Dogwood (9 page)

Will whispered something, his head down, eyes closed. It seemed like he was working on a sentence he could not bring himself to utter.

“What is it?” I said. “Did something happen in here? You’re not telling me something.”

“I’m not telling you a lot of things,” he said. “Karin, you can only care about so much, and then it just becomes overload. They call it compassion fatigue.”

“You’re not some third world country.”

“Maybe I am.” He looked away. “An island.”

“Maybe that’s where you’ll go when you get out,” I said. “A place where the sun will keep you warm all year long and you won’t have to worry about seasons.”

Will faced me. “I like the seasons. I like the change, the currents of life. I couldn’t live on sand or in a place where the sun doesn’t go down or come up. As much as I complain, I don’t think there’s another place on earth I want to exist outside Dogwood.”

I smiled and pointed a finger at him. “You keep talking like that and we’ll be seeing you at church with some young thing on your arm, walking into worship like you own the place.”

“I don’t know that I could . . . I hope your husband won’t be offended if I hang out with the snake handlers.”

I snorted and laughed, and he looked at me like he remembered the old Karin. Carefree and young, nostrils flaring, sucking in air. There was life in my laugh, and it took control.

Someone coughed and I turned. Ruthie pointed to the clock as if I didn’t know our time was limited. She wobbled and stood with the help of her cane.

“I have a friend who wants to meet you,” I said. “Would that be all right?”

Will glanced at Ruthie and lifted an eyebrow. “Is she single?”

“Very.” I laughed. “Ruthie is wise beyond her years, if that’s possible. And she’s become a good friend. I think you’ll like her as much as I do.” I put a hand out and touched the glass.

“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face,”
I thought. It was a Scripture I had memorized as a kid from the King James Bible, and I knew even then that I couldn’t fully understand it as a child. Now, looking at Will, I felt I understood it less.

Will touched the other side of the glass, and we both smiled.

I lingered a moment, and something passed between us. There had been a connection long ago, but that had been severed. Something in me wanted to hold on, to roll back the clock and never let him go, but I had made my choice, as he had, and we had to live with our choices.

I pulled myself up and held the chair for Ruthie.

“Thank you, dear,” she said.

I hovered there, gazing at these two souls I cared so deeply about. You can pick your friends and choose who surrounds you, but family is something you cannot choose. That’s the way I felt about Will and Ruthie. They were the family that I hadn’t chosen but had found me.

“We need to be alone for a moment,” Ruthie said, breaking the silence.

“Of course.” I walked to the other side of the room where Ruthie had been.

The two stared, as if sizing each other up for a prizefight.

I folded my arms and sat back against the plastic chair, thinking of all the choices, big and small, that make up a life. Ruthie once said that eternity is a human stream and our stories are the rain, falling, flowing, surging, searching for an end. “But there is no end. Never will be. And that’s the great thing about living.”

I wanted to frame the picture before me. Two strangers united only by their love for me. One whose love I could return. The other’s, I could not. And never could.

I guess that’s the sad thing about living.

“The name is Ruthie Bowles,” she said. Her teeth seemed to get in the way of her upper lip, or maybe it was the other way around. Her pupils were the size of stickpins. In fact every part of her seemed closed tight, even her heart. “You recognize that name?”

I nodded. “I recognize the name, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

“I was at the trial. I figured somebody should be there since
they
never had the chance.”

“How do you know Karin?” I said as even and measured as I could.

“She comes to visit me. You could say we’re in the same boat, though maybe it’s the same river. I’m just a little farther along than she is. Sweet girl. She’s talked about you for a long time. I thought it would help her to come here.”

“So it was your idea?”

“Yes. Richard and I both thought it might help. But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I have my own reasons.”

“You’re not gonna attack me with that cane, are you?”

Ruthie didn’t laugh. “I’ve thought about it. Then I wonder if
it’s not better to wait until you get out and come looking for you with my Confederate pistol.”

I stifled a smile. I could believe she actually had one.

“You know there are people waiting for you,” she continued. “Waiting for true justice.” She passed her hand across the desk, as if she were smoothing an invisible tablecloth. “But part of me thinks you need to be forgiven by someone. That you need to hear the words.”

“Which part usually wins?” I said.

“Depends on the day. Seeing you here, seeing you with her, I can imagine what it’s been like. You’ve paid a high price for your mistake. Almost makes me want to forgive you. Then I look at the pictures I’ve stored in the drawer, the futures cut down, the pain you brought to that whole town. To me.”

“Were you there for the sentencing? when I spoke?”

She nodded, and because of the way she held her mouth, the lower jaw jutting out like Larry King listening to a call, I thought her teeth would simply fall out. “I saw the tears. Heard your quavering voice. I suppose it must have made you feel better to—”

“I didn’t mean it. The part about being sorry for what I’d done. It was an act.”

It seemed like Ruthie had aged another ten years when she looked at me squarely. “What did you say?”

“There are things you don’t know. Things I’ve never told anyone.”

“Are you asking me to feel
sorry
? For
you
? Do you think after what you’ve done that anyone could feel sorry for you?”

“I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t want the town’s embrace. I don’t care if you forgive me or not. I just want to be left alone. I’ve paid the debt, and I want to live my life and put this behind me.”

“There’s a cloud a mile wide and darker than this prison that will hang over your head, son.”

“Maybe. But clouds can move, can’t they? The sun eventually comes out no matter how dark it gets.”

There was something about this old woman I knew I could trust. If she had walked into the belly of the dragon and faced the beast head-on, she deserved answers.

“Waters recede after a flood, but that doesn’t mean the earth isn’t changed. There’s a Grand Canyon of hurt back there. And it’s not leaving easily.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re in a forgiving mood,” I said.

“Doesn’t sound like there’s any remorse.”

I stared through her, catching Karin in my peripheral vision. “I have lived every day of my life with one regret, confirmed by this visit. I should have taken Karin away and married her. I should have told her how I felt. It would have changed everything.”

“How?”

“I’ve lost her. She’s gone now. Forever.”

Ruthie shook her head. “You don’t know the whole truth. There are some things I came here to tell you. Things you should know before you come back, if that’s your plan.”

“My roots are there. Everything I love is there. I won’t let those people have my soul.”

“Everything you hate is there too.”

The guard walked into the room on Ruthie’s side, tipping back his hat.

“I just need a few more minutes, young man,” she said.

He looked at his watch. “I’ll give you ten.”

“Thank you kindly,” Ruthie said, turning back to me. She scratched her ear, as old people do, finding one spot on their head or the back of their hand to focus their energies. My mother had a spot on the back of her neck, a stigma of nerves and scaly skin. She was at it constantly while she visited, like a dog that can’t stop licking a paw.

“What is it I should know?” I said.

“I’ll tell you on one condition. That you tell me everything. No
holding back. In a strange way, that girl over there needs you. I know it in my heart.”

“Needs me? She has a husband, a family. The only thing I can bring her is confusion. If I even try to make contact, I know that her family—her mother especially . . . well, it’ll be ugly. And that’s not counting her dad.”

“You wrote her, didn’t you? I heard you tell her that.”

“From over there? You must have a good hearing aid.”

She chuckled. “If I turn it up and hold my head just right, I can get three radio stations simultaneously.”

We both laughed; then I folded my hands and looked at her. “I wrote her every day for a year. Never received a reply. I figured she didn’t want anything to do with me. That the memories were too painful.”

“What memories?” Ruthie said.

I held her gaze and let the question sink deep. Could I really trust this old buzzard with the secret I had bottled up and thrown into an ocean of memory? If I miscalculated, if she was not who she said she was, I was opening myself up for more anguish and hurt. But there was something otherworldly—some would say angelic—about her face. She labored under the lie I had lived, the one I had allowed so many years ago.

“I can tell how much you care, Ruthie. But what if I told you that what I have to say would affect your friendship with Karin?”

“I could never love her any less than I do. She’s like a daughter to me.”

I nodded. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

So I quickly told her. I told her everything.

“What’s wrong?” I said as we made our way to the car.

Ruthie seemed distant. She walked through the prison like a zombie, her cane striking the tile floor with abandon.

I guided her past a cement post outside—she was going to run right into it.

She eased herself inside the car and placed her cane and purse in the backseat. “Just tired,” she said, buckling her seat belt and staring straight ahead.

A half mile past the front gate, I couldn’t hold my excitement any longer. “This was such a great idea! I can’t remember having such a good day. It’s as if I can start over again. You don’t know how long I’ve dreaded seeing Will, thinking he would get out and I’d pass him on the street someday and be paralyzed. Maybe this is what’s been keeping me up at night.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“What about you? What did you two talk about?”

The wrinkled skin under her neck worked like a snake downing a rabbit as she swallowed spittle. “There are some things girls have to keep to themselves.”

“Oh, come on, Ruthie. I didn’t go all this way to have you clam up on me. What did he say?”

“He said if you weren’t available, he was going to ask me out when he came back.”

“Oh, please . . .”

“It’s true. He said he was so hungry for a real woman that it was all he could do not to break the glass between us and kiss me right there.”

I plugged my ears and rocked back and forth. “La la la la.”

“Settle down,” Ruthie snapped when I brushed her shoulder. “You want to get us killed?”

Her sharp tone startled me, and I felt like a scolded child. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Ruthie stared at the road, refusing to make eye contact. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Those children . . .”

My mind ran to my children. It was early afternoon, and Tarin would be sleeping if Richard had done his job. If not, she would be cranky until we put her to bed later. My love for them overflowed—and meeting Will had touched something, had almost given me a new lease on loving them, a freedom to abandon myself to my family.

Still, I couldn’t break through to Ruthie. When both our stomachs growled, about an hour from home, I looked for a place to stop. She had mentioned the Golden Corral, but the one she remembered had closed. Instead, we found a Shoney’s strategically placed between a Sam’s Club and a Wal-Mart, and she parked as close to the front as she could.

“I don’t think I have the energy to go inside, honey,” Ruthie said, a hand on her cane.

“It’ll be relaxing,” I said. “We’ll get a booth, and you can complain to the waitress about the food.”

Inside, Ruthie excused herself and limped past the salad bar to the bathroom.

I watched a family with two young children. The kids were more interested in their crayons than the food. At another table was a young woman with a baby in a car carrier. She had put the child in the seat opposite her in the booth and propped the carrier against the wall so she could watch the sleeping child. Ruthie’s words came back—the child in my dream was my
soul
. My father cared for it even more than I did. He was waiting for me to return.

Tears came. The events of the day were almost too much to take in, and I wondered about Will. Was it difficult for him to see me? to discover the truth about my marriage? Did he still harbor some hope of love between us?

The waitress came and I realized Ruthie had been in the bathroom too long. I hurried to the restroom, thinking she might have fallen. The bathroom appeared empty except for one closed stall. I tiptoed in and spotted Ruthie’s orthopedic shoes. A low moan echoed through the room and I moved closer, peering through the crack in the door to see her sitting fully clothed, her head in her hands, rocking and shaking, emitting a mournful cry so heartrending that I thought she was going to die.

“Ruthie? Are you okay?”

“I’m just finishing,” Ruthie said, blowing her nose. “Be out in a minute.”

“You want me to wait?” I said.

“No, I’ll be all right. You go ahead and order.”

“What can I get for you?”

The tears came again, and it was a few seconds before she choked out, “I can’t eat anything. Just some coffee.”

I paused at the door. “What is it? I want to help you.”

My heart nearly burst when Ruthie wept again. “Oh, Karin,” she wailed, half whisper, half cry. “Karin.”

Everything Ruthie had said to me echoed in that cry. She had every reason to give up on me, to leave me in my closet and my darkness. She hadn’t given up. But something about her cries
now changed that. What had she discovered? What had Will told her?

When she finally emerged, still dabbing at her eyes, the waitress met her at the table, turning a white mug over and pouring Ruthie some coffee, about half a cup. It’s the same thing I do for Darin, not filling it too full of lemonade or milk, knowing I might be pouring what I’ll have to clean up.

“Thank you,” Ruthie said.

“You sure I can’t get you anything?” the waitress drawled. She sounded like a transplant from farther south. Maybe Georgia. South Carolina. “A muffin? Some toast?”

“I’m all right.” Ruthie smiled.

“Well, if your tummy gets to feelin’ hungry and you change your mind, let me know.”

Ruthie sipped her black coffee while I ate a salad with a few bits of chicken and croutons thrown on top. The muted conversations and clinking silverware were drowned out by an instrumental version of “Y.M.C.A.” I didn’t want to close my eyes for fear I’d see the Village People dancing.

Glancing out the window, I noticed a car slowly pass. It looked like the same one I’d seen in the side mirror earlier this morning. Tinted windows didn’t allow me to see the people inside. I didn’t want to mention it to Ruthie and alarm her, but I was sure someone was following us.

“You seemed to enjoy meeting him again,” Ruthie said.

My fork shook and I had to put it down. “I dreaded it at first, but you were right. It was so good to see him. Now tell me, what did he say to you?”

“Nothing you’d want to announce at the spring banquet,” she said wryly. “You realize when he’s getting out, don’t you?”

I craned my neck to see the car. Brake lights flashed and my heart fluttered. “What was that?”

“July 2.”

“Right,” I said, my face flushing. The room spun. I’d eaten bad chicken years before and this was the same feeling.

“Does that date ring a bell? July 2?”

“Should it?” I said, feeling my gorge rising. Ruthie leaned closer as I blinked, trying to focus.

“Is she all right?” someone said.

I was down. On the floor. The tile felt cold. A baby wailing. A child’s red shoe lying on the floor in the corner. The parents didn’t see it.

Two eyes looking back at me. Leaning down. Swirling lights outside.

“I thought it would be different,” I managed, my breath faltering. “That seeing him would change things. Make me fall out of love with my husband. Make me want to leave. But it didn’t.”

“It’s okay.” Ruthie touched my shoulder. “Help is on the way.”

I closed my eyes because my demons were back. Swarming, accusing, mocking—their knees drawn to their odd, bloated stomachs. They had introduced themselves without a welcome long ago and had sent me to my closet. I had chased them away, but like bees to an abandoned hive, they returned.

“Oh, Karin,” they seethed. “Poor Karin. So delicate.”

All I could think of was sleep.

I thrashed, trees and rosebushes a blur outside the window. My mother and father. Will being led away.

And then there was silence, as if someone had spoken peace to my soul. A pinch of the arm and my muscles relaxed. I drifted away, free from the stares, free from the mocking, but not free from the pain.