“Eyes straight ahead. Pay attention to the road, please. Or better still, why don’t you pull over at the next opportunity? The lumberyard is just ahead.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ellen put on the blinker. She slowed and pulled into the parking lot, putting the car into park, and sat back. She looked at me, waiting.
The irony of discussing it here, in this parking lot where I’d read the clippings, wasn’t lost on me.
“I found out as an adult that my parents didn’t die in a car crash. Duncan Browne told me.”
“Mr. Browne? Why?”
“Gran thought I should know but couldn’t tell me herself, so she asked him to. In thinking back, I wonder whether Grand would’ve told me if it was up to him. I suspect Gran wouldn’t let him.”
“Oh, Mom. How did they die? Did they die? Are they alive?” Her voice was edged with excitement.
I dashed that strange, odd hope right away. “No, they’re dead. They died soon after I was born.”
“But not in a car accident?”
“No, sweetie. Sometimes people aren’t who we think they are. People can wear pleasant masks, and maybe they mean well and would do right by the other person, but at some point their darker nature, sometimes their true nature, comes out.”
I was proud of her, but a cautionary tale might not be a bad idea. Knowing the truth might have been valuable for me, too, when I was her age.
“A handsome young man came to town. Anne Marie, my mother, met him, and he swept her off her feet.”
“A lot like what happened with you, Mom.”
“Well, sort of, but not really. I delayed going off to college because of Gran and then met your father and had you . . .” I shrugged. “Well, maybe kind of like me.” I smiled to reassure her. “But also very different.”
I continued. “They fell in love and eloped. Mr. Browne said my grandparents tried, but they couldn’t like him. When their daughter came home already married, they took the couple in, and everything was good for a while. She found out she was pregnant about the time he lost his job. He changed. He became suspicious and moody and eventually threatening.”
She frowned. “He was really a bad guy after all.”
“Maybe. I don’t think it’s as simple as that. Remember what I said about wearing masks? I think he knew who he wanted to be. I think he tried to be that person. But there was a sickness in his head. When things changed and the pressure got too rough, the darker part of his nature came out.”
“What happened?”
“Soon after I was born, he killed her, and then he killed himself.”
Ellen’s eyes widened. Her jaw tightened, and she pressed her lips together as if she couldn’t decide what to say or think. Finally she whispered, “Is that true?”
“It’s true, sweetheart, and very sad.” I touched her shoulder. “We’ll never really know, but I think he realized and regretted what he’d done. I want to believe that.” I shook my head. “But it was too late to take it back. He couldn’t face it. He couldn’t live with himself.”
After several seconds of heavy silence, Ellen finally said, “You were lucky you had Gran and Grand.”
“I was incredibly lucky. They were at the house when it happened, but Gran had me out in the yard with her and didn’t know until they heard the shots inside.”
Ellen’s lips parted, words wanted to be said, but she seemed to have difficulty finding the right ones. Finally, she said, “How awful for them. For everyone.”
I nodded.
She added, “Your parents. My dad’s parents. I don’t have grandparents.” Her tone was pained. “Things like this affects the whole family, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
“Does it make you sad?” she asked.
“I don’t have any memory of my parents, so it’s a little different in that way for me.”
“That was a lot of people living in the one house. It was small . . . I’m sorry. I don’t mean to criticize the house.”
“Well, it’s true, certainly. Maybe that intensified the pressure on him. Living with his in-laws and in close quarters . . .”
“Maybe it was good they didn’t tell you. Every day you would’ve been thinking about how your mom and dad died right there in the house.”
“Perhaps. And my knowing the truth would’ve made it impossible for Gran to pretend otherwise.”
Ellen sat in silence for a minute, staring ahead. “Then you fell in love with my dad and he died. How awful it must’ve been for Gran to experience such tragedy all over again.”
I let her words rest in the silence. As long as I didn’t contradict the words or add to them, they were almost the truth. They were Ellen’s truth anyway, as far as she knew.
So many lies. It had felt right at the time. The thing to do. The best choice. But more and more, I was feeling their weight.
“Let’s get some supper.”
Ellen put the car into drive and turned on the blinker before pulling back out onto Cross County Road.
“Dell’s Diner or home?” she asked.
“Home, I think. How would you feel about bacon and eggs tonight?”
She smiled. “I’ll cook.”
“You?” I teased.
“Just like my mom taught me.”
I reached out to touch her hair. “I’m proud of you, my dearest daughter. I can’t imagine a greater gift than you in my life.” There’d been another Ellen, the first Ellen. The two had long ago merged into one in my heart, and my head had had to accept it, and reaccept it, from time to time.
“Then I think we’re both lucky, Mom. I’m lucky I was born to you. And I appreciate knowing the truth. I understand why you didn’t tell me before, when I was younger and all, and I’m glad you trust me with knowing now.”
That night, as I was locking up and turning off lights on my way to bed, I noticed the baby book was gone from the kitchen table. I’d placed it there when we came home. It had still been there when we ate our supper seated at the island.
Like Gran, like Ellen? Except that unlike Gran, who’d hidden it, Ellen had claimed it. When I walked past her room, I saw it on her desk, and it felt right. That night, I settled in my bed, cozy with the blanket over my legs, and wrote down a list of “firsts.” First tooth, first steps, first birthday—not the actual events, but as I wrote them down, I imagined how it would’ve been in real life, and it almost felt as if they’d happened the way I described them. I even drew little pictures of the reminiscences. It was the best I could do for her. I was careful to note at the top that I couldn’t be totally sure the dates were accurate, since I was recording the events long after the fact.
It was a small gift for Ellen. When I was done, I went to her room.
She was asleep. Teenagers slept like toddlers, except they hogged the whole bed. Adulthood would steal the ability to sleep soundly and heedlessly through the night. By the light of the hallway, I went to her desk and slipped the papers from my journal into her baby book for her to find in the morning. Then I stood near her bed and watched her sleeping.
Her eyelashes fluttered and she mumbled, “Is something wrong, Mom?”
I touched her hair. “No, all’s well. Good night, my sweet Ellen.”
CHAPTER NINE