Читать книгу Family Sins - Sharon Sala - Страница 10
ОглавлениеTalia Champion heard the news about Stanton Youngblood’s murder when Erin McClune, the hospice nurse, came to check on Talia’s father. Erin was a tall, pretty blonde with strong arms and a gentle heart, and she wasted no time talking about what she called “the showdown” in front of the police station.
Talia was shocked by the news, and saddened to learn that the man she’d once thought would be her father-in-law had been murdered. Then the reality of what that meant hit her. The family would gather. There would be constant turmoil until the killer was found. And knowing that family like she did, she was sure Bowie Youngblood was already on his way home.
It had been over seven years since she’d refused his marriage proposal and ended the joy in her life. It made her stomach hurt just thinking about seeing him again, even from a distance.
She glanced in on her father, grateful Erin was there tending to him for now, and decided to take a quick break. She poured herself a glass of sweet tea and went out on the back porch for a breath of air. After his years of suffering, her father’s Alzheimer’s was finally taking him down. As she sat, she thought back to the night she’d learned her father’s fate, and then leaned back and closed her eyes, remembering what else that realization had meant to her world.
* * *
Talia was dividing the last of her birthday cake for their dessert that night and thinking to herself that nineteen didn’t feel any older than eighteen, when her daddy came in the back door from work.
“Hi, Dad,” she said.
“Hi, baby, did you have a good day?” he asked, as he hung his cap and work coat on the rack by the back door.
“I guess. I did laundry all day,” she said, and then smiled.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
She was wondering what she’d done that had upset him as she took a seat at the kitchen table, and then she looked at his face. There were tears in his eyes.
She started to panic; even before she asked, she knew it had to be bad. Daddy never cried.
“Daddy? What’s wrong?”
He reached for her hands and held them—almost as if he needed her strength to say what had to be said.
“I’m sick, girl. And I’m not gonna get better. In fact, it’s gonna get worse, much worse. I wish to God it wasn’t happening. I am so sorry this burden has fallen on you.”
From the moment she’d heard him say I’m sick, she’d been shaking.
“What’s wrong, Daddy? What is it?”
Marshall Champion shuddered. What he was about to say was terrifying, and saying the words aloud would validate the truth of what he aleady knew.
“I have Alzheimer’s disease. The doctor reckons I’ve had it for a couple of years now.”
Talia gasped. She couldn’t focus. She couldn’t make a sound. She looked at her father as if seeing him for the first time and was afraid—afraid of what he would become.
He kept talking.
“I’ve got my pension coming from the railroad, and I’ll start drawing my Social Security this year, but today was my last day at the gas station. I’m making too many mistakes. I reckon what’s coming in will be enough to put me somewhere when the need comes, but I’ll have to depend on you to do all that, and I’m so sorry.”
Now Talia was holding on to her father’s hands in desperation. Life had been so perfect. She and Bowie were finally out of high school and getting ready to go away to college together. She was already toying with the idea of being his wife for the rest of their lives. She had to talk now. Please, God, let it make sense.
“It’s not your fault, Daddy, and of course I’ll be here for you. Don’t ever apologize about this to me again, okay?”
Marshall nodded as the tears rolled down his face.
“You are a good girl, honey.”
She took a deep, painful breath and smiled around the heartache.
“You are a good father. I’ve been blessed.”
Marshall nodded, then turned her loose, patted her hands and stood up.
“Well, now, I’m glad it’s been said. I’ll make supper tonight, okay?”
“I’ve already got it going,” she said. “Just go wash up. It should be done in about thirty minutes.”
Her hands were shaking as she watched him leave the room. Still reeling from the news, she began grasping at straws, trying to figure out how to make this work and still have her life with Bowie. Her thoughts were chaotic as she reached for her laptop.
She’d been researching colleges, and now she began researching nursing homes instead, checking them for costs and levels of care. It didn’t take long to learn that not every nursing home would even take Alzheimer’s patients, and the ones that did were nowhere near Eden and unbelievably expensive. She was beginning to research nursing homes that took Medicare and Medicaid patients when she heard the shower turn off.
Her dad would be back soon, expecting supper on the table, so she shut down the laptop and got up to finish the meal.
They ate in near silence, both of them uncertain how to have a normal conversation when the rawness of a death sentence was still on the table.
The next few days passed slowly as the shock wore off. Talia spent every free moment on the computer or the phone, looking into different facilities with increasing dejection. The longer she searched, the more obvious the answer became. With no insurance and not nearly enough money for care, she had no other option but to take care of Daddy at home.
The night Bowie got down on his knee and offered her the world, she turned him down.
She gave up the love of her life for the man who’d given her life.
* * *
When the dog next door began to bark, Talia turned loose of the memory and opened her eyes. Lengthening shadows were a precursor to nightfall. Nearly one more day behind them. She and her father had ridden this hell together, and it was finally coming to an end.
While the disease had destroyed her father both physically and mentally, it had taken a toll on her, too. She had no future, no hope for one, and no plans for what she would do after his imminent death. She was so used up that she just wanted to sleep until she either woke up or she didn’t.
She thought about Bowie again, letting her mind wander to the possible scenarios where they might meet. He would likely be here far longer than the usual brief trip home at Christmas. During those trips he always spent all his time at home on the mountain, and even though she’d known he was up there, she’d never had a fear of running into him after she’d moved herself and her father into town. Bowie didn’t hang out in town, and she no longer had any reason to be up on the mountain.
It hurt to think about what she’d done to him. It made her sick to her stomach, and she often lost sleep thinking about what might have been. But this news about his father’s murder changed her anonymous existence. What would she do if they came face-to-face?
The gentle sway of the porch swing was soothing, and while she couldn’t hear what Erin was saying to her father, she could hear the murmur of her voice. Marshall had long since lost the ability to communicate, but it didn’t deter Erin. She was all about spreading light and love to all of her patients, whether they could answer her or not.
It was less than an hour away from nightfall when Talia began hearing the distinct sounds of an approaching helicopter. Living so close to the hospital, it wasn’t unusual, but it always gave her the urge to say a prayer knowing someone was in crisis. She’d watched plenty of times as patients from the hospital were wheeled out to the helipad and loaded into the Life-Flight choppers.
Curious as to what was happening now, she got up and moved to the edge of the porch. It wasn’t like she would be able to see who they were picking up, but she could say a prayer for safe travels.
It wasn’t until the chopper began landing that she realized it wasn’t from Life-Flight. She squinted, trying to read the logo on the side, but she couldn’t. Then the door opened on the passenger side, and when she saw an oil company logo, her heart skipped a beat. When two very long denim-clad legs suddenly appeared below the door, she shivered. She couldn’t see his face, but she didn’t have to.
It was Bowie!
Then she saw people getting out of several cars parked on the street in front of the hospital, and when they all began walking toward the helipad, she knew they must be some of his family. A moment later she recognized his mother, and then his brothers. She watched Bowie duck beneath the rotors as he headed toward them. The sight of him after all these years hurt her heart. Unwilling to torture herself any longer, she went back inside as his family welcomed him home.
* * *
Bowie looked out the window as the chopper was landing. He could see his brothers in their cars looking up through their windshields. Coming home because of a death in the family had been the farthest thing from his mind when he woke up this morning, and yet here he was, about to face the truth.
The moment the pilot was down he thanked him, removed the headset and got out. He stopped to grab his duffel bag, and when he turned around, his mother was coming toward him.
* * *
Leigh felt like she was in a living nightmare. She knew that was her son, but it was like looking at Stanton. She swallowed past the knot in her throat and kept moving.
The downdraft from the rotors was whipping her hair to the point that the ribbon she’d tied it back with came undone and blew away. Now all of her hair was windblown and flying about her face, while the blast flattened her dress to her body, outlining her long legs and slender torso.
Bowie couldn’t see her expression, but his heart was pounding so hard it hurt to breathe. Facing her was going to be the worst. He knew the loss of their father was an amputation of part of herself. The chopper was already in the air and leaving as Bowie dropped his duffel bag and caught her on the run, hugging her close.
“Mama, I am so sorry,” he said.
Leigh shuddered as her fingers dug into his forearms.
“He’s gone, Bowie. They killed him.”
Tears were running down his face.
“I know, Mama, but we’ll figure it out together, just like we always do, right?”
And then they were surrounded by his brothers hugging him and crying, and then hugging him some more.
Leigh stood aside and watched.
As children they’d been like a litter of playful puppies. As teenagers they had bonded in a way not all brothers can. And now they were together again, gathered in grief.
Oh, Stanton. Look at them. Look at what we made with our love. They are all I have left of you, but they don’t belong with me. How do I learn to live without you and still take care of Jesse on my own?
* * *
When they started home, Bowie sat in the backseat with his mother, giving Jesse the front seat beside Samuel. He took his lead from her, and when she immediately clutched his hand as they drove away, he held on tight, sensing her need for an anchor.
Jesse kept up a running list of questions for Samuel, which left Bowie and Leigh able to sit in comfortable silence. Once he glanced over at her and saw tears running down her face. He undid his seat belt, slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She leaned into the curve of his body and closed her eyes. She hadn’t stopped crying, but it didn’t matter anymore. She wasn’t crying on her own.
Halfway up the mountain Samuel turned on the headlights, piercing the growing darkness as they went higher and higher, until he tapped the brakes and turned up the driveway leading to the family home. When the headlights swept across the front yard, it was obvious there were more people there than when they’d left.
“Who’s here?” Jesse asked.
Samuel patted his brother on the leg.
“I don’t know, Jesse. How about we go see?”
“Yes,” Jesse said, and got out, but then, when he would have run toward the porch, he stopped and went back to open the door for his mother. “Good manners, right, Mama?”
Leigh touched his cheek.
“Yes, son, good manners always matter.”
Bowie shouldered his duffel bag and steadied his mother’s steps as they climbed the stairs and went inside.
The ongoing conversation instantly stopped as they walked in, and then started up again as everyone stood up to welcome Bowie home.
He saw his Aunt Polly and Uncle Thomas and their spouses, a good half-dozen cousins about his age, and the preacher from the family church. He glanced at his mother to see if she was upset by all this chaos, but she’d turned into the perfect hostess, and was quietly seeing to everyone’s comfort and talking to her daughters-in-law about food.
When Leigh saw all the food from family and friends it seemed to settle her concerns. Home was familiar. Home and family were the comfort she would need tonight.
It wasn’t long before she picked up her grandson, Johnny, and began carrying him around on her hip like she’d done when her own boys were small, taking comfort in being able to meet his simple needs. When Bella and Maura announced dinner was ready, Leigh went into the kitchen with Johnny to get him fed first. Leslie already had a plate filled with things he would eat. Leigh asked if she could feed him, and Leslie quickly found them a seat in the kitchen and left them on their own.
Bowie was thinking Johnny had been a baby in arms when he’d seen him last, and now he was walking and saying words.
But while Johnny was eating well, he noticed his mother wasn’t. Her plate was untouched. He understood her lack of appetite, but he didn’t want her to faint on them later, so he brought her a piece of cake and sweet iced tea.
“Thank you, son, but I’m not hungry,” she said.
“Just a few bites,” he said, and walked away.
Later, he noticed she’d drunk the tea and some of the cake was gone, too.
He went back into the living room with a piece of pie and a refill of his own iced tea, found a chair out of the way and let the conversation roll over him while trying not to think of why they were all there.
He finished the pie and was thinking about sleeping in this house tonight without Stanton, when something he heard his Aunt Polly say stunned him.
“It’s so sad,” Polly said. “I heard Talia finally had to call in hospice. She’s been a faithful daughter, for sure, tending to him like that on her own.”
Her sister-in-law, Beth, nodded in agreement.
“You know my granny passed the same way. When they get to that point, there’s nothing you can do but wait it out at their bedside.”
Bowie was speechless, and then his need to know more drove him to ask, “Aunt Polly, are you by any chance talking about Talia Champion?”
She nodded. “Yes, her father’s Alzheimer’s has just about run its course.”
“How long has he been suffering from it?” Bowie asked.
Samuel knew the moment Bowie spoke what he was thinking. They’d all wondered what had happened between Bowie and Talia, but it wasn’t their way to intrude on each other’s personal business.
“If I had to guess, it’s probably been something like six or seven years, at least,” Samuel said.
Bowie’s eyes widened as he thought about what that meant, and then he got up and stepped outside onto the porch.
The night was quiet. The sky was dark—not even a sliver of moon to mark the passing of time. Lights from inside their home spilled out through the windows, painting oblong patches of yellow-gold on to the simple wooden porch.
An owl hooted from a nearby tree. Somewhere on the mountain, someone was running their hounds. He could hear the dogs yipping as they struck a trail, and he remembered nights like that with his brothers and their dad. It hurt to think all of that was gone.
Sick at heart about his father, and confused by what he’d learned about Talia, he closed his eyes. Away from home, he’d dreamed of nights like this, lying in bed with the windows up, letting in fresh air and falling to sleep so close to heaven.
He heard the door open behind him but didn’t turn around. And then he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Samuel’s voice behind him.
“Are you okay?” Samuel asked.
“Talia never left Eden?”
Samuel sighed. He’d guessed this was what had driven Bowie out of the room.
“No.”
“Why didn’t any of you tell me?” Bowie asked.
“Tell you what, brother? We didn’t know what broke you up. Why would we suddenly butt into your business? It’s not our way, right?”
Bowie sighed.
“She turned down my proposal and led me to believe she just didn’t want to get married. I knew I couldn’t live here and see her every day, so I left.”
“You never saw her after that? Not even when you were home?”
Bowie shook his head. “I did drive past their place once, but the house was empty. I thought they’d moved away.”
“She moved into Eden to make it easier for her to take care of him.”
Bowie took a slow, shaky breath. “Where does she live?”
“On the street behind the hospital and fire station. It’s directly behind the helipad, a small white house with black trim. I think she drives a blue Ford Taurus.”
Bowie listened but said nothing.
“Are you going to go see her?” Samuel asked.
“I don’t know. There’s too much else going on,” Bowie said.
“Her father is dying, Bowie. She’s alone. The least you could do is stop by to pay your respects.”
Having said what he’d come to say, Samuel went back inside, leaving Bowie on his own.
In the space of one day, Bowie had learned of his father’s murder and Talia’s lie. It was a hell of a lot to consider.
* * *
Finally everyone had gone home, and Leigh was seeing to getting Jesse settled in his bed. Bowie could hear his mother explaining all over again why Stanton wasn’t going to come tell him good-night. Taking pity on the both of them, Bowie got up and went down the hall to Jesse’s room.
“Hey, brother,” Bowie said. “I’m about to head to bed and wanted to come tell you good-night.”
The grateful expression on Leigh’s face was hard to miss.
“Thank you,” she said, softly.
“Why don’t you go shower first, Mama? I’ll shower after you’re done.”
“Yes,” she said, then leaned over and brushed a kiss across Jesse’s forehead. “Sleep well, honey. Mama loves you.”
Jesse smiled.
“Love you, too, Mama.”
Leigh gave Bowie’s hand a squeeze as she walked past him and out of the room.
Bowie sat down on the side of Jesse’s bed. It was hard to look at him and know the injuries he’d suffered in battle had left him with the mind of a child.
“Do you want me to read to you, Jesse?”
Jesse nodded, and pointed to a stack of books on the bedside table.
Bowie saw one with a bookmark and guessed someone had been reading that one to him. He smiled when he saw it was a biography of Daniel Boone.
When Jesse was a kid in elementary school the class had studied Daniel Boone, and once he learned the famous frontiersman had been from Kentucky, he’d come home with a head full of dreams about killing bears and living in a log cabin and hunting for his own food. He played at that until he outgrew the pretend phase of youth.
“That one,” Jesse said. “Daddy’s reading it to me.” Then his lower lip quivered as tears suddenly rolled. “Daddy can’t read to me anymore. Daddy is dead, Bowie. Daddy went to heaven like my friends in the war.”
Bowie patted Jesse’s arm and handed him a tissue to wipe his eyes.
“I know, man. We’re all sorry. We’re all sad. But let’s read a little bit more tonight. Daddy would want you to hear the rest of the story, right?”
“Yes. I’m ready,” Jesse said, and turned over on his side and closed his eyes.
Bowie felt like crying all over again. Instead, he began to read. As he did, he heard the water come on in the bathroom down the hall and knew his mama was probably in the shower.
Bowie knew when Jesse fell asleep because his lips parted and his breathing settled. He set the book aside, taking care to mark the place, and made sure the night-light was on before he left the room.
As he was walking down the hall, he paused. His mother was still in the bathroom, and he could hear her crying. Sympathetic tears blurred his vision. His heart hurt. Without the experience of living with the love of his life, he could only imagine how she felt.
Immediately, he thought of Talia. He thought he’d gotten over her rejection of his marriage proposal—until today. At the time he’d had anger to help him move on. But if her father’s illness was why she’d rejected him, she’d only had the lie and the burden of her father’s future. Had she been able to move on, or had the deception and the years of tending her father broken her spirit? Samuel was right. He would have to go see her. But his first priority was to the family and finding his father’s killer.
* * *
Every light in the Wayne mansion was on. From a distance it appeared there was a party going on, but inside it was far closer to a wake.
They sat around the dinner table, glaring at each other, wondering who was to blame for the current disruption of their lives. Being under suspicion for murder was horrifying. They hadn’t yet been contacted or questioned by the county constable or the local police, but, as their lawyer had warned them, it was only a matter of time.
He’d ordered every one of them to make sure they had an airtight alibi for the time between eight and ten this morning, then ordered them all to keep their mouths shut in public and feign surprise that anyone had taken the accusation seriously.
The only two out of the whole family who actually had an airtight alibi were Nita and Fiona, because they’d been seen in and around Eden all morning. But they were part of the Wayne empire, and depending on what they knew and when they’d known it, it might not be enough to eliminate them from guilt. The sins of a family like theirs could be hard to live down.
Jack Wayne’s thick shock of white hair was, at best, rarely contained into a regular style, and tonight, thanks to the number of times he’d run his fingers through it in frustration, it looked more like the fanned-out head feathers of a pissed-off cockatoo.
He was stabbing at the food on his plate and poking it into his mouth in short, jerky movements while glaring at his relatives around this table. His nephew Blake had the same expression of flaring indignation. Jack didn’t know if it was all a show, or if Blake was as upset as he was. What really ticked him off was that his nieces and nephews were looking at him suspiciously, too. The only person who knew the truth wasn’t ready to talk—might never tell unless forced. What was bothering him was why it had happened. There had to be more of a reason than some old threat.
They were down to dessert when there was a knock at the door. Jack looked up from his pie à la mode and waved his fork in the air.
“Who the hell comes calling unannounced at dinnertime?” he roared.
Nita laid her fork on the plate.
“It’s probably Andrew. I invited him for dessert earlier. After this morning’s events, I felt it best to carry on as a family, as if none of this shit was happening,” she drawled, giving all of them an accusatory look before excusing herself. “I’ll be right back. Have Cook send out another piece of pie and a cup of coffee, please.”
Jack shoved his hand through his hair again and then rang for the cook as his niece left the room. He was in no mood for a social evening with Nita’s latest lover. She’d brought this one with her from New York but at least had the good sense to put him up in a hotel in town. Last time she’d brought a lover home from one of her travels, she’d put him up in the mansion and he’d stolen some of the family silver when he left.
Nita was all but bouncing on her toes as she strode down the hall toward the foyer. She had just turned fifty, but she would never admit it. She was a sexual woman and unwilling to live her life without a man in tow. She heard the butler answer the door, then heard Andrew Bingham’s voice and shivered, thinking about how good he was in bed.
He met her with a smile and a kiss midway between the foyer and the dining room.
“Um, peach pie?”
She smiled. “À la mode.”
He groaned. “Dessert and you? My day just keeps getting better.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Well, the day has gone to hell for us,” she said, and slid a hand through the crook of his arm and led him back down the hall.
“I heard,” he said. “I assume the mood is less than jovial tonight.”
“You’ve got that right. Just don’t bring it up. Brag on the coffee, instead. It’s one of Uncle Jack’s favorite blends.”
“Will do,” he said, and then they walked into the dining room.
“Good evening, all. Hope I’m not too tardy. I hear the peach pie à la mode is amazing tonight.”
Fiona smiled politely.
“Do join us. Cook outdid herself tonight on the crust.”
“Good evening, Andrew. You almost missed dessert,” Jack muttered.
“It took a while to get through all the traffic,” Andrew said, and then looked nervous, realizing that was something he shouldn’t have mentioned.
“What traffic?” Blake asked.
Andrew looked at Nita and shrugged an apology. “The traffic outside your front gate.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Blake said.
“The, uh, crowd of people. I might have seen a few picket signs.”
Blake abruptly stood. “There are people picketing outside our front gate?”
Nita sighed and took another spoonful of ice cream before it melted.
Afraid to take a bite of pie for fear someone would slap it out of his mouth, Andrew put his hands in his lap and nodded.
“What the fuck do the signs say?” Justin asked.
“I only got a glimpse of one. It might have said something about being above the law.”
“I’m going to call Henry Clayton,” Blake snapped. “What the hell good did it do putting him in office if he can’t protect us?”
He stomped out of the room.
Jack threw his napkin down on the table and followed him out.
The rest of them looked at each other in disbelief.
Andrew pulled the dessert plate closer and took a big bite, just in case it was the only one he got.
