On Blue Falls Pond (16 page)

He was getting tired of Glory talking to him as if he were an uncaring idiot. “I know that she’ll never go completely blind from MD. And I know there’s no successful treatment for it at the moment. I know before the central vision fails, straight lines will blur and waver. MD-affected eyes are like looking through a glasses lens with a smudge or opaque spot in the cent—”

“Okay—” Glory tried to interrupt, but he kept on talking.

“I know she’ll retain peripheral vision—not much solace, but when you compare it to total blindness, she’s lucky, and she knows it. Her world may lose focus, but she won’t be plunged into darkness.”

“All right!” Glory tried again. “You’ve done your research.”

Eric didn’t pause for a breath, but continued to recite in a rush. “With adjustments, she should be able to live her life independently for the most part. Sure, she won’t be driving. She won’t be quilting. She won’t be reading the newspaper. But life, especially for a woman like Tula, is so much more than those things.

“And I know that if you’re not careful, you’re going to make her feel crippled. It does absolutely no harm to leave her alone for an hour or so while I drive you to town—but I think it’ll do a world of good for her outlook.” He wasn’t sure he’d taken a breath in his entire speech.

Glory sat there staring at him. For a moment he thought he’d stunned her into silence. But no such luck. She said, “Let’s get going. I want to get back.”

Eric blew out a long breath of frustration. “All right. But think about what I said. Tula needs help in adapting, not someone to make her feel she’s helpless.”

Glory looked out the windshield and put on her seat belt. “She’s my grandmother. You let me worry about what she needs.”

Tula waited until Glory and Eric had pulled away. Then she got busy. She wanted to make a few changes without Glory around. Dr. Blanton had made some suggestions for making daily life a little more . . . accident-free. She didn’t really need most of the changes yet, but who knew when she’d have some time to herself?

She moved through the house as if a contestant on a game show with only seconds to perform certain tasks. There weren’t that many things to do, but she didn’t want to be “caught in the act.”

First, she went from room to room changing the lightbulbs, putting in higher wattage. Then she placed a dark hand towel over the edge of the bathtub to make it easier to see; she’d noticed in places of low contrast, she’d been misjudging. Then she rummaged in her purse and got the labels Dr. Blanton had given her to mark her vitamin and prescription medication bottles. Most of the time she was able to see them well enough to distinguish one from the other, but this color-coded, large-print system would prevent errors on her “bad days.”

She had the last bottle in hand when the phone rang. She jumped and her hand settled over her heart. “Good gracious, Tula, calm down.” It wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong, for heaven’s sake.

Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and went to answer the phone.

“Granny? Are you all right?” Charlie asked.

“’Course I’m all right. What makes you ask?” Had he been peeking in the windows? She caught herself looking over her shoulder out the kitchen window.

“I came by around noon and nobody was home. I know you had Scott . . . it looked like y’all left in a hurry. I was worried something had happened.”

Tula’s chest warmed as hope sprang in her heart. Charlie might just make a good man after all. She decided to award him with a truthful account. “I had another spell with my eye. Glory drove me in to see Dr. Blanton.”

“A spell? Like last time?”

“Purty much. I have to go again tomorrow, but he thinks it’ll pass just like last time.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Now listen here, I been puttin’ up with mother henning from Glory. I don’t need you throwing in your two cents. If it don’t, I figure it out from there. No need gettin’ the reaction afore the disaster.”

Charlie chuckled. “I can see you’re good as ever. If you lost that fightin’ attitude, I would be worried.”

Tula huffed. She had things left to do. “Well, if that’s all, then . . .”

“All right. Bye, Granny. Love you.”

“You too.” She hung up the phone.

Good gracious, what if Charlie caught a case of the fretfuls from Glory? Tula didn’t think she could stand two of them ganging up on her.

She hurried to finish the labels. Then she tucked the spares away in her dresser drawer.

All of her hurrying had made her overheat. She grabbed a magazine and fanned her face. She had to cool down before Glory got back; she was supposed to be resting.

The ride into town had been filled with unpleasant silence. Eric didn’t want to leave things that way. The last thing he wanted was for Glory to view him as the enemy. As much as he wanted to be there for Tula if her sight deteriorated, he knew Glory was going to need support too.

He put the Explorer in park in front of Franklin’s Garage.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said as she opened the passenger door.

Eric grabbed her arm. “Wait a second. Please.”

She stopped and looked at him with anger brimming in her gaze.

He said, “I think we can both help Tula—our fighting won’t serve her at all.”

Glory glanced over her shoulder at Scott. “Forgive me if I think you have more than Granny’s well-being influencing your judgment.”

He dropped his left hand to the steering wheel and squeezed until his knuckles were white. “Do you really think I’d leave Scott with her if she wasn’t capable of taking care of him? I’ve been watching her carefully since long before you came back here. The second I feel it’s too much for her, or it’s not safe for Scott, I’ll act on it. But Tula is a proud woman, and her sight is plenty good to watch one child and keep him safe, but not nearly good enough for her to quilt. How is she going to make ends meet? Social security isn’t enough. She won’t accept charity. I’ve been racking my brain for months trying to figure out a way for her to sustain some sort of income.”

“Oh, I see, I ran off and you had to take up the slack.”

“Jesus, Glory, that’s not at all what I meant. It’s just I’ve had opportunities of observation that you haven’t. And this isn’t about
you
. You almost act like you want her to be impaired!”

She gasped as if he’d struck her. “How can you say that?”

“Maybe you
need
her to need you. Maybe it’s the first direction you’ve had since the fire.” He hadn’t intended to lay it out quite like that, but there it was, shimmering in the air between them like a bank of hot air.

She gritted her teeth when she said, “And
you
can’t save everybody. Granny is my family, my responsibility.”

He lifted his hands, palms out. “Touché. Now that we have that out in the open . . .

The tense muscles in her face relaxed slightly. She ran her hand through her hair. “You have your problem. And I have mine.” Her voice had softened enough to make him believe the fighting was over. “I think we both have our hands full.”

He could hardly dispute that logic. Still, it took everything in him to keep from arguing further, from telling her that they could help one another, they could talk things out. Now wasn’t the time. But he wasn’t going to walk away from Tula just because Glory got her knickers in a twist.

He gave a silent nod, and Glory got out of the car.

She paused before she closed the door. “Thanks, Eric. Good luck finding someone to watch Scott.”

She closed the door. That hadn’t gone at all as he’d wanted. He should have kept his temper; it had been a very emotional day for Glory.

His father had always taught him to make sure a lady had her car safely started before he left. As he pulled out of the lot, he stopped behind her Volvo.

When Glory reappeared out of the shop office, she looked slightly puzzled as she walked past his car.

He waved her on.

She got inside the Volvo.

He waited for her car to start.

She climbed back out.

He watched in confusion. She lifted the windshield wiper and took something from underneath it. The look on her face had him out of the car and by her side in less time than it took for her to turn.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Her face was a mixture of fear and pain as she handed him a matchbook. “This was under my windshield wiper.”

Eric opened the flap of the matchbook and saw the words
I KNOW WHAT YOU DID
written in block letters across the inside.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

Glory was visibly shaken. “This morning there was a copy of the newspaper article about the fire stuck inside Granny’s paper. It had the same words scrawled across it.”

A cold fist grabbed Eric’s gut. He’d never breathed a word of his suspicions to another living soul. But they were coming back to haunt him just the same.

Chapter Fourteen

J
ILL’S AFTERNOON CREPT
slowly by as she sat at her desk in the surgeon’s office. She couldn’t seem to hold her thoughts to her work; bits and pieces of the past kept intruding no matter how hard she tried to block them out. At what point had she lost control of her life? Where were the crossroads where she had taken the wrong turn?

At one time, she’d been happy, back in the day when boyfriends had been plentiful; when there had always been someone waiting on her doorstep—back before she’d had to choose.

After that, the fear had set in, the doubt, the idea that by doing what she was, she was missing something else—the overriding conviction that there was
more
.

Now insecurity was again getting the upper hand.

She needed to get her mind back on her work, or she’d never get out of here today. She’d had to rewind the tape with the doctor’s dictation on it three times before she had the first paragraph transcribed correctly.

As much as she didn’t want to admit it to herself, she was nervous about seeing Eric tonight. Which was ridiculous; she saw him at least three times a week as they transferred Scott between them. But this was different. Tonight there was something at stake.

The phone on her desk rang and she jumped, startled out of her thoughts. For the briefest moment she was certain it was Eric calling to cancel dinner, and unexpected disappointment grabbed her by the throat.

But when she looked at the caller ID, it was the Busy Bee Flower Shop.

She ripped off her headset and picked up the phone. “Hi, Mother.”

“I just saw Eric with Glory Harrison again.” She announced it in the tone of breaking news.

“Really.” Jill worked for a neutral tone. She didn’t want her mother to think her heavy-handed meddling was making any headway—she’d never get the woman off her back then.

“Yes, really,” Mother said shortly.

Jill snorted. “I hardly need a minute-by-minute report of his activities.”

“If you fool around long enough, it’ll be too late.”

“We’re divorced, Mother. How much more too late do you think it can get?” No need to let her mother in on possibilities that might not come to pass.

There was a long pause where Jill could imagine her mother massaging her forehead in frustration. “I really do not think you’re that dense.”

Jill didn’t respond.

“You need to think of your son.” Mother’s tone shifted to reproachful.

“I rarely think of anything else,” Jill said sharply.

“Well, you don’t behave as if that’s the case. I cannot believe you threw away a husband like Eric to take up with that gigolo.”

“Jason was afraid of commitment. He wasn’t a gigolo.” There
had
been a time when sex had dominated their relationship—back when they’d had to sneak around. “Is that all you called for?”

“Well, I thought you should know. Ovella said she saw them together Sunday before last”—then she added in a scandalous tone—“on his motorcycle.”

“You already told me.” Jill rubbed her own forehead. “I thought you said they were buying dog food. The road was washed out. He was doing a favor; hardly a romantic tryst. Glory lives with Tula; they’re bound to run across one another.”

“Have
you
run across Glory?”

Jill hesitated before she caught herself. Damn, that pause would speak volumes to Mother’s conjecturing mind. “No. She’s been out on my days to pick up Scott.”

Her mother made a knowing noise deep in her throat.

The pressure to straighten up and fly right had been strong from the day Jill announced that she and Eric were divorcing. It had ratcheted up considerably since Jason had left the picture.

Mother said, “I just don’t want you to make another mistake. Scottie needs his mommy and daddy together. Just look how normal Jennifer’s children are.”

“Scott is
not
abnormal, Mother. Jennifer’s twins are only eleven months old. There’s still time for her to screw them up. I have to go. The doctor is waiting for this transcript.” It was a lie, but her mother would never know.

“All right. Just keep in mind he won’t wait around forever for you to come to your senses.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Jill disconnected the call. Her stomach felt like a crumpled ball of lead. As much as she hated to admit it, she hadn’t ever thought of Eric being with another woman. And now that it had been brought to mind, she didn’t like the way it made her feel.

“Mr. Franklin says he didn’t notice anyone around your car,” Eric said as he came back out of the garage office. “It’s been sitting out here since he finished it yesterday afternoon.” He handed Glory a bottle of water he’d gotten from the machine sitting in front of the building. “Drink some of this.”

Glory was sitting sideways in the driver’s seat of her car, with her feet still on the pavement. She barely had the strength in her hands to unscrew the cap. Who was behind this . . . taunting?

She took a long swig of the water. It made her mouth feel less gummy, but her stomach immediately began to churn.

She’d never been afraid of the holes in her memory. But in light of the things that she had recently remembered about her relationship with her husband, fear of what was hiding in those holes had taken root and was growing like kudzu. Right now, she felt as if those vines were inching around her throat.

If she hadn’t been so stunned, if she’d had a moment to compose herself before Eric had appeared at her side, she would never have told him about the note in this morning’s paper. One instance was easy to pass off as a teen prank, but two back-to-back in two different locations carried more weight.

Of course, Eric wasn’t going to let this go. He stood in the open car door, his left arm resting on the top, looking down at her with concern in his eyes. For some reason that concern made her feel guilty.

Did she have something to hide? She needed time to think—alone.

She swung her legs into the car. “I’d better be getting back to Gran.” She kept her eyes forward, looking out the windshield. Eric had an uncanny way of seeing her emotions when she looked at him.

He didn’t move out of the door.

She was forced to glance up at him. “I’m fine—really. You should get Scott home.”

“Glory, we need to talk about this.”

“What’s to talk about? Some kid found a way to break summer boredom,” she said dismissively.

“And what would prompt a kid to start a campaign to upset you? You’ve been gone for nearly two years. That’s a long time for a teenager to remember something that had nothing to do with them personally.”

“It’s a small town. I’m sure by now people are speculating about my coming back. Any bored teenager would be curious about a fire that killed someone. You know how influenced they are by movies.”

He still didn’t move so she could make a getaway. “I don’t think you believe that any more than I do.”

“What else could it be?” She tried to sound glib but was betrayed by the slight tremor in her voice.

“I don’t think you should drive back just yet. Let’s go get a cup of coffee.”

“No.”

The windows were down and the door open on his Explorer. Scott started to fuss.

“I’m fine.” She cast him a confident look. “Take your son home.”

Eric’s gaze cut from his car back to her again. “I don’t like this.”

“You’re overreacting.”

He gestured to the matchbook on the console. “Let me take that and turn it over to the police. If this continues, maybe they’ll be able to assemble enough evidence to help figure this out.”

“You’re making too much of this.”

“Am I?” His gaze penetrated deep. For an instant he looked at her like he suspected she was hiding something.

“I really have to go.” She reached for the door. “Your son’s crying.”

He hesitated only a moment before he stepped out of the way and let her close the door.

In her rearview mirror, she saw him get in his Explorer and give one last, lingering look. Then he pulled out of the way so she could back out.

The matchbook still lay next to the gearshift like a coiled snake. She could almost hear it calling to her memory.

At five past six, Eric stood on the sidewalk in front Bongo’s with Scott at his side. Eric hoped his son had recovered from his last restaurant experience better than he had. As Eric stood there, gathering the courage to open the glass-and-aluminum door, he could still hear Scott’s terrified screams, still see his little son covering his ears and burying his face on the table. It was as if it had been
painful
for him to be in that atmosphere, as if the noises and the motion had been a physical attack on his senses.

That extreme reaction had been Eric’s first real confirmation that his son was changing, that something was beginning to tilt off its axis. Scott had continued to decline and withdraw in so many other ways since then, he feared this experience would be worse than the last foray into dining out.

He knelt on the sidewalk in front of Scott. He lifted his son’s chin gently and spoke softly to him, “We’re going to go inside and see Mommy. She has your peanut butter and banana sandwich. Are you hungry?”

Scott’s gaze roved, never making connection with Eric’s, even though Eric held the child’s chin firmly in place. Not a good sign.

“Okay, buddy, we’re going in.” Eric stood up and braced himself. “Let’s go see Mommy,” he said cheerfully.

The instant they stepped inside the door, Scott pressed his face against Eric’s leg and began to whimper.

Eric scanned the tables. The pizza place was more crowded than he’d expected. It was oppressively warm and loud, filled with motion and laughter and the scent of warm yeast and oregano. As Eric’s gaze fell upon a family seated near him, his heart ached. The parents were laughing at something the three-year-old had done, while the mother rocked a pumpkin seat with a pink-swaddled baby sleeping inside. Did those people know how lucky they were?

Scott whimpered and covered his ears. At least he wasn’t screaming yet.

Jill stood up in the back and waved. She’d had the good sense to get a booth. Maybe once they had Scott a little more isolated, he’d calm down, and this wouldn’t be the disaster Eric had been dreading all afternoon.

He told himself that it might be good if Scott had a full-blown fit here in front of Jill. Although she had Scott more of the time than Eric did, she swore he never behaved inappropriately. His temper tantrums were normal near-three-year-old fare. But Eric had noticed how Jill slowly and carefully organized her life so Scott was rarely in situations that prompted trouble, making it easier to reinforce her cocoon of denial. And to be honest, Eric wasn’t sure she even realized that she was doing it. Like everything else about Scott, Jill’s accommodations had crept forward one insidious inch at a time.

Although this might be just what Eric needed to make his point, he hated that Scott would have to suffer to accomplish it.

Instead of making Scott walk through the crowded room with everyone looming over him, Eric picked him up and walked to where Jill waited. Scott buried his face against Eric’s neck; Eric heard his son’s teeth grinding.

Eric laid a hand gently on the back of Scott’s head, and whispered, “You’re doing great, buddy. Look, here’s Mommy.”

He could not peel the child off him when he reached Jill, so he just slid into the booth wearing Scott like a second skin. He scooted to the far side of the tall-backed booth, away from the commotion. Scott was as isolated as he was going to get.

Jill leaned across the table. “Hey, baby.” She touched Scott’s back. “Scottie, are you hungry? I brought your sandwich.”

Eric heard the child’s teeth grind louder. A muted growl rumbled in Scott’s throat, not loud, but steady, as if he was trying to block everything else out with his own soothing noise.

“Well,” Jill said cheerily, “maybe you’ll want to eat in a little bit.” She laid the sandwich in its Ziploc baggie on the table. “I already ordered us a pitcher of beer and a pizza, so he won’t have to wait too long.”

Again, Jill’s accommodation to Scott’s behavior. But Eric hadn’t come here to fight that battle. There was something on Jill’s mind. He wanted to know what it was and how it was going to affect his son.

The waitress brought the beer and two frosted mugs. She set them on the table and filled Jill’s mug. Eric put a hand over his glass to prevent her from filling his. “Could I have a Coke, please?”

“Sure thing.” She left.

Jill eyed him suspiciously. “Are you so mad at me you won’t drink a beer with me?”

“I’m not mad. I just don’t want a beer.” Scott was still plastered against him. It just seemed wrong to guzzle a beer over the head of a terrified child.

Jill lifted a shoulder, tilting her head just so, in the way that used to make his heart beat faster. Now he found it exceedingly annoying, mostly because it was so deliberately coy.

Jill’s mother had coached her daughters well—from puberty both girls had been able to manipulate a male with remarkable skill. He might have thought it an inbred instinct, but he’d seen the quiet and disguised looks Gail Landry gave her girls; they had been more subtle than the gesturing and yelling of a football coach, but every bit as effective.

Jill took a sip of her beer, then fiddled with the cocktail napkin under the glass, carefully rolling up one corner.

Eric needed to talk to her about the babysitting problem, but he was curious enough about her reason for this little meeting to let that wait. “So, what did you need to talk about?”

Scott continued to moan softly. Eric was pretty sure Jill couldn’t hear.

She moistened her lips, leaned back against the booth, and dropped her hands in her lap. “I don’t know any way to say this, without just coming right out and saying it.”

“That’s usually the best way.” Shit, she was getting married. That SOB was going to be Scott’s stepfather. Eric held his son a little tighter.

She drew a deep breath. “I’m not seeing Jason anymore.”

As the tension drained away from Eric’s shoulders, he realized just how wound up he’d been. “Okay.”

“Do you want to know why?” she asked, looking out from beneath her lashes.