The River's Edge (18 page)

Chapter Twenty Four

Free at
Last

I HEARD A tapping sound. It sounded like nails being hammered into
my coffin.

“Come in,” a woman’s voice said.

“Doc, glad you’re here.”

“Okay, Mary. Let me have a look here.” The doctor’s voice was
calm, deep. He lifted my leg to examine the cut on the heel of my foot. Next,
he examined my arm, wiping away the blood with a wad of gauze. He put his
glasses on and looked closer. “No way she got these from the river,” he said in
a low voice, but I could still hear. “Only some need sutures.”

I felt the prick of the needle on the bottom of my foot, and then
the liquid bubbled under my skin in a tight ball. When the numbness set in, I
only felt a faint tingle as the thread was laced around the wound. I felt the
same thing on my arm and I passed out again.

SLOWLY I WOKE to the smell of soap and lavender. I couldn’t feel
the rhythm of the river any more. Long fingers of light reached down and teased
my eyelids until I could no longer keep them shut. A white bandage was wrapped
around the cuts on my arm and on the bottom of my foot. The tightness felt
good, like it would keep me from splitting into a thousand pieces. I scanned
the room and didn’t recognize anything, but I felt safe in its warmth. A
blanket was tucked around me like a cocoon.

I entered the river a child ready to die, but was saved by the
most unexpected angel.

Just as I thought about her, she entered the room with a serving
tray full of food and hot tea. She sat the tray on the bedside table. I
couldn’t believe how hungry I was.

There was hot tomato soup made with milk, not water, and a grilled
cheese sandwich made with thick deli bread and real cheddar cheese. There was a
cupcake with chocolate icing. A tea bag was draped over the side of a mug
decorated with butterflies.

Comprehension came in a rush. “Where’s Oreo?”

“You needn’t fuss about Oreo. He’s a strong kitten. We found him
washed up on the shore a few feet from you.”

“He’s alive?” I felt a rush of relief and guilt at the same time.
Mrs. Weaver chose me to take care of him and I failed.

“Yes. He’s with his mother, resting. There’s nothing like a
mother’s love to make one strong again.”

That was true and I felt horrible that I wasn’t a good mama to
Oreo.

She sat on the edge of the bed. “Eat some soup while I talk to
you. It’s been a good while since I’ve had company.”

I spooned soup in my mouth like I had never tasted food before.

I had a chance to look at her real good for the first time. She
marked time through her wrinkles, deep thoughtful wrinkles on her face. She wet
her fingers to tame her long cotton candy hair that was pulled back into a bun.
She patted my hand with hers, and it felt like a velvet glove. The hair on my
arm rose joyously at her touch. “You are a survivor, something I know a little
about myself.” Before I could say anything, she put her finger to her lips.
“Shhh, you rest. I’ll talk.” She seemed to be able to read my mind. “I know
what everybody says about me. I know my nickname is Crazy Mary—”

“I’m sorry—”

“No, no need for apologies. I don’t mind it so much. A person gets
used to things in order to survive. For me, the name signifies all that I had
to go through to get to this point in my life. Before my husband died, I was
just Mary, wife, and friend. I prefer the nickname because in a sense, Mary
died and Crazy Mary took her place.

“I saw you on my porch, curious and fluttering around this place
like a butterfly. I knew they told you about me, the rumors I mean, but you
didn’t let that stop you. I saw you come every day with your cousins with food
for the cats. I saw you clean the weeds out of my flowerpots and put flowers in
them. I saw a spark in you.

“I feel . . .” I struggled to explain it. “I feel different.” I
rubbed the bandage on my arm.

“Don’t worry, I don’t judge, honey. We all
have our scars to carry with us. Scars are a sign of bravery,” she paused, “of
survival.”

“I don’t know why . . . I mean, do you just ever feel like words
aren’t enough?”

She smiled and the sparkle in her eyes matched the stars I saw in
the river the first day I saw it. “Yes.”

“Does my cousin know I’m here?”

“Yes. She came by earlier to check on you. Said she told her
parents you were okay.”

“I don’t want to ever go back to my uncle’s place.”

“I know. The doctor said you should remain
here for a while, and I agree. I don’t know how much of this you want to keep
private or how much you want them to know. But know this. If you let them,
secrets can break you into a thousand pieces. You’re a strong girl and you will
get through this. Understand?”

I nodded.

“Now, I guess you need to call your folks and let them know what’s
happening.”

Oh God. Mom. How was I ever going to tell her what happened?

“I need to get to a phone. Not the one at my
uncle’s house either.”

“Sure, honey. I have a phone downstairs in the kitchen.”

“What?” I thought of all those times I had to fight the monster
just to talk to my mother. My stomach emptied out through my feet. “You have a
phone?” I started sobbing. I couldn’t believe there was a phone so close. If I
had known, I could have been saved. I could have called my mom and told her the
truth. Told her to come get me without Uncle Butch listening in on my
conversation and hovering over me and threatening me. I couldn’t stop crying.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” I said between sobs, trying to breathe. “I . . .
didn’t . . . know.”

“It’s okay. You call whenever you’re ready.”

“How am I going to tell my mom?”

“Set the truth free and you will be free too.”

“But what if I had told . . . ?”

“Don’t play that ‘what if’ game, it will drive you crazy. ‘What
if’ I had been with my husband the day he died? ‘What if’ I had been there
instead of him? Believe me, I spent years playing that game and I became the
most miserable person you’d ever want to meet.” She took my face in her hands
and looked directly in my eyes. “You didn’t do anything to cause this to happen
to you.” She said it so sincerely that I started to believe her.

I got out of bed and immediately a pain shot up from the cut on my
foot. I lifted my heel and walk-limped to her and hugged her. I had on a long
nightgown which I figured belonged to Mrs. Weaver. It was as delicate as her
touch, flowery and lacy. So unlike me.

She hugged me back.

“Okay, I’m ready to call.” I was broken and only my mother’s love
could put me back together.

I followed her downstairs and into the kitchen, taking in all the
rooms we passed. It certainly wasn’t a house of a crazy person and it didn’t
seem haunted at all. It was a house full of love and light.

There was a yellow phone hanging on the wall that matched the
wallpaper. It reminded me of lemons. Of my mom. Fresh squeezed lemons plus
sugar and water equaled my mother. She always told me that if life gave you
lemons, make lemonade. It seems my dad leaving gave us both a lot of lemons.
Between us, we would be making lemonade the rest of our lives.

“I’ll leave you alone.”

I dialed the numbers that would connect me to my mother with
trembling fingers. I was nervous. I hoped I could unearth my mother from her
darkness. Make her understand.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Chris? Why are you calling so late? Is
everything all right?”

I filled my lungs with air to steady myself. Then I let out a deep
breath. “No, Mom. Everything is not all right. I need you to come get me.”

“Oh my God. What is it? Are you hurt?”

“No. Yes. But everything is okay now. You just have to come get
me.”

“Oh, honey. What is it?” She started crying.

“Mom, you’re just going to have to trust me on this. I need to
come home.”

More crying. “Why? What is it?”

“I’ll tell you everything when you get here.”

She exhaled and sniffed. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“Well, I had to have a few stitches for some
cuts, but I’m okay.”

“Stitches?!”

“Yes, but please don’t panic. I’m going to be fine.”

“I’m so worried.”

“Will you come and get me?” That was the question I wanted to ask
her all summer.

I imagined her on the other end of the phone gathering her bravery.
“Of course I will. You hold tight honey. I’ll leave first thing in the
morning.”

“You have to pick me up at Mrs. Weaver’s house. The big house on
the edge of Shady Grove.”

“Where?”

“Mary Weaver’s house.”

“Crazy Mary? The Cat Lady?”

I cringed. She was my savior and she certainly wasn’t crazy. It
was just a horrible nickname Uncle Butch gave her. “Yeah.”

“Why are you there?”

I had to think fast. “It’s where the doctor stitched me up. I have
a cut on my foot and it’s hard to walk.” I paused, thinking about my family
tree and all that was left of it. A stump. “We’re going to be okay, Mom. We are
family now, just the two of us. And we will survive.” I didn’t know who I was
trying to convince more, me or her. But I held on to that belief.

“What do you mean? Where is your uncle?” There was a tremble in
her voice.

“Everything’s fine. You’ve got to be brave for me now. Can you do
that?”

She exhaled as if she had taken all the air
out of the room. “Yes.”

I said goodbye and after I hung up the phone, I put my head
against the wall to gather my strength. I couldn’t wait to see my mother again,
but it was going to be bitter sweet. A few minutes later I limped back
upstairs.

Mrs. Weaver came to the door. “Everything okay?”

I nodded. I was too exhausted to speak.

She turned off the light and a wave of lavender brushed across me
as she left. I knew I was safe in her house and I felt at peace for the first
time in weeks. I drifted into sleep with thoughts of being home.

“CHRIS, WAKE UP.” Wendy’s voice drifted into my sleeping thoughts.

In my dream, she had on a captain’s uniform and was steering the
paddleboat, waving me on board.

“Chris, wake up.” She put a squirming Oreo on my chest. The tickle
of his whiskers against my face woke me instantly.

“Hey,” I whispered.

“Heard you nearly drowned in the river, again. We were all so
worried when you ran off like that.”

“Wendy? What are you doing here?”

She handed me a sunflower. “I came to see you.”

“I hope you’re not mad at me,” I said. I took the flower and put
it on the bedside table.

She hugged me. “Don’t you know that I look up to you? You’re my
best friend.”

I felt my cuts burning. Throbbing. I sat up in bed and hugged her.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.” I should have said something more but
couldn’t. I felt guilty.

“Do they hurt?”

I repeated what she had told me about her scar. “It did at first
but it doesn’t anymore. It’s just a reminder now.” I smiled weakly.

“You did it to yourself, didn’t you?” Wendy asked.

Her question surprised me. I couldn’t talk for a minute. “How did
you know?”

“Because I know why you did it.”

I couldn’t respond. I just sat there not knowing what to say. What
exactly did she know?

“I can’t believe he tried to drown Oreo.”

Well, that explained it. I wanted to tell Wendy the truth. Tell
her what really happened, but I didn’t want to share that with her just yet.
Maybe I would write it all down someday.

“I hate him. I get so mad, I can’t even think. I just feel like I
want to break something.” She took a deep breath.

After she left, I crawled out of the cocoon of covers and got out
of bed, careful not to put any weight on my heel. I spotted my clothes on the
chair. They were washed and neatly folded.

I stood up on rubber band legs and walked over to the mirror. I
looked at myself. I was ghost white. Shadows crept over my sunken eyes. There
were ugly things reflecting back at me.

After I changed into my clothes, I heard voices downstairs.

I met Mrs. Weaver as she was coming up the steps. “What’s going
on?” I asked.

“The police are here, honey. But don’t be afraid. The police
officer is questioning witnesses and such about yesterday. He wants to talk to
you.”

I heard Reds. “I was running as fast as I could, but boy, can she
run. I caught up to her at the path and when I saw the two of them together, I
couldn’t control myself. He was hurting her. He had her hands pinned behind her
back. I ran straight for him and started punching. I couldn’t stop. When that
didn’t work, I picked up a big stick and hit him with it.” There was a brief
pause. “I finally figured out what she was trying to tell me,” he said, half to
the officer and half to himself.