“Anne Marie, your mother, stayed at home after high school, and your grandparents assumed she’d fall in love with a local man and marry, but your father wasn’t what they had in mind as good marriage material. They spoke against him and finally, the two eloped. Your grandparents weren’t happy about it, but they accepted it. What else could they do?
“Your grandfather said he behaved well, and your parents were happy until trouble hit. He lost his job, your mother became pregnant, and they moved into the house at Cooper’s Hollow with your grandparents. They said he changed. He accused your mother of seeing other men, looking for someone else because he wasn’t good enough. He insisted people were lying about him, and he threatened to kill her before he’d lose her. They kicked him out. Flat out. Your grandfather leveled his shotgun at him and told him if he came back, he’d have him arrested and shoot him to hold him there until the police arrived.
“Sadly, he did return. It was shortly after you were born. Your grandmother was out in the garden and had you with her. You were napping in a basket nearby. She never knew aught was amiss until she heard the gunshot. Your grandfather said she looked up and stared at the house as if she knew that every bad thing that could ever happen had occurred in that one moment. He was working on a lawn mower repair for someone, and he was up on his feet and running to the house at the sound of the shot. The second shot came as he reached the kitchen door.
“You can imagine the rest. Your father shot your mother and then himself. Mr. Cooper said he and your grandmother stood there realizing their daughter and her husband were dead and then they heard you crying outside in your basket. Your grandfather said your cry was the sweetest sound he ever heard because he knew you were all right, despite the rest.
“There’s no way of knowing if he would’ve shot you, too. Likely not, but gratefully, he didn’t have the chance.” Mr. Browne stared at me, but kindly. “It’s a lot to digest. His name and what little information we have about him is in this folder.”
There was a folder in his hand, and he offered it to me, but I didn’t reach for it.
Where had the folder come from? I hadn’t noticed it. Maybe he’d pulled it out while I was drinking the water? I wanted to think about the cool, fresh water. Nothing else. Not folders or secrets or anything like that.
“Hannah, your grandparents petitioned the court to annul the marriage and change your last name back to Cooper. They didn’t want you to bear your father’s name. I presume you’re in agreement with that, but if you’re not, you can always get it changed back. I can help you with that or anything else.
“This folder has newspaper clippings, too. My father and I kept it all together thinking it might be wanted one day. Maybe wanted is the wrong word. But it’s yours now, to do with as you wish.”
I stared at the water bottle. I drank what was left, so thirsty I felt I’d never be sated again. Then I remembered. My heavy heart lifted. This couldn’t be correct.
“There’s been a mistake here,” I said. “My father is buried in our backyard, in our family plot. The stone says Sean, husband of Anne Marie. It gives the year of their death.” The words were tumbling out one on top of the other, and I tried to stem them but couldn’t. Nearly frantic, I struggled to find the words to refute what he’d said. “There’s some kind of misunderstanding. Gran said they died in a car crash, together.”
Mr. Browne put the folder back onto the desk with the other documents. “Sean Davidson was his name. He isn’t buried there. He was cremated. Your grandfather disposed of the ashes.” He went silent for a few definitive seconds, and then said, “I’m sorry.”
“Is he in the house? The ashes, I mean.” I cringed. The idea horrified me.
“Your grandfather said he poured the ashes into Cub Creek. He said they washed straight down the creek into the South Anna River and then the James. He wanted them scattered and lost forever in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean.”
How long did I sit there? My brain had stopped on forever, and I was having trouble moving forward.
“We should schedule another meeting to go over the financial arrangements and make sure they’re meeting your needs.”
Still struggling, I nodded. I wanted to talk about clothing and shoes for Ellen. Pottery clay. Not about the murder-suicide of my parents. Right there where I lived. This had to be a mistake, my brain insisted.
Then I remembered the boards under the living room rug. Those boards were newer and didn’t match the rest of the flooring. I’d asked him about it once. Grand had muttered something about termites or vermin wrecking the original wood.
Was it strange I hadn’t heard these details before? Perhaps not. New arrivals to town wouldn’t know about it. The longtime residents who knew my family might have gossiped about lesser things, but when it came to such extreme tragedy, they tended to band together in a . . . I groped for the right words. Almost a communal protective stance. Like an unspoken agreement to pretend some things, some truly awful degrading things, had never happened. Some things were not to be spoken of.
Dark currents were morphing and swirling inside me. It was hard to concentrate. I closed my eyes and tried to focus. I’d think about all this other stuff later. I couldn’t deal with it now. Later, it would hurt less. For now, I’d deal with today and this task, this moment.
I opened my eyes and said with forced calm, “I had planned to visit you anyway.”
My voice had cracked. I took a deep breath and tried again.
“Ellen needs things. I do, too. Can you tell me what the arrangement is for the allowance? From the annuity or bank or wherever the money comes from?”
I straightened the strap on my purse. Somehow it had become twisted. I tried to smile but couldn’t manage it.
“Call me or come by when you’re ready to discuss this further. I know it must seem a blur now.”
Mr. Browne opened a drawer and removed a checkbook. “I’ll walk with you over to the bank. This is the account I use as the power of attorney. It’s time we have them set up a checking account for you, with only your name, and transfer money over. You can draw on it as you need it.”
At the bank, the teller smiled when we entered, and the branch manager greeted us and steered us to her office. She gave me starter checks to use while I was waiting for the actual checks.
They gave me cash, too. Several hundred dollars without blinking.
The ease of obtaining the cash, the knowledge I now possessed about my parents—and my own lies, including living as the mother of my beautiful Ellen—all contributed to a sense of unreality. I wanted to be angry. Cruel, even.
Did that mean I was my father’s daughter? Hannah Davidson? What about the girl, Hannah Cooper, who’d grown up with her grandparents in Cooper’s Hollow, who’d never had much, and had never wanted for anything other than what she had, at least not until high school when she’d wanted to see the outside world, had wanted to go off to college. But hadn’t.