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The door swung open and her mother stood before her in shades of gray, from the gray hair scraped into a bun to her house dress and sturdy lace-up shoes. On a foggy day, she would have disappeared in the mist. “I see you didn’t bring that big dog of yours,” she said disdainfully.
“His name is Harold, Mom, and he’s a very well-trained dog.”
“You’re dressed up.”
“Yes, well...” Sara glanced down at her navy silk blouse and beige slacks. “I thought I’d go down to the plant and ask again about job openings in the main office.”
Something flashed in Bernice’s eyes—could it be delight?—but disappeared quickly. “Humpf. Not that it will do much good. I don’t think they’ve hired anyone new in a coon’s age.”
They stood looking at each other until Sara gently asked, “How about some tea, Mom? We could visit awhile before I go.”
“Oh. Well, sure.” Her mother gave a flustered flap of her hand and stepped back to let Sara come inside, then she methodically fastened each lock and bolt.
Sara moved into the kitchen and started a kettle of water on the stove, then leaned a hip against the sink. She’d been in town more than two weeks already and had stopped in several times, but Bernice had yet to agree to having lunch somewhere or even to taking a drive out to see the fall leaves. Maybe it was time to face the past.
“I went to the library last week,” Sara murmured, watching her mother’s nervous movements as she collected tea bags, cups, and spoons. “I’d never been up to the newspaper room before, have you?”
“No.” Bernice arranged the cups on the kitchen table, with the handles turned precisely at the right angle.
“I couldn’t believe that Miss Perkins remembered me after all these years.” Sara chuckled. “She’s still in complete control of the place, too.”
“Always was methodical, even as a girl.” Bernice paced to the window, then back to the table, smoothing her apron as she walked.
“Older than you by quite a bit, though.”
“Well, yes. But the town was smaller then. We all knew each other very well.”
And there were many in town who would still be friendly toward Bernice if she’d give them a chance. But since Dad died, she’d walled herself away from everyone—her neighbors, her siblings, her children. Especially her children.
The kettle whistled. Sara carried it to the table and poured two cups, then set the kettle on a back burner. “Come sit here with me, Momma.”
Bernice finally sat down and began her careful ritual with her tea bag, giving it her undivided attention. Dipping, inspecting. Dipping, inspecting.
Unable to wait any longer, Sara gripped the handle of her cup and took a deep breath. “I went to the newspaper archives to look up something. When I walked past the aisles of newspapers, I came across the stack from the year Dad died.”
Bernice stilled.
“Mom, I found the December issues.”
Her mother’s face blanched, her gaze riveted to the teacup in her hands.
“I was just a kid in second grade,” Sara said gently. “I heard people talk, but I never really heard it from your angle. It’s a hard thing for us to keep inside for so long. Don’t you think so?”
Bernice’s spoon slipped from her grasp and hit the table with a clatter. “No.”
“I didn’t read those articles. Someone came up there, so I left.” An image of Nathan’s arrival flashed through her mind, but she immediately suppressed it. She’d fled the room like a scalded cat. “But I need to talk about this, Mom. When Dad died it changed everything—you, me, Kyle—and nothing was ever the same again. Look at you now. Do you ever go out? Ever try to have some fun?”
The older woman’s lips formed a hard, pinched line. “You know the facts.”
“But I don’t know why, Mom, and for twenty-five years this subject has been completely off-limits. Why would a loving father go out and kill one of the nicest old guys in town and then kill himself hours later?”
“What does it matter?” Her voice shaking with anger, Bernice fumbled with her cup as she rose, then crossed the kitchen. Her cup clattered into the sink. “He had a nice home. Children to support. He betrayed us all—and for what?” She gestured sharply around the room. “He left us with nothing.”
Bernice disappeared into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. And that, as Sara well knew, meant that she wouldn’t be back out for hours.
Years had passed, but her mother’s bitterness was as fresh as the day Dad died.
But Sara would be home for a good three months, and she was going to find out what had happened to her gentle father on that cold December day.
