Words Unspoken (5 page)

Of that she was sure. So why the heck was she dressed in her creamy yellow suit, preparing to have lunch with her five friends, eating perfectly arranged chicken salad on a plate of porcelain? Why didn’t she just tell them all the truth, spit it out in between a bite of chicken salad and a sip of vichyssoise?

If she could just keep going, she’d survive
.
She had survived many things, and this was simply another test of her resolve.

“Katy Lynn, you look just so pencil-thin in that outfit. Where did you find it? Saks? Or Lord & Taylor? They had the most divine sales at Saks last week!”

“Has everyone seen the article in the
Journal
this morning? That poor woman—having her whole life displayed on the front page. I always thought her husband was a crook. Nothing but a crook.”

“Well, we’ve just booked a flight to Hawaii for spring break. The kids are thrilled. Their first time. This will be my fifth, but you get such a nice feeling every time you fly over the islands.”

“We’re thinking of Greece. A cruise.”

Katy Lynn nodded with each tidbit of news, chewed slowly, forcing every bite down in spite of the large ball of fear that almost completely blocked her throat. “Delicious,” she murmured at just the right time.

Her friends, her dear, dear childhood friends, did not notice the paleness of her cheeks beneath the painted pink blush.
Thank heavens they enjoy talking so much about themselves. They won’t guess.

“Katy Lynn, you’ve been quiet as a mouse. What delightful piece of gossip do you have for us today? You’ve always got some tasty morsel.”

She cleared her throat, set down the fork, swallowed with difficulty her last bite, and said, “I think I’m getting a divorce.”

Five pair of eyes stared without blinking, forks went down, friends made little humming noises in their throats.

“And if you believe that,” Katy Lynn whispered after an appropriate time of silence, “I’ve got a wonderful little plot of land to sell you off the coast of Africa!”

The girls relaxed and laughed, pursed their lips, jabbered back and forth. “Honestly, Katy Lynn, why we ever take you seriously, I don’t know!” Giggled. “You are always trying to shock us, but I didn’t buy it for one second.”

She relaxed and smiled. “Of course not. I didn’t think you would.”

Keep up appearances. Play the game.
The expression on each face was priceless. They had no idea.

CHAPTER THREE

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 23

“Lissa! Time to go!”

“Coming, Dad!” She hurried out the front door, a brush in one hand, a bagel in the other, then stuffed the bagel into her mouth as she opened the car door and sat down. She pulled on the seat belt, then brushed her hair into a ponytail, wrapped it around her fingers, and secured the makeshift bun with a clip.

“Ready for another day of work?”

“Yes, sir.” She took a bite of the bagel.

“And you’re having another driving lesson after you finish up?”

“Yes, sir.” She chewed slowly, swiped at a few crumbs.

“Need me to take you there—over by Fort Oglethorpe, isn’t it?”

“No, you don’t need to drive me, Dad. The instructor will pick me up at school around five. He’ll let me off there too, after the lesson—at six thirty.”

“Then I’ll be waiting for you at six thirty.”

“Thanks.” She took another bite of bagel and stared out the window until she found the courage to speak. “Dad, I don’t know if you saw it, but we got word about Caleb. I was wondering if maybe we—”

“Lissa, we have talked about that subject enough. I thought I told you not to bring it up again!” Her father’s face reddened, his voice boomed through the car.

She flinched. “But, Dad, we’ve never settled anything, and I have to give an answer… .”

“You know good and well that I have already given an answer. It is settled.” His eyes had that familiar, furious look.

Lissa shuddered. “Yes, sir.”

Silence reverberated throughout the car for five minutes as her father drove down the winding road taking them from Lookout Mountain into Chattanooga. Then, as if his outburst had not occurred, he turned to her, smiling, and said, “Did you see the mail I put on your desk yesterday, Liss? Three more colleges. Good offers.”

“I saw, Dad.”

“Well, I hope you can find some time in your
busy
schedule”—he glanced her way and chuckled—“to fill them out. That’s what that little counselor told you, wasn’t it? Set some goals, have a routine. Movin’ forward, girl. That’s what we gotta do.”

“Yes, sir.”

He let her off in front of the school building, and she pecked him on the cheek—like a five-year-old.

She watched the children getting out of cars, waving, rushing with their books to the elementary school. She smiled to herself as Amber, her favorite third grader, blew three kisses to her mother and then ran toward Lissa, calling, “Miss Randall! Miss Randall!”

“What is it, Amber?”

“I finished it! I finished
A Little Princess,
and you were right. It’s the best, best book I’ve ever read.”

“I knew you’d like it. Sarah is a wonderful girl.”

“She’s courageous.”

“That she is, Amber.”

Lissa watched the little girl disappear down the hall. Precocious, eager Amber. And Sarah Crewe, the little princess. Sarah, the girl with everything. Sarah, who lost it all and kept her dignity and compassion.

She had wanted to be like Sarah when she was nine, Lissa reflected.

And now’s your chance.

What a nice thought, Lissa mused. What a nice, positive thought.

The old man in the light blue Ford was waiting by the curb in front of the administration building when she came out. She liked the snapshot view—a silver-haired gentleman in a suit, sitting in a blue Ford—that was in the foreground, while out behind loomed two beautiful magnolias and a few maples just beginning to change colors. If she looked to the right, down the hill, there was the soccer field with the Tennessee River running right beside it. A beautiful, peaceful setting, all in the shadow of Lookout Mountain, the mountain of her youth, the place where she lived. The huge picture windows that made up the west wall of the library gave a breathtaking view of the river and the mountain, and it came to symbolize for Lissa not only her past but also the rest of life—what was out there to be discovered.

She reached the Ford. Mr. MacAllister stepped out of the car and shook her hand. “Hello there, Lissa.”

“Hello, Mr. MacAllister.”

“Time for lesson number two. How are you feeling today?”

“Pretty good. A little nervous, I guess.”

“Well, as I said, today we’ll just work on confidence building. First we’ll drive around Chickamauga Park. Make sure you feel secure with the basics again. We’ll take it nice and easy.”

“That sounds good.” She got in the passenger side of Ole Bessie and put on her seat belt.

As he drove, Mr. MacAllister looked over at her periodically, asking questions. “So you work at Chattanooga Girls School?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you look more like you’d be a student there.”

“I’m nineteen.”

“And what is your job?”

“I help out in the library.”

“I see. Got any plans for schooling?”

“You mean college?”

“Or high school.”

“Oh, I finished high school. Here. This is my alma mater.”

“Really? Well, it’s a fine preparatory school, that’s for sure. So have you thought about college?”

“Sure, I’ve thought about it. But I don’t have any plans right now.”

She kept her hands in her lap. “I hope you’ll understand, Mr. MacAllister, but I’d rather not talk about college.”

“Sure, no problem.” He let a few seconds of silence hang between them, then asked, “So tell me, Lissa, what do you enjoy?”

She knew he was trying to make conversation, but she couldn’t do it. Her father’s angry outburst from the morning had pummeled her like a sound beating. “To be honest, Mr. MacAllister, there’s not much I enjoy right now.”

________

When they arrived at the visitor center of Chickamauga National Military Park, Ev parked Ole Bessie in the empty lot, cut the ignition, put on the parking brake, and opened his door, motioning for the young woman to move into the driver’s seat. She gave him a tight, nervous nod and opened her door, but with difficulty, almost reluctantly. Simply walking around the car to the driver’s side seemed like an effort for her, as if he’d asked her to hike all the way up Lookout Mountain instead of just drive around in a park.

He waited until she was buckled in and said, “You just start out nice and easy. Remember the rearview mirror, the turn signals. Just keep to the speed limit—thirty miles per hour. Real slow.”

“Yes, sir.”

He watched her knuckles. She didn’t flinch.

Ev wondered what exactly had happened to make her so nervous. He was thankful there was not another car on the road, a straight shot. “We’ll do what they call the Chickamauga Battlefield Tour. Just follow the signs marked by a pyramid of cannonballs. Takes you around through where the Battle of Chickamauga took place, past all the monuments. September 20 and 21, 1863. A hundred and twenty-four years ago, almost to the day. Have you been here before?”

“Yes, sir, several times. When my eighth-grade class studied the Civil War, we spent a whole day here. I find it fascinating. All the history.”

As she eased Ole Bessie into the lane, Lissa sat straight up, and her face became intense. Now the knuckles clenched the steering wheel.

“You’re doing fine.”

She nodded, eyes boring into the autumn day on the other side of the windshield.

“You’ve got good speed, Lissa. Keep it at thirty.”

Up ahead was only blue sky and evergreens. “We’ll pass the wide open field and then take the fork to the right.”

She swerved so suddenly he did not have an inkling it was coming. Suddenly she was heading directly toward the large cement statue beside the road.

“Lissa, keep your eye on the road. Slow down.”

Lissa heard his words, listened to them filter through her mind, but other words were crowding in.

You’ll panic again. You’ll see. The cement wall is right there, there’s graffiti on this one too. You’re going to crash into that statue that commemorates the death of soldiers. Dead, all dead, dead like your—

She tried to control her breathing, but she felt a suffocating heat. She wanted to let down the window, but didn’t dare take her hand off the steering wheel.

“Lissa!” Mr. MacAllister’s voice was sharp, clear.

She felt her foot press more solidly on the accelerator. The car lunged forward, then she stamped on the brake, and the car skidded, shrieking in protest. Her hand, the right one, started shaking. Soon her whole arm was trembling as she gripped the steering wheel. It was happening again. They were going to wreck.

“It’s fine, Lissa,” Mr. MacAllister said as he gently pressed on his brake and reached over with his left hand to straighten the wheel. His voice was calm as the car slowed, swerving off the grass and back onto the road. “You can do this, Lissa. I know you can.”

He let up on the brake. Her speed slowed from forty-five to thirty-five and then thirty. The trembling in her hands and arms eased slightly.

“There’s a little parking lot up here on the left. Why don’t you pull in there, Lissa?”

She was still shaking when she stopped Ole Bessie near a cannon.

Mr. MacAllister let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, Lissa. That was my fault. We went a little far today.”

She nodded, staring straight ahead.

“Everything all right?”

“Fine.” But she doubted she sounded convincing. He was looking at her knuckles. She forced herself to loosen the grip on the steering wheel. The hands were taut, the veins clearly visible, she knew, but gradually the whiteness left.

“You seemed apprehensive when we went by that monument. Is there anything particular that is upsetting you?”

She did not allow the expression on her face to change.

Anything in particular? Oh, not much. Just the graffiti on the wall and that look of astonishment on Momma’s face and the sound of the thud. The horrible sound of the thud when the car struck. The splattering. The blood on the pavement. The scream that lasted only half a second. The silence afterward. Only that. Nothing more, sir.

When she didn’t respond, Mr. MacAllister turned toward her and said, “Lissa, I will not let you fail. You hear me? I am taking care of you. You will be fine. If you have anything to tell me that might help, that would be great. But you don’t have to say a thing. We’re not in a hurry.”

Lissa nodded and closed her eyes and thought of Caleb.
Oh yes, we are, sir. Yes, we are.

“How was the lesson?” Dad asked when he picked her up in front of the school building.

“Okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Yeah. Barely okay.”
I could’ve killed us both. It could’ve happened again.

“Well, I imagine it will take a little time.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure you’re right.”

Liar!

She said nothing on the drive up the mountain. Arriving at their home, her father parked his BMW in the garage beside the yellow Camaro, her car. It sat there unused, another nagging reminder of failure.