Another unanswered prayer.
Mom goes back to her chicken salad. “Now, I know you, Jillian. Before the entire family is here, ask what you want to ask or say what you’re burning to say. I won’t have talk of the deceased during our family time.”
Instead of replying, I take my first bite of the chicken salad. “Mom, this is so good. I’ve tried and tried to make it, but mine never turns out exactly like yours.”
“You left Blue Gil before learning the secret ingredient.”
“Seriously? You held out on me? I want to know what I’m missing. Will you tell me?”
“After you enlighten me on this visit. You said Rebecca called you to tell you that Craig passed. Why would she do that?”
“Because,” I say, “she thought I’d want to know. I mean he’s—he was a prominent person in Blue Gil.”
Mom nods as she takes another bite. “I need to give it some thought, but I suspect other prominent Blue Gillians have passed in the last six years who didn’t warrant a visit. And as I recall yesterday, I didn’t see you at the funeral or meal.”
“I didn’t make it in time. My flight landed in Kalamazoo yesterday evening.”
“But you would have gone?”
My appetite is waning. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m curious. From what I’ve been able to learn, I find the circumstances of his death unnerving.”
It’s Mom’s turn to stop eating. “Why would you say that?”
“He was a healthy man. Hell, he coached and worked out and wasn’t even thirty-three years old. Why is no one questioning his cause of death? I mean, what the hell isaccidental? That isn’t a COD. Was there trauma? Did he drown?”
Mom’s lips draw together for a moment. “Consider that I reach for my glass, and as I do, my fork is brushed to the floor. The fallen fork is an accident. I didn’t intend for it to happen. No one meant for Craig to die. He didn’t mean to die. Oh, Jillian, tell me you don’t think he committed suicide?”
“What? No.”
That possibility hadn’t occurred to me. Would he? Why?
“And tell me that the two of you haven’t been in communication.” She lays down her fork as her blue eyes narrow. “Jillian, you haven’t stayed in touch with him. Please tell me you haven’t.”
“God,” I say as I stand, “no. I haven’t spoken to Craig Gilbert in years.” I’ve worked to erase the memory of him from my life. “So therefore, I have no idea of his mental state, but now that you mention it, what if...” I say what’s been burning in my thoughts. “Mom, what if henever changed his ways. The wrong person found out. And he couldn’t face Serena?”
“No.” She begins to shake her head.
“Okay, what if someone caused his death and it wasn’t accidental?”
“Stop. I don’t understand why after all these years, you’d come back to stir things up that don’t need to be stirred.” My mother quickly stands and walks around to the kitchen side of the counter. “Don’t do it.” Her voice is curt and her sentences clipped. “Don’t cause more problems.”
I let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, Mom, it’s me, Jillian, your child who causes problems.”
“Jillian.”
Turning a circle, I try to collect my thoughts. Once I’m facing her again, I confess. “Like I said, I’m working. I’m here for research. What better way to learn to portray fiction than with real life?”
“This is not to be repeated. Do not say a word to your dad. Do you understand?”
“You know you don’t have to worry about that.” The last time my father and I had a heart-to-heart was before my grandmother’s funeral, when he blamed me for her death.
“Craig Gilbert was a respected member of this community. Was he perfect?” Mom asks. “We all fall short. We all make decisions and choices that we later regret. However, that does not need to be his legacy. He was a husband and a father. Serena has had to deal withthings” — she says the word as if the extent of Serena Gilbert’s dealings is common knowledge. Maybe it is— “ever since they moved to Blue Gil. Joey will grow up without a father. Let him remember Coach fondly. Let the town and neighboring communities remember the teacher and coach who brought Blue Gil to prominence.”
“I’m not here to darken his reputation, Mom. I’m here to find out if there’s more to this. I’m here because if one day I’m asked about him—why he died young—I want to be able to answer.”
My mother and Becky are the only ones in Blue Gil who truly understand that statement.
My mother presses her lips together disapprovingly. “Let it go, Jillian. Get whatever you need for work. Spend time with family and friends. And then go back to California. Don’t ruffle feathers. The next time you come back to Blue Gil will be easier. The time after that will be easier still. Each time. Don’t stay away so long. Show your face at church and on Main Street. People around here are good folks. Give them a chance.”
