Sadie's Mountain (24 page)

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“And you’ll promise not ta make the recording public, then?” he asks, cautiously.

I nod my head, yes.            

“Can I get that in writing?” I scrunch my face. What a weird thing to ask for.

“What? You want your lawyer to draw up the papers? I think having my word is enough.”

His mouth goes into a thin line, his jaw is tensed and he crosses his arms across his chest.

“Let me add, if I ever find out that you’ve hurt Renae or the kids, that recording goes live.”

“What?”

“Do you think I didn’t notice the way you treat your wife?”

“She’s fine. Ain’t nothin’ happened to her.”

“Just like I was fine?” I taunt. “Some people just can’t be tamed,” I state, nonchalantly. “Just shouldn’t be allowed out in the real world. If you prove that you can’t control yourself, I’ll make sure you never get out of jail. On that recording, you just admitted to stalking me, raping me, letting me drown. Then you threatened to kill me and your own brother. Just think what they’ll do to a cop in prison. I’m doing you a favor right now, ‘cause I relish the thought of you finally knowing what it felt like for me in that shed,” I say, pointing at the wooden hell that sits there in the grass at the edge of the property like an abomination.

I force myself to stare into his shaky eyes that look like little black dots enveloped in a bright white casing. “We have a deal,” he says through his clenched jaw. He looks like he just ate poison and wishes I was the one who was sick.

“If anything happens to my phone or to me, that recording goes live by default,” I say. “Just remember that.” He shakes his head yes, pacing and watching me intently.

“What are you going to tell Dillon?” I ask, still leaning my back into the railing for support.

“Just that I can’t tell him who attacked...”

“Raped, Donnie. Who raped me,” I shout, but under my breath so no one can hear us inside the house. I’m leaning forward, pointing my finger.

 “Right, who raped you and broke in the house last night.” He’s speaking in little frantic spurts of words, like a person who just got caught on ice too thin to hold him up any longer.

“All right. Why don’t you tell him you got rid of the guy? How about that? I’ll even let you take the credit.” My heart is beating so fast I think I can hear it like a drummer’s beat all around us.

“Sounds fair,” his voice says, but his eyes are saying something more ominous.

“Fair? None of this has been fair to me,” I growl.

He glares at me, frozen in the spot where he’s stopped pacing.

“I think I’m a merciful, generous person, Donnie, for not just posting this recording right now.”

“Do it and I’ll come after you. I’ll have nothing left to lose.” I swallow hard enough that I hear it and so does he.

I have to force the words out. I don’t even care that they’re shaky. “I hope that felt good, ‘cause that was the last time in your life that you will ever threaten me again.” His lips quiver and the left side pulls upward in a scowl before he puts his fist to his mouth as if it’s taking everything in him not to pounce on me like prey he’s stalked all night long. “This is over,” I say, as I walk past him, open the door, slam it shut, and stand in the living room like I’ve just gone fourteen rounds with my toughest opponent, ending it with a knock out. In a way I have. It scares me when my phone buzzes in my hand like it’s possessed.

It’s Missy. “Hello.”

“Sadie? You need to come home.”

“What’s wrong?”

“The hospice worker just left, and Momma’s taken a turn fer the worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“They just went over the stages with me and Momma has most ‘a the stuff that people get right before they die.”

“Is she still talking?”

“A little. If you want to hear her voice again, I’d get over here right now.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” I press the end button on the screen and when I turn around Dillon is standing in the room with me.

“I need to go.”

“Okay, Sadie. Let’s go together,” he says, reaching his hand out to me. I grasp hold of him and bury my face in his temperate chest.

“How am I going to say goodbye to my Momma, Dillon?”

“I don’t know, darlin’ but you’ll do the right thing. I know it.”

I hope I do. I sure hope I do.

Chapter Nineteen—For My Momma

We walk hand-in-hand toward my house from his. The path was well-worn when we were kids but now it’s barely visible other than to us who’d traveled it so often and for so long. I even remember Dillon’s Dad telling me I’d ruined the grass seeds he’d planted. He said he had to measure my footprints and add enough grass seed to make up for the ones I’d smashed too deep into the dirt to grow strong and sturdy.

How true it is, being smashed down by feet or by circumstances does really take its toll. How did I grow and bloom after I’d been pressed down so violently? If I hadn’t left here, what would have become of me? Would I have been absorbed into the mountain soil just like those seeds, never to have sprouted into anything at all?

Dillon’s daddy passed away when Dillon was sixteen, just two years before I left. He was a stoic and pensive man with dark hair and deep set black eyes. He mumbled rather than spoke directly. That’s probably why I remember so well the exchange about the grass. He barked at me, and I nodded and twisted my ankles back and forth on either edge of the soles of my feet. It must have meant a lot to him, the grass. He was a lot more particular about his yard than my Daddy was.

 Thinking back, I guess that’s why I’d never even batted an eyelash about Donnie being so quiet and brooding all those years. It seemed normal for the men in their family to behave that way. Not Dillon, of course. He was, and still is, the essence of kindness. His face is most used to being set in a smile.
That’s his nature
, I think, looking up at the now grown man—so loving, so perfect.

Once this is all over, we will have our chance to create a life conducive to those natural smiles.
Will it ever be over, the Donnie part that is?
I know I’ll always have to watch my back. Donnie is like a dormant volcano still bubbling under the surface. To ignore him will be like moving into the ruins of Pompeii and pretending Mount Vesuvius doesn’t exist. I will never be able to relax fully, ever.

We walk past the horse stables and the square horse fence. Monty neighs and scratches the dirt bringing me out of my reverie. I walk by, not having the time to stop and pat his muzzle.

As we walk up the steps to the porch, Dillon squeezes my hand reassuringly. I turn the doorknob not knowing what will become of me once Momma is gone.

No one is in the living room or the kitchen. We creak up the stairs while I’m thinking of a way to bargain with God. I want to get back the time I lost with my momma. I scowl as I blame Donnie for taking this from me, too. All those years, gone, just like an old dried leaf blowing away in the wind.

As we stand in the doorway, looking at Missy, the boys, and the two kids gathering around Momma’s bed, I really grasp the fact that ten years have gone by. Ten Christmases, ten birthdays, ten Mother’s Days. I’ve missed her voice and the gentle thump of her heart when she hugs me. I’ve missed her laugh, the one that comes from the stomach. I’ve missed her homemade birthday cakes with the almond flavored frosting, and the way she cooks the eggs just right with the perfect amount of salt and pepper. I’ve missed everything—all of it. It makes that hole in my chest come back again—the one that Dillon got rid of last night. And that lump in my throat is back—bigger than ever. I try to swallow it down. I should know better; that never works.

I don’t want to walk into the room yet. Once I do, it will be real. My momma is going to die and there’s nothing that can change that. My hip buzzes and I jump. Dillon moves me away from the door into the hallway.

“Do you want to get that?” he coaxes.

“Oh, okay,” I say. I feel like I’m in a movie or I’m suddenly living someone else’s life.
It’s Jenny.

“Hello,” I whisper.

“Sadie, is everything okay?”

“Yes, why?”

“Well, it’s 2:10 Mountain time and you haven’t texted me about the recording going live on the blog. You said I should...”

“Oh! Yes. Everything is okay for today. You can leave it as is.”

“Great. I’m glad to hear it. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Actually, could you transcribe the recording I sent you?”

“Transcribe it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you said not to listen to it.” I turn around and look at Dillon. He’s leaning against the wall in the hallway looking at the floor nonchalantly.

“I’m trusting you with this very important project. Of course, remember that you’ve signed a confidentiality agreement.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

“Can you email it to me by this evening and add it to the blog, but don’t make it live.”

“Sounds good.”

“Tomorrow I’ll text you on time and thank you for checking in with me.”

“No problem, Sadie.”

“Thank you,” I say, turning off the phone from the clear screen. As I turn around to look at Dillon he seems puzzled.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Yes, I just have her working on a project for me.” He nods his head, and purses his full lips.

“You can tell me anything. You know that,” he says. I know he’s not prying. He just wants me to know.

“Thank you,” I say, looking down.

“Are you ready?” he says, as he walks with me inside the room that smells of medicine. Momma is surrounded, but Missy grabs my hand and pulls me into the circle. I’m petrified to touch her, but I reach out and take her broken bird-wing hand in mine. It feels cold like a piece of fruit taken out of the refrigerator.

“Why’s she so cold?” I ask, shocked.

“That’s one ‘a the things they told me about this mornin’,” Missy says. “It happens when her vital organs are ready to shut down. Somethin’ about her blood not flowin’ to the extremities.”

“Oh,” is all I can say. I’m preoccupied by Momma’s breathing. It’s so fast and shallow that it makes me want to deepen mine. It tugs on a memory, the time when I couldn’t breathe when I’d fallen into the moss patch in the dark. I don’t want to revisit that memory. I can’t or I’ll fall to pieces like that glass container I’d mentally left on the floor last night. I thought after I took my life back from Donnie that I’d feel empowered. But losing my momma is going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever faced. Now that I’m not easily numbed, I’m really going to experience this. Without my normal coping mechanisms, will I be strong enough to deal with this monumental, ever permanent, loss?

“Sadie?” Momma rasps.

“Yes, Momma,” I say, rubbing the tip of my finger over her hand.

“Did ya’ do it, baby?”

“What, Momma?”

“Save Sadie’s Mountain?” she asks. It takes so much energy for her to force the words out that it makes me hurt for her. My fingers cringe. I have this enormous need to let her feel relief. I feel guilty that I want her to stay when it hurts her so.

“I promised, Momma. I will save our mountain. I will,” I say. I can feel Missy’s disbelief as she breathes out unusually loud as she stands to my right. But I don’t care.

“The meetin’?” Momma questions.

“Yes, Momma. There’s one more tonight.” Missy pulls back and she walks out of the bedroom and stomps down the hall.

“You have tago,” she rasps.

“I will, I promise,” I say, putting my head on her chest lightly. She feels fragile, and hollow. Her hand moves up and she touches my hair. How many times has she touched my hair? Ten years less than she should have. Tears sting their way down to Momma’s white night gown. I don’t think I’m strong enough to make sense of this. To add this to my mental filing cabinet. If I grasp onto her she cannot leave me. I feel so selfish because I know she’s holding on for us. Not for her.

I climb up into the bed and lie down on top of the covers. I would never do something so impudent but I’ve lost all sense of propriety. Right now, I want my Momma. She puts her arm over me as I mold myself to her. I begin to shake like when I’m cold on the inside.

“Sadie Jane! You get out’a that bed!” Missy shrieks from the doorway.

“No,” Momma says, and presses her hollow bones onto my back. I close my eyes. I’m stuck in a dichotomy. I want her to stay. I want those ten years back. But I crave relief for her. I want her pain to stop. But I’m not ready to let her go. I bury my head in the pillow next her. I’m so heavy and weighted. My eyes weighted as my limbs start to feel light and my breathing gets slower and louder in my ear. It soothes me. Momma soothes me and I fall to sleep.

“Dillon?” I ask, as my body begins to tingle and my head feels as though it’s coming out of a fog.

“Yes, Sadie,” his deep, calm voice says, from somewhere in the room. I move around and find him sitting patiently, in the chair tucked into the corner of the room.

“What time is it?”

“It’s about 4:30,” he says.

“What time is the meeting tonight?”

“Sadie. We don’t have to go to that.”