Page 52 of The Lost Hours
“I’m not really sure. She’d been after Malily to give her access to all of her papers. Malily told her that some things were meant to remain private, but that didn’t stop Susan. She apparently went snooping in Malily’s room when my grandmother was out of town at a horse event, and found something. I believe Malily discovered it was missing and got it back because I never found out what it was. But it was enough to send Susan into a tailspin.”
“Did you ever ask Malily what it was?”
“Yes, and she told me it was just a letter she’d written to a friend but never sent. But that with Susan’s mind being the way it was, she read things into it. Malily thought that Susan had somehow become so absorbed in my grandmother’s story that she was sort of reliving it—the good and the bad. Maybe there were parts that reminded Susan of her own childhood.” He dropped the shredded grass back to the ground. “I guess I’ll never know for sure. She drowned herself a week later. She simply . . . walked into the river. I’ve never been able to figure that one out. We had the pond here, after all. But she chose the river.”
A letter to a friend.The words hung in the air between us, and I had to keep myself from asking more.
He looked at me, as if just now realizing I was there. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
I thought for a moment, realizing how since my accident even strangers on park benches or in grocery store lines seemed to want to confide in me. I almost smiled, the reason why so clear to me now. “Don’t worry. It happens a lot. I think it’s because people see that I’m damaged, so they think I’ll understand their problems more than their spouses or friends. Like I have an inside track to figuring out problems because mine are undoubtedly greater than theirs.”
He regarded me and I could see him struggling with the correct response. “It doesn’t have to be that way, you know. Maybe you’re using your injury as an excuse. As long as your knee is stiff and painful, you have a reason for not trying. You don’t have to jump again, Earlene. Nobody’s asking you to. But wouldn’t it be nice to ride again—just for fun?”
I almost told him then that I was Piper Mills and that it had never occurred to me to just simply ride for fun. I was a competitor. I wasn’t a mountain climber who climbed a mountain just because it was there. I rode horses because I was good at it, because at one time I’d had a shot at being the best at it. I rode because there was something inside of me that wanted to be something other than ordinary.
Instead, I looked up at the copper and green magnolia leaves, how still they were as they waited for the next breeze to move them. “And because you’re a doctor you think it’s your job to heal everyone. But not everyone needs or wants healing, you know.”
I felt him watching me and I wanted to look into his marsh green eyes because I could always see a pain there that matched my own, but I didn’t. Because every time I did look at him I felt something else, too, something I wasn’t ready to explore. Two damaged people did not make a whole.
“Everyone needs healing,” he said softly.
Without waiting for me to respond, he said,“Before I forget, I think I found the necklace you were looking for.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out my angel charm, the chain dangling from his hand like an unanswered question. “It’s odd, because Malily has one identical to it—so much so that I would have thought it was hers if I hadn’t seen her wearing it right before I found this on the garden path.”
The words sprang to my lips before I could pull them back. “I think angel charms were like mood rings to our grandmothers’ generation. A lot of women their age probably had one.”
“With the same inscription?” He pulled his eyebrows together in question.
“Yeah. Latin must have been the ‘in’ thing back then.”
“Must have been,” he said, smiling, making me feel worse. “I hope you don’t mind, but I fixed the chain.”
“Thank you,” I managed, and before I could say anything else, he’d placed the necklace around my neck, fastening the chain while I held up my hair. Our eyes met, and I knew that if I didn’t speak up now, I’d have no defense later when the truth inevitably found its way to the surface.
“I need to tell you something. . . .”
My words were cut short by the appearance of Lucy, who came running around the corner of the garden wall. She was dressed and ready for her riding lesson, holding the fluorescent purple crop I’d purchased for her on a whim at a local tack shop. “Where’s Sara? We’re supposed to have our lesson now, but she’s not in her room and she’s not at the ring, either. And her riding clothes are still on her bed. I don’t want us to be late because then my lesson will be shorter.”
“Where did you see her last?” Tucker asked, his voice firm but gentle.
“In the kitchen with Odella. Odella was making us pimento cheese sandwiches because that’s Sara’s favorite. And then we were supposed to go upstairs to get changed out of our swimsuits. I left first because Sara’s a slowpoke and hadn’t finished hers yet.”
“Did you look in the kitchen?”
Lucy shook her head. “No, because she was supposed to be done.”
As if an afterthought, Tucker gently tugged on one of her braided and bowed pigtails, causing Lucy to lean toward him. “She’s probably still in there, listening to some long-winded story of Odella’s. I’ll go find her and hurry her up. Meanwhile, you and Miss Earlene can get started with your lesson.”
I watched as he walked away, swallowing my confession until I could find him alone again. I turned to Lucy. “We’re going to work on a couple of new things while we’re waiting for Sara. I’m going to teach you something today called ‘two-point’—do you know what that is?”
Lucy nodded eagerly. “It’s to learn how to jump, isn’t it?”
“Not necessarily,” I said cautiously. “It will strengthen your quads—those are your thigh muscles—and teach you proper positioning, which you need for all riding, including jumping.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “And then how much longer before I’m jumping?” Her dark brown eyes looked up at me eagerly. “I think Daddy wants me to be a really good jumper.”
I stopped walking and squatted in front of her. “Lucy, if you want to be a good jumper, you have to want to do it—nobody else. It’s always great to have somebody you love supporting you in the sidelines. But when it’s just you, your horse, and a five-foot jump, there’s no room for anybody else, okay?”
Her eyes darkened, her face serious. “I want to be the best. It’s been my dream since I was really small. Mama told me that dreams were just food for heartache, but I didn’t believe her. I didn’t say so, though. She didn’t take very well to anybody disagreeing with her, but I let her think that she was right. And I never stopped dreaming.”
