Where Petals Fall (8 page)

Junie touched the lock on her father’s toolshed. She’d spent many afternoons pondering her father’s private oasis. She laughed to herself. She used to fantasize about having her own building where she could lock away her private things. Of course, as a child, Junie didn’t have
private
things. Her life was an open book. She wondered if perhaps that wasn’t normal. Should she have had private things? Secrets worth hiding? Did Ellen have them?

She put her hand against the locked door and closed her eyes, remembering her father coming in and out of the building, each time with a different tool in hand. She opened her eyes as clouds moved slowly across the sky, blocking the sun. The air chilled, darkened. She held the lock in her hand, a memory scratching at the back of her mind. Junie had been standing in her bedroom looking out the window. It was early evening, the sun had set and the moon had not yet appeared in the sky. Movement in the side yard caught her eye. She watched her father lead Ellen to his shed. He reached into his pocket, withdrew a key, and unlocked the shed. He and Ellen went inside. Her father turned, one last glance behind him, then closed the doors of the shed, shutting the rest of the world out and himself and Ellen in.

Had she seen them come out? Had she run down to the shed and banged on the door? When was that? What did it mean? She could not remember ever having been behind the closed door of her father’s shed. What were they doing? Had it even happened, or was she seeing some convoluted imagery created from Ellen’s disappearance from her life and her father’s untimely death? Junie tried to remember, but came up blank. She reached into the recesses of her mind, searching for an answer, her nerves afire. She had to remember something, anything that might explain if what she’d remembered was real.

A tug on the back of Junie’s shirt made her jump. She spun around, finding Sarah holding the green plastic ball. Junie’s mind was still wrapped around the image of her father and Ellen disappearing into the shed. Her heart raced.

Sarah pushed the ball toward her. Junie grabbed it without thinking.  She stared at the ball, wondering if she were losing her mind.

Sarah tugged on her shirt again.

Junie looked down at her daughter. Her silent daughter. She needed to be present for Sarah, not lost in whatever craziness was going on inside her head. She looked down at the ball and knew she could not pretend the images, or memories, or whatever the hell they were, were not real. She could not play with Sarah. For whatever reason, Ellen had inhabited her mind, and Junie was in no shape to see her screaming face again—memory or fabrication. 

Junie tucked the ball under her arm and reached for Sarah’s hand. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go create something wonderful.”

Sarah stood on a chair, the backs of her hands and the front of her shirt spattered with chocolate.

“What are we making today?” Ruth sidled up to Sarah and hugged her around the waist.

Sarah stared at the bowl.

“Looks yummy,” Ruth said, eyeing the remaining chocolate caramel cake that Junie had baked earlier that morning.

Junie whisked the eggs with such vigor that her wrist grew tired.  What the hell did her father and Ellen have to do with each other? Why was she arguing with Brian? Why didn’t her daughter speak?

“You can’t bake this away, Junie,” she said quietly. She put her hand on the small of Junie’s back.

“I know, Mom. I’m not trying to.”

“Sure you’re not,” Ruth said softly.

 Junie whisked the ingredients into a soupy consistency, unable to concentrate on baking. Her problems were too big for her to wrap her mind around. She opened the cabinet and pulled out the sheet cake pan.

“Uh-oh, this is a big one, huh? Maybe if we eat it all, we’ll at least feel better.” Ruth laughed.

Sarah stuck her finger in the chocolate and licked the sugary sweetness without ever cracking a grin.

“Oh, the things we teach our daughters.” Ruth nudged Junie, nodding her head in Sarah’s direction.

Junie set the whisk down and rolled her eyes at Ruth. She took the bowl of chocolate from Sarah. “Let me work with this, sweetie.” 

Sarah held tight to the bowl, her eyes pleading, then demanding she remain in control of the bowl.

“Sarah, I’ll give you the spoon to lick.”

Sarah finally relented. She climbed down from the chair and plopped herself down at the table. Junie handed her the chocolate-covered spoon, then folded the eggs into the mixture.

“Mom, do you ever remember Ellen in Dad’s shed?”

Ruth shook her head. “What is going on with you, Junie?”

“Do you remember her…doing a project with him, maybe? I don’t know, anything like that?”

Ruth leaned against the counter, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She cocked her head. “No, I can’t say that I do. What’s going on? First you’re yelling at poor Brian, and from what he said, you yelled at him because of something about your father and Ellen? What is this nonsense?”

Junie didn’t answer. She focused on whipping the batter instead.

“June, maybe this is all too much for you. Should you think about going home, working things out with Brian?” She nodded toward Sarah.

Junie closed her eyes.
What was too much—losing the father I adored or seeing my best friend screaming in fear?
“I’m okay.”

“Is Brian still in the den?”

Junie nodded. “Working. He’s going back soon.”

“You’re staying?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I have an appointment with Dr. Rains. If you want to go with me, she might be able to help you.”

Junie sighed and set the bowl down. Dr. Rains lived around the corner from her mother and had been the brunt of many jokes when Junie was growing up. There was an underlying knowledge that Mary Margaret had seen her. As kids, Junie and her friends never really understood what a therapist did, much less why Mary Margaret Thatcher would visit her weekly. Some kids said Mary Margaret Thatcher was crazy and killed her husband, which Junie knew was just a story made up by bored teenagers. The neighborhood kids used to tease one another. “Watch out,” they’d say, “or you’ll end up on Dr. Crazy Brains’s couch!”

“You’re seeing a therapist?” Junie asked.

Ruth nodded. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just keep…I don’t know what’s going on, but Daddy’s death has unearthed something. I keep seeing him and Ellen, like there’s some connection.”

“Oh, Junie, of course there is. They’re both gone.”

Junie nodded. “Maybe. Maybe that’s all it is.” She sat down next to Sarah and gently touched her ringlets.

Sarah leaned in to her.

Ruth put her hand on Sarah’s shoulder as she walked behind her. “You think Ellen’s trying to tell you something. Is that it?” She winked and sat down across the table. “Maybe Sarah’s trying to tell you something, and you’re just not listening hard enough.”

Junie wished it were that simple.

“Tell me something good,” Ruth said, smiling at Sarah.

Sarah clenched the wooden spoon in her fist; chocolate covered her lips like lipstick.

“Good?” Junie asked.

“Yes, good. How’s your work? How’s Sarah’s school?”

Sarah looked up.

“Sarah, honey, why don’t you go get your Polly Pockets?”

Sarah scooched off of the chair and ran toward the living room.

“Wait,” Junie called after her. “Let’s wash up first.”

Sarah skulked back into the kitchen, washed her hands, let Junie scrub her face and wipe off her shirt. Then she headed toward the stairs.

“Sarah’s doing well at school,” she lied. “She does fine academically.” That part wasn’t really a lie, Junie reasoned. Sarah listened and when given a task, she usually completed it. She knew Sarah’s teachers made special accommodations for her lack of verbal responses. She pictured Sarah sitting stoically among twenty children who all had their hands raised high. “Pick me! Pick me!”

“How about friends? Does she have any? Do they have any more ideas about what’s going on with her? I’ve been doing research on autism and Asperger’s—”

“She doesn’t have either.” Junie crossed her arms.

“Junie.” Ruth shook her head. “There’s something going on. This isn’t the same little girl who was here at Easter. You’re smart; you see the issues.”

“Autistic kids do all sorts of things that Sarah doesn’t do. I think there’s something medical that they’re missing, but not autism. You don’t just suddenly become autistic. She learns well, without issue. She just…no longer speaks.” Junie stood and paced. Why did she have to defend her daughter to her mother, to Sarah’s own father?

“And she wets the bed, and I saw her sucking her thumb. She hasn’t sucked her thumb in a year and a half. Does she talk to anyone besides you?” Ruth asked.

“Yes,” Junie answered, but she couldn’t honestly remember the last time Sarah had spoken to anyone else. In fact, she didn’t really speak to her any longer, either. She used other visual clues to indicate her thoughts—drawings, facial expressions, eye movements. Her teachers certainly hadn’t made any headway. She did play well with other kids, when they’d give her a chance, but the teachers said she often played by herself on the swings at recess.

“Really?” Ruth said, then softened her voice. “Well, that’s good. Then maybe we are all overreacting.” She stood up and looked in the living room where Sarah was playing. “She’s a sweet little thing. I only want a good life for her.”

For all of us
, Junie thought. She looked outside at the shed again. “There’s something wrong, but I have no idea what. She hasn’t been abused, so it’s got to be something else, and the only thing I can think of is some medical issue that’s caused her to regress.” Junie threw her hands up in the air. “I don’t know, Mom. Do you think I baby her too much? Could it be my fault?”

“Fault? Junie, you’re a wonderful mother. Whatever is going on with Sarah, the doctors will figure it out. Fault is something that doesn’t matter unless she’s been harmed in some way.” She peeked at Sarah again. “That little darling does not look harmed.”

Junie sat back down and decided to ask Ruth about Ellen. “Mom, you said something to me about people saying things they normally wouldn’t after Ellen disappeared. Can you tell me about the investigation? I mean, did they have any suspects?”

Ruth turned her back to Junie, busying herself with washing the utensils that were in the sink. “Oh, Junie, that was so long ago. Let it be.”

“I’m sorry. I just…I don’t know. I never thought about it much until now, and Daddy’s death has brought it all back, and I have these questions. Unanswered questions.”

Ruth let out a breath, turned off the water, then faced Junie. She leaned against the sink, her arms crossed. “Go ahead.”

Junie saw Ruth’s jaw tighten and realized she was being selfish again. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s nothing. This is the last thing you need. I’m sorry.” She’d have to figure out another way to get the answers she needed.

“You’ll be home at the end of the week?” Brian put his suitcase in the trunk of the Lexus.

“Maybe, or next weekend at the latest,” Junie answered. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your dad?”

Brian looked away.

Junie looked at Peter’s empty driveway. “He’ll be sad to have missed you. Maybe you should stop by his office.”

Brian kissed her and climbed into his car. “Nah, he’ll be busy. I’ll call him later. What about Sarah’s therapist appointment?”

“She said we could do a Skype visit if necessary, or we can wait until the following week.”

Junie watched the muscles in his jaw clench and unclench. The silence between them grew, like a ravine too large to traverse. She hated this new congenial relationship of theirs. There had been a time when Brian wouldn’t have left her without first passionately kissing her and hugging her so tight that she could barely breathe.

Junie turned at the sound of the front door. Sarah stood in the doorway, head down, thumb in her mouth.  She walked purposefully toward Brian’s car and tried to open the door. It was locked. She tried again and again until finally Brian snapped, “Stop it, Sarah.”

Sarah didn’t stop. Again she tried to get in the car. When the door wouldn’t open, she began pounding on it with her fist.