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He looked over at Lena. “Nice to see you again, Lena. I was sorry to hear about your uncle.” Those were hard-bred Southern manners for you. He had to acknowledge Macon’s passing, even in a moment as awkward as this one.
Lena tried to smile, but she only managed to look as uncomfortable as I felt. “Thank you, sir.”
“Ethan, come on over here and give your favorite aunt a hug.” Aunt Caroline held out her hands. I wanted to throw my arms around her and let her squeeze the knot right out of my chest.
“Let’s go on inside.” Amma waved at my dad from the top of the porch. “I made a Coca-Cola cake and fried chicken. If we don’t get in there soon, that chicken’ll have a mind to find its way home.”
Aunt Caroline looped her arm through my dad’s and led him up the stairs. She had the same brown hair and small frame as my mom, and for a second it felt like my parents were home again, walking through the old screen door of Wate’s Landing.
“I have to get home.” Lena was clutching her notebook against her chest like a shield.
“You don’t have to go. Come in.”
Please.
I wasn’t offering to be polite. I didn’t want to go in there alone. A few months ago, Lena would have known that. But I guess today her mind was somewhere else, because she didn’t.
“You should spend some time with your family.” She stood up on her toes and kissed me, her lips barely touching my cheek. She was halfway to the car before I could argue.
I watched Larkin’s Fastback disappear down my street. Lena didn’t drive the hearse anymore. As far as I knew, she hadn’t even looked at it since Macon died. Uncle Barclay had parked it behind the old barn and thrown a tarp over it. Instead, she was driving Larkin’s car, all black and chrome. Link had foamed at the mouth the first time he saw it. “Do you know how many chicks I could pull with that ride?”
After her cousin had betrayed her whole family, I didn’t understand why Lena would want to drive his car. When I had asked her, she’d shrugged and said, “He won’t be needing it anymore.” Maybe Lena thought she was punishing Larkin by driving it. He had contributed to Macon’s death, something she would never forgive. I watched the car turn the corner, wishing I could disappear along with it.
By the time I made it to the kitchen, there was already chicory coffee brewing—and trouble. Amma was on the phone, pacing in front of the sink, and every minute or two she would cover the receiver with her hand and report the conversation on the other end to Aunt Caroline.
“They haven’t
seen her since yesterday.” Amma put the phone back to her ear. “You should make Aunt Mercy a toddy and put her to bed until we find her.”
“Find who?” I looked at my dad, and he shrugged.
Aunt Caroline pulled me over to the sink and whispered the way Southern ladies do when something is too awful to say out loud. “Lucille Ball. She’s missin’.” Lucille Ball was Aunt Mercy’s Siamese cat, who spent most of her time running around my great-aunts’ front yard on a leash attached to a clothesline, an activity the Sisters referred to as exercising.
“What do you mean?”
Amma covered the receiver with her hand again, narrowing her eyes and setting her jaw. The Look. “Seems somebody put the idea in your aunt’s head that cats don’t need to be tied up, because they always come back home. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” It wasn’t a question. We both knew I was the one who had been saying it for years.
“But cats aren’t supposed to be on leashes.” I tried to defend myself, but it was too late.
Amma glared at me and turned to Aunt Caroline. “Seems Aunt Mercy’s been waitin’, sittin’ on the porch, starin’ at an empty leash hangin’ on the clothesline.” She took her hand off the receiver. “You need to get her in the house and put her feet up. If she gets lightheaded, boil some dandelion.”
I slunk out of the kitchen before Amma’s eyes got any narrower. Great. My hundred-year-old aunt’s cat was gone, and it was my fault. I’d have to call Link and see if he’d drive around town with me and look for Lucille. Maybe Link’s demo tapes would scare her out of hiding.
“Ethan?” My dad was standing in the hall, right outside of the kitchen door. “Can I talk to you for a second?” I had been dreading this, the part where he apologized for everything and tried to explain why he had ignored me for almost a year.
“Yeah, sure.” But I didn’t know if I wanted to hear it. I wasn’t really angry anymore. When I almost lost Lena, there was a part of me that understood why my dad had come completely unhinged. I couldn’t imagine my life without Lena, and my dad had loved my mom for more than eighteen years.
I felt sorry for him now, but it still hurt.
My dad ran his hand through his hair and edged closer to me. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am.” He paused, staring down at his feet. “I don’t know what happened. One day, I was in there writing, and the next day all I could do was think about your mom—sit in her chair, smell her books, imagine her reading over my shoulder.” He studied his hands, as if he was talking to them instead of me. Maybe that was a trick they taught you at Blue Horizons. “It was the only place I felt close to her. I couldn’t let her go.”
He looked up at the old plaster ceiling, and a tear escaped from the corner of his eye, running slowly down the side of his face. My dad had lost the love of his life, and he had come unraveled like an old sweater. I’d watched, but I hadn’t done anything about it. Maybe he wasn’t the only one to blame. I knew I was supposed to smile now, but I didn’t feel like it.
“I get it, Dad. I wish you’d said something. I missed her, too. You know?”
His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“It’s okay.” I didn’t know if I meant it yet, but I could see relief spread across his face. He reached around and hugged me, squeezing my back with his fists for a second.
