Tristan followed her uncle downstairs, who was still nursing his shoulder. She took the half-eaten apple pie out of the refrigerator and a pint of vanilla bean ice cream out of the freezer and plopped them both down on the kitchen table, followed by two spoons and two ceramic plates. As she started dishing out the food, Frank appealed to her.
“You need to stop being so hard on yourself. If Mrs. Mitchell gave you a pass on the assignment, I think you should take it.”
Tristan sighed heavily as she brought her eyes up from the ice cream carton to her uncle.
“No one is going to think any less of you for not doing it.”
“I have an obligation to do it.”
“You have no such obligation. The man who assigned you that project –”
“Took my mother’s life and would’ve taken mine too.”
“You’ve been through a horrible ordeal. Now, I already know that you are going to be a stubborn mule like your father, and your aunt, and your grandfather, but hear me out. It’s okay to take it easy on yourself for once. Slide into school work slowly.”
“At the beginning of all this. I thought my mother had left us. I still don’t understand why he lied. Why didn’t he tell us that she was dead?”
“Something you have to understand about your father is that he loved your mother very much, and he is still to this day coming to grips with her death. He wouldn’t talk about it at all, and when Liam and Tommy began to ask where she was, all he would say was, ‘She is gone.’ Nothing more.”
“I think I know what I am going to do.”
“And I am sure whatever you decide will be fine. So, tell me, why are you having trouble sleeping?”
Tristan hesitated, unsure if she wanted to tell her uncle exactly what kept her up at night.
“You can tell me. I’ve been through war. I can handle what you say.”
She sighed.
“Every time I close my eyes, I see his face.”
Frank scratched the side of his face as he grimaced.
“Do you know what I see when I close my eyes at night?”
Tristan, looking somber, shook her head no.
“Your father’s face when he realized you were gone. It was the look of pure terror. In that one moment, Kendricks took the heart of him.”
In that moment, Tristan realized that she wasn’t the only one who was traumatized by Kendricks’ recent actions. It affected everyone. Frank couldn’t sleep. Her brothers and cousin, though they knew Kendricks was dead, were still afraid of losing her again. Bridgette paced almost constantly and was vigilant about keeping all the doors and windows locked. Meanwhile, Angus barely left the guest house. Just earlier today Angus said, “I don’t want to live in a world where a man’s family isn’t even safe in their own home.” Moira insisted that everyone would be okay and spent her days baking, a habit she had learned from her mother. In the mind of Moira and her dearly departed mother, Siobhan, nothing cures heartache and unease quite like freshly baked goods.
“Thanks for the talk, Uncle Frank. There is something that I have to do.”
Frank watched Tristan walk off, pensive on the surface, but he could tell something was brewing underneath. She would be okay. They all would, with time.
Chapter Twenty
Unfinished Business
October 24, 1997
Elkhart, PA
The Morrows arrived at school late that day. When they finally arrived at 9:02 A.M., they were informed by the school secretary that Mrs. Mitchell had moved the presentations into the auditorium, and they had already begun. Hurriedly, they rushed down the hallway, rolled up poster boards under Tommy, Blake and Shane’s arms. Behind them Tristan ran empty-handed with her book bag over her shoulder.
Bursting through the double doors of the auditorium, they scrambled to find a seat. Mrs. Mitchell, who was standing at the front of the auditorium sitting on the steps to the stage, attempted to organize her students. Seeing Tommy walking down the side aisle to the front of the auditorium, she waved to him and showed them where to sit.
The audience was comprised of an assortment of parents, faculty members with a spare period, and Vice Principal Irwin herself. Everyone filed rowdily but neatly in the auditorium, spaced out sporadically throughout the hall behind Mrs. Mitchell’s students. Mrs. Mitchell wanted this to be a true public speaking opportunity for her students, so she invited colleagues and sent letters out to all parents asking for at least one parent of each student to be present when their child did their presentation. She even invited her husband, fully clad in leather with a biker’s helmet hanging from his left hand, to be a spectator. As a result, the noise level had risen to maximum levels, with excited and friendly voices greeting each other warmly.
Mrs. Mitchell tried to get everyone’s attention, rowdy students continued to talk over one another, parents waved, teachers chattered. Mrs. Mitchell, getting annoyed, pointed to her biker boy husband who stood up, put two grimy fingers into his mouth and whistled loudly. Smirking in amusement, Mrs. Mitchell clapped a little for her husband. Immediately everyone went quiet, staring at the long haired, leather clad man standing at the front of the auditorium.
Quietly parents began to whisper to each other:
“Is that her husband?!”