We turned a corner at the end of the field and followed the trail into the woods. The sunlight dimmed beneath the infant leaves. I slapped at a mosquito buzzing in my ear.
“In fact, your mother was quite the horsewoman,” Candice said.
I looked at her, thrilled. “Really? Did you ride together?”
“Now and then. Mostly I stayed behind and played with you while Bernard and Beth went riding. I couldn’t bear gallivanting around with those two. My stomach couldn’t take it.”
I smiled. “No wonder I loved you so much, Jellybean.”
She laughed with me. “We made great companions, we two.” She swatted at a mosquito near her cheek.
“We still do.” I smacked a bug on my arm.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting eaten alive. Let’s get out of these woods.” Candice itched at a welt on her hand.
“Me first!” I whirled and ran, leaving Candice and the mosquitoes behind.
“Not so fast, young lady.” Candice’s voice came from only a few steps back.
I broke into the field, back in bite-free sunshine and warmth.
Candice stopped next to me seconds later. She leaned hands on knees, recovering her breath. “Not bad for an old gal, huh?” she said.
“Either you’re in great shape, or I’m in lousy shape.” I laughed.
“You’re in lousy shape.”
As we walked back to the farmhouse, I gave her the rundown on Sam.
“So the ex-husband is back on the loose.” Candice shook her head.
“Brad seems pretty upset about it. But what are the chances of this guy really doing anything?”
She stopped and looked at me, her expression dead serious. “Count yourself blessed, Tish, that you’ve never been abused at the hands of someone you love. There’s nothing harder than opening your eyes when you want only to keep them closed. There’s nothing like finally admitting to yourself that you’re ‘one of those women’—the kind of woman you always despised for having no backbone, for not having the good sense to leave a situation that’s killing you.”
“I’m sorry, Candice, I didn’t mean to—”
She rolled over my words as if I’d never spoken. “If Sam’s ex is anything like mine was, he’s going to come after her. It’s as if he can’t help himself. He’s going to make her pay for putting him in prison, because, naturally, all his problems are her fault. And if she doesn’t grovel just right and beg his forgiveness, then he’s going to hurt her. He’d rather see her dead than free.”
I stared in speechless horror. “Is that what happened to you?”
She nodded. “Thank God Paul died in that fire before he could hurt me one last time.”
I swallowed. “Then maybe my grandfather did you a big favor and you should thank him too.”
She turned and walked ahead. “Let it lie, Tish. It’s a place you don’t want to go.”
I reached for her arm and yanked her to a halt. “I’m sick of people telling me that. I’m sick of everyone trying to protect me from the past. I just want the truth. I want to know what really happened to my mother. How can a woman who was fearless on horseback just give up on life? And I want the truth about my grandfather. Did he have anything to do with my mother’s death and your fire or didn’t he?” My teeth ground together in exasperation. I jabbed a finger toward her. “I know you’re the one who wrote ‘Don’t ask why’ on my mother’s picture and left it ripped in half on my pillow. I don’t care what you say. I’m going to ask and ask and ask until I get my answers.”
Her eyes were giant circles as she listened to me rant.
She pawed at me as if pleading for me to stop. “Tish, I didn’t rip your mother’s picture. I would never do that.” She looked away. “I did write on her photo. But it was in grease pencil, easily wiped off. I wanted to warn you not to be so curious. So you wouldn’t get hurt like she did.”
“What do you mean, get hurt like she did? My mom killed herself.”
Candice shook her head. “Perhaps. But I suspect someone helped her into that quarry.”
My knees felt weak. I tried to breathe. “Why do you say that? What makes you think so?”
“There were rumors. Stories, going around at the time of her death. She’d been at the bar but had no alcohol in her system, so the crash couldn’t be blamed on drunk driving. But witnesses said she drove straight through the guardrail as if she’d done it on purpose. The police took pictures and asked the usual questions. Then they tagged it a suicide and wrapped up the investigation.”
“But you think there’s more to it?”
“There’s always more to everything.”
“Oh, that’s right. You think my grandfather had something to do with it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I have no doubt.”
“It doesn’t make sense. He loved my mother. Why would he do anything to hurt her?”
“She was meeting up with your father.”
“My dad?”
“To warn him.”
“Warn him about what?”
“There’s so much to the story.” She took a deep breath and fanned herself. “I’m feeling worn out after our sprint in the field. How about if I give you all the details another day?”
My jaw dropped. How could she even suggest putting the rest of the story on hold? But her face did look pale. Her breath did seem short. I sure didn’t want her dropping dead of heart failure before I could get the whole picture.
“Yeah, of course. I’ll help you in.”
I settled her in the parlor with a glass of water, cleaned up the tea things in the kitchen, then left for my own cottage . . . somewhat reluctant to face my new tenant.
22
On the drive home, I mulled over Candice’s denial. She admitted to writing on my mom’s photo but swore she hadn’t ripped it in half. I believed her, mostly. But that meant someone else had been at the lodge after she’d gussied up my bedroom. The whole idea gave me a crick in the neck.
I pulled down my driveway slow as a turtle with a bum leg, praying I wouldn’t find some Woodstock revival on my front lawn. I turned the final corner and breathed a sigh of relief. The only vehicle in the yard was Sam’s VW. Blankets, bags, and boxes appeared to have exploded out the back of the van. Sam’s long black hair hung across her shoulders as she sifted through her months of supplies.
At my approach, she lifted her head and fluttered her hand. I parked and waded to the epicenter of my most recent disaster.
“Anything I can help with?” I asked.
She picked a box off the ground and stuffed it into my unsuspecting arms. “This can go in the closet for now,” she said.
I started toward the house.
“Hurry back. There’s more where that came from!”
It may have been my imagination, but it sounded like Sam’s voice held a hint of evil satisfaction. I dumped the box in the bedroom closet and went outside for more.
Three hours and at least thirty boxes later, we stood at the entrance to my mother’s old bedroom and surveyed our work.
“It’s definitely bright,” I said. An orange bedspread that looked more like a shag carpet gave the sagging mattress a much-needed boost. Neon blue and green flowers sprinkled the surface. The overall effect was of a garden experiment gone awry. At the bedside, a lava lamp bubbled, fighting with the sunshine-yellow braided rug for the room’s focal point.
“Thanks.” Sam leaned against the doorframe in apparent satisfaction. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you letting me stay. You’re a great friend.” She reached one long arm in my direction and squeezed my shoulder.
“No problem. We’re going to have fun.” I repeated Brad’s words, hoping if I said them enough they might come true.
“I’ll look for a job tomorrow.” Her voice sounded tired.
“I forgot about that. I guess you’ll need one of those.” We stood silent, letting our joint circumstances sink in.
I clapped my hands to break the suddenly glum atmosphere. “Let’s get some food. I’m starving.”
A look through the fridge revealed a stick of butter, three eggs, and about a quarter cup of expired milk. The cupboards offered a can of corned beef hash and some baked beans.