The Price of Redemption. Pamela Tracy
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just after Dustin went missing, Carolyn moved in with Ruth. It was a blessing for both of them. Ruth had a live-in babysitter, and Carolyn felt needed. The arrangement worked until Ruth brought up her father. The merest mention of his name sent her mother out the door. At first it was to the park down the street, but then as Ruth became bolder, and asked even more pointed questions, her mother increased the time and distance of her escapes. Still, all Ruth had to do was head for one of Carolyn’s friend’s houses.
Mom’s face tightened. It was a look Ruth remembered well.
“Why did you stay with him? And why, whenever I ask you about our time spent in Broken Bones, do you leave and I have to find you?”
Carolyn started for the door.
“Don’t do it. Don’t walk out.”
For a moment, Carolyn hesitated. She almost turned, almost said something, but before she could—
“Mom!” Megan’s voice, a distant whine, interrupted whatever Carolyn might have been about to say. Ruth left her mother, the maps, the files, basically the clutter of her life, and headed for her daughter’s room.
“You okay?”
The flyaway brown hair came from Dustin, so did the brown eyes and wide lips. Size and imagination came from Ruth. Megan, like Ruth, knew there really were monsters in the closet. Ruth’s had been real. Its name had been Darryl George. With Megan, they were imaginary and had started back when Dustin stopped coming home, and Ruth took a full-time job. “It’s so quiet,” Megan complained, picking at the edge of her blanket. “I’m thinking about Daddy. And I’m alone.”
“Grandma and I are both here. We were in the garage.”
“You’re not going to work tomorrow, are you?”
“No, not for a long time.” No need to explain to a five-year-old the ins and outs of family emergency leave. Ruth was just grateful to have time to spend with her family, time to spend burying Dustin both physically and mentally.
“Will you sit in the chair?”
“Yes, I can do that.”
Years ago, when Megan was a baby, Ruth would pick her up and rock her in the pale blue rocking chair. Sitting in that chair with a precious little daughter had made the exhaustion almost pleasurable. Not like today. Putting her feet on the floor instead of on the footstool, Ruth pushed herself back and forth while listening to her daughter breathe and to the sound of the television returning to life in the next room, her mother’s room.
So, Carolyn was sticking around.
And Ruth needed to decide if she wanted to pursue this conversation on the day she buried her husband.
Some things needed to stay buried. Ruth was smart enough to believe that; she just didn’t intend to allow it to happen.
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