My sigh echoed up my throat. I did know. They could leave you while they were sitting right next to you, stay gone even though you lived in the same house. But that didn’t answer the question. “You stole Brenda from us, Ant. Why?”
His shoulders slumped and he started crying.
It turned out he really didn’t know. Realizing that hit me like a punch to my stomach, stealing my breath. Jesus, what this town did to us, forcing our feet to the fire before we knew what it all meant, what stakes we were playing for. I suddenly felt so lonely I thought I’d die from it.
When Ant got his sobbing under control, his face a great swollen loaf, he told me where he’d hidden the photo of me in my bra. In the end, that’s why he’d called me in. He’d been out of his mind to be forgiven for something, anything. I’d known that, and I’d still come.
I didn’t hate him, but neither would I comfort him. He deserved to be locked up. He’d made his choices, and they’d taken away Brenda’s. I might soften to that, but for now, it’s how I felt.
Our meeting lasted twenty minutes. I couldn’t stand it any longer than that.
Afterward, I spoke to Agent Ryan about Father Adolph and asked him to make sure the priest wasn’t the one who visited Ant in jail. I did that for Little Ant, the one who’d built us Barbie doll furniture back in grade school. I hoped he would find his way back to that part of himself. I figured that was the journey all us Pantowners were tasked with, if we were lucky enough to get a chance.
Find our way back to ourselves.
CHAPTER 56
Mom did her part, shaping up as best she could when she was released from the hospital. I think it was because she had to. Dad and Jerome Nillson were both facing charges. They were holed up at a hotel—for their safety, we’d been told. Nillson had resigned from his position as sheriff and was also facing serious prison time thanks to the photos, which had been matched up with women and girls he’d arrested over the past six years.
Dad was offered a plea deal, which he took, rolling over on the other Saint Cloud movers and shakers who’d attended Nillson’s parties. It would keep Dad out of jail, but he was being disbarred.
Mom said that wasn’t enough for her.
She was filing for divorce, “damn whatever Father Adolph says.”
In another unexpected but delightful twist, Mrs. Hansen moved into our house, taking over Dad’s office. It was just temporary, she said. She wasn’t ready to leave Pantown quite yet, she said. Some unfinished business.
She also insisted we call her by her first name. “To hell with all their rules,” she said, cackling. “Screw pretending to be respectful during the day and dancing with the devil at night. I prefer you be genuine with me, and I’ll return the favor.”
She brought her glittery amber-beaded curtain with her, and she promptly hung it between our kitchen and dining room. She also began to cook and clean and tell Junie and me what to do. It was the coolest thing ever. When Mom would start to slide away, Gloria （it was getting easier to think of her by that name） would pull her back. She was way better at bringing Mom out of her funks than Dad had ever been. She also didn’t look away when Mom was slipping too far to find her way back without doctors. She brought her straight to the hospital. Somehow it ended up that with Gloria’s help, Mom got to come home more quickly every time, sometimes without even having to stay overnight.
On the days Mom was well, Gloria would return to her old place to clean out another small area. When she came back, her and Mom would sit on the front porch, smoking and drinking iced tea. Sometimes they’d even laugh. I’d overheard Gloria once apologizing to Mom, but Mom shushed her. They both went quiet for a bit after that, and then Gloria said, “I might stay around Pantown for a while longer. I like making the sons of bitches squirm.”
That made them laugh so hard they couldn’t breathe. Gloria’s gigantic spoon-and-fork set and her favorite macramé owl with its great bead eyes appeared on our living room wall shortly afterward.
One day, when Mom was outside trimming the rosebushes and Junie was over at Libby’s, I brought up my dad to Gloria. I mostly tried not to think about him, but it was like not thinking about a purple elephant. He’d been my dad, the person I most admired.
“I didn’t know him at all,” I told Gloria, my chin quivering. “I thought I did, and I was wrong.”
She’d tsked. We were in the kitchen, her preparing fondue for tonight’s dinner. She always cooked like she was going to have a party. When I’d asked her about it, she said it was on purpose because why live any other way?