by Wendy Tyson
“How did you hear about the dinner?”
“Your Aunt Sarah.”
“I thought you…had other things going on.”
“You mean my new grandchild?” Probably seeing the look of discomfort on Megan’s face, Charlotte said, “It’s okay, Megan. We obviously have a lot to share and talk about. The child belongs to my late husband’s daughter, Kelly. I never had any kids after you.”
“But all the pictures at Aunt Sarah’s?”
“David’s three kids and their families. He and I married about fourteen years ago. He was divorced, but his wife was an addict and not very responsible. I guess I finally settled into some semblance of motherhood.” She looked down at the goat and her face darkened. “David died four years ago. His kids’ mother, a year before that. I’m all they have now.”
Megan let that sink in. “Sarah never told me.”
Charlotte smiled. “You know your aunt. She will not divulge anything she deems not to be her business. Half the time she won’t even divulge the things that are hers to tell.”
Megan had certainly experienced that. Because she needed something to do with her nervous hands, she sat by Heidi and lifted a reluctant cat onto her lap. “Sarah said she wouldn’t tell you about tonight.”
“Case in point. Isn’t that what you lawyers say?”
They both laughed.
“Actually,” Charlotte said, “I saw a flier for the dinner at the café yesterday. I was in town to see Sarah and take care of some business. I asked her about it, and she said you had mentioned it but that I shouldn’t go because of Kelly.” Charlotte shrugged. “I did what I normally do with Sarah. I thanked her and did what I wanted.”
Megan smiled. It sounded like how she handled Sarah. Apparently they shared the stubbornness gene.
“I’m glad you came.”
Charlotte swallowed hard, then nodded. She stood abruptly. “I should really go. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”
“You haven’t seen the pizza restaurant. Would you like to take a quick walk through?”
“Would you mind?”
Megan smiled. “Of course not.”
They secured the gate to the goats’ pen and walked back across the yard to the public barn entrance. Megan unlocked the doors, flipped on the lights, and motioned for her mother to come inside. The air was still scented by roasting garlic and tomatoes and tinged with the pleasant smell of wood smoke.
Charlotte took a deep breath. “Oh, Megan, it’s lovely.” She turned toward Megan and smiled. “I’m sorry I missed the dinner.”
Megan didn’t say anything. She watched as this woman who’d given birth to her, who walked out of her life without so much as a backwards glance, strolled around the room. She touched the delicate flower petals still in the Mason jars Megan had left on the tables. She looked inside the big stone wood-fired oven. She even glanced in the small kitchen off the rear of the room.
“A law degree. A farm. A café. And now this? Quite an accomplished woman.” Charlotte paused by the paintings on the far wall. “Are these by that artist who died?”
“Yes. Thana Moore.”
Charlotte didn’t say anything for a moment. One slender hand reached out to the portrait and traced the edge of the cheekbone. “It’s you.”
Megan didn’t respond. Her mind had wandered once again to Thana’s murder, to Alvaro’s anger and Maria’s incarceration.
Charlotte spun around. “This is the artist from New Beginnings Ministry. Are you familiar?”
“I think Sarah mentioned it. Thana had done a mural for the mission?”
“Yes, that’s right. I know the pastor, Elizabeth Yee. She and I grew up in Winsome together. I ran into her again later in New York, in the art world of all things. I was an editor for Art magazine, and Elizabeth was the subject of one of our pieces about art rescuing kids.”
Elizabeth Yee. Sarah had mentioned her. “They must be heartbroken at the mission over what happened to Thana.”
“I imagine they are. I haven’t seen Elizabeth in years. I get the ministry’s newsletter. That’s how I know about the mural.” She turned back to look at the portrait. “It’s a swirl of faces and buildings and green pastures. Meant to be Winsome, I think. Or a collage of Winsome impressions. Quite something. You should go see it.”
“Do you still have that newsletter?”
“I don’t think so. It would have been a year ago, or longer.” Charlotte pulled herself away from the paintings and returned to the front door. She shifted her small red bag so that it was held in front of her, like a shield. “Why?”
“Just curious. A friend’s wife is being accused of the murder. No one who knows her thinks she’s capable.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up. “Isn’t that always the case with murder?”
“Often, yes.” Like desertion, Megan thought. And then pushed the uncharitable notion away. “Oh, well. I was looking for some introduction to Yee.”
“How about if I introduce the two of you by email? Then you can go over and talk to Elizabeth. She probably knew Thana fairly well.”
Megan thanked her. She could go on her own, but Yee might be more willing to chat candidly if she knew they shared a connection.
They left the barn in silence. Megan felt awkward, unsure what to say next. Suggest a dinner? Ask to meet the baby? Say good-bye and hope for the best? She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to happen.
At the parking area, only one car remained—a small, older model BMW. Charlotte glanced at the car, smiled, and then reached out, as though to give Megan a hug. Out of nowhere, a white furry creature ran between them. Gunther. He stood in front of Charlotte, his posture a warning.
“It’s okay, boy,” Megan said. “Down.”
The dog dropped to the ground. His tail wagged, but his eyes remained on the stranger.
Megan said, “Charlotte, meet Gunther.” She glanced around. “I wonder who let him out.”
She didn’t have to wonder long. A few seconds later, her father’s form came ambling up the sidewalk. “Your grandmother was worried about you, Megan, and—” He stopped mid-sentence. “Charlotte?”
Eddie Birch said the name with such sadness, that Megan felt tears for her father well up in her eyes.
Charlotte said softly, “Eddie.”
Megan backed away. All at once, she saw Charlotte’s departure as something more than just her own heartbreaking legacy, the albatross she would forever wear. She saw a young man not much older than Clay left with a future alone, confused, anguished, and forced to parent despite being not much more than a child himself.
Slowly, her anger toward her mother started to roil and burn, pressing against her insides like a noxious substance. “You’d better go,” she said to Charlotte.
Charlotte nodded. “Eddie,” she whispered again before disappearing into her car. Then more urgently, “Eddie?”
But Eddie was rooted to his spot.
Silently they watched Charlotte drive off until she was a speck in the distant night, father and daughter each lost in their own thoughts.
Eighteen
True to her word, Charlotte had sent an introductory email to Elizabeth Yee later that night. Megan awoke Sunday morning feeling groggy and determined, still nursing an emotional hangover from the night before. When she saw the email, she pushed her own sentiment out of her head and replied by asking Yee if she could stop by to talk with her about the ministry and Thana. Yee suggested she come by that morning, after their nine o’clock service. The small congregation would be sharing baked goods and coffee and planning for the week. They could sneak away for a few minutes.
Megan had wanted to track down Elliot, but she decided to head to New Beginnings first. She was curious about the mural, and even more curious to get a glimpse of who Thana had become through someone else’s eyes.
After showering and donning a brown pencil skirt, wedge sandals, and a favorite patterned vintage blouse, Megan ran down the steps and into the kitchen. She didn’t want to talk about the exchange between her mother and her father, if one could call it an exchange, and she preferred to leave the house unnoticed.
No such luck.
Bibi sat at the kitchen table reading a newspaper and munching on scones. She was wearing her pink Sunday-church suit, but had slippers on her feet. She frowned when she saw Megan.
“What happened last night? Your father came in and stormed upstairs.”
Megan grabbed her purse off the table. As casually as she could manage, she said, “Charlotte was here.”
Bibi was about to take another bite of a scone. She lowered it, mouth opened and eyes wide. “Charlotte as in Charlotte?”
“Yes. Charlotte.”
“Why in heaven’s name was she here?”
Megan took a deep breath. She called on the good lord to give her strength for this conversation. “Because I invited her.”
Bibi’s put the paper down on the table. “You invited her here? Why would you do that, Megan?”
“Because she’s my mother.” Megan felt herself getting defensive. She placed her purse back down on the table and took a second to get her feelings under control. It dawned on her that none of this would make sense to Bibi. She didn’t know about the hospital or the letter or the nights Megan laid awake, wondering what to do about Charlotte and how to do it. “And because I needed to.”
Bibi was about to say something else, and Megan raised a hand to stop her. “Clearly there’s a lot I haven’t told you that I should have, but I’ve been turning things over in my mind, trying to decide what matters and what doesn’t. Right now I have somewhere I need to be, but we can talk later. Maybe over dinner tonight?”
Again Bibi looked ready to protest. Instead she nodded, although worry was evident on her face.
“Thank you,” Megan said. She left, feeling like the world’s worst granddaughter.
New Beginnings Mission Church was less traditional church and more storefront. It inhabited the north corner of an older one-story strip mall on the outer edge of Winsome. Next to it was a bakery that advertised organic bread and vegan muffins, and next to the bakery was a camera shop. The parking lot contained about a dozen cars of various makes and models. As Megan pulled beside an older model minivan, she saw Thana’s mural. It was hard to miss.
Megan climbed out of the truck and walked to the side of the building, where Thana’s mural had been painted over a flat brick wall. It was, indeed, a Winsome collage. She could make out historic Canal Street, the walking trail, Merry’s stately foursquare, and what looked like the Washington Acres barn and the shadow of the old Marshall property. She saw Potter Hill and the state park. In the almost dizzying swirl of colors, she also identified faces. Young. Black. White. Some bruised and worn, others with the hopeful glaze of youth.
When standing farther back, the mural had a dream-like quality, the kind of crazy, mixed-up images one might see while trying to awaken from a deep slumber or an anesthesia-induced fugue state. But up close, Megan saw the workmanship that went into every tiny element, every face and building. Thana had talent. She used color in unexpected ways and made her own impression on her subjects. If art was supposed to make a person feel, then this was art. Megan felt shaken. Aware of her town in a way she’d never been before.
“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Megan turned to see a man standing behind her. He was tall and slender, about her age, and wore jeans and a neatly pressed button-down shirt. Above a trimmed sandy beard was an aquiline nose and a set of intelligent, kind eyes. His head was completely shaved. He held out his hand. “I’m Joseph. Joseph Muller. I work with Elizabeth.”
Megan shook his hand and introduced herself. “Elizabeth is expecting me.” She turned back toward the painting. “Thana did this? It’s…awe inspiring.”
“Yes. And what’s even more amazing is that she did it gratis. Wouldn’t take a cent.” He walked toward the front of the building and Megan followed. “Come on in. You’re just in time for fellowship.”
They entered directly into a large reception area. Folding tables stood against two walls and folding chairs had been sprinkled around the room. Each table was covered by a white table cloth and an assortment of breads, cheeses, and baked goods had been displayed on one table. A coffee urn, pitchers of juice, and small paper cups were offered on the other. The paneled walls were bare except for a cross, a Biblical painting, and a poster depicting a teenager panhandling on a street, head in his hands, which read, “Do you need help?” above a phone number.
About thirty people were in the room. Some were standing or sitting alone, eating. Others talked in pairs or small groups. Joseph touched Megan’s elbow and nodded toward the back of the room where a sturdy Asian woman in her fifties was talking to a teenage girl. Joseph waved and the woman finished up her conversation before joining them.
“Megan.” Elizabeth greeted her with a firm handshake and a warm smile. “It’s so nice to meet you. Why don’t you come into my office for a few minutes? Joseph, can you hold down the fort?”
“Sure.” Joseph clapped his hands, looking eager to be the man in charge.
Megan followed Yee through the reception area, into a small worship room that held little more than a few rows of wooden benches and a podium, and into a back room. Yee flipped on a light and Megan found herself in a simply furnished office space. A large metal desk sat to one side, and three padded armchairs faced it. Bookshelves lined the walls, and Megan made out everything from Bibles, to self-help and pop psychology titles, to Aunt Sarah’s mysteries.
Yee must have caught Megan looking at the fiction, because she said, “I’m a huge fan of Sarah Estelle’s.” She pulled an armchair out into the center of the room for Megan, then positioned another across from it. When they were both settled, she said, “We get runaways sometimes. They call the hotline. I try to make the office as casual and welcoming as I can. So many of these kids are easily spooked.”
Megan understood. “Is that what persuaded Thana to do the mural? A desire to help with your ministry?”
Elizabeth stood. She walked to her desk, opened a drawer, and donned a pair of fashionable red glasses. Then she picked up a scheduling book from on top of her blotter.
Sitting back down, she said, “Thana actually approached us. Or, more specifically, approached Joseph. She wanted to give back to the community and thought she could do it by creating a mural, something lasting that would capture the area and what we’re doing here. We own the building and so I thought, why not? If it helps bring attention to our cause, then it could be a good thing.”
“And what is the cause? I’d love to better understand the mission of New Beginnings.”
“We’re a church. We have a small but loyal and passionate congregation. We cater to the disenfranchised—families unable to make ends meet, people who have felt the sting of social or racial injustice, runaways and teens who are burdened by drugs or mental illness.” She smiled. “Everyone is welcome. Many churches say it, we mean it.”
“That’s a lofty goal—welcoming everyone. Isn’t it sometimes difficult to remain true to those tenants?”
Yee nodded. “Of course. If it were easy, everyone would do it. But we’re small so our needs are also small. I have faith, and so far God has provided.”
“Did Thana’s mural help?”
“It didn’t hurt.”
“But it didn’t get you quite the attention you were hoping for?”
Yee took her time closing her appointment book. “Thana wanted us to call the media, make a show of the mural. She wanted, I think, attention for her charitable act.”
“But attention like that would spook the very population you’re trying to help,” Megan said. “And so you didn’t pursue it.”<
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“You are Charlotte’s child.” As soon as she said it, Yee’s face flushed. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
So she knows, Megan thought. Megan didn’t want to go down that path. She didn’t want to think about Charlotte. “Thana, Elizabeth.”
“Yes, of course. You’re correct. Thana wanted attention, but many of our flock are terrified of the limelight. They want to find peace, find God. They don’t want fanfare, no matter how well intentioned.”
“Thana went quietly?”
Yee seemed to consider the question. “Thana was a complex young woman. She had skill with the paintbrush, no doubt about that. But she was a chameleon, trying on personalities like other women try on clothes. When she first approached Joseph she was all smiles and good intentions. After the mural was finished, we saw a different side.”
Megan thought about what Bobby King had told her—how Thana turned on Maria at the Center when Maria didn’t give her more floor space. “Do you think Thana had mental health issues?”
“No, that wasn’t it. I said chameleon, but maybe that’s the wrong descriptor. She was like Jekyll and Hyde. When she wanted something, she was sweet as Georgia pecan pie. But I sensed that was a façade. Underneath there was something else festering. An insecurity, a need not met.” Yee shook her head. “The woman did us a favor, and here she’s been gone only a few days, and I’m talking about her this way. Now tell me, Megan, why do you want to know all this about Thana?”
Megan debated on what to tell her. “A friend’s wife has been accused of Thana’s murder. I’m trying to understand if it’s possible…if something could have triggered this murder. I knew Thana once, long ago. It seems she changed.”
Elizabeth stood, the conversation over. “Or perhaps she grew into who she’d been all along.” Yee held open the door. “I work with teens and young adults all the time. I’ve learned to love them unconditionally, but love does not demand gullibility. Many of those who need help the most are con artists. They’ve had to con to survive; it’s become second nature.”