4
Monday
The next morning came early.As I blinked open my eyes, I was greeted by the sun slowly peeking over the watery horizon. The vivid painting of orange and pink in the eastern sky was a stark contrast to the deep blues and silvers of the previous night. I rose slowly, the weight of yesterday’s conversations still heavy on my shoulders. It had been a long time since I had talked about my life in Sims Chapel, about Mother, and about Jack. But I needed to get this off my chest, to liberate myself from the shackles that had bound me for so long.
The house was silent as I made my way down the hall. Seeing that I was the first one up, I retreated to the library, where I picked up my copy ofThe Great Gatsbyand lost myself for a while within its pages. The characters’ lives seemed so distant from my own, yet there was something in their longing, their struggle for identity and acceptance, that rang true.
As I immersed myself in the world of Jay Gatsby and Nick Carraway, the house began to stir. Judy wandered in first, herhair in disarray. She sank into the armchair across from me, cradling her head in her hands.
“It’s too early,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.
I watched her with an amused smile, setting my book face down on the coffee table.
Diane arrived then through the back door, the sound of her footsteps echoing down the hall. I paused for a moment, listening as her heels clacked against the hardwood.
I left Judy in the library and found Diane in the kitchen, her dark hair tied back in a neat bun, grabbing a bagel from the breadbox. She didn’t notice me at first, and I let her be. I put on a pot of tea, the gentle hissing of the kettle a comforting background noise. When it came to a boil, I poured it over the waiting teabag and fixed a cup for Diane too.
“Morning,” I said as I approached her, the steaming mugs in hand.
“Oh, morning,” she said, taking the mug from me. “Thank you.” She sipped the tea slowly.
“You seem distracted this morning. Is everything all right?”
“Mmm? Sorry, just thinking.”
“Anything in particular?” I asked, not pushing but showing my willingness to listen.
She remained silent for a few seconds, her gaze far away. Then she looked at me, her eyes clear and strong. “It’s Cassie. She’s having trouble at school. Fighting with her classmates, getting into arguments with her teachers. She’s having difficulty adjusting to the fact that Kyle is gone. I’ve tried to talk to her, to help her understand, but…”
I placed my tea on the counter and moved closer to her, laying a steadying hand on her shoulder. Her face softened at the contact, and she turned to me, her eyes so full of worry that it pained me.
“Do you want to talk about it? Despite what you might have heard about me being cold and distant, I’m actually a good listener.”
My words drew a smile from Diane, and she gave a quiet chuckle, her tension unfurling slightly. “It’s nothing to burden you with, really. I guess she just needs more time, you know?”
I did know. “Most people say that time heals all wounds, but they often forget to mention how unpredictable that time can be. Or the fact that sometimes, the wound closes up but leaves a scar that never really fades.”
“I just don’t know what else to do for her. Losing Kyle has been the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to go through. But it’s not just about me. Watching Cassie hurting, it’s...heartbreaking. You see, I was a teenager when I had her, so I know what it’s like to struggle. Now, seeing her have her own issues, it feels like I’ve come full circle.”
I nodded, understanding her feelings completely. “It's tough, especially when you feel like you're not able to help the person you love the most. But remember, Diane, grief isn't linear. We all heal at different rates and in different ways. Give her some more time. I’m sure she’ll start to turn the corner soon enough. And if not, there’s always professional help.”
After breakfast, we returned to the library to pick up where we’d left off the previous evening. Now that Diane had composed herself, she settled into the armchair and turned on the tape recorder.
“Where were we? Oh yes, I remember.” She put a finger in the air. “We were discussing your childhood. I have a pretty good feel for those early days, but I want to know about your teenage years. Were they as tumultuous as most?”
I gave a laugh as I drifted back to that time. “Tumultuous? That’s one way to put it.”
Sims Chapel, TN
May 1949
My mother’s voice echoed through the dense woods, calling me home for supper.
“Sorry,” I said as I got to my feet and brushed the dirt from my faded blue jeans. “I gotta go. If I’m late again, Mother will tan my hide.”
Jack reeled in his line and carefully secured the hook. “That’s okay. I promised my mama I’d be home before dark too.”
We gathered our gear—fishing rods, tackle, and bait—and hiked out of the woods together. When we reached the top of the hill, I turned for home and said, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”