Flight Patterns (10 page)

“You can come back to stay forever, you know. People who matter don't care what happened years ago. And the people who do care don't matter.” He patted my back in comfort, the gesture making me want to cry even more. I didn't deserve it.

“Not Maisy.” I sniffed.

“You know how to fix that,” he said softly.

I thought for a moment how right he was, how all I had to do was quite simple, really. Like unpainting a portrait stroke by stroke. But we wouldn't be left with a blank canvas with which to start over. I would still have my pride and Maisy her resentment, with enough of each to sink a ship.

“Why have you never blamed me?” My voice was muffled in his shirt.

He didn't even hesitate. “Because I know you. Because I know the person you really are.”

“But Maisy is my sister.” As if that relationship were like an eraser on the end of a pencil, correcting all mistakes. Grandpa had told us that when we were little girls, and we had always believed it. Until a sunny afternoon in early July all those years ago, when Maisy and I had stopped believing in anything at all.

We both looked up at the sound of the front door opening. Maisy stood holding it open for Becky to walk through, and I spotted James behind her watching us with a blank expression. I stepped away from Lyle, realizing how it might look.

Leaving Maisy's side, Becky ran toward us, throwing her arms around us both in a group hug, then standing back to smile. I couldn't look at Maisy, so I allowed my gaze to stray behind her, where I met James's gaze. I realized that I'd have to explain a few things to him if we were planning on staying any longer.

Ignoring me, Maisy approached Lyle. “I've already called Becky's teachers and they'll have her missed work ready to be picked up at the end of the school day. Please make sure you go through all of it to make sure it's done. And no pizza for dinner. She's been eating mostly junk food all day, and she'll need something nutritious.”

“Mama!” Becky moaned. Lyle kept his expression serious, but I was pretty sure he and Becky would be eating pizza for dinner.

Maisy turned around and headed back toward the hospital door. “Grandpa's awake and he's asking for you,” she said over her shoulder to me as she brushed by James and continued inside.

I said a quick good-bye to Lyle and Becky, then followed Maisy into the building. I made to move past James, but he took hold of my arm, stopping me.

“I can go find your aunt Marlene's house and start looking through the catalogs you brought with you. Or I can stay here at the hospital. My sisters say I'm a good referee.”

“What makes you think I need a referee?”

He raised his eyebrows in response.

I wanted to tell him that I didn't deserve his kindness, that if he knew everything, he'd be on the first flight back home. And that I was just fine on my own, not just because I'd grown used to it, but because it was what I preferred now. Relationships of all kinds were messy, untidy things, like balls of twine full of knots that never knew how to unravel properly.

But James wasn't looking for a friend any more than I was. Maybe that made him safe. Maybe that made me take his hand and pull him along with me down the corridor, feeling like I'd been tossed overboard and he was the only thing keeping me afloat.

Honeybees communicate with dance instead of words to tell other bees in the hive where to find food or a new home or to warn of approaching danger. It's a complicated dance of turning in circles and bisecting precisely calculated angles, and understood only by bees and those who bother to pay attention.

—NED BLOODWORTH'S BEEKEEPER'S JOURNAL

Maisy

M
aisy woke up the following morning to a quiet house that smelled of coffee. She'd taken the day off from work, planning on spending most of it at the hospital, and hadn't set her alarm. Still, she was surprised to see it was past nine o'clock and that she hadn't moved from her position in the bed since she'd passed out in it the night before.

She quickly slid to the floor, throwing on a robe over the T-shirt and boxers she usually slept in, then padded barefoot across the hall to Birdie's bedroom. The door was open, and there was no sign of her mother in the bed or adjacent bathroom.

Feeling slightly panicked, she ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, halting abruptly on the threshold. Birdie, fully dressed and adorned with makeup and jewelry, sat at the table taking tiny bites of scrambled eggs from her plate. Georgia, in jeans shorts full of patches
and a tie-dyed T-shirt—both looking as if they'd barely survived the seventies—had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She stood at the stove flipping pancakes, wearing no makeup and looking no less beautiful.

“You're here early,” Maisy muttered as she stumbled toward the coffeepot.

Georgia kept her focus on the pan in front of her. “Yeah, well, you stayed so late at the hospital that I figured I'd get Birdie out of bed and breakfast started before you got up.”

Maisy was silent as she poured her mug to the brim, then took a sip, needing fortification if she had to speak with her sister. She recognized the mug, with its chip near the top and the letter “M” formed from the outlines of three mermaids. Its twin, except with the letter “G,” sat on the counter next to the coffeemaker, half-full of cold coffee. Maisy hadn't seen the mugs in years and figured Georgia had had to dig pretty far back in the cabinet to find them.

“Birdie usually takes her breakfast on a tray in bed,” she said ungraciously, eyeing their mother over the rim of her steaming cup.

Georgia's gaze flickered over at her for a moment. “I didn't ask. I just told her that I was making breakfast and to come down when she was ready.”

There was no hint of smugness, but Maisy felt annoyed all the same. As if taking care of Birdie were as easy as telling her the way it should be. As if after all these years Birdie wasn't still playing favorites.

“How did she get dressed?”

Georgia slid a spatula under a pancake and carefully turned it over. “I imagine she did it herself.” She turned to face their mother for a moment, as if she actually expected her to say something. Focusing her attention on the stove again, she said, “I'm soaking her skirt from yesterday in the laundry room sink.”

“It's silk. You shouldn't get it wet.”

“Yes, well, I figure if I got the whole thing wet we wouldn't have to worry about a water stain. And that's so much better than a bloodstain.”

Too tired to continue the conversation, Maisy pulled out a chair
next to her mother and kissed her cheek before sitting down. She took a long sip of her coffee, staring at the jar of Grandpa's tupelo honey that had sat in the middle of the kitchen table ever since she could remember, then stood abruptly. “I forgot to check my phone. The hospital might have called.”

“Don't bother,” Georgia said. “They already did, on the house phone. He's stable but they want to keep him a little longer. I made an appointment for us to talk with his doctor at eleven.”

Maisy gripped the handle of her mug until her knuckles whitened.

“Or I could go myself, if you have other things you need to do. We also need to find someone to help us with moving the hives. Grandpa will be so disappointed if he doesn't get his tupelo honey—”

“Stop it,” Maisy said, hearing the words before she'd even convinced herself to say them.

Georgia turned off the burner and lifted the pan from the stove top, what looked like genuine surprise crossing her face.

Maisy slammed the coffee mug down on the table, causing coffee to splash over the top. She was aware of Birdie putting down her fork. “Stop acting as if you care, as if we've saved a spot and waited for you to come back and resume your place. It doesn't work that way. It was never meant to work that way.”

“It's been a long time, Maisy.”

Maisy placed her palms flat on the wood table, glad for the cool feel of it. “This isn't some game where you're allowed to change the rules midway just because you're losing.”

Georgia slammed the pan down on the counter. “This was never about winning or losing. And I didn't want to come back—ever. But it's been a decade! When this opportunity came up I said no at first. I knew you wouldn't be happy to see me. I knew that I promised I wouldn't come back. Then I told myself I was doing it for work, for James, really. But I think in the back of my mind I knew it was time. Regardless of what other people in town might think or say, my own sister can't still hate me. I just needed to find out for myself.”

Maisy had a sudden memory of Georgia teaching her how to
drive in their grandfather's old Buick, and how Maisy had been too scared to press the accelerator until Georgia promised her that she wouldn't let her get hurt. And she'd believed her. Believed her enough that she'd stomped her foot hard on the accelerator, jumping the car forward, and would have hit the magnolia in the front yard if Georgia hadn't yanked the steering wheel.

“I don't hate you,” Maisy said quietly. “I've wanted to, but I can't. It's just easier not to hate you when you're four hundred miles away.”

Birdie seemed to be watching Georgia, her gaze focused. Georgia approached and took their mother's plate. “Would you like some coffee?”

She didn't say anything, but she turned her head toward the counter where the coffeemaker sat. There was something not right about that one movement, something that made Maisy glance at Birdie, wondering whether she'd missed something.

Maisy watched as Georgia poured a mug of coffee for their mother, remembering the two spoonfuls of sugar and dollop of milk even after all this time. And it annoyed Maisy even more, as if Georgia had remembered on purpose because she assumed that Maisy would expect her to forget.

“When are you leaving?” Maisy demanded, wanting to get the conversation under control again. It was what she did best. Georgia was good at mixing things up and making a mess, and Maisy was good at cleaning it all up and fixing things. It was the way it had always been. “I'm assuming your plans have changed now because of Grandpa.” Maisy walked toward the pantry to pull out a box of cereal regardless of how enticing the smell of eggs and pancakes was. She could make her own breakfast and take care of her family. She'd been doing it for years.

Georgia placed the mug of coffee in front of Birdie. Without meeting Maisy's eyes, she said, “With Grandpa's stroke, it would seem that our visit has become open-ended.”

“Doesn't James need to get back to New York? You can't just drag him down here and leave him stranded.”

Georgia's spine stiffened as she pulled her shoulders back, a sure
sign that her sister was preparing for a fight, and Maisy was glad for it. Georgia had come back to Apalach like a sunbather dipping into the warm waters of the gulf, carefree and unconcerned. Somebody had to remind her why she hadn't been back for so long.

“I didn't and I'm not,” Georgia said offhandedly, but with clipped words. “I offered to drive him to the airport so he could fly back to New York, but he told me he was fine here for as long as I need to stay. My boss said just about the same thing. I'm worried about Grandpa. I want to make sure he's okay and help with whatever needs to happen next. And that will give me more time to do what I came here for, too. Maybe even have time to talk with you. It's not my goal to inconvenience you, and I'd like to think that talking with you wouldn't fit into that category.”

Maisy was shaking her head before Georgia had even finished speaking. “Inconvenience me?” She thought she heard a knock on the front door, but she was too focused on the conversation to go check. “That's like calling a category-five hurricane an inconvenience. I honestly thought you'd show up under the cover of darkness and slip out the same way. Because that's what I would have done if I were you. But I keep forgetting that you're nothing like me.”

Georgia's lips had become as pale as her skin. Maisy was vaguely aware of Birdie sliding back her chair and walking from the room. “Well, thank goodness for that,” Georgia shouted. “Because we all can't be doormats.”

Maisy slammed her mug into the sink, hearing the gratifying sound of it cracking against the porcelain and satisfied to see Georgia flinch. “Well, somebody had to stick around to fix your mistakes and clean up your mess.”

Georgia took a step toward her, her balled fists pressed against her heart as if to protect it. “That was your choice! You chose, and I went along with it because I thought it would make you happy.”

Maisy clutched her head, wondering whether it was possible to have one's head actually burst, then remembered something else Georgia had said. “Why on earth would James want to stick around here? That makes no sense. How much have you told him?”

“You mean my version or yours?” Georgia's cheeks were flushed, her nostrils flaring.

“The real version,” Maisy shouted, glad Becky was with Lyle, and not a witness. Maisy never raised her voice, either in the classroom or at home. She'd learned that from Birdie. Ladies didn't make a commotion. But she was lost somewhere between anger and heartbreak, and desperate to leave things unsaid. Except it was far too late for that. Ten years too late.

“The real version?” Georgia spat back. “Would that be actual events or the way you want to remember them?”

“The version that includes you being so busy being the town slut that you let something horrible happen to an innocent child!” Maisy screamed, the ugly words staining the air between them.

They both became aware of movement in the doorway and turned in tandem to see James standing there, holding an armful of china catalogs. “Your mother let me in.” He held up the catalogs as if in explanation. “I walked to your aunt Marlene's and she told me you were here. I brought these over thinking that if we had time, we could get started. . . .” His voice faded as if the echo of Maisy's last words were still ricocheting against the kitchen walls like bullets, leaving burning black holes in everything they touched.

He set the catalogs on the kitchen counter, then retreated, pausing for a moment. “In answer to your first question, Maisy, I'm here because I've recently lost my wife, and Georgia was kind enough to let me come along on her mission to identify my grandmother's china because I needed a distraction.” His gaze flickered momentarily to Georgia before returning to Maisy. “As for your second question, I knew nothing about her family or why she'd been gone so long.” He paused. “But I guess I do now.”

With a brief nod in their direction, he left the room. They listened as his footsteps moved down the back hallway to the foyer, followed by the sound of the front door opening and then closing with a solid snap.

Neither one of them moved for a long moment, until Georgia walked over to the counter and picked up the catalogs. With her chin
held high she spoke through bloodless lips. “I'm going to the hospital now so I can meet with Grandpa's doctors. You can be there or not; I really don't care. Then I'm calling his beekeeping friend Florence Love to ask her to come over and give me some pointers on what I need to do until Grandpa is back on his feet again to take care of the hives on his own, and ask her about moving the hives to the swamp.

“But I'm not leaving town until Grandpa is better and things are settled, so you'd better get used to having me around for a while.” She left the kitchen, her heels pounding into the wood floors like a punishment.

Maisy's mouth opened and closed several times as she thought of the thousands of things she wanted to say to her sister. Instead, her gaze strayed to the dirty pan and cold pancakes on the kitchen counter. “You left a mess in the kitchen!” she shouted after Georgia, the words all too familiar.

Georgia answered with the slamming of the front door.