“I’m glad you and my dad were able to work things out, but the reason Kathleen asked you here was because she knew I wanted to talk to you.”
She squeezed his fingers and then let go. “Well, don’t be shy. Just spit it out, then.”
“It’s about Alice’s death.” He let the sentence lie there for a second.
“I’m not going to talk about it, if it’s all the same to you. She’s gone, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Talking endlessly about the way she died isn’t going to change anything.” She sat back in her chair and clutched her purse.
“I don’t need you to talk about it. I already know how it happened. I just want to understand why it happened. Why did you say you shot Alice when it was Frank who pulled the trigger? Why would you take the blame for something you didn’t do?”
The silence between them was thick. Her lower lip began to tremble, and suddenly she reminded Joe of a younger, more vulnerable woman. Just when he thought she was at a complete loss for words, she said, “I took the blame because I was to blame.” Tears filled her eyes. “It was all my fault. If I had insisted that Frank leave the gun behind, he would have listened to me, but I egged him on. I wanted to scare John.”
Joe sorted through her words. “Because you didn’t want John to take Alice away?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Worse than that. I didn’t want her to have something I didn’t. I was jealous. And then when Frank told me that John’s great-grandfather was a black man and his father was in prison, well, that was pretty scandalous back then. I was all for exposing him to everyone.”
“You were young. You didn’t mean for it to happen.”
She dabbed her eyes with the napkin. “I meant for something to happen. I remember that day like it was yesterday. Frank told me he was going to shoot John, not to kill him, just to wound him, and secretly, I found the idea thrilling. Can you believe that? It was like a big game to me.” Her gaze dropped to her lap. “Because of my stupidity, two innocent people died.”
“I’m sorry.”
When she finally looked up, Joe saw sorrow reflected in her eyes. “Oh, she was special, my sister Alice. One in a million, although I didn’t realize it at the time.” Pearl drew a quiet breath. “I wish you could have known her, Joe. She was the best of us all.”
And then, for someone who’d initially said she wasn’t going to talk about it, it seemed all Pearl could do was talk about it. She told Joe that everything bad in her life that happened after that came about as a result of that evening. “My unhappy marriage, my husband’s drinking, my son cutting me out of his life—it all followed.” Her finger traced the edge of the table. “One thing leading to another. A chain linked by shame and unhappiness.”
“What did your husband’s drinking have to do with Alice’s death?”
“Frank was never the same after that night. He lost a leg in the war, and he came home angry and depressed. He married me out of guilt, I guess.”
“Wait a minute!” Joe sat up straight. “Frank was your husband? My dad’s father was Frank?”
“Of course.” Her brow furrowed. “How did you not know that?”
“No one told me. I mean, my dad never mentioned his name, and neither did you.”
“Then how did you know what happened that day?”
Joe recalled all the dreams given to him, presented like a gift for him to pass on to his grandmother. He sensed that it was important for him to share the feeling of peace that Alice and John had given him at the end. It could only bring her comfort. But how to explain without sounding crazy? It struck him that neither of them had drunk very much of their lemonade. Kathleen had left only a few minutes ago, so there was plenty of time to fill.
Finally, he said, “I know exactly what happened because I experienced it. I was there.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I have a lot to tell you. Please keep an open mind. What I’m going to tell you will sound crazy, but I assure you it’s the truth.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
PEARL —— 1983
Time has a way of evening things out. I was beautiful once, turning heads and garnering admiring glances. Now I can see how little this matters.
You see, I am dying.
I had regrets, so many regrets. One night, while lying in bed, I realized that I’d broken each of the Ten Commandments at least once. It was a horrifying thought, made all the worse by realizing there’s nothing I could do about it. What’s done is done. You can’t unring the bell. I surely would, if given a chance.