Where Petals Fall (4 page)

The quiet nearly made Junie unravel. Everything reminded her of her father. Junie had once refused to look at a particular dead bug he’d found, and she’d been just as adamant as Sarah was now. Her father had tried to coax her gently toward him. He’d used science, not bribery of goodies. He’d tried to lure her in with explanations of “neat presentations.”

Junie looked quickly at her father’s toolshed, then to the sparse flower garden against the fence that she’d help him define with rocks from the woods. Junie heard a low moan, then realized it was coming from her. She couldn’t believe he was gone. Junie looked toward the sky, knowing her father didn’t believe in any type of spiritual contact after a person died, and she wished he did.

“I miss you, Daddy,” she whispered to the clouds.  After forty-five painful minutes, Junie went to the front yard and decided to take a different tack with Sarah. She threw a green plastic ball up into the air, catching it and laughing, drawing Sarah’s attention.

“Wanna play?”

Sarah shook her head.

Junie shrugged, continuing to toss the ball.

Sarah watched intently, angry eyes shifting from where Junie stood to Peter’s house in the distance behind her.

Junie turned around, expecting to see Peter—he wasn’t there. She walked toward Sarah. Sarah clasped the handle tighter. Junie walked past her to the side yard, where Sarah could focus on only her.

Eventually Sarah slunk toward her, spreading her fingers out in front of her. Junie tossed the ball. Sarah caught it against her stomach, then threw it back. “Nice throw!” Junie tossed the ball back again, higher than she’d meant to. She inhaled deeply, soaking up the fresh smell of the damp earth.

Sarah reached high above her head to catch the green plastic ball. Her ring caught the sun, flashing a brief burst of white toward the sky. In that instant, it was the face of Junie’s childhood friend Ellen that Junie saw, not Sarah. Ellen’s hands reached up toward the sky, her silver ring catching the sun—only Ellen wasn’t smiling, like Sarah was. Ellen’s lips were contorted into a wide
O
, tears of terror streaming down her cheeks. At that moment, twenty-four years after Ellen’s disappearance, Ellen’s screams echoed in Junie’s head, screams Junie could not remember ever hearing when Ellen was alive.

Sarah tugged at Junie’s arm.

Junie was paralyzed; sharp pangs surged through her limbs, as if she’d stepped on shards of glass from a shattered vase that appeared years after the vase had been dropped. Her whole body tingled with anxiety. Why was she suddenly seeing Ellen, and why had Ellen looked so terrified? Even worse, why had Ellen’s image replaced her own daughter’s? Junie’s heart thumped against her rib cage. She fought to catch her breath without alerting Sarah to her trouble. The image left her with a sinking, hollow feeling and a gentle tug at the back of her confused mind.

Sarah stood before her, blond curls blowing in the gentle breeze.

A chill ran down Junie’s back. What was happening to her? She took a few deep breaths, then crouched, putting her hands on Sarah’s bony shoulders and stared into eyes so blue they rivaled the sky. Junie looked for a hint of Ellen, something that might have spurred the image, but she came away with nothing to root the mistake into reality. Ellen had dark hair and olive skin, while Sarah was fair. Ellen had been as thick as Sarah was slight.
I must be overtired
, Junie thought. Ever since Brian had taken on his latest court case, he’d been working late into the evenings, and Junie had waited up for him each night, sometimes into the early hours of the morning. Even with the way their relationship had become fractured and strained, Junie still felt the need to wait up. More than that, she still had the
desire
to wait up, to have those few moments of adult time with Brian, even if they were now filled with tension.
Not anymore
, she thought. Tonight she’d go to sleep when Sarah did.

Sarah stood with the ball in her hands, staring at the ground, her eyes sad once again.

“Sorry, sugar,” Junie managed, brushing Sarah’s bangs off of her forehead. “Senior moment.” She took Sarah’s hand and they walked toward the kitchen door.

Sarah crinkled her nose, a facial expression Junie had come to interpret to mean that she didn’t understand something.

“It just means Mama needs some water.”

Junie thought back to the afternoon Ellen had disappeared. Junie was eating a chocolate ice cream cone, sitting on a two-foot-tall brick wall that surrounded a garden of purple and white pansies and the greenest ivy she’d ever seen. In the center of the garden was a beautiful maple tree, a tree that her father used to say had grown from sugar seeds. Junie remembered the day because it was a Tuesday, and her father came home from work early every Tuesday—or as her father called it, Treatday. Their ritual was to “sneak” out for ice cream each week, just the two of them.

She remembered that particular day because her father was late, and after waiting for what seemed like forever on the front porch, her mother told her to get in the car, and she took Junie for her ice cream. Her mother had been short-tempered, Junie remembered, because that was as rare of an occurrence as her father not showing up to take her out. It was the only Tuesday afternoon he’d ever missed. Junie was just seven years old, and up until that afternoon, the worst day she’d ever experienced had consisted of being punished for using permanent marker on their kitchen table—she hadn’t known the ink would bleed through the paper. She remembered the day Ellen disappeared because she and Ellen had had a skipping race to school that morning. Ellen had won, and Junie said, “I’ll beat you tomorrow.” The next day came, and Ellen was gone.

Policemen had come to their door and asked her a lot of questions about Ellen’s friends at school and if she knew about any adults or children that might not like Ellen. Junie didn’t know anyone who didn’t like Ellen. They asked her if she knew why Ellen would want to run away, and Junie remembered thinking,
She didn’t want to run away.

Junie didn’t go to school on Wednesday. Her mother kept her home. She kept Junie close, so close that Junie felt smothered. She couldn’t go to the bathroom without her mother jumping up to follow her.

Later that afternoon, her mother explained to her that the police thought someone had taken Ellen and that they didn’t know when, or if, she would return. She said that Junie would be told when Ellen came back, and until then, it wouldn’t be a good idea to visit Ellen’s house. The next morning, Junie’s new routine was born. Her mother took her to school and picked her up after school.  Junie spent much of her time indoors, staring out the window at Ellen’s house, waiting for her to magically appear.

She had watched as Peter meticulously planted more roses in their already overflowing garden. Roses were Ellen’s favorite flower. When she was younger, Junie liked roses. She likened them to the fun she and Ellen had enjoyed around the gardens. That changed after Ellen’s disappearance. Junie abhorred them. She watched Brian skulk around the yard, punching himself in the leg, grabbing the sides of his head like an injured animal that couldn’t pull away from the fractured limb. Six months later she watched Susan Olson carry suitcases out to her car. She never came back. Eventually they all fell into the pattern of their new lives—lives without Ellen.

Junie pulled her mind back to the present as they climbed the back porch steps. It seemed she was tucking away a lot of emotions lately, and she wondered if an ache could hurt so badly that it could make one’s own mind play tricks on them.

The house was quiet. Junie filled a glass of water for Sarah and one for herself. Sarah waited for Junie to pick up her glass and drink before she moved to do the same. Sarah waited to set her glass down until her mother had done so first. Sarah’s idiosyncrasies had appeared slowly over time, until one day they defined who she was. Junie had come to expect these aping actions, while Brian had fought them.
Brian
. Junie withdrew her cell phone from her pocket and dialed his number.

“Junie, I’m heading into a meeting. I’ll call you later. Is everything okay?”

Junie bit her lip, then sighed. She fought to keep her voice calm. “Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Can it wait, just till this afternoon?”

Sure. I’ll just freak out all day over seeing my dead friend—your dead sister.
“Yeah, sure. Will you still make it tonight?”

“Yes, of course. Leaving right after this. Call you later.”

For a brief moment, Junie pictured a beautiful stranger waiting for him, beckoning him. Her hand dropped to her slightly thickened waist, where over the last five months, five unwanted pounds had settled. She furrowed her brow, wondering where such a ludicrous thought came from.

Junie found Ruth sitting on the chair in the living room that Junie’s father had deemed “Mom’s reading chair.” Junie remembered finding her mother in that chair, paperback in hand, each day when she’d arrived home after school, and she’d end the night on the same cozy perch. The dark blue velour was worn and frayed, but Ruth would have no part of replacing the material. Next to her sat her father’s empty recliner.

“Can I get you something, Mom?” Junie asked, bypassing her father’s chair and lowering herself onto the couch. Her insides quivered. She had to talk to someone about Ellen, and it obviously wasn’t going to be Brian.

Ruth lifted her hazel eyes toward her daughter, and there was no mistaking the emotion behind them—lost, as if her father’s death had left her mother in a foreign state with no map to find her way. Ruth was strong, capable, someone who took troubled times and whipped them into learning experiences. Junie was not adept at how to handle this side of her mother, which she’d never experienced before. She tucked away her need to talk about Ellen and tried to figure out how to help her mother.

“Mary Margaret and Selma are coming over in a bit. I’m all right. How’s Sarah?” Ruth asked.

“Fine. Watching television.” Junie looked down, silently scolding herself for not intuitively knowing what to say to help her mother. It was moments like these that made Junie wonder if what Sarah was experiencing was somehow caused by her lack of mothering skills. She’d always felt like she lacked a certain strength that seemed to be present in all mothers, something that allowed them to keep their chin up even in difficult times. Lately Junie had felt her chin leaning on her chest as she floundered to keep afloat. There was only one thing she could do, and that was to ask for help about how to help
. I am so lame
. 

“Mom, what can I do? How can I help? I mean…I know that nothing I say will bring Daddy back and nothing I do will make it okay, but I want to help.” A lump grew in her throat. She swallowed it down, hoping the tears it incited would remain at bay.

Ruth sat up straighter, placing her hands on the arms of her chair. She looked at Junie for a minute longer than was comfortable.

“Junie”—she placed her hand over Junie’s—“we’ll get through this.” She took a deep breath, then continued. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same, but we will get through this. Right now I feel like my left arm was cut off and my right one doesn’t work quite right, but Mary Margaret assures me that each day will get a little easier.”

Junie wiped a warm tear from her cheek.

“It’s been seventeen years since she lost Hal, and she’s doing okay, right?”

Junie nodded, not knowing the answer.
Seventeen years
. She couldn’t think that far down the road. She was just trying to get her arms around a few days without her father. Junie was still dealing with his death as if he were on a mini vacation and would return home at any minute.

“Now.” Ruth patted Junie’s hand. “We need to focus on that little girl of yours and get her back to her healthy, normal little self.”

Junie wanted to ask her mother how the hell she could go from a place of devastation to a place of wanting to help her granddaughter get better within the space of a breath. She wanted to ask her why she was seeing Ellen’s face and wanted to crawl into her lap and curl up so the issues with Brian and Sarah didn’t seem so overwhelming. She wanted to be completely and utterly selfish, kick her feet and throw herself down on the couch crying because she knew she’d never see her father’s face again; she’d never hear him spout out bits of unsought advice that were always just what she needed to hear. Instead, she whispered, “Okay.”