Where Petals Fall (7 page)

The last of the visitors lingered, taking their time saying goodbye. The freezer was stocked with homemade casseroles and lasagna from well-meaning neighbors; the counter was littered with food that would never be eaten. Junie wiped her hand on a dish towel and went into the den, looking for Sarah. She hadn’t seen her since they’d arrived back at the house, when she’d headed for the television. She found Brian hovering over her, his back to Junie, blocking Sarah’s face and body from her view. Sarah began to kick her feet; a stifled noise rose from where she lay. Junie’s hands grew cold. A shiver ran up her spine, bringing with it a memory she’d long ago forgotten. It was Ellen’s feet before her now, Junie’s father leaning over her. Junie stood frozen, consumed by the memory. Ellen had spent the night, and Junie awoke to Ellen’s empty sleeping bag next to her. She’d gone downstairs, looking for Ellen, and had come upon her father, Ellen’s feet kicking, a strangled sound emitting from her best friend’s throat. The den had been dark, almost pitch black, save for the moonlight peeking in through the window.

“Stop!” Junie yelled. “Stop it. Stop it!” She pulled on Brian’s back, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Brian whipped around. “What the heck, June?” 

“Stop it!” she yelled. She swooped Sarah into her arms, cradling her like an infant. Sarah’s face was a mask of fear. Junie’s body shook and trembled. She looked from Sarah to Brian and back again.

“What the hell? I was finally getting through to her.”

Ruth ran into the room. “What’s going—”

“Stop,” Junie whispered.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I was tickling her.”

Junie looked down at her daughter, who now clung to her chest in fear, then up at Ruth, whose mouth hung open in confusion. Junie lowered herself to the couch, rocking Sarah against her.

“What is going on?” Mary Margaret towered over Junie, worry lines deep across her forehead. “Hon, please, you’ll upset your mother,” she said quietly.

Junie couldn’t speak—her voice was trapped beneath the rising memory.  She remembered wanting to pound on her father’s back. She’d had no idea what he was doing to Ellen, but it felt wrong, very wrong, hidden, in fact. The silence of the guests, their openmouthed gazes, pressed in on her. What was she doing? She looked down at Sarah’s closed eyes.  Tears tumbled down her cheeks in silent streams.

Mary Margaret sat next to her, her arm around Junie’s shoulder, her large hand pulling her close. She must have thought that Junie was having a hard time dealing with her father’s death. Junie wished she could tell her the truth, but if she couldn’t process what she’d seen, how could anyone else?

“I’m sorry,” Junie whispered.

They ate dinner in silence. Brian was still annoyed from Junie’s unexplained outburst, and Sarah withdrew even further into her usual introverted behavior. She flinched at loud noises, and she’d clung to Junie all afternoon. Junie pushed the lasagna around on her plate, unable to stomach a single bite of it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes on her plate.

No one responded.

Junie looked up at her mother. Dark circles made her eyes appear slate gray. A pang of guilt rode through Junie. “Mom, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

Brian slammed his fork down on the table so hard, Sarah burst into tears.  His face reddened. “Damn it, Junie. All I want is to be part of this family, and as much as you say you want me to reach out to Sar—” He dropped his eyes to Sarah and began again, addressing Junie directly, this time suppressing his anger. “I am trying to reach out, and you are sabotaging my every effort.”

Junie shook her head. “I’m not, but…” Sarah clung to her arm. “Can we please talk about this later?”

Brian threw his napkin on the table and excused himself to the den.

 “Want to talk about it?” Ruth asked.

Junie took the dish from her mother’s hands and began filling the dishwasher.  She peered into the dining room, where Sarah sat peacefully playing a game on Junie’s laptop.

“I…I’m not sure what happened.” How could she tell her mother what she saw? What did it mean? What had her father been doing to Ellen? Why was he with her in the middle of the night? Junie wished she could put the fragments together and figure out something, anything that might help her to understand what was going on. “Mom, how often did Ellen spend the night?”

“Junie, don’t you want to talk about today? What’s going on? Brian is trying so hard, and you’re…I have no idea what you’re up to.” Ruth wrapped the leftover lasagna and put it in the fridge.

And say what? I think Daddy hurt Ellen
? “I’m not
up to
anything,” she snapped. “I’m not sure what happened. I think I’m just exhausted, and I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your, Daddy’s…the service.” She’d managed to screw up her father’s funeral, her family, and God knows if she was responsible for screwing up Sarah, too.
Sarah
. Maybe Brian was right and the therapist was wrong to disregard the questionnaire. Maybe she should fill out that damned thing, if only to see if the other therapists missed something. If Sarah’s issues all came down to some flaw in Junie’s parenting, she’d rather know than be ignorant of it.

“Oh, honey, you’re overwhelmed. We all are. Daddy’s death was so unexpected. Why don’t you go lie down? I can finish this,” Ruth offered.

Junie set down the dish towel she’d been holding and hugged her mother. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, Mom. Not the other way around. I’m a big girl. I’m fine.”

Sarah had been put to bed, having fallen fast asleep in front of the television. Junie sat at the edge of the bed, fidgeting with her fingers and wondering if she were losing her mind. Brian stormed into the bedroom and closed the door.

“What the hell is going on, Junie?” he asked in an angry whisper.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t you.”

“It sure as hell looked like me,” he snapped. Brian’s face was red. Fury emanated from his entire being, every muscle constricted and strained.

“Oh, Brian.” Junie covered her face with her hands. “It was you that I yelled at, because you were there, but it wasn’t you I was yelling at. I sound crazy. I know I do.” She reached out to him. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled away from her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, I wasn’t the one you were yelling at? I was there, Junie. You yelled at me. All this bullshit about you wanting me to reach out to Sarah, and I finally break through, and you come crashing in.” His voice escalated, his words shot like nails piercing Junie’s heart.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me. I walked into the den and, oh God, this is going to sound nuts, but…I saw my dad leaning over Ellen.”

“Ellen again? Really, Junie? You’re going to blame this on my dead sister?” he spat.

“No. God, no, don’t say that. You don’t know that she’s dead.”

“Come on, Junie. It’s been more than twenty years.”

Junie paced. “Brian, I’m sorry. I’m not blaming Ellen. I don’t know what’s going on, but when I walked into the den, I swear to you, I saw my dad leaning over Ellen, and Ellen was kicking and making weird, scared noises.”

Brian crossed his arms; his nostrils flared, the veins in his forearms visible all the way down to his fisted hands.

“It’s…crazy, Junie.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but I know what I saw.”

“Or you’re exhausted and confused.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his hand through his hair. “Jesus, Junie.”

She sat down beside him.

He set his hand on her thigh. The weight of it comforted her.

“This is why I hate coming back here. It dredges up everything bad.”

Junie shrugged and laid her head on his shoulder. She put her hand over his and squeezed. “I had to come.”

“We had to come,” he corrected her. “But we don’t have to stay forever. One more day; then we’re out of here.”

“I can’t leave my mother, not now.” She pulled back in anger and sprang to her feet. “How can you even suggest that?”

“Junie, being here is making you crazy. It’s putting me on edge.”

Junie shook her head. “No, I’m not leaving her. She’d never do that to me. She’d stay no matter how uncomfortable she was.”

“I can’t stay.” Brian stared into her eyes, unwavering. “It’s too much, Junie. Every second I’m on this block, all I can think of is what happened to Ellen, how my mom left. I just can’t stay.” He paced, then said, “Besides, I have so much work to do. I can get it done while you’re here.”

“Go, then. Leave.” Junie crossed her arms and turned away. Tears sprang from her eyes. She couldn’t help but be hurt, even if he had good reasons to leave. Junie wiped her eyes and thought about spending a few days apart. Maybe it was better if he wasn’t there—it’s not like they were comforting each other. She needed to be there for her mother, but she kept doing the wrong things with Brian. It had to be hard for him, being here after losing his sister. She was being selfish again. What was wrong with her? She came back home and immediately turned into a spoiled child. Junie turned back to him, facing his clenched teeth and throbbing muscles in his jaw working overtime. She took a deep breath, swallowing her neediness like a lump of coal, and in a sweet, empathetic tone, said, “It’s okay. You go back home. I’ll stay for a week or so; then Sarah and I will come home. I know it’s hard for you to be here, and we’re okay. Really.”

Junie could see the relief in the brief closure of Brian’s eyes. Part of her wanted him to say he’d stay, wanted him to push his discomfort and work aside and put her and Sarah first, but she knew that, too, was selfish. He had lost his sister, he had a big case looming, and even if he returned tomorrow, he’d already lost a lot of time.

When Junie drifted off to sleep, it was her father’s face she saw in her dreams, sitting next to her on the sofa, watching
NOVA
, explaining every scene to be sure she understood the program. She awoke with a pang in her heart—a longing from the emptiness he’d left behind—and a stroke of guilt for thinking that her father could have ever hurt her friend.  Junie looked over at Brian and promised herself she’d work harder at helping him connect with Sarah and would be more understanding about his feelings. She didn’t like the rift that had swelled between them. She wanted him to be accepted by Sarah, and she sure as hell didn’t want to yell at him for warped images she saw in her distraught mind.

Junie sat on the porch, listening to her mother read aloud to Sarah, just inside the living room window. With Brian gone, a layer of tension had lifted. She hated acknowledging the tension that seemed to accompany her marriage these days, but she could not ignore the fraying relationship between her and Brian. She wondered if being home, her father’s death, and unearthing memories of Ellen was really the impetus of their recent conflicts, or if there had been something missing before and she’d just been blind to it. Junie began to wonder if she could trust her own judgment, or if it had been clouded, like her ability to qualify her memories as real or fabricated. She’d seen Peter heading toward the backyard and contemplated paying him a short visit. Maybe if she understood more or could remember more around the days and weeks that surrounded Ellen’s disappearance, she could gain some sort of perspective to deal with Sarah on a more focused level and have the strength to heal her ailing marriage. She hoped that Peter might be able to shed some light on those missing weeks. She took a deep breath, urging herself not to panic at the sight of the roses, and forced herself through the gate and up the hill.

Her anxiety grew with each step up the steep driveway. The familiarity and the devastation of losing Ellen came back to her as she neared the front yard. The deep porch, the rocking chairs, had each lost their sheen, but they were the same sturdy chairs that had been there when she was growing up. She walked down the stone path that led toward the backyard, each stone perfectly spaced between impeccably edged lawn. She slipped past the towering trees that lined the backyard—they’d been scrappy saplings when she and Ellen had run between them.

Goose bumps traveled up her arms at the sight of the unkempt gardens. The roses were all but hidden by thick, high weeds wrapping around their prickly stems like slim boas. These were not the carefully tended gardens that Peter had so mindfully protected for so many years. For as long as Junie could remember, Peter spent the rare weekends when he was not at work or locked in his den tending to the gardens, knee deep in mulch, clipping dead blooms and pulling weeds. In fact, she realized, when they’d visited during Easter, the gardens had been immaculate. The lawn surrounding the gardens was still beautifully manicured, making the unwieldy gardens look even more like the darkness amid the otherwise light yard.

“Junie?”

Junie spun around, startled.

Deep lines surrounded Peter’s squinting eyes like spider legs. Tiny folds of skin formed a deep
Y
between his two brows. As a young girl, June had watched Peter hard at work in his den at all hours, night after night, poring over his law books. Ellen had always said that her father never slept. Junie used to have fantasies about how great it would be to never have to go to bed, to play all night long. As she got older, and when she married Brian and had to live with his late-night meetings and evening preparations for cases, she realized how silly those fantasies were.

“H-hi.” Why were her hands trembling? She shoved them into her pockets, suddenly very aware that she had stepped off of the stones and was now standing on the perfect grass. She moved back onto the stones. “Sorry, I, um…I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

The bottom edge of his slacks were stained. Junie looked around the backyard, feeling the loss of the gorgeous gardens like harsh, sharp realities marring her fragile memories. Her memories were already held by a fraying thread.

“How’s your mom doing?” he asked.

Junie forced her gaze toward the ground, away from the roses. She was fine if she didn’t look at them. “She’s doing as best she can, I guess. Sad.” What was she saying? Peter  had experienced that sadness firsthand. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “It’s all…new.”

“Losing someone you love is not easy.” Peter looked at his house. “They say time heals all wounds, but I’m not so sure it does. I think time adds a dimension of fatigue, which just makes it seem like the wound has healed because you get tired of battling the loneliness.” He walked toward his gardening shed.

Junie watched him walk away, remembering when she and Ellen had helped Peter and her father build their sheds.
Helped
, Junie thought with a smile. Junie could still feel the weight of her father’s tool belt hanging from her waist. She remembered Ellen goading her on to sneak more tools than they were offered. What a thrill it had been to be working by her father’s side! While Junie tried to remain serious, so her father would allow her to help with other projects in the future, Ellen had been giggly and bored. Over the course of two days, their fathers had erected two identical aluminum structures, large enough for a workbench and a few garden tools, each given a different name: Peter’s a gardening shed and her father’s a toolshed. She and Ellen had worked side by side on each shed in the middle of August. Junie smiled to herself, remembering how they “worked” by carrying tools, bending over little remnants of wood that their fathers allowed them to haphazardly bang nails into, and trying to rein in Ellen’s goofy antics. They ran circles around their fathers’ carefully organized work sites. Humidity had been high that summer, and Ellen and Junie were first in line when Ruth and Susan brought them a continuous supply of icy lemonade. After they’d completed erecting the sheds, the girls were given the ground rules; while Peter’s gardening shed was open to anyone, her father’s toolshed was declared off limits.
Too many things that could hurt you
, her father had said. He went so far as to put a padlock on the door.

“And Sarah? How is she?”

Hearing her name brought her own issues back to mind. “She’s…the same. Not worse, but not better, either.” Junie was taken by the concern in Peter’s eyes. She wondered if he’d had that same concern for Ellen, or if that awareness came only after her disappearance. She knew he had doted over Brian and hadn’t over Ellen, but she wondered if he’d
felt
the same concern, even if not made apparent by his actions. He’d reached out to Sarah since the day she was born, spending time with her even as a tiny baby, when they’d visit Junie’s parents. Brian didn’t allow for overnight visits at his father’s house. The relationship between them was too strained, but Junie always made sure that Peter had time with Sarah, and it surprised her how taken with her he was. He wasn’t a go-outside-and-play-ball type of grandfather, but he took Sarah by the hand and walked through the gardens; he read to her and kept fresh cookies and treats on hand when they came into town. Most important, he was mentally present for Sarah. When she was with him, his eyes were on her, and he paid attention to what she was doing, not to his clients’ cases, which Junie knew rattled around in his head nonstop. She often wondered if his desire to be there for Sarah had been some sort of reconciliation in his own mind for the way he’d treated Ellen.

“Do the doctors have any ideas?” He opened the shed, his back to Junie. The smell of fertilizer filled the space between them. He moved gardening tools into a wooden box.

Junie caught sight of the rose clipper. “No, nothing. They’re thinking it might be emotional rather than physical.” They hadn’t seen each other since Sarah’s regression had begun, and Junie wondered if Peter and Brian had ever talked to each other about Sarah’s regression, or if it was just another issue that would be left to rot between them.

Peter stopped, clipper in his hand. He turned to face her. “And what do you think?” He looked seriously into her eyes.

“I…I don’t know what to think.”

“Regression,” he said. “I had a case once, a little girl had regressed after being sexually abused.”

Junie’s heart sank.
Don’t say it.

“That’s physical, though, not emotional.”

He said this so matter-of-factly, so clinically, that it stung. “Yes, physical.”

“Well—and I hope I’m wrong—have you considered this? You do have new circumstances. You’re in a new area, new teachers, you don’t really know the people.” He shrugged.

“Peter, how can you say that?” Junie took a step backward. “She’s your granddaughter.”

“I’m not judging her,” he said in what Junie imagined was his best attorney voice. “I’m looking for facts.”

“Well, she’s not one of your cases. She wasn’t sexually abused. That’s already been ruled out.” Junie didn’t know what was worse, feeling disgusted that her father-in-law would say such a thing, or her growing suspicion that something was off about Peter. He had slipped into attorney mode so quickly, and he’d always kept that side of himself separate when it came to Sarah. Her eyes shot to the wayward gardens. “I think there’s some other medical explanation. They did an MRI, but the therapist said they should do it with dye, and I’m going to request that next.”

Peter nodded, as if considering the procedure.

“I don’t mean to upset you, but I would look at all avenues. Seems strange that she’d suddenly become an emotional wreck without something physical attached.”

Shut up
. “We’re considering everything.”
Except emotional manipulation
. Brian’s armchair diagnosis weighed heavily on her mind.

Junie turned back toward the roses. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what happened?” She lifted her chin toward the weeds.

“Oh, that.” Peter put the remaining tools into the box, then closed the shed door. “I’ve just been too busy to tend to them, I guess.”

“But you have a lawn service. Couldn’t they do it?”

Peter shook his head. “No, they don’t do roses.”

As much as Junie hated roses, she didn’t really want them to shrivel up and die. Peter’s garden was a reminder of the times she shared with Ellen. She wanted to say,
You’ve got more money than God. Find someone who does
. Instead she said, “Oh, well, that’s a shame. They were so pretty.” She swallowed the lie.

Peter laughed. “Junie, we all know you don’t like roses.”

She lifted her eyes and threw her hands up. “Caught me.” As they walked toward the front yard, the tension in Junie’s shoulders eased. She hadn’t realized she was clenching her muscles. “Peter,” she asked, turning to face him. “Brian won’t talk to me about Ellen, never has. Has there ever been any information, any leads?” She cringed, hoping he wouldn’t get mad at her for asking.

“No, Junie. I guess there are some things we’ll never understand.”