Chương 14
That thought came to me while I stood beside her casket and watched people touch the polished wood as though it could somehow carry messages through it.
Mrs. Donnelly came first.
She squeezed my hand and whispered, “You did right by her.”
I nearly said, Not always.
Instead I nodded.
Caleb stood near the back with Daniel.
He had borrowed one of his father’s ties and tied it badly.
Fiona would have fixed it.
Denise sat in the front pew beside Laura.
Patrick sat on the other side of the aisle.
No one had planned that arrangement.
No one changed it either.
The minister spoke about Fiona’s work, her stubbornness, her faith, and the way she could make a dollar behave like three.
That got a few soft laughs.
I looked at the casket.
Her hands had been folded over each other.
Someone at the funeral home had smoothed the veins with makeup.
I hated that.
Those hands had earned their age.
After the service, people formed a slow line toward us.
A former neighbor remembered Fiona bringing soup after his wife’s surgery.
A woman I had never met said Fiona once lent her money for a heating bill and made her promise never to mention it again.
Patrick heard that.
His face tightened.
Later, outside at the cemetery, he stood several feet away from everyone else.
Snow had collected in the dead grass.
The burial prayers were brief.
When the casket began to lower, Denise made a sound like she had been punched.
Laura grabbed her hand.
This time Denise did not pull away.
Daniel reached for mine.
Patrick stared straight ahead.
I thought about the torn pillow sitting on our bed at home.
For twelve years, I had believed the final proof of love would be endurance.
I had been wrong.
Sometimes endurance only proved that nobody had stopped you.
Afterward, we returned to the church basement for ham sandwiches, coffee, and casseroles brought by women who knew grief required feeding even when nobody was hungry.
Caleb sat beside me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
He poked at a square of gelatin salad.
“Grandma hated this stuff.”
“She called it edible wallpaper paste.”
He smiled.
“Yeah.”
Then his face changed.
“Dad told me there’s family stuff going on.”
I looked across the room at Daniel.
He immediately became fascinated by his coffee.
“What did he tell you?”
“Nothing useful.”
“That sounds like him.”
Caleb leaned closer.
“Are we in trouble?”
The question hit me harder than I expected.
“No.”
“Money trouble?”
“No.”
“Then why is Uncle Patrick acting like he swallowed a nail?”
I glanced toward Patrick.
He was standing near a folding table, pretending not to watch Denise.
“It’s old adult stuff.”
“I am an adult.”
“You’re eighteen.”
“Exactly.”
“Legally inconvenient adult.”
He rolled his eyes.
I touched his wrist.
“When I can explain it without making you carry things that aren’t yours, I will.”
He studied me.
Then he nodded.
“Okay.”
That trust humbled me more than anything Fiona had left.
Three days after the funeral, Denise found Walter Hale.
He lived in Indiana, ninety minutes from the Ohio line, in a small assisted-living apartment outside Fort Wayne.
He was eighty-two.
His daughter answered Denise’s call and said he was lucid but tired easily.
Denise wanted to drive there immediately.
Patrick refused to go.
“I have nothing to say to him.”
Denise looked at him across our kitchen table.
“I do.”
Patrick shook his head.
“You’re digging for pain.”
“No.”
“You already know Curtis was abusive.”
“I know what all of you decided I could survive knowing.”
Patrick stood.
“That’s not fair.”
Denise laughed.
“You really love that word.”
Daniel stepped between them before the argument could grow.
“We go tomorrow.”
Patrick looked at him.
“We?”
“Denise, me, Mabel.”
Laura raised her hand slightly.
“I’m coming too.”
Patrick stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because apparently I spent half my life not showing up.”
No one had an answer to that.
The next morning, Patrick was waiting beside his truck when we pulled into his driveway.
Denise looked at him through the windshield.
“You said you weren’t coming.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
He opened the passenger door.
“Because you’re going to hear it anyway.”
Walter Hale looked smaller than the man in Fiona’s photographs.
His hair was white.
His hands shook slightly when he poured water into paper cups.
But his eyes sharpened when Denise said her name.
“You look like your mother.”
Denise stiffened.
“I’ve heard that.”
Walter nodded.
“Sometimes people mean it as a compliment.”
“Sometimes they’re wrong.”
He accepted that without argument.
We sat in a common room near a window overlooking a parking lot.
A television in the corner played a game show with the sound off.
Walter asked about Fiona’s funeral.
Patrick answered.
Then silence settled.
Finally Denise said, “Tell me what my mother knew about Curtis.”
Walter looked at Patrick first.
Denise saw it.
“Don’t ask his permission.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were checking.”
Walter folded his hands.
“Old habit.”
“Break it.”
He nodded.
So he did.
He told her Fiona had known Curtis frightened her before Fiona understood how serious it had become.
He told her Patrick came to him after Curtis started asking questions about land sales.
He told her Fiona wanted Denise brought home.
Denise’s eyes filled.
“She never came.”
Walter looked down.
“She did.”
The room went still.
“What?”
“Your mother went to your house once.”
Denise stared.
Patrick whispered, “I didn’t know that.”
Walter continued.
“Curtis answered the door.”
“What happened?”
“He told her you were gone.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because later you called the farm from a pay phone near the grocery store and left a message.”
Denise pressed a fist to her mouth.
Walter’s voice softened.
“Fiona understood too late that he had lied.”
“Why didn’t she come back?”
“She was afraid.”
Denise laughed bitterly.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
The answer landed heavily.
May you like
Walter looked at her.
“People think strong women are never frightened.”
