“You’re not alone anymore. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Deborah says softly to soothe her nerves.
From her hiding spot, she’s shocked when she hears the thud of her bedroom door and Sibley’s angry voice beside her. “What’re you doing, Mother?”
“Resting,” she says weakly as the covers are snatched off her.
“Mother!” Sibley shrieks. “What the hell is this?”
“I can’t see.”
“Open your eyes.”
Deborah slowly acquiesces. Sibley’s hand is raised in the air, waving something around like it’s the starting flag at the beginning of a race.
“I don’t know what you have in your hand, honey.” Deborah lies there listlessly, the shades drawn. “I can’t see it. Hand me my glasses.”
Sibley quickly presses the spectacles into Deborah’s palm while she struggles to sit up in bed.
“Will you flip on the light, please?”
With the room now bathed in a soft glow, Deborah gasps at Sibley’s face. Staring at the harsh bruise and redness, she asks what happened.
“I don’t recall.” Sibley becomes defensive, crossing her arms across her chest. “But maybe you remember this?” She pushes the unsealed envelope into Deborah’s hand.
“First, where do you get off opening my mail?”
“You should be thanking me. You’re entitled to much more than what this letter from the county’s legal counsel is proposing. They’re condemning your land, with the intent of building a roadway for the damn prison.” Sibley wrenches a hand through her hair. “Not to mention, this is a ridiculously lowball offer so that they can justify destroying farmland to build roads. This is bullshit.”
“I don’t need to consult you when it comes to the farm, Sibley,” Deborah reminds her. “This farm has been in my family for generations.”
“Exactly! That’s my point.” Sibley snaps her fingers. “How could you even think about selling the farm to these imbeciles when it should stay in our family for future generations? At least, that’s what Jonathan talked about.”
“Jonathan talked about a lot of things,” Deborah says sharply. “I don’t care what he told you. The farm wasn’t his to keep or sell. It belonged to my ancestors. He’s not here to make more false promises.”
Sibley sulks. “I can’t believe you have the audacity to sell our farm without even consulting me. I presume you weren’t going to tell me until after the fact.”
Deborah fingers the lace bedspread. “I would’ve let you know, eventually.”
“How thoughtful!” Sibley retorts sarcastically. “There’re ways around this. I can do some research. I can read up on eminent domain laws.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“What do you mean?” Sibley’s eyes become slits. “Don’t you care about them bulldozing our land and thinking they can use that shady legal maneuver to wrestle it from a poor, feeble woman?”
“I’m hardly helpless,” Deborah protests. “And it’s their business what they do after I sell it.”
Sibley draws her mouth into a tight line but says nothing.
“And after what happened . . .” Deborah’s voice trails off.
“But where are you going to go, Mother?” Sibley frowns. “You’re not well.”
“How dare you!” Deborah narrows her eyes. “I’m not an invalid. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“It’s more than that, Mother,” Sibley pleads. “I worry about you. You always used to take such good care of the place. I hate to see it so run down.” Sibley sighs. “And you—you seem to be . . . so . . . frazzled.”
“It’s too much upkeep for me, which is why I feel comfortable selling it,” Deborah affirms. “And I told you I’m fine.”
“It’s more than that, Mother.” Sibley balks. “I need closure.”
“From what?”
“My past.” Sibley sinks onto the edge of the mattress.
Deborah groans. “You have to stop blaming me for Jonathan’s death. Just let it go.”
“That would be convenient, wouldn’t it?”
“I wasn’t truthful about a lot of things when it came to him, and it’s blown up in my face.”
“You do seem to struggle with honesty,” Sibley says slowly.
Deborah retorts, “You’ve gone through life thinking an affair caused all this pain. It didn’t.”
“The day he died. You fought.” Sibley pointedly adds, “I remember.”
“We always fought, just not in front of you.”
Deborah knows both of them have their versions of events regarding the night in question. The significant difference is she was there in real time, while Sibley was in the house. She couldn’t have been aware of what was happening in the barn.
“That afternoon.” Sibley chews her lip. “You were arguing in the kitchen.”
“How could you know?” Deborah says exasperatedly. “You were upstairs listening to music.”
“I can hear everything through the floor vent in my room.”
“Then you must’ve heard Jonathan tell me to get to the barn.”
“Yes.”
Deborah says accusingly, “I saw you standing at the window later.”
“And I saw you run out from the barn and throw something on the burn pile before Daddy spotted you.”
“It was a cell phone I threw on the burn pile.”
“After my father, uh, Jonathan . . . dragged you to the barn, I watched someone sneak onto the property, headed in the direction of the barn.”
“You mean Cindy,” Deborah says.
Vehemently, Sibley shakes her head. “No! Not Cindy. This person was wearing dark clothes from head to toe, trying to go undetected. I don’t think they noticed me watching from the upstairs window.”
“Honey, no one else was at the house until the police arrived. You must have imagined someone.”
“Who did you call that night, Mother? I wonder.” Sibley puts a finger to her chin.
“What do you mean?” Deborah wrings her hands in her lap. “I called 911.”
“No, you didn’t!” Sibley protests. “That’s impossible. The phone cord was cut, and when I ran to the neighbors to call the police, they hadn’t been aware of any problems at the house.”
Deborah’s face scrunches in disgust.
Sibley continues. “And you came inside to change your clothes. You went from wearing your church dress to jeans and a tee.” She sucks in a breath. “It was all very suspect.”
“I was covered in blood, Sibley.” Deborah sniffs. “It wasn’t like it was going to come clean in the
