ago, I’ll admit she didn’t exactly jump for joy, but then we got to talking…” She paused. “Mostly about you.” She paused again. “Then when your father passed away, she told me you were thinking of coming back. I knew how hard it was for you with your father…” She turned to him, eyes teary. “I was thinking maybe we might be able to…” She didn’t finish. Instead, she buried her head against his shoulder and began to cry. It was odd to be so close to her again. She still used the same shampoo, and the softness of her shoulder was so familiar. She had been married, become a mother, gotten divorced, and, yet she remained childlike in so many ways. It had been a while since he thought about Susan this way—talking with her, sitting with her—but for a long time it was the only thing he had thought about. That was a long time ago. The memory seemed to belong to someone else and existed in another life. She hiccupped as she sobbed, shaking against him and occasionally looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He let her cry and put his arm around her but said nothing. He breathed in and tasted air acrid from dirt and manure as the golden light of afternoon faded, carrying Ann’s laughter off in the dry breeze. Dusk settled over the cornfields.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A week, at most, that’s what he’d said. Maybe a little more than a week, but he didn’t expect that. And she had been willing to wait, but it was eight days now, and Bri hadn’t heard from Matt. She went to call him half a dozen times and stopped, not wanting to pressure him, but she was feeling a little nervous. Just after he left, knowing that she had finally found someone willing to come out here, and her mind liberated from worry, she was thinking in straight lines again. But a week had come, and now gone. What if he had changed his mind? Would he be like all the others and not even call to tell her? She didn’t really know him, but that struck her as completely unlike him.