What's Left Unsaid

by Emily Bleeker

  “Then why do you want to leave that?” Guy asked, grazing her shoulder and elbow with his touch. If she was going to tell the truth, she had to tell Guy everything, and that meant telling him the real reason she didn’t pick up her phone three weeks ago when he needed her most.

  “I met up with Alex that night. My ex,” she whispered, ashamed. “He was the reason I went to Memphis and everything happened. He was there.”

  “Oh,” Guy said, his face falling and jaw going taut when she checked his expression. She hated hurting this man. But he needed to know. “So, you’re back together now? That’s why you’re leaving?”

  “No,” she said, correcting him quickly, hurting a little less every time she owned that it was over with Alex. “But with everything that happened with you and Mamaw as a result, I nearly ended up back in that scary place emotionally, and that’s not good. I need to get stable again. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet for once.”

  Hannah had always been independent in spirit, but she was coming to see that her bold nature didn’t translate to not being dependent. Until she found her worth inside herself, instead of from outside sources, she’d be susceptible to the slings and arrows of life. And discovering that would take time and work and sacrifice.

  “You think you need to be in Chicago to do that?” Guy asked, his passionate plea diminishing rapidly.

  “Yeah, I think maybe I do. At least for a little bit,” she said, nodding. “I tried running away from it, and you see how that turned out.” She couldn’t muster a laugh, but at least Guy was a good sport and faked one for her.

  “I get that,” Guy said, with a touch of admiration in the tilt of his chin and compassion in his gaze. Which didn’t surprise Hannah; he was the one who taught her about staying and fixing, rather than running away. “You’ll keep in touch?” he asked, hopeful.

  “Absolutely,” Hannah agreed, hating every word out of her mouth but knowing they were the right things to say. “Tell Rosie bye too. I’ll make sure to take her to lunch when I’m back in a few weeks.”

  “She will love that,” he replied, and Hannah took a step backward, broadcasting her intention to leave, knowing every minute she stayed made it harder to walk away. “Hey, don’t go yet,” he said, giving himself one final dusting. Hannah waited under the heat lamp, a faint buzz humming in the background.

  “A goodbye isn’t complete without a hug.” He put out his arms.

  She leaned into his offered embrace, resting her head on his chest, right where his heart was. His arms completely encompassed Hannah, and she melted into the smell of sawdust, deodorant, and sweat, feeling safe, wanting to never be away from the security she felt there, even though she knew it was impossible.

  When he kissed the top of her head, Hannah shifted so that she could see Guy for one last time. Their faces inches apart, Hannah licked her lips, her breath quickening. Guy watched her and then leaned down, touching his lips to hers. She tilted her chin to the side, raising onto her tiptoes to press her mouth more firmly against his, running a hand up the back of his neck. He responded to her willingness, grasping at her waist, clutching the fabric of her shirt in his fingers and deepening their hold, his tongue grazing her bottom lip, sending a shiver of longing through Hannah’s body.

  “Hannah!” Pam shouted from the end of the driveway, barely audible over the whoosh in Hannah’s ears. She grudgingly pulled away.

  “Is that what the kids are calling a ‘hug’ these days?” she asked, smirking with her tingling lips, wanting more.

  Guy rested his hands on her hips with an impish smirk of his own, holding her body against his like he didn’t want to let her leave. “I wasn’t exactly planning for that to happen, but I’m glad it did.”

  “Me too,” she said, craving another kiss, about to hitch up on her tiptoes to retrieve it, when she heard her name for the second time. “I have to go,” she said, and moved away from Guy’s reach, removing herself from further temptation—not only the temptation to make out like teenagers but the temptation to stay in Senatobia for him. But temptation only looked like happiness, and so far succumbing to that draw had brought disaster, whereas resisting had brought strength. Staying and numbing herself with a new love interest would only fix her problems for so long. Grief was patient, and until she truly mourned her losses, it would sneak in and sabotage any happiness she attempted to build for herself. If her future was with Guy and in this town, she’d find the right way back. The healthy way back.

  “Yeah, you’d better.” He wanted more too; she could see it.

  She took another step away, knowing she was running out of self-control. She kept backing away, her resolve firming with each step.

  “Goodbye, Hannah. It was lovely getting to know you.”

  “Goodbye,” she said, running down the driveway and jumping into the car at the bottom of the hill, slamming the door behind her so she didn’t have a chance to change her mind.

  CHAPTER 36

  Mamaw’s new hospital room was less scary than the ICU. Fewer machines beeped in her private room, and fewer numbers were illuminated on little monitors. Plus, Mamaw was awake now, which was far less frightening than when she’d been lying in bed practically lifeless with bandages encompassing her head.

  In the past week she’d made so much progress, sitting up in her bed now, wearing her own nightgown (she’d insisted) and a fresh coat of nail polish (one of the ladies from the salon volunteered to make a house call). Now that the arrangements were made with Sunrise, Mamaw’s discharge date had been moved up to the following day, and she was talking excitedly with her nurse about how Mr. Davenport was planning to visit in a few hours for dinner.

  When Hannah and Pam entered the room, the nurse excused herself and Mamaw grinned, half her right eyebrow hidden by a band of gauze but the rest of her face as beautiful as ever.

  Hannah had started every visit since Mamaw awoke the same way, and today followed the same pattern: “I’m so sorry.”

  And today, like all the visits before this one, Mamaw scolded, “Oh, hush now.”

  Hannah rushed across the room, and Mamaw’s eyes lit up as Hannah leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. It would take a long time for Hannah to “hush” about not being there for Mamaw, but that was as far as Mamaw had allowed the conversation to go, and Hannah was working with Laura on moving forward with action more regularly rather than always looking behind with regret.

  “Y’all packed?” Mamaw asked once Hannah was settled by the side of the bed, their fingers intertwined. As much as she used to long for home, it was difficult for Hannah to think about leaving Senatobia right now with so many things unsettled. But with Mamaw moving to Sunrise, and with her house rented and Hannah’s job gone, there was no reason for her to stay.

  “Almost. The renters will be moving in at the end of the week, and then we will be out of here,” Pam interjected from the end of the bed. “If you two don’t mind, I’m going to head back and do a few chores. Hannah, text me if you need a ride, okay?”

  Pam was clearly glad her mother-in-law was returning to health, and Hannah was almost certain she didn’t begrudge the time and effort spent on the transition into a nursing home. She was not a sentimental woman, and sitting around chatting seemed less important than finishing all the items on her to-do list, which Hannah was starting to think was her mother’s way of saying I love you.

  “Thanks, Ma,” Hannah said. Pam kissed Hannah and waved to Mamaw before heading out. North Oak Regional Medical Center was only a little over a mile away from Mamaw’s house, an easy walk that Hannah was used to making, finding the chill in the air invigorating and reminiscent of home. Once the door shut behind Pam, Hannah let out a sigh of relief. Things were better with her mom, but their personalities would never fully mesh. Pam had been giving her more space, and that felt like a good sign that they’d succeed at temporarily living together back in Oak Park.

  Mamaw gave Hannah’s hand a squeeze.

  “How you doin’, Han
nah girl?” She sounded strong but looked tired despite her efforts to keep up with her self-care routine. Typical Mamaw—in the hospital after being in a freaking coma and her first instinct was to care about someone else. Hannah used to deify her grandmother’s patience and self-sacrifice, but lately she was starting to wonder if it was both a blessing and a curse.

  “Mamaw, you gotta stop worrying about me. I’m here to take care of you, like I should’ve been before.”

  “Sweetheart, I can care about you and you can care about me. That’s what family is all about. I used to pray that God would take me after I lost Sammy. Patrick had Pam and you kids, and I was tired of watching all the people I loved leave. But darling, I’m so delighted I had the chance to come to know you. You and Brody and my great-grandchildren are the only family I have left.”

  In general, Hannah was tired of crying. But the tears brought on by Mamaw’s unconditional love were welcome, cleansing tears. It didn’t take going to the right school or getting good grades or having an important job or following the juiciest lead to be enough in Mable Williamson’s eyes. Just being was enough, and that was the ultimate soft place, where falling wasn’t crashing but diving into a waiting embrace.

  “I love you, Mamaw,” Hannah said, so grateful that she could say that to her grandmother while holding her hand after being faced with the potential of her being gone forever.

  “I love you too, Hannah girl.” Mamaw kissed the back of Hannah’s hand, and then held it to her chest, where Hannah could feel her heartbeat. Hannah’s phone started to buzz in her back pocket. Probably her mom, but when three more texts came in rapid succession, she excused herself to take a peek, not willing to ignore her phone for too long anymore.

  “Oh, it’s Guy.” The screen was filled with several messages in a row, surprising Hannah. He had been so quiet lately. But then again, her visit and that kiss . . .

  “Well, what did he say?” Mamaw asked, like an impatient schoolgirl. Hannah blushed, remembering her grandmother’s racially charged comments about the potential of a romantic relationship with Guy. If Hannah and Guy ended up together one day, which was a huge if, Mamaw would have to face those long-standing prejudices that held her hostage. But Hannah didn’t want to fight with Mamaw while she was lying in a hospital bed.

  “Oh, nothing.” Hannah put the phone screen down on the bed and took Mamaw’s hand again.

  “That smile wasn’t for nothing. Don’t be shy, darlin’. I can tell you are sweet on him.”

  “I’m not ‘sweet’ on anybody. I will check later. I’m here to focus on you.” The phone buzzed again and Mamaw sighed heavily.

  “You’re avoidin’ your young man because of me.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. I know you think I’m old-fashioned, and sometimes I say things that come out wrong. I have nothing against Guy, and I thought it best to explain my comments the other day, but then . . .” Mamaw steered clear of mentioning the accident when referencing Hannah’s heated response at breakfast the day before everything went to hell.

  Hannah took the pause as an opportunity to speak up. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about such things.”

  Mamaw wasn’t having it. “I’m an old woman, Hannah. Now is the only time I have to talk about such things.”

  The monitors in the room seemed to blink their agreement, evidence of how fragile Mamaw’s promise truly was. Hannah nodded and vowed to let her grandmother tell her what had been on her mind, hoping it wouldn’t spark conflict again.

  “When I was your age, if a black man and a white woman took up together, it wasn’t safe for either of them. When your daddy was little, there was a married woman in town whose husband claimed he’d found her with a black man from the wrong side of the tracks. He tried to take away her children when she divorced him for beating her. I saw the consequences of that accusation with my own eyes, hanging in the field next to the courthouse and burning in a yard down the street from your papaw and me. It made me sick. I wish I could say that was the first time in my life I’d seen the same situation, but it wasn’t.”

  Hannah’s stomach rolled as she tried to imagine what she would’ve done if she’d witnessed such injustices. She’d like to think that she would’ve called out the wrongdoers and joined anyone who wanted things to change, but it was easy to think that from the safety of hindsight. Maybe she would’ve been just as silent and privileged as so many others. Hannah shuddered at the thought as Mamaw continued.

  “I think what I’m intending to say is—when you’re taught something is dangerous for so long, it’s hard to unthink it. You know? But I’ve been considering something. I don’t believe in the bogeyman anymore, and I don’t check under my bed for monsters, so I don’t know why at ninety-one the idea of a black man and a white woman should frighten me so very much. I know your young man is a good person, a kindly father, and a steady provider. You’d be blessed to have such a man care about you.”

  Hannah patted her grandmother’s arm, not sure of the exact thing to say, but she was touched by her grandmother’s self-reflection. It was hard enough to change anything about herself as a thirty-something with only a third as much life under her belt. Some people avoided change because they said that you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks, but from what she could see with Mamaw, she was trying to teach herself new ideas.

  “Thank you for sharing that story. I really don’t have all the right answers.” Hannah shrugged and bit her lip, finding her most honest words. “But I do know that I respect the hell out of you for being willing to try a new perspective. Also,” she added, playfully rolling her eyes, “he’s not my young man.”

  “Not yet, he isn’t. But you both have eyes for each other, and I’m sure he’s sending you sweet nothings in those texting messages.”

  The memory of his lips on hers flashed through her mind. And the memory of his arms releasing from her waist so reluctantly.

  “Fine!” she said, blushing. “I’ll check. Gosh, you’re persistent sometimes, you know that?”

  “I call it helpful,” Mamaw said, waiting patiently as Hannah checked her messages.

  Sure enough, they were all from Guy.

  Guy Franklin: I know you’re busy but—I just read through that file you gave me. Do you know what’s in here? It’s here! Her last letter. I’m sending it to you. You will NOT believe this. Oh, Hannah. There is more. So much more.

  “Nothing romantic, just some stuff about work,” Hannah informed her grandmother, feeling a bit disappointed that Mamaw had been wrong about Guy’s motivations and that it was all about Evelyn.

  There were at least ten image files attached in the text message. Hannah sent him a quick reply.

  Hannah: Yeah! I read them last week. How far in are you?

  Guy Franklin: Evelyn shot herself. She was PREGNANT.

  But was it Harry’s baby or Mr. Fred?

  And now I’m looking at the adoption documents.

  Hannah: Did you see it?

  Guy Franklin: What? That Mr. Fred = Fred Dawson? Yeah I saw it.

  Hannah, this is huge!

  Hannah: I know, right?

  Guy Franklin: Well, yeah. Crazy, I know, but . . . what about the other names?

  Hannah: Other names? What do you mean?

  Guy Franklin: I might be losing my mind, but . . . just look at the other signatures and tell me what you think.

  Hannah went back to the signature page she’d been zooming in and out of, checking Fred Dawson’s signature. This time she shifted the virtual page to the right, focusing on the only two unknown names remaining. The first one seemed to be from a woman: Agnes Clarmont, the adoption facilitator. Her name rang absolutely no bells. Hannah swiped the page to the right and zoomed in on the only remaining signature, that of the baby’s adoptive parents.

  Calvin Patton.

  Hannah read it again and again. She tried to think back to the names on the headstones she’d taken note of at the cemetery last month. Patton w
as definitely a family name, but it had to be a coincidence. Right?

  “Mamaw, when I was at the cemetery I thought I saw your daddy’s name was Calvin. Is that right?”

  “Yes, dear. Calvin August Patton. The kindest man I ever did meet. Why do you ask?”

  Hannah read the name again, gathering the courage to ask the next question on her mind.

  “I’m not sure, but bear with me if I ask a crazy question. Do you know if anyone in your family is adopted? Like, a cousin or something like that? I thought I remembered my dad telling a story about someone showing up in the middle of the night with a baby. Was that a true story after all?”

  “We didn’t talk about it much, big family secret and all that, but that story sure was about my daddy.”

  “Oh my God, are you sure?” Hannah asked, dazed and sitting on the edge of her chair. If the monitoring machines had been hooked up to Hannah’s vitals, there would be a crash cart in the room at any minute. She had to find a way past her grandmother’s natural defenses, which would be fairly easily triggered if Hannah prodded for scandalous information, to hear the rest of the story about Calvin Patton and the mystery baby. “I know it’s unpleasant to talk about things from the past, and I hate to ask it of you, but it’s important to know.”

  Mamaw considered it, her reactions slowing like she was getting tired from all the stimulation. Hannah promised herself that she’d accept whatever answer Mamaw gave her, even if she didn’t want to talk about the past. Goodness knows it was taking Hannah long enough to deal with her past traumas; she wouldn’t try to force a frail elderly woman to face hers.