Sorrow watched them drive away, and she stood there in the open door for a long time, staring at the driveway and the maple trees. The wind rose, rustling the leaves and pushing damp, cool air into the house. She felt a spattering of droplets on her arms. She wiped them away, leaned out to look at the sky. The clouds were so low they obscured the tops of the hills, shrouded the trees with gauzy gray. It would be raining soon. She didn’t even know what a French drain was, much less why Verity was worried about it. She wondered how that would go over if she called Ethan: She didn’t say she was sorry for snapping at you, but she does want you to fix the drainage.
Sorrow shut the door and went inside. She joined her grandmother at the kitchen table again, took a breath, and said, “I have a lot of questions.”
She thought her voice was admirably steady, all things considered, but her lips were dry, her hands trembling. She curled her fingers into a fist and tucked them in her lap. Grandma politely pretended not to notice. She opened her notebook and picked up her pen.
“Were you avoiding Dr. Parker on purpose?” Sorrow asked. “You didn’t even come to the door.”
A crook of one eyebrow answered her question even before Grandma started writing. We’ve had disagreements in the past.
“So you left me to deal with her. Thanks for that. What did you disagree about?”
About what’s best for my daughter.
“What do you mean?”
Instead of answering, Grandma tapped the pen thoughtfully on the page.
“Do you know how long she’ll be gone?”
It depends. Could be only a few days. Could be longer.
“How many times has she been to the hospital before? Since the first?”
Three since then.
“Three?” Sorrow thought back, counting through the years.
She didn’t want you to know.
And Sorrow had never asked.
When they talked on the phone, she asked about the farm, about the town, about the mountains and the weather, but no matter what she heard in Verity’s voice, no matter what silences fell between them when they ran out of things to say, she didn’t ask. Even without the specter of Patience in her mind, shaking her that last day in the orchard and saying, Don’t you dare, she had never asked.
“I don’t even know where she goes,” she said helplessly. “Where is the hospital?”
The inpatient facility is in Burlington, ever since Dr. Parker transferred.
Sorrow considered that for a moment. There were so many things she had failed to do, and every one felt like a deep furrow inside her, wounds old and new being ripped open and exposed.
But that wasn’t all that was going on. There was something else missing.
“I get the feeling everybody thinks I know something that I’m not sure I know,” she said carefully. She watched her grandmother’s face as she spoke. “But I’m not an idiot. I know that nobody checks into a psychiatric hospital just because she’s feeling bad. I know there’s more to it than that. But I don’t remember. There’s just this . . . space. Dad’s only ever told me that Verity had a breakdown. He’s never told me anything else. Maybe I should have asked, even if I didn’t want to know. But I want to know now.”
Grandma waited, pen hovering above the page. She was looking at Sorrow like she couldn’t quite figure out what Sorrow was asking. Like she was waiting for Sorrow to come around to the answer herself.
“Even you’re looking at me like that. What is it? What is it that everybody thinks I remember?”
A slow nod, and Grandma began writing.
Rain struck the window in a sudden burst. The storm was rolling across the western orchard in broad gray sheets. They would have to close the windows. They had to check the drainage. There was still work to be done.
When she turned away from the window, Grandma had finished writing.
You were the one who found her.
28
EIGHT YEARS AGO
AFTER PATIENCE DIED, spring came to Abrams Valley, but not to the Lovegood farm.
The rain cleared, the days warmed, and blue skies reigned. A soft green blush crept over the land as tender grass sprouted and trees unfurled their first leaves. The last lingering patches of snow sank into the soil, and the air was rich with the scent of damp earth. Bees emerged from wherever they hid during the winter, and with them mosquitoes and flies, ticks and crickets, the incessant insect hum punctuated by the cheerful chatter of birds and the chiming chorus of spring peepers.
The mountains and valleys were returning to life after a long winter, but the Lovegood orchard wasn’t waking with them.
Sorrow stood at the window in Mom’s room, her elbows folded on the wooden sill.
“Grandma’s planting beans today,” she said. “Beans and carrots and peas. She says it’s warm enough.”
In the garden below, Grandma’s pale blue dress and yellow straw hat were the only spots of color. The garden and yard were still brown, and every morning there was a crackle of frost that took far too long to burn off. None of the early flowers had sprouted from their bulbs, and even if they had, the biting chill would have shriveled the petals as soon as they blossomed.
“I hope it’s finally warm enough,” Sorrow said, a little quieter.
She crossed the room to her mother’s bedside. Mom’s eyes were damp and there were dried tear tracks on her cheeks. Sorrow brushed a strand of dark hair back from her face; her skin was warm to the touch.
“Sorrow,” Mom said, her voice as hoarse as sandpaper.
“Mom?” A bright burst of hope flared in Sorrow’s chest.
Mom took in a shaky breath, as if to brace herself. “Are they going to let her come home?”
As quickly as it had sparked, Sorrow’s hope pinched out. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
“She’s my little girl,” Mom said. “I want her to come home.”
“I know, Mommy.”
“It’s so cold. We need her home. The orchard needs her.”
“I know.”
It had been two weeks since Patience had died, but they weren’t yet allowed to bury her. Sheriff Moskowitz had explained to Grandma that the police investigation wouldn’t be finished until they were certain the fire had been an accident. Only when that was settled could Patience have a funeral.
Sorrow kissed her mother’s cheek. “We’re going to make chicken and biscuits tonight. It’ll be really good. I know you like that.” She rounded the bed and walked to the door, but before she left she looked back. “It’s a lot nicer today. Maybe you can come out and sit in the sun for a little bit?”
Mom didn’t answer. Sorrow left her alone.
Sorrow wanted to help, but she didn’t know what to do. Mom never wanted to eat, and at night she only slept when she took medicine. She didn’t get dressed in the morning and she hadn’t left the farm in over a week. The last time, when she had taken Sorrow into town for groceries, she had started crying in the middle of the store, big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks while her shoulders shook and her breath shuddered. Sorrow had pulled her arm and pleaded with her to leave, until finally they’d abandoned their cart and walked out empty-handed. The clerks and other customers had gaped and whispered, but nobody had tried to help.