Page 60 of Ring Me

“Not this time,” I'd agreed with a sly smile.

That had made him laugh happily. Now, we rocked on the long bench that hung from the wood beams, the wind playing across our cheeks, my hair tickling my lips.

Scanning the grass, I caught sight of a tabby cat with a torn ear. Its green eyes darted to my face. I froze, watching curiously. I hadn't seen any cats last time I was here and had wondered if Pappy had stopped feeding them.

It slipped towards the house, then turned deliberately towards a rose bush. The porcelain plate of cat food was barely noticeable. It felt like a sign to see an act of kindness my Nana had indulged in until her last days.

My grandfather sighed like a house that was settling. “When your mother was a child, she never wanted to do any wood-work. She liked learning to cook from her mother.”

“Her and I are so different.”

“Your aunt Jemine? She liked making birdhouses, like you.”

I blinked at that information. My toes pushed at the porch, slowing my swaying until I stopped entirely. “Did mom and her sister get along as kids?”

“What siblings get along?” he chuckled. He gave me a side-eye. “They became better friends as they got older. In fact, they were inseparable, always supporting each other, never a bad word said, until...”

“What?” I asked eagerly.

Pappy's frown was massive, it created crevices all down his jowls and throat. “It's not my place to tell you.”

“Please, my mom won't. She just dodges and complains about how bad my aunt isnow.What changed?” He said nothing, eyes fixed on the gaps in the porch boards. “I saw a photo upstairs. Of my dad.”

He snapped his head around. There was a deep well of grief in his eyes that made my blood cold. “Oh, Maya-bean. You shouldn't have seen that. I thought all the photos were gone.”

“Why get rid of them, why did everyone tell me my dad left before I was born?”

“It wasn't something we planned. Your grandmother and I wanted to keep the peace. We always wanted our children to be happy, make their own choices. Your mom and your dad were... bad for each other.”

I leaned towards him anxiously. “What happened?”

“Peach was always strong minded. She loved someone, who were we to judge their character? But Jemine, well, she wasn't capable of being silent. I think she sensed he—your father—was a bad seed before anyone else did.”

“What was his name?”

“Patrick,” he sighed. “Peach and Patrick. Your mom loved the alliteration.”

“Did he just up and leave, and why would that make my aunt and mom fight?”

He plucked a caramel from his pocket, chewing it slowly, thoughtfully. “I was never one for gossip. But I have two ears, and one works well enough. Your mother and dad fought a lot. Before she was pregnant, then more after you were born. Patrick had a violent side that got worse with alcohol. The man loved to drink. And Jemine... she was always so angry at her sister for tying herself to someone like him. Your mom had ambitions, like you.” He gave me an indulgent smile. “On some level, I think Jemine was disappointed. She was never as driven as Peach, but I think she was okay with that if it meant her sister did great things in her stead.”

I pulled my knees to my chest, hugging them. I was learning so much about my family and their relationships with each other. “The photo I saw was of my first birthday.”

“I remember it,” he said somberly. “Your father and mother got into a terrible argument. I could hear it here, on the porch, when they were out by the barn.” He pointed, his voice getting gruffer, angry in a way I wasn't used to. “He hit her so bad he chipped her front tooth. She was holding you in her arms when he did it. That was the last straw for Jemine. She stormed across the field and cracked him in the jaw, then she called the cops, though Peach begged her not to. Patrick said if he got arrested, she'd never see him again. He kept his word.”

He said nothing else. He didn't need to. I got it.

I'd never known Mom's tooth had been damaged from something so awful. I'd never pried, just assuming it was something like a bad fall or a thrown baseball, something simple. Innocent.

To know my daddy—no, I hadn't thought of him like that before, I wouldn't start now—had been the one to do it... to his own wife... it pissed me off. But now I knew why everyone pretended he'd never been around. That was less shameful than the truth. I related more to my mother's secret than I wanted to.

And my aunt, she'd been the rift. It wasn't fair of my mom to blame her sister for making Patrick abandon us. Jemine had done us a favor. The bitterness my mother carried was toxic.

“I hope someday they can move past all that,” I whispered, dragging my toes on the porch. I gripped the swing's chains tight. “It's so sad to think of them hating each other over something that's not their fault.”

“Time can be a wonderful thing as far as healing goes. It can also harden scars until they're impossible to remove.” He lurched forward, balancing his weight on his cane. I moved to help him but he waved me off. “I'm fine, I'll be right back.”

“Okay,” I said, watching him nervously as he shuffled into the house. He wasn't gone long. Brushing the screen door aside, he came to me, holding out a yellow folder.

---