The bottle strikes her on the shoulder. She’s stunned but not hurt, but I feel the shock wave in the room. Dead silence follows Brenda’s words as we all try to make sense of them. I reach for my father’s hand. Tug him back to the sofa again.
“What is wrong with you?” Ellie leans toward Brenda. “How could I have killed Garner? I would never—”
“Listen to what she’s saying, Ellie,” Buddy interrupts her. “She’s sayin’ there was no poker game. It was made up to…”
“As a cover-up,” Daddy says. “Because Byron and your father … they were there in the clearing. So was Garner. It sounds like the whole damn town was in the clearing, like your mother said.”
“Except you!” I add, because I’m completely certain now that whoever drove my father’s truck, it wasn’t him.
“But why would you say I killed Garner?” Ellie turns to Brenda, who’s gripping the arms of her chair now, her knuckles white.
“You killed him, Ellie. You killed Garner and made me lose my baby—the only child I’d ever have! Garner was climbing the steps of the tree house and you kicked him off and destroyed my whole world, all for that stupid boy you’d only known for a month.”
Ellie gasps. “That was Garner?” she asks. She sounds like a wounded child.
“Oh, don’t give me that innocent crap!” Brenda stands up. “And then you have the nerve to show up here, all these years later, saying ‘Can we be friends again? Can we start over?’ Like hell! I would just as soon kill you as be your friend! God, I loathe you!”
“That’s enough, Brenda,” Daddy says. He’s on the edge of the sofa as though ready to jump up again. His voice is firm, but not angry. I hear pity in it.
“Don’t you get it, Ellie?” Brenda asks. I feel her shaky rage, though her voice isn’t loud now. It’s worse than that. The rage is coiled inside her, ready to spring. “Your father couldn’t wait to put an end to the boy who was dragging his family through the mud, and he had a whole lot of help from the rest of Round Hill.”
Buddy makes a gasping sound as he tries to sit up straight in the recliner. “Daddy could’ve gotten the key to my shop off the rack in the kitchen, like Kayla said.” He looks at Brenda, a wounded expression on his doughy face.
Ellie’s cheeks are shiny with tears. “I can’t believe Daddy would do that.”
“You’re right about that.” Miss Pat nods. “He was a weak man. He went along with it, but he didn’t know the whole plan. We kept it from him. He didn’t know that boy would end up killed. He couldn’t take it, either. He wasn’t the same afterward.”
My father frowns. “But if he drove my truck, he had to know—”
“I just said he was a coward, didn’t I?” Miss Pat sounds impatient. “I’m the one who drove your damn truck, Reed! I’m the one who did what everybody else was afraid to do!”
For the first time in fifteen minutes, a hush falls over the room. We stare at Miss Pat, who turns her head away from us, red blotches high on her cheekbones. Still no one speaks. Finally, Brenda reaches over to rest a hand on Miss Pat’s.
“Oh, Mama,” she says quietly. “Now you’ve gone and done it.”
Chapter 52
ELLIE
December 2010
I stare out the living room window of my family home. Across the street, where the leafy green dinosaurs and dragons used to roam, sprawling new houses rise from the cold earth. Stone and wood, most of them. When I arrived in Round Hill and saw those houses going up, I thought, They don’t belong here. Now I can see that my house is the one that doesn’t belong. Just like me. In another week, I’ll be home in San Francisco. I’ll have Christmas with my cherished friends. What I’ll tell them about my time here in Round Hill, I don’t yet know. All I do know is that I need distance from it. Physical and emotional distance.
I smell the aroma of the leek tart I’m baking and hear Kayla rattling around in my kitchen. She’s poking through the drawers and cabinets. I told her to take anything she might need or want and so far she’s fallen in love with a big turquoise bowl and a well-worn first edition of The Joy of Cooking. Tomorrow, the Round Hill charity shop and Habitat for Humanity are coming to cart off furniture and clothing and kitchen items and who knows what else. It’s all going, making way for the bulldozers. Tonight’s is the last meal I’ll ever cook in this house, and that’s fine with me.