Читать книгу Murder in Mayberry - Jack Branson - Страница 25
ОглавлениеI soon learned that I could weep without warning. With minimal emotion, I’d tell five people what we knew so far about the murder. Then, to my own surprise, I’d begin crying as I told the sixth.
I’d walk into the mall with so much rage that I’d hope someone would try to grab my purse so I could attack them with my fists. One day, I told a sales clerk in the photography department of a store—a complete stranger—about the murder.
I became afraid to walk down our basement stairs when I was alone in the house. I couldn’t watch murder scenes in suspense movies. I didn’t want our grandsons, Taylor and Elliott, to play with their oversized rubber Lego swords any longer.
We brought Ann’s portrait home and hung it in our dining room. The first time we had the family over for supper, eight-year-old Elliott pulled a chair in front of the portrait so he could pretend that Aunt Ann was eating with us.
During the meal, Elliott began talking about next Thanksgiving and Christmas. With holiday family stacked up like airplanes over Chicago, Elliott usually wandered around with his pillow, looking for a bed with space enough for a wiry little boy to crawl in.
“Sometimes I sleep with Granny Ive, and sometimes I sleep with Aunt Ann. It’s funny to sleep with Aunt Ann, because her feet are always cold,” Elliott giggled. I looked quizzically at Penny.
“He knows,” she whispered. “He just thinks if he doesn’t acknowledge it, it won’t be true.”
Older brother Taylor responded openly to Elliott. “She’s dead, Elliott. A bad guy broke into her house and killed her. Aunt Ann’s not coming at Christmas. You just have to get used to it.”
Jack didn’t sleep well, and he thought about the murder constantly. Just as he’d start to relax most nights, our phone would ring and the caller ID would indicate a call from Madisonville. And after he talked about the murder, he’d have another sleepless night. His alarm sounded each morning at 3:20 a.m., regardless of how many hours he’d stayed awake trying to focus on anything but Ann lying lifeless at the bottom of her basement stairs.
Neither of us could comprehend how something this horrible could happen in our normal family. But we knew from experience that we can’t make sense out of a tragedy while we’re in the middle of it. It’s only when we reach the other side of the valley that we can look back and see how the path brought us eventually to higher, safer ground. It’s only then that we realize that the path set for us is exactly the one we would have chosen – if we could have seen the destination.
I knew we’d be stronger not in spite of what we’d gone through, but because of it. But no one—while walking through the fire—can say, “Let me walk a little longer. The heat will make me strong.” But when the fire cools and we see that we’re durable and strong, then we understand.
Right now, the other side of the valley wasn’t in sight, the fire was still raging and it would be a long time till we could make sense of anything associated with Ann’s death.
