Page 24 of Dreams of Falling
Bennett walked toward me, and when I waved him away, he ignored me and put his hands on my shoulders to steady me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I insisted, even though I wasn’t. It took all of my willpower not to grab my phone to call Ceecee and ask her to explain.
“I can’t believe nobody told you the story. If not your family, then surely it must have come up in conversation at some point.”
I almost laughed. “Everybody probably assumed I already knew and didn’t want to talk about it. It’s pretty awful.” A moment of silence, and then I asked, “Did my mother know?”
“I have no idea. You need to ask her when she wakes up.”
I looked up sharply, wondering if he was humoring my optimism about my mother’s recovery. “Or I could speak with Ceecee today andask her why the hell all of this has been kept from me.” I indicated the empty shell of the old house, a foreboding hulk against the dimming light.
“Talk to Ceecee,” he repeated gently. “I’m sure she can explain.”
“Oh, I will.” I slid into the passenger seat and began to hunt for the keys I’d tossed into my purse.
Bennett leaned into the car. “Gabriel said he saw you last night—and that Jackson Porter was there, too.”
I lowered my face even though it blocked the light, making it harder to find the keys in the black interior of the purse. “Was he?”
Bennett pulled back, and I knew I couldn’t look at him and allow him to read my face. I’d found the keys and clutched them in my palm, feeling them dig into my skin.
“He’s still single, you know. He and Melissa were married for about five minutes before they split up. Now he has a string of girlfriends. Runs his father’s insurance business. Just thought you’d want to know.”
I forgot that I was trying not to look at him. “Why are you telling me this?”
He studied my face closely, reading every secret. “Guess I’m just trying to bring you up to speed with what’s been going on since you left.”
“Thanks, but I don’t see the urgency. I’ll let you know what Mama says about the property once she wakes up. It’s been like this for more than sixty years. It can wait a little longer.”
“True,” Bennett said. “Just remember, once a historic property like this is gone, it’s gone forever. There’s no bringing it back.”
“I’ll let you know,” I said, putting on my seat belt.
“I’ll follow you out.” Bennett indicated the path around the house. “Don’t want you getting stuck.”
I swallowed my disappointment. I’d wanted him to leave so I could read the ribbons in my pocket, but he was right. It would have to wait. “Thanks,” I said before jabbing the key into the ignition as he closed my door.
The sun had started its descent, turning Carrowmore into a hulking shadow. I began moving forward, slowly, waiting for Bennett to pull up behind me. I was aware of his truck’s headlights in my rearview mirror, and found an odd comfort in knowing he was there.
But as soon as we reached the asphalt of Highway 17, I floored it, leaving Bennett behind. I knew he could have overtaken my car if he’d wanted to, just as I knew he was aware of how much I needed to be alone to think.
I pulled into Ceecee’s driveway and turned on the dome light inside the car so I could see. Leaning back for better access to my pocket—and completely unrepentant about my recent penchant for skinny jeans—I pulled out two ribbons, still white and crisp.
I could count on one hand the number of times my mother had ever written a letter to me, yet I knew this handwriting was hers. I stretched out the first ribbon across my lap, flattening it to read it better. I stared at the thick letters, written with what appeared to be a black Magic Marker.I miss you. I wish I’d been given the chance to know you.
My heart thumped inside my chest. It reminded me of watching a horror movie with Mabry and Bennett after lying about our ages to get in, the scene where a young girl is about to enter a darkened room without turning on the light.
Almost as if a director were sitting in the backseat, telling me what to do, I stretched the second ribbon on top of the first. It wasn’t penned in black marker, and the handwriting seemed different, although that could have been because it was written using another writing instrument. It was hard to see in the fading daylight, but the color of these letters appeared to be crimson.
I blinked several times, just to make sure I was reading it correctly.
Forgive me.
I closed my eyes, feeling as if I were reading someone else’s diary. Then I opened them again, unable to stop myself. Gingerly, I rubbed my fingernail against one of the letters, flicking it back and forth to try to determine what it had been written with. Small flakes scatteredon the light denim of my jeans. Definitely not marker, then. Something else. Maybe a gel pen or one of those glitter glue pens Mabry and I had been crazy about in middle school.
The porch lights blinked on, and Ceecee opened the front door, her worried expression telling me that she’d been aware of my sitting in the car without coming in. Without knowing why, I tucked the ribbons back into my pocket and exited the car, closing the door behind me with a sharp snap.
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