“Don’t,” I warn, and she nods in response. I need to clear my head of the bullshit and focus on Sarge. I’m not interested in Celia’s commentary on Kimberly, now or ever. “How did you end up at Granny and Sarge’s house anyway?”
She jerks at my question, her spine stiffening in defense. I have a right to know, whether she agrees or not. They’re my family, and excuse me if I’m feeling a little protective of them right now.
“Granny and Lila both called me,” she explains, wringing her hands in her lap. “Sarge and I … well, we spend a lot of time together.”
“Is that right?”
“He’s my friend,” she whispers softly.
“Don’t you think it’s odd that you’ve welcomed every one of my family members into your life, except me?” The question, its implication and the harshness of my tone, fly out of my mouth before I have a chance to censor it.
“You don’t like my terms.” A shuddered breath releases from her lips, and her watery eyes meet mine. “For someone like me, with no family left, they’ve come to mean so much to me. I never want to lose them, but I understand if you want me to stay away.”
I shake my head as I dial the phone. She cuts me down to size with one sentence. God, I feel like such an asshole. “They love you as much as you love them. I’d never ask that of you.”
Her shoulders relax as I call Mo and place the phone on speaker. The ringing fills the cab, and Mo picks up right away.
“Any luck?”
It’s clear by her tone she’s come up empty, too.
“None. It’s time for a fresh start. We need to comb Granny’s brain for more places to look.” I rub my burning eyes, feeling as if I’ve aged ten years today.
“Where would you go?” Mo asks. “Where is the first place you’d go, Cain?”
“That’s easy. The pond. It always clears my head, and I have so many good memories of the place. That’s where Sarge taught me to fish, where I had my first kiss … we’ve already looked there, Mo.”
“Wait, has anyone checked Highway 88?” Celia asks with wide eyes.
“What the hell is on Highway 88?” Mo shouts through the phone.
“The oak tree where he proposed to Granny … among other things. Not the point—he mentioned to me he goes there when things get rough. It’s his thinking place.”
“I’m calling Granny,” I say.
“Hurry,” Mo says before I end the call and start dialing.
For the first time this afternoon, I feel a spark of hope.
The gravel and dirt crunch under the tires as I turn off the main road. Sugarcane towers over us on both sides as we drive forward. The red glint of a truck tailgate is barely visible next to the sprawling branches of the imposing oak tree. It stands regally in the back corner of the field, far away from the road.
I never would have found it on my own.
“Thank God,” Celia breathes when she notices his truck.
I park behind him and kill the engine. He’s sitting on a large rock, head hung low and shoulders slumped. I shoot off a text to Mom before getting out of the truck.
We got him.
He never looks up as we approach. He slices the outer layer of the cane stalk in his fingers and hands a piece to Celia when he cuts off a chunk. She sidles up next to him and pops the cane into her mouth.
“Thank you,” she mumbles while gnawing on the sweet stalk.
“Lots of people worried about you, old man.” I reach out and take a chunk of cane from his outstretched hand. The sweet juice bursts in my mouth as I chew.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” He continues to cut at the stalk. “I needed a minute—just me and the memories. I feel them slowly slipping away.”
His voice cracks with emotion, and it’s a knife to my gut. This is my tough as nails grandfather. Cross him, and he’d just as soon punch you as look at you. But today, he’s all out of fight, and it hurts.
Emotion clogs my throat, strangling any words of encouragement I may have. I give Celia a helpless glance. She smiles at me as she fiddles with the pendant around her neck. If anyone needs St. Jude’s help today, it’s Sarge.
Celia bends down to meet Sarge’s lowered eyes. “Memories get me through the hard times. They anchor me … keep me grounded to this life. Sometimes, it seems memories are all I have left. I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose them. They seem to be written in chalk, slowly washing away over time, don’t they?”
Her words remind me of her truth—her insistence that we can never be. No matter how many times I hear it, it still hurts.
“It feels like I’m wasting away, like this body of mine is an empty shell. It’s a sick joke. My body is in perfect health, and my brain is rotting from the inside out. The fog in my mind keeps getting thicker every day, my words and thoughts sitting just out of my grasp,” Sarge says, outstretching his trembling hand.
“Your mind is your enemy, and time is mine. As the years pass, memories lose their color,” Celia says. She lays a soft hand on Sarge’s leg and giggles. “I’ll never forget the dog my Grams had when I was a little girl. She was the fattest rat terrier I’ve ever seen. In the evenings, Grams and I would sit on the porch swing, listening to the wind chimes and feeding the fat hound caramels. Her butt would drag the ground.”
Sarge chuckles. “Sounds like a great dog to me. Poor thing probably dropped dead of a heart attack with all she ate.”
“Oh, no. Myrtle lived long past her years. Myrt, Myrt, old as dirt. That’s what I would sing to her. She died in her late teens. A truck ran over her on one of her squirrel chasing missions. She could only drag her butt across the street so fast, ya know?” Celia shrugs with a playful frown. “Myrtle was a good dog. All thirty pounds of her.”
“Girly, who names a dog Myrtle? That’s an old lady name if I’ve ever heard one,” Sarge says.
Celia smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks at me, and whispers, “She was an old soul.”
Memories of the last time she whispered those words slam right into my chest—a time when I could hold her … kiss her … feel everything that is Celia. My chest fills with the withered hope of falling for a heart that isn’t whole.
She breaks eye contact a moment later and focuses on Sarge. “So what if we make my weekly visit all about storytelling? We’ll each share our stories, and we can ask Granny to help if you get stuck. But each week, I’ll write them down for you so you can look back and read about all the wonderful moments. What do you say?”
Sarge gulps, swallowing a ball of emotion, and turns to me with a look of resolve.
“That’s a helluva woman, right there, son.”
I nod once and meet her blue eyes head on. “You’ve got that right, old man.”
He slaps both hands on his knees and stands. After a few steps toward the trucks, he turns and levels us with an impatient glare. “Come on you two, get the lead out your ass! Granny’s waiting.”
He sounds like his old, ornery self again, and I couldn’t be happier.
“Little Lion Man” by Mumford & Sons
Present Day
“PUT ON THIS frilly fucking dress and walk your pretty little ass next door before I get out my cattle prod,” Marlo orders with a popped hip and pursed lips.
“You own a cattle prod?” I deadpan.
I’m perfectly comfortable lying on the couch in my yoga pants, shoving chips down my gullet. Who needs to attend the party from hell? Not me, that’s for sure. I’ll call Alex and West and bid my farewells.
“I don’t have a cattle prod, but I do own a stun gun. I’m sure it will serve as a stellar replacement.” She crosses her arms. “You cannot hide from them. I won’t allow it.”