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?”