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She couldnt look at him. "Yes. "
Her father knew something was wrong between her and Jack. Of course he knew; hed always seen through her. But he wouldnt push. If there was one thing a Southern family knew how to keep, it was a secret. "Your mother made us some hot cider," he said at last. "Lets go sit on the porch a spell. "
"Shes not my mother. " The response was automatic. The moment she said it, she wished she hadnt. "Im sorry," she said, gesturing helplessly with her hands.
There were other things she could say, excuses and explanations shed tried on like ill-fitting sweaters over the years, but in the end, they amounted to empty words, and she
and her father knew it. Elizabeth and Anita had never gotten along. Simple as that. It was years too late to change it . . . or to pretend otherwise.
Daddy heaved a big-chested sigh of disappointment, then said, "Walk your old man outside. Tell me about your excitin life in that heathen Yankee rain forest. "
As theyd done a thousand times before, they walked arm-in-arm down the wide, curving mahogany staircase, crossed the black-and-white marble-floored entry, and headed for the kitchen, where the cinnamony scent of hot apple cider beckoned.
Elizabeth steeled herself for another round of stiff, awkwardly polite conversation with her stepmother, but to her relief, the kitchen was empty. Two mugs sat on the pale wooden butcher block. A silver sugar bowl was between them.
"She always remembers your sweet tooth," Daddy said.
Elizabeth nodded. "Go on outside; Ill bring our cider out. "
As soon as he started for the door, she poured two cups of cider and carried them outside.
The back porch wasnt really a porch at all; rather, it was a portico-covered square of stone-tiled space. Winter-dead wisteria and jasmine twined the white pillars in veins as thick and gnarled as an old mans arm. Overhead, it hung in sagging, ropy skeins that bowed the massive white beams downward. Now, in the midst of winter, it gave the area a vaguely sinister look, but come spring, when the green shoots exploded along those seemingly dead brown limbs, that same wisteria would turn this back porch into a fragrant bower. Beyond, huddled in darkness, was her mothers garden.
Several black wrought-iron chairs hugged the back of the house. Each one faced the sprawling yard. Elizabeth handed Daddy his cider, then sat down in the chair next to his. The chairs creaked back and forth on runners that had been old ten years ago.
"Im glad you could make it home this year. "
Something about the way he said it bothered her. She looked at him sharply. "Is everything all right? Are you healthy?"
He laughed heartily. "Now, sugar beet, dont try to make me old before my time. Im fine. Hell, your moth--Anita and I are plannin to kayak in Costa Rica this spring. Theres a place called Cloud Mountain--or some damn thing--that speaks right to m heart. Next year were gonna climb up to Machu Picchu. Im just glad you could make it down here, is all. I miss seein you and my granddaughters. "
"I believe you forgot to mention Jack," she observed dryly.
"Like you keep forgettin to mention Anita. Hells bells, honey, I reckon were too old to be fabricatin feelings. But as long as youre happy with golden boy, Im happy with him. " He paused, glanced sideways at her. "You are happy, arent you?"
She laughed, but even to her own ears, it was a brittle sound, like glass hitting a tile floor. "Things are great. The house is finally coming together. Youll have to come see us this year. Maybe for the Fourth of July. Thats a beautiful month on the coast. "
"Ive been hearin about your beautiful coast for two solid years now, but every danged time you call me its rainin. And that includes the summer months. "
This time Elizabeths laugh was real. She leaned back in her chair, stared out at the yard that had once seemed so big. The shadowy stalks in Mamas garden glinted in the moonlight. She could hear the snarling rush of the creek down below, almost a river this time of year. Come summer though, itd be a lazy ribbon of water where dragonflies came to mate.
She remembered another time in this backyard, back when shed been a little girl. It had been after her mothers funeral. The moment shed realized that Mama was really gone. Forever.
Shed been sitting in the grass, a kindergartner catching fireflies in a mason jar, listening to the distant buzz of adult conversation. It had been spring--April--and the night air smelled of the honeysuckle and jasmine her mama loved. When everyone had gone home, her father had finally come to her and squatted down. You want to sleep in my room tonight, sugar beet?
That was what hed said to her. Nothing about Mama or grief or the endless sadness that was to come. Just one simple sentence that was the end of one life and the beginning of another.
She remembered how wrecked hed looked, and how it had frightened her. Shed known loss from the moment theyd told her that Mama had gone to Heaven, but it was then, from Daddy, that shed learned about fear.
As she stared ahead, watching the silvery ghost of a little girl looking at yellow-bright lights in a glass jar, she said, "The moon looked just like this that night. "
"What night?"
"Mamas funeral," she said softly, hearing her fathers sharply indrawn breath when she mentioned the taboo subject. "I sat out in the backyard all day. I think everyone in the county came out to give me a hug and a kiss. "
Daddy planted his big, splayed hands on his pants and pushed to a stand. In the pale blue moonlight, he looked thinner than usual. "I think Ill call it a night. " He leaned down, pushed the hair from her eyes in a gesture as familiar as her own reflection, and kissed her forehead. " Night, Birdie. "
She shouldnt have mentioned Mama. It had always been the surest way to get rid of her father. He was at the screen door by the time she found the courage to say softly, "You never talk about her. "
