The Law of Moses (31 page)

Georgia

I SPENT THE NIGHT STARING up at the ceiling in my old room, remembering the night Moses had lain on his back and painted until I’d fallen asleep with colors dancing behind my eyes and a white horse running through my dreams.

You’re afraid of the truth, Georgia. And people who are afraid of the truth never find it.

That’s what Moses had said, lying next to me, looking up at a blue sky that wasn’t really blue. Color isn’t real. I had a science teacher tell me that color is simply the way our eyes
interpret the
energies contained within a beam of light
.

So did the blue sky lie by making me believe it was something that it wasn’t? Did Moses lie when he told me Eli had brought him back? Was he trying to make me believe he was something he wasn’t? He was right that I was afraid. But I didn’t think I was afraid of the truth. I was afraid of believing something that would destroy me if it turned out to be a lie.

Sometime before dawn, I’d had that dream again, only this time, instead of the white horse, I saw Eli’s paint, Calico, and when I stared into the horse’s eyes I could see my son, as if he, like the blind man in the story, had been transformed into a horse that ran into the clouds, into a blue sky that wasn’t really blue, never to return.

That morning, sitting at the breakfast table, I told my parents that Moses was back. Dad’s face had paled and mom had reacted like I had just confessed that the reincarnated Ted Bundy was my new boyfriend. Despite my protests, she immediately called Sheriff Dawson who promised her he would stop by Kathleen Wright’s old home and have a little friendly visit with the new homeowner. I doubted Sheriff Dawson would welcome Moses back to the community, even if his visit was temporary, as I had no doubt it was.

“Oh, George,” my dad murmured as my mother chatted nervously with the sheriff. “You’re gonna have to tell him. You’re going to have to tell him about Eli.”

The guilt and shame rose up inside me immediately, and I swallowed them down as I shredded my cold toast into pieces small enough to distribute meager rations to a legion of mice.

“I told him. Yesterday. I told him.” I thought about the stormy confrontation of the day before and decided to leave it at that.

My dad stared at me, shock and disbelief all over his face. He wiped at his mouth and I shredded another piece of toast, and we listened to my mom worry about Moses Wright being back and the stress it was going to put on the entire community.

“How?” My dad protested. “How did he take it? I thought he was long gone. Suddenly he’s back and he’s all up to date?” My dad’s voice rose and my mom looked over at him sharply.

“Martin. Calm down,” she soothed, pulling the phone away from her mouth to spare Sheriff Dawson the sideline drama.

“Mauna. I had a little bit of cancer cut out. I didn’t have my balls cut off, so quit treating me like a quivering invalid!” he shot back, and my mother’s lips tightened.

He looked back at me and sighed. “I knew this day would come. I knew it. I wish you would have let me be with you when you told him. It couldn’t have been an easy conversation.” He swore and then laughed without mirth. “You are the toughest girl I know, George. The toughest girl I know. But that couldn’t have been easy.”

His compassion made me teary and I pushed my plate away, making the tower of bread teeter and topple. I didn’t want to start crying so early in the day. If I started this early I would be laid out before noon, and I didn’t have time for an emotional hangover.

“No. It wasn’t. Not for me. And not for him.”

My dad raised a brow derisively and sat back in his chair so he could meet my gaze. “I wasn’t worried about Moses. You’re the only one I care about in this discussion.”

I nodded and headed for the door. My dad had a right to his anger. I guess we all did. I pushed through the screen door and paused on the porch to appreciate the cool bite in the air. It cleared my head immediately.

“How did he take it, George?” My dad had followed me to the door and was standing in the frame. “When you told him, how did he take it?” I could see that he was still angry, and he wasn’t ready to stop fanning the flames. Anger was taxing, and whether or not I had a right to it, whether or not Dad had a right to it, suddenly I wasn’t so sure it was a right I wanted to continue exercising.

I concentrated on filling my lungs once, twice, and then again before I answered him. “He cried.” I stepped off the porch and headed for the barn. “He cried.”

Moses

“SO YOU’RE JUST GONNA GO,” Tag said, throwing up his hands.

“Painting’s done. Carpet’s coming. I even have a buyer. No reason to stay.” I stacked the unused gallons of paint in my truck and continued back inside, making a mental list of what still needed to be done before I could get the hell out of Dodge.

“You found out you had a son. With a girl you say you weren’t in love with but who you can’t get over. You also found out your son, her son, was killed in a terrible accident.”

I ignored Tag and folded up the last of the drop cloths. Carpet would be here in an hour. Once that was installed, the woman I’d hired to come in and clean the place could start. In fact, I should call her and see if she could start on the kitchen and the bathrooms today, just to hurry the process along.

“You found all of this out yesterday. Today you’re over it. Tomorrow you’re leaving.”

“I would leave today if I could,” I replied firmly. I hadn’t seen Eli in twenty-four hours. Not since he’d shown me how he died.

“Does Georgia know you’re going?”

“She told me to leave her alone. Plus, she doesn’t believe me.”

That shut Tag up and his step faltered. He’d spent the night before coaxing details out of me, but that was one thing I’d failed to mention. I hadn’t told him how we’d lain in the field, both of us emotionally drained, lying on our backs, looking at the sky because we couldn’t look at each other. I hadn’t told Tag what Georgia had said to me when I’d told her Eli had brought me back.

“The only thing that kept me from breaking when Eli died was the truth,” she’d said.

And I stayed silent, not understanding, but waiting for her to make me see.

“People said things like, ‘He’s in a better place and you’ll see him again. He’s in heaven.’ Stuff like that. But that just hurt me. That made me feel like I hadn’t been good for him. Like he was better off without me. And it played on what I always suspected. I wasn’t good for Eli. I was young and stupid and I wasn’t careful enough with him. Obviously, I wasn’t careful enough with him.”

Her pain was so heavy it filled the air around us, and when I tried to breathe, it filled my lungs and made my throat close and my chest scream for oxygen. But she didn’t stop.

“After the accident, the only truth I was sure of was that Eli was dead. I’d killed him. And that was something I was going to have to live with.”

Georgia looked at me fiercely, her old fire lighting up her eyes as if expecting me to argue with her. But arguing was something I rarely did. I’d learned long ago that people were going to think what they thought, believe whatever they were going to believe, and speaking up wouldn’t change their minds. So I met Georgia’s gaze and waited.

“He’s dead, Moses. That’s the truth. I’m alive. That’s also the truth. I didn’t mean to kill him. Another truth. I would give him my life if I could. I would trade places if I could. I would do anything to have him back. Give anything. Sacrifice anything. Anyone. That’s the truth too.” Georgia stopped abruptly and inhaled deeply, her breath shuddering and skipping like her throat was too tight to draw it in all at once. She broke eye contact, turning her head as if my seeming acceptance of her truths rattled her a bit.

“So please don’t lie to me, Moses. That’s all I ask. Don’t lie to me. And I won’t lie to you. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. But don’t lie to me.”

She thought I was lying. She thought I was doing the crazy thing with her. She didn’t believe I could see Eli. She wanted me to tell her the truth, but when everyone called your truth a lie, what then?

“You’re afraid of the truth, Georgia. People that are afraid of the truth never find it,” I told her. But she didn’t look at me, staring up at the sky once more, signaling that the conversation was over. I waited for several long minutes and finally rose to my feet, leaving her there, the Lady of Shalott, the Lady of the Lake, lying in a sea of grass. My legs were shaking and I felt drained all the way to my bones as I walked away.

“I did what I came to do,” I told Tag. Although I had no idea if that was the truth, it sounded good. If that was what Eli needed me to do, to see, then it was done. Finished. All I knew was I wanted to leave, and the sooner the better.

“We’re not done painting, though,” Tag tried again.

I continued gathering supplies.

“There’s another mural upstairs. Or did you forget about that one?” Tag asked.

“I didn’t paint anything upstairs. I was pretty strung out. But I’m pretty sure I never went upstairs.” I’d walked down those stairs and out of the house, straight to the barn where I found Georgia. And I’d never walked up them again.

“Come on. I’ll show you.” Tag climbed the stairs eagerly, and I followed decidedly less so. I was sick to death of seeing my handiwork. My stomach had been as knotted as a fisherman’s net since I’d stepped inside G’s house. And it hadn’t eased yet. But when Tag pushed open the door to my old room and pointed at the wall, I realized that it wasn’t my handiwork I’d forgotten about.

The stick-figure mural was still there.

“Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m thinking this is a Moses Wright knock off. Similar styling . . . but not quite there yet,” Tag said, squinting his eyes and stroking his chin like he was actually studying a piece of artwork.

“It was Georgia.”

“No shit?” Tag said in mock surprise, and I laughed, even though I was choking on the memory.

The last Saturday before school started, Georgia failed to show up on the fence line at lunch time like she’d done every other day. By the time I packed it in, I’d convinced myself that I was better off. Good riddance. I never wanted her anyway. I stomped up the stairs into the bathroom, showered with my teeth gritted and anger coming out my ears, only to walk into my room with a towel wrapped around my waist and halt in amazement.

Georgia had painted a mural on my bedroom wall.

It looked like a child’s comic strip, complete with stick figures and speech bubbles.

The female stick figure had long blonde hair and cowboy boots and the male stick figure had bright green eyes, a paint brush, and no hair at all. The awkward stick people were holding hands in one frame, kissing in the next, and in the final frame, the girl stick figure—Georgia—was kicking the boy stick figure—me—in the head.

“What in the hell . . .” I breathed.

“Nice outfit!” Georgia chirped from where she was seated, cross legged, in the middle of my bed.

I shook my head in disbelief and pointed to the door. “Out.”

She laughed. “I’ll shut my eyes.”

I grumbled and stomped to my dresser. With one hand I gathered up some clothes and stomped back out, slamming the bathroom door as if I was truly irritated. I wasn’t. I was thrilled to see her.

I came back, fully dressed, with my arms folded, and I stood in the doorway and stared at her hideous drawing.

“Are you mad at me?” Her brow was wrinkled and her eyes were worried, and she wasn’t smiling anymore. “I thought you would laugh.” She shrugged. “I told Kathleen I was going to surprise you. And she said, ‘Go right ahead!’ So I did. I used your paints, but I put everything back.”

“Why are you kicking me in the head?”

“It’s our story. We meet. You save me. I kiss you. You kiss me back, but you keep acting like you don’t like me even though I know you do. So I’m kicking some sense into you. And man, does it feel good.” She grinned cheekily, and I looked back at her depiction. That was some kick to the head.

“It’s a terrible mural.” It was terrible. And funny. And very Georgia.

“Well, we can’t all be Leonardo DiCaprio. You painted on my walls, I’m painting on yours. And you don’t even have to pay me. I’m just trying to bond with you over art.”