On Blue Falls Pond (14 page)

“Maybe,” she agreed thoughtfully as she laid the newspaper on the kitchen table. She made herself a cup of tea, but didn’t touch the paper when she sat down at the table.

This would make the tenth straight day that Granny had laid the newspaper down and not picked it back up. It had been going into the trash as neatly folded as when it arrived in the mailbox.

Glory put a hand on her hip and said, “Did you reschedule the eye appointment you missed because of the washout?”

“No need. Doctor wanted to see if there was more bleedin’. There hasn’t been. Things are what the doctor calls ‘status quo’—means nothin’s changed.”

Glory picked up the newspaper. “When I first got here, you were reading the newspaper every morning. I saw it was a strain, even with your magnifying glasses, but you read it. Now you don’t even open it up.”

“Some days my eyes are better’n others, that’s all. Seein’ the doctor won’t change anything.”

“How are you going to make ends meet? I know you can’t quilt, you haven’t sewn a stitch since I got here.”

“I manage. Got my social security. Got what Eric pays me.”

“And how long do you think you’re going to be able to babysit?”

“I told you I won’t sit if I’m not fit. I’ll figure out something else.”

“We need to
plan
, Gran. Ignoring the inevitable won’t keep it from coming!” Glory slapped the newspaper back down on the table and a piece of paper fell out.

Thinking it was an advertisement flyer, Glory grabbed it and tossed it back on the table. As it fluttered to a rest, she saw it wasn’t an ad at all. It was a blown-up photocopy of the article that had been in the newspaper after the fire. There was a large picture of the burned-out shell of her house on Laurel Creek Road, dark smoke rising from the ruin, pumper truck still parked in the foreground.

In large block letters made by a wide black marker were the words “I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.”

Glory went cold. She grabbed at the back of a chair to steady herself.

She heard Granny say, “Even I can read that.” Her hand was on Glory’s arm, guiding her to sit in the chair. “What does it mean?”

Glory shuddered as she thought of the black holes in the fabric of her memory and her recent realization that she’d deceived her husband. What
had
she done . . . and who knew about it?

Chapter Twelve

I
T WAS TOUCH-AND-GO
, but Glory finally convinced Granny the photocopy and message had been nothing more than a teenager’s prank. Probably one of those Simpson children, she’d reasoned, who were always getting their laughs at someone else’s expense.

Then she’d had to defuse the resultant situation when Granny wanted to call Mrs. Simpson and give her a piece of her mind.

“If it was one of my young’uns doin’ such hurtful mischief, I’d want to know,” Granny said angrily.

“Well, Gran, we don’t have any proof it was them. It’s just a summer prank brought on by boredom. Most likely they’re mimicking a movie they’ve seen. They don’t think of how something like this could affect someone.”

“That’s why I need to call—it’s a lesson they need to learn.”

“Let’s just wait and see if it happens again. No sense in making it a bigger deal—that might be what they’re after, a response.”

Granny didn’t look overly convinced as she rinsed the dishes. Glory had to bite her tongue to keep from overarguing and setting off Granny’s lie detector.

After the kitchen was cleaned up, Granny would be taking Scott out for a walk. Glory hurried the process along as much as she dared without tipping her hand. As she cleaned, her gaze kept drifting to the hateful picture on the table. Each time she looked at the words her flesh crawled. She
wanted
it to be a practical joke—but it tripped something inside that said there was substance.

Finally, Granny put lotion on her hands, then went to kneel in front of Scott. “Walk,” she said with a hand under his chin to make him look at her. “Time for our walk.”

As always, Scott tensed when she tried to get him to leave his boat. Glory saw how his jaw tightened and instead of screaming, he started making a peculiar growling deep in his throat—a sound far more disturbing than angry childlike screams.

Glory, anxious for them to be on their way, suggested, “Maybe he’d like it if you took Lady.”

Granny glanced up at her, “You not coming?”

Glory tried to sound nonchalant when she said, “I thought I’d make a few phone calls and clean the puppy box. You two go on.”

Scott put his face down on the blanket and continued the grinding growl.

Granny looked at Glory, “You really think Lady might help?”

“It’s worth a try. He seems to respond more to her than anything I’ve seen.”

Granny called Lady, who came right away—just proving what Glory had already surmised, she was a smart dog, making a quick adjustment to her new name.

“Scottie, Lady’s going with us on our walk.” Granny got to her feet and moved to the door, taking Lady with her. “
Walk
, Scott.”

Scott didn’t move.

Glory knelt beside him. “Come here, Lady.”

Lady pranced over and nosed Scott on the shoulder, as if she’d already figured out what Glory wanted her to do.

Glory took one of Scott’s fists and put it on the dog. She realized it was the first time she’d touched him except in absolute necessity. And she probably wouldn’t have done it if she hadn’t wanted them out of the house so badly.

He raised his head. His eyes held more recognition in them than she’d previously seen.

“There, see,” Glory said softly, afraid speaking too loudly would upset him again. “Lady wants to walk. She wants you to go, too.” She turned to Granny. “Call her, Gran.”

When Lady went to Granny, so did Scott.

Granny grinned. “Well, now. Ain’t you two good friends.”

They left Glory in the kitchen. She watched, wondering if she should have sent Lady on a leash, but the dog never wandered more than a few feet from Granny and Scott as they left the yard.

As soon as they were out of sight, Glory hurried into the garage and started tearing through the trash cans. She threw the contents wildly, snatching the newspapers as she came across them, unfolding them and shaking them violently until she was convinced no hidden messages had been tucked inside. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears and her palms were moist with sweat. She hated this feeling—of the pressure building inside her chest, of the nervous tension choking her. It was just like . . . a memory rushed forward in her mind, sucking air from her lungs:

Andrew slammed on the brakes after he pulled into the driveway much too fast, throwing Glory forward in the seat, making the shoulder harness jerk tight. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left the party. The porch light showed his lips were pinched tight and his face nearly purple with rage.

“I don’t understand what you’re so upset about,” she said.

“Really?” It didn’t sound like a question.

“Yes, really! Everything went great. Your dad was surprised. Your mom was happy. All of the guests showed up on time. The food was wonderful. Nobody got sloppy drunk. Your toast was charming and funny. What more could you have wanted?”

He’d acted perfectly fine all evening, until they’d walked out the door of the restaurant where they’d held her father-in-law’s birthday party. Then the tension descended, and Glory realized she’d been bracing herself for this all evening.

“Maybe I don’t like to see my wife flirting with every swinging dick in the room. Good God, Glory, it was embarrassing. You made me look like a fool.”

“I wasn’t flirting, I was hosting. I mingled and made sure everyone had what they needed so your mother could enjoy the party.” Glory had even been cautiously aware of how long she spent with each guest—each male guest. Experience had been a good teacher.

“Don’t try to make it sound noble, ‘so Mother could enjoy the party.’ Do I look stupid?”

She didn’t answer, but put her hand on the lever to open the door.

He erupted. “DO I? Do you think just because you were in a crowded room you could act that way and I wouldn’t notice?”

“Shout all you want, I’m not going to discuss this any-more.” She got quickly out of the car and went into the house, holding herself back when she felt like running. Running would only convince him she had something to hide.

Glory shivered as she remembered how she’d locked herself in the spare bedroom. She’d spent the night there, wondering just how long she was going to put up with this. It hadn’t been an isolated incident.

The next morning when she’d gotten got up, her cash and credit cards had been removed from her wallet and her car keys were missing—including the spare set.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. It was as if a brilliant light had been shone into the shadows of her past. Granny had been right. She had been looking at her life with blinders on. She’d spent so much time over the past year and a half focusing on what she had lost, she had refused to see anything but the good. She’d been looking on the other side of the fence that separated her life before and after the fire and blocked out the ugly weeds growing in the green grass.

She waited with her eyes closed . . . sat immobile and barely breathing on the dirty garage floor with trash strewn around her, waiting for more memories to come. Snips and snatches of arguments popped up. Then the reality of her marriage unfolded like a bud opening into flower in the sunlight: Andrew calling home several times a day to “see how things were going.” The fact that he didn’t want her to drive out to the hollow alone, insisting she wait for him to go too—but never making himself available. His determination that she not work; it was his job to take care of her. The firing of the painting crew she’d hired when he’d come home and discovered they were all college boys who worked with their shirts off—Andrew had claimed it was because of their lack of experience and unprofessional appearance. That had been the last work crew Glory had been permitted to hire.

What she’d viewed as attentive and solicitous behavior in the beginning had soured and become something darker. He had been isolating her. Andrew had become more and more controlling, more and more paranoid, more and more jealous.

Andrew hadn’t wanted the baby.

She had been more than unhappy. She’d been increasingly afraid.

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID

Now that these memories were free, Glory tried to see into the night of the fire. Still there was nothing. She had to ask herself why. Why had she denied the truth of her marriage?

Because the truth pointed directly to something you didn’t want to see.

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID

Maybe it wasn’t just the trauma that had erased her memory; maybe she was willfully blocking it out. Was the ugly truth of the state of her marriage the key? Perhaps she’d done something so hideous that she couldn’t face it.

“What on earth are you doing?” Granny’s surprised voice shocked Glory into a guilty flinch.

How long had she been sitting here? She realized her face was wet with tears. Luckily it was much brighter on the driveway than it was inside the garage, and Granny had on her sunglasses.

Glory turned away and wiped her face on her sleeve before saying, “I lost an earring. I thought maybe it fell in the trash.”

“Oh. I’ll help you look.” Granny started into the garage.

“No!”

Granny stopped in midstep and looked at her. “Are you all right?”

“It’s been so hot, this garbage is really nasty. You don’t want Scott in here. I’m almost finished going through it anyway.”

Granny looked at her for a moment, then said, “All right, then.”

Ten minutes later, after Glory had confirmed no previous newspaper held hidden messages and had stuffed all of the trash back into the cans, she entered the kitchen. Granny was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, reading from a large-print book to Scott. Her birdlike legs stuck out of her Capri pants (Granny called them pedal pushers) and were crossed at the ankles. As usual, the boy didn’t appear to be hearing a word. As usual, Granny didn’t appear to notice Scott’s lack of attention.

Glory listened to the comforting cadence of her grandmother’s voice as she washed her hands at the kitchen sink.

Then Gran stopped reading.

Glory looked over her shoulder to see why. Granny had dropped the open book in her lap and was staring into space.

“What?” Glory’s heart sped up as she moved across the room. “What’s wrong, Gran?”

Granny seemed to come to herself a bit then. “I was just remembering when I used to read this to you.”

Glory let go of the breath she’d been holding and sat on the floor beside her grandmother. She slipped her arm around Granny’s shoulders, amazed such a slightly built woman could continually show such physical strength. Gristle and determination, that was what Pap had always said Granny was made of.

“I was too,” Glory said fondly.

“Always thought I’d be readin’ this to your young’uns.” Granny said it in a way that made Glory feel her grandmother’s loss more than her own. Then Gran said, “It’s always been you and me. Strange, ain’t it, no matter how big this family got—it was always you and me.”

Glory hugged her tighter and kissed her thinning gray hair. It
was
strange. All of Granny’s other grandchildren had grown up here in the hollow. But it was Glory—the town child, the child whose mother wanted nothing more than to wash the hollow completely from her soul—who was, and always had been, closest to Granny.

Granny sighed. “Even when you stayed away, I always felt you close.”

“I’m sorry if my moving from Tennessee hurt you—it wasn’t you that I was leaving behind. Never you.”

Granny turned her head toward Glory. Her glasses made her eyes appear much too large for her thin face. “That’s not what I meant. I meant afore. Didn’t see much of you in the holler after you married.” Tears pooled in her eyes, but she held them in check. Glory might not have noticed them at all if not for the glasses. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get to see your baby . . . so afraid . . .”

“Gran, you know I’d never keep my baby from you.” Glory’s throat felt tight, and not just over the loss of her child. It wasn’t like Granny to talk like this—something was wrong.

“Oh, I know
you
wouldn’t have. But Andrew didn’t like you comin’ to the holler. Things was hard for you.”

Glory closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “I know that now, Granny. I remembered.”

A trembling smile came upon Granny’s face. “I was hopin’ you would.”

Glory sighed. “But I still don’t remember the fire.”

“Doesn’t matter. You come to see the bad with the good, that’s what counts.”

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID

Glory shivered and whispered, “Oh, Gran, I wish that was true.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, Glory’s arm tight around her grandmother’s shoulders as they both leaned against the wall.

Then Granny let out a long breath; it was a sound of resignation. “I’m afraid I cain’t see, darlin’. You better drive me to the doctor.”

Donna beeped Eric’s office. Through the intercom she said, “Chief, your wi—um—Mrs.—Ms. Wilson is on line two.”

His heart raced. Jill wasn’t in the habit of calling.

“Thanks, Donna.” He told himself to calm down. This was Thursday, and Scott was with Tula; Tula would call Eric first if something had happened. He drew a breath, then pressed line two and picked up the phone. “Hey, Jill.”

“Hello, Eric.” There was a pause. “Do you have a minute . . . I mean, am I interrupting anything important?”

There was something in Jill’s voice that he hadn’t heard in a long, long time—a sort of reaching out. It made the back of his neck prickle. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t get worked up. Nothing’s wrong. I . . . I just need to talk.”

Eric glanced at the clock. “Can it keep?”

She hesitated. “I guess . . . yes, yes it can keep.”

“I have a building inspection in ten minutes. I can call you after I pick Scott up this evening.”

“How about you and Scottie and I go to Bongo’s for pizza tonight? We can talk then.”

His suspicions were back. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

“No. Nothing. Will you come?”

The last thing he wanted to do was fight Scott in a restaurant. The second-to-last thing he wanted was to share a meal with his ex-wife, especially in public—where all the town would see and jump to conclusions. “What about Jason?”