basement from flooding again.
“I know. I worked on the project, remember?” Brad said.
“You worked on it? I thought you were just called in to baby-sit when Dietz went ballistic.”
“I did my share of hard labor. Rick and Jan were good neighbors. I didn’t mind helping out around this place when I could.”
“Really? How come Jack didn’t mention it?”
“Because he’s Jack. Besides, he was probably embarrassed. Half the time I was called out to David and Rebecca’s renovation project was because Jack was hanging around Rebecca and she wanted him out of there. Jack probably blames me that he didn’t get very far with her.” Brad grinned.
“How far did you get with her?” Yeah, I was jealous in a juvenile way.
“Far enough to ask her to go to church with me.”
“Did she?”
“Turned me down flat. Once she quit laughing.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, ouch. But that’s good. I shouldn’t have been going that route. Some people you just stay away from. I should have been like Joseph running from Potiphar’s wife. Instead, I got all wrapped up in trying to convert her. But if she wants to be dead, that’s not my problem.”
I took a step backward. “What do you mean, ‘dead’?”
“Spiritually dead. Sorry, too much Christianese.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What I mean is, she thinks she’s in control of things . . . and she’s not. It’s only a matter of time before she crash-lands.”
From everything Brad said, I figured Rebecca had already crash-landed—in the cistern. Her husband David had done a stellar job pretending Rebecca was still alive. But there was no doubt in my mind she was stone-cold dead.
40
Brad left, apparently satisfied I wasn’t harboring any more dead bodies on the premises. I stood under the catalpa and watched him cut through the yard on his way back home. I blew back my bangs, relieved he hadn’t checked out the cistern during his inspection. I’d left my hammer, chisel, and flashlight in there. Brad would have no doubts regarding my activity. He’d be calling 9-1-1 for help putting me in a straitjacket.
I gasped a quick breath. I couldn’t remember turning the flashlight off. Batteries were too expensive to treat callously.
I hoofed it back down to the cellar. A yellow beam hit the far wall of the cistern. I huffed over the ledge and dropped behind the stone wall.
I knelt and checked my progress. Barely a dent showed in the floor. I’d have to think less and chisel more if I were going to liberate Rebecca.
I picked up my tools and pecked away at the endless white. Maybe I’d get down an inch or two and find only more cement. Maybe I’d find plain dirt. Maybe there was no body.
I’d know soon enough.
Strands of hair got trapped in my lips as I concentrated on my chore, reminding me that I’d have to visit Tammy at the Beauty Boutique again soon.
I’d taken a ten-year hiatus from powdering and primping. It felt good to be treating myself special again. Mom would be proud of any interest I took in my personal appearance. She’d gone through a lot of trouble dressing me up when I was a kid.
It hurt to remember.
“Try this one, Tish.” Mom held up a pale blue dress that my seven-year-old self couldn’t resist. I grabbed at it, beaming.
“I’ll be as pretty as you,” I told her, modeling the spring dress in the department store mirror.
“You’re always pretty.” She knelt down close to me.
“Yes, but on Easter, I feel pretty.” I spun around. The skirt opened like an umbrella around me.
Mom stepped back and gave a nod. I could tell by the smile on her face that I made her happy. She liked being my mom. We didn’t care that my dad never came around. We were happy, just the two of us.
A tear dropped onto my wrist. I set the hammer down and wiped my face. I was such a baby. How many years had it been? Twenty-six? I should be over it by now.
I took a deep breath and smashed the chisel with the hammer. A chunk of cement went flying.
But I hadn’t felt pretty that Easter.
“You’re not wearing blue to your mother’s funeral,” Grandma said, pulling me down the aisle of yet another store. Spring hadn’t been a good time to find sad colors. Grandma had to buy me a white sailor dress. Only the trim was black.
I hated it.
After the priest was done talking, I snuck up to the front and stared at my mother. They told me she was dead, but I was happy to see her anyway. I had been staying with Grandma, and I didn’t know where Mom was that whole week. Grandma wouldn’t tell me. Just said Mom had to fix some things before I could see her again.
I don’t know if she got to fix things or not. I think she must have died first, because things sure felt broken.
I held on to the edge of her casket. I was glad the fabric inside was silky. She liked silky stuff. Mom was dressed in a pretty pink blouse with ruffles down the front. I wished I had my blue ruffled dress on instead of the sailor dress. Then we would have been matchies.
Mom’s face had a pushed-in spot on the forehead. Someone tried to make it look better, but I could tell it must have hurt bad. I reached out to touch it.
“Patricia Louise Amble,” Grandma said behind me. “Come away from there. Let somebody else get a turn.” My arm hurt when she pulled me away. She sat me in a corner by a smelly bunch of flowers. People I didn’t know walked past my mother. They shook their heads and whispered. Sometimes they looked over at me and shook their heads and whispered some more. I played with the black scarf on my sailor dress and pretended I didn’t notice.
“What’s my darlin’ doing here all alone?” My grandpa came and sat next to me on the metal chairs.
I giggled. “Grandpa, your breath smells like beer.”
“You sound just like your mother, darlin’.” His eyes were red and watery, and I knew he felt sad just like me. He smoothed down my hair and I felt prettier for a minute.
Grandma came down our row. “There you are, you old drunk. You’re supposed to be at the door, thanking people for coming.”
Grandpa winked at me. He stood to attention. “Aye, aye, Captain.” He marched like a soldier across the room.
Grandma slapped at him. “Stop that. You’re embarrassing me.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Grandpa said and kept marching.
I laughed until tears ran down my cheeks.
In the cellar, a smile crept over my face at the memory. I held the hammer suspended, not wanting to shatter the vision.
Good old Grandpa. What had I done all these years without him?
The faint ringing of the doorbell floated down the staircase.
I stiffened, debating whether or not to answer it.
If I didn’t, there was a good chance whoever it was would come in anyway. Nobody paid attention to closed doors in this town.
I set down my tools, clicked off the flashlight, and climbed out of my cubby. By the time I got to the front of the house, I was breathing hard.
I pulled open the door.
“Oh, hi,” I said. A vaguely familiar-looking man in a brown leather bomber jacket and blue jeans stood
