Lead Me Home (27 page)

The ride to Birmingham later that morning was filled with laughter and singing and remembering good times from the past. But when Shiloh pulled up to the mini-mansion that bore the address Lem had punched into the GPS system as Lia’s, they fell silent.

“Wow,” Lem said from the backseat. “I had no idea.”

Shiloh looked at Mama, who sat in the passenger seat, staring at the brick Georgian-style home situated on what must be three acres of land.

“God is good,” Mama said. “His blessings come in all shapes and sizes, but he loves us all the same. This house is beautiful, Lem, but you know as well as your mother and I do the problems and issues this family has faced, despite the material trappings. Don’t go in there feeling insecure because of what they possess or drive; Lia cares about you because you’re you. That hasn’t changed, so don’t you go changing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lem said.

Shiloh found herself grateful that after hearing the details that morning, Mama had invited herself along. “Leslie is going to be there surrounded by her family. You need a prayer warrior with you, to show them that no matter what, someone has your back,” Mama had said. “What time are we leaving?”

And here they were, about to face down Shiloh’s final demon together, and release Lem to love this girl if he loved her, but to also see his mother accept responsibility for her actions.

“Let’s go,” Shiloh said.

Lem stepped out of the van first and opened the door for his grandmother and then for Shiloh. He squeezed Shiloh’s hand before releasing it, but didn’t utter a word. Again, she found herself grateful.

Lia came out to greet them before they made it up the winding, cobblestone sidewalk. “You’re here!”

She trotted down the lane to meet them, and took turns embracing each of them—starting with Mama, then Shiloh, then Lem. Shiloh wasn’t sure what, if anything, Lem had shared with Lia, but she didn’t seem upset or uncomfortable. That made Shiloh uncomfortable, wondering if now she’d be breaking news to this sweet girl that would shake her confidence in Lem. She stole a quick glance at Lem, and he gave her a thumbs-up. Shiloh didn’t know exactly what that meant, but she knew she had to stay on mission, no matter what.

Lia led them inside, and the foursome paused in a breathtaking foyer that featured a twelve-foot ceiling and a gorgeous chandelier. This time she wanted to utter, “Wow,” as Lem had upon their arrival, but she held it in.

A gray-haired man with long white sideburns appeared from a doorway off to the side and approached Mama and Shiloh with his hand extended. He was wearing a collared shirt and slacks with suspenders, and looked as if he were ready for a day at the office, although Lem had informed Shiloh that both of Lia’s grandparents were retired.

“William Hamilton,” he said and shook the ladies’ hands first. “Welcome. So nice to see you.” He turned toward Lem and shook his hand, too. “Young man—nice to see you again.”

A few seconds later, his wife joined them. “Well, hello and welcome!” She was petite and stout, and also silver-haired, though it was in a stylish bun. She hugged the ladies and Lem. “I’m Marian Hamilton. Lia, William, why do you have these folks standing in here? You all come on in and make yourselves at home. Follow me.”

She led them to an expansive sitting room that housed two sofas, a baby grand piano, and floor-to-ceiling windows.

“You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Hamilton,” Shiloh said, accepting that they must not recognize or remember her from their visits to Leslie at Birmingham-Southern. She didn’t know whether to remind them now, or just let it be. After a few minutes, she decided the latter choice would be the wisest course, for the time being. “Thank you for allowing us to visit today, so the kids could spend some time together.”

Marian showed them to their seats and offered them iced tea. “I’m glad we could get them together,” Marian said as she poured the beverages. “Thank you for offering to bring Lem; that gives us more time to spend with our daughter, Leslie, before she has to leave.”

Shiloh looked at them again to see if there was any hint of recognition, and Marian smiled at her. “Yes, dear, I remember you from Birmingham-Southern,” she said and sat across from Shiloh. “Your name is so pretty and unusual—how could I forget you, or that pretty face? After all that happened that summer … with Leslie and all … we just lost track of everything and everyone.”

Her candor surprised Shiloh. There was no guilt or shame in her voice, just an acceptance of reality. Shiloh wondered how long it had taken her to get there. Before she could reflect on it further, a tall, thin, copper-brown woman with high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and hair that flowed past her shoulders strolled into the room, her hands tucked casually in her pockets. She looked photo-shoot ready in her fitted jeans, white collared shirt, and cowboy boots.

Shiloh’s thoughts and words left her. Looking at Leslie took her back to the last time she’d seen her at Birmingham-Southern, sitting on her bed in their dorm room, defeated, distraught, and hopeless about her future. This woman was beautiful, but she looked older than her thirty-eight years, and her eyes held a sadness that looked
unshakable. Shiloh flung herself back into the pit of shame that Mama warned her would resurface.

Shiloh hadn’t expected it to happen so swiftly; then again, there should have been no expectations at all. She didn’t know what Leslie would say or do, or how she would respond to Shiloh being in her home or her presence, after all these years. She just didn’t know.

Everyone seemed to be waiting with bated breath to see what would happen next. Leslie finally sliced the roomful of tension with her quirky humor. “Why so somber? So silent? Ya’ll act like I’m going to pull out a machete or something.”

No one laughed.

“Okay, a water gun?”

Marian sighed, and Lem and Lia looked away. Marian said, “Leslie—let’s not behave this way.”

“Mother, can’t you take a joke? I didn’t mean anything by it.” She pulled her hands from her pocket and sat on the sofa near her mother, staring at Shiloh.

“So your son and my daughter just happen to meet at camp and just happen to fall in love,” Leslie said and barked a laugh. “First, you stole my life, now your son wants to steal my daughter’s heart. You Wilsons gotta be watched. Lia, keep an eye on him!”

Marian frowned and pursed her lips, but she didn’t try to stop her daughter. Lia peered at her clasped hands in her lap. Shiloh remembered two things as she tried to remain calm: Leslie was still in rehab, only home for the holidays, so she still had a lot to work through, and secondly, she had stolen this woman’s music, and in doing so, killed Leslie’s dreams and hopes for a safe summer right along with it. How had she expected to be greeted?

Leslie seemed curious about Shiloh’s level of calmness.

“Where did life take you, Shiloh Griffin? I’d expected to see your name in lights somewhere by now. Did motherhood slow you down?”

Shiloh ignored the taunt just so she could say what needed to be said first, and most: “I’m sorry, Leslie. For everything.”

Leslie’s eyes grew wide. “Everything?” she whispered in almost childlike wonder, and the depth of her former roommate’s illness filled Shiloh with sadness.

“Everything, Leslie. Stealing the music, taking the fellowship knowing I had cheated, and how it could have saved you. Not coming to your rescue that summer when I saw you on a street corner you should have been nowhere near. I am sorry for being the deceitful, selfish person I was, and taking what should have rightfully been yours. I don’t know if you can, but I’m asking you to forgive me. I’m not that person anymore, but I own that she was me, and what I did was absolutely wrong.”

Leslie bowed her head, and when she looked up, into Shiloh’s eyes, her own were glistening.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to receive that apology? I thought it would never come, and now that it has … it still isn’t enough.”

Shiloh’s heart sank. She didn’t know what else to say, or do.

Mama reached for her hand, while addressing Leslie. “Sweetheart, I don’t know if you remember meeting me or seeing me a few times when we visited Shiloh at Birmingham-Southern,” Mama said. Leslie’s soft shrug was neither a yes nor a no, but Mama continued. “Dear, I’m so sorry for what my daughter did to you. She was wrong—plain and simple, no excuses. And if she didn’t have the strength of character to do the right thing back then, I wished you would have had the courage to turn her in. It would have been a huge embarrassment for her, but it might have saved you, and your need to win that fellowship.”

Mama looked at Marian, and Shiloh knew she was pondering whether Leslie had told her mother about the abuse she declared
her grandfather was inflicting upon her at the time. If Leslie had, Marian seemed unfazed. Leslie looked away, and Shiloh suspected that the secret still thrived. Knowing how freeing it had been to share her past with her husband, and just yesterday with Mama, she realized in large part, that might be what had prevented Leslie’s full recovery all this time—those demons that still haunted her from the abuse, as well as Shiloh’s betrayal. Shiloh wished she could have a private moment with Leslie to share that, but it didn’t look like they’d have the opportunity.

Lia broke the silence that had engulfed the room by clearing her throat and standing. “Um, Lem and I are going to go outside for a walk, if that’s okay,” she said.

Marian nodded. “Don’t go too far, Lia. Stay near the perimeter of the property, where someone can still see you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When they were gone, Marian retrieved the tray of tea from the coffee table. “I’m going to go and refresh our beverages.” She looked at Mama. “Want to join me?”

Mama leapt from the sofa. “Be happy to.”

When the mothers were gone, Shiloh and Leslie stared at one another for the longest time without speaking. Shiloh saw hurt, envy, pain, sadness, anger, and regret in her former friend’s eyes, and it made her want to cry.

“Leslie, I am truly sorry for my part in bringing your life to this point—I can’t tell you how much I regret what I did. I’ve lived with the guilt and shame of it all these years, and I should have found you and told you long before now. I have no excuse. I. Am. So. Very. Sorry.”

Shiloh didn’t think she had any tears left, but the waterfall erupted and she couldn’t control it. She wept into her hands, not for herself but for Leslie. She wanted Leslie to forgive her, not for her own selfish reasons anymore, but so that Leslie herself would be free. She
wanted Leslie to stand in whatever her truths were, and she wanted to help her.

Shiloh knew she had to pull herself together before she could do anything. She dug around in her purse and found a tissue. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and took a long, deep breath. She looked up at Leslie, who had been watching her this whole time, without moving. Her eyes still held contempt and anger.

“I know I can’t turn back time or do anything to restore to you what you fully deserve, Leslie, but I’ll tell you this: You have a beautiful daughter who loves you, and who needs you. You have parents who seem to love you. I sense … have you not told them about the abuse you shared with me?”

Leslie looked away.

“Ah, I see …” Shiloh wanted to reach out and grasp Leslie’s hand, but she knew Leslie wasn’t ready. “I’ve spent the past week spilling my guts, telling my family about the sin I committed against you, and about some other pretty terrible things I did, and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But you know what, Leslie? Telling them freed me. Freed me to forgive myself. And to come here today and apologize, like I should have done all those years ago.

“I need to tell you what I didn’t have the maturity or the knowledge to tell you way back then, but what happened to you wasn’t your fault. You were a young girl, and you didn’t do anything wrong. You have to forgive yourself for being young and vulnerable. Grant yourself some grace. And if you have the courage—no,
when
you gather your strength and courage—you have to speak your truth. I can tell you from experience it will heal your heart, Leslie.”

Leslie looked at Shiloh as if she were confused. “It’s not too late for all of that?”

“Of course not,” Shiloh said. “If you think it’s too late, why are you in rehab? It’s never too late, as long as you have breath in your
body. Every day you awake is another chance to let Lia know you love her, and you’re here for her.”

Leslie sat up straighter, and she looked past Shiloh. Shiloh turned to see what had captured her attention, and caught herself before she gasped. It was a photo of a years-younger Leslie seated next to an older man who resembled her father. Her parents stood behind the two of them, smiling.

“Every time I come here to visit, I have to see that picture, and it makes me sick,” Leslie whispered.

Shiloh turned and faced her again. “It’s not the photo that’s making you sick, Leslie. It’s the secret you’re harboring about the man in the photo. Have you told your therapist, or your counselors at rehab? Until you do, you will never truly be able to heal. You have to take care of Leslie, and those around you will eventually come around.”

“It sounds so easy, but it’s complicated.”

Shiloh nodded, and this time, she did make a move. She left the sofa she sat on and perched on Leslie’s, so she could grasp her hand. “If you want me to tell your parents that part of your story, at least in the context of what happened between us at Birmingham-Southern, I’m willing to do that.”

Shiloh’s heart was beating wildly. She hadn’t come here to get entangled in Leslie’s affairs, but she could see Leslie struggling, and a sliver of a breakthrough on the horizon. She’d be just as guilty as she was last time if she left her hanging on the precipice today, without offering to serve as her safety net. But Leslie shook her head, and looked into Shiloh’s eyes.

“You know, you always were special. You cared more than normal. You gave more than anyone else. You didn’t mind showing and sharing your heart. I think that’s why when you betrayed me like you did, I let it slide. Something in me believed that if you, of all people, had been desperate enough to stoop that low, you must have had a
need greater than mine. That’s why I didn’t report you, Shiloh. And in some sick way, I rationalized that this had happened between us because you were better than me anyway—kinder, smarter, more giving—and I was too weak to tell my grandfather no, and to tell on him. You didn’t drive me to the streets—my own cowardice did, and my desire to forget everything and drown out the pain.”