Chapter 31
CHAPTER
Y ou look good.” I smile. It’s sad that it’s probably the first time I’ve given my mother a compliment in .
. . Well, maybe it’s the first one ever.
And she’s lying in a casket for it. Dead.
Even sadder is that it might also be the first time our conversation doesn’t end in an argument.
Unexpected tears fill my eyes, and I sniffle them back.
It feels like I should say a prayer. She’d like that.
I probably wouldn’t have given that to her when she was alive, but somehow it feels okay to do now.
Maybe it’s because I’m doing it on my terms; I’m not being forced.
My eyes drop to the floor in front of the casket.
There’s a kneeler, a cushioned block of wood to rest your knees.
But hell will freeze over before I’m ever in that position again.
Sorry, Mom. I bow my head, close my eyes, and whisper the Hail Mary.
A few moments later, there’s a light knock at the door. Kenny Chapman steps into the viewing room.
“How is everything?” he asks. “Is there anything you’d like changed before visiting hours begin?”
“No. They did a really good job on her hair and makeup. She looks pretty. At peace.”
“Excellent.” He nods. “An early guest has arrived, as well as a florist with a delivery, but we still have a couple of minutes, so I’ll let you have this time with your mother alone.”
I look over at Mom, take a deep breath, and shake my head. “It’s okay. You can let them in. I’m done.”
“Very well.”
A florist carries in a big white cross made of roses. I’m still standing at the casket, watching them set it up, when Father Preston walks up and joins me. Where did Kenny Chapman go? Is it too late to change my mind and say I’d rather be alone?
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Elizabeth. Your mother was a wonderful woman, a devout member of Saint Matthew’s.”
I nod, manage to mumble a thank-you. I’m going to need to get better at this if I’m going to survive today.
Father Preston turns and faces me head-on. “I came by to visit Theresa the other morning. We had a long talk, and I promised her I would speak to you.”
“About what?”
“Your mother would really like you to attend confession.”
I feel my heart skip a beat. “Why? What did she tell you?”
“She expressed concern about your relationship with Christ. Many times when people veer away from their faith, it’s because our bond with God is broken by our sins.
Confession allows us to seek true forgiveness and repair that connection.
” He searches my face. “Everyone sins. Big or small. Even I go to confession, Elizabeth.”
“Really? And what do you have to confess?”
“That’s between me and the Lord.”
“Then why is it that I have to tell my sins to you ?”
A few people wander into the back of the room. I recognize one as Mom’s neighbor. “Excuse me. I should greet people.”
Father Preston reaches out, rests a hand on my arm, stopping me. “There is no sin that can’t be forgiven when you’re truly ready to repent, Elizabeth.”
I frown and shake my head. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
The next few hours are a blur. A sea of people come and go—Mom really did need the double room.
People from church, neighbors . . . It seems like most of the town is here at some point.
The polite smile glued on my face is starting to hurt, so I’m grateful when someone walks in that I don’t have to pretend for.
Ivy. And she’s alone. I excuse myself from yet another stranger telling me what a wonderful woman my mother was and head straight for my old best friend.
Ivy smiles sadly. “I’m sorry about your mom, Elizabeth.”
“Thanks.” I nod toward the door leading to the hall. “Do you think we can talk?”
“Sure.”
Kenny Chapman and a dowdy woman in a black suit are manning the front entrance, opening the door for people as they come and go. So I steer us in the opposite direction, to the ladies’ room. Luckily, it’s empty.
“How are you holding up?” Ivy asks.
“Are we talking about my mother dying or the chapters?”
“Both.”
“My mother dying, I’ll get through. The other thing, I’m not so sure . . .” I shake my head. “It’s been difficult.”
“So you’ve received more?”
I nod. “Five chapters so far.”
“And everything in them is accurate?”
“Down to room number 212.”
The color drains from Ivy’s face. “Oh my God. Who can it be and what do they want?”
Her reaction makes me 99.9 percent sure she isn’t behind this. But I need more than that. I need to be absolutely certain. I lean in, lock eyes with her. “Is it you, Ivy? I need to know.”
“What?” Her face twists. “Of course not. Why do you keep asking me that? Why the hell would I dredge up the past? I have as much to lose as you, if not more. My husband thinks I’m a good person.
” She pauses for a few seconds, her mouth opening and shutting, then opening and shutting again, as if she has something to say but isn’t sure if she should.
“What?” I urge. “Tell me.”
Ivy meets my eyes, then takes a big breath in and out.
“Before I tell you something, I need to know if you believe I’m not the one doing this to you, not haunting you by sending the chapters.”
We stare each other down for a few moments. She was and still is the best friend I’ve ever had. Twenty years may have gone by, but I’m almost certain she’s telling the truth. I nod. “I believe you.”
She lets out another big breath. “Okay. Good.”
“Now what do you need to tell me?”
Ivy swallows and looks down. “I was always a little jealous of you.”
“Jealous of me? For what?”
“You were so pretty and smart, and I was just so . . . ordinary.”
“That’s not true, Ivy. You—”
She holds a hand up, stopping me. “I don’t want to debate it.
Whether it’s true or not isn’t the issue.
It was how I perceived us years ago. I loved you with all my heart, but maybe a part of me would’ve rather been you than me.
That’s the only explanation I can come up with, even after all these years. ”
“Explanation for what? I’m not following you.”
Ivy’s eyes meet mine once again. “I slept with Mr. Sawyer, too.”
My eyes bulge. “What?”
She starts to ramble, her words coming fast. “You were acting weird, and you wouldn’t tell me why, and one day I saw you riding your bicycle toward the outskirts of town when you’d told me you had to stay in and help your mom, so I followed you.
You went to the motel to meet him.” She shakes her head.
“I was jealous that a handsome man who was so much older was interested in you, so I wanted to see if I could make him interested in me .”
I clutch my chest. “Oh my God. Ivy, how could you never tell me?”
“I was embarrassed and ashamed, and it didn’t last that long. I only met him at the motel a few times, and after we finally . . . did it, he smacked me and told me I made noises like a whore. I never went back.”
Tears fill my eyes. “How could you have ever thought I was smarter than you, when you had the sense to not go back? I kept going, Ivy.”
She pulls me into a hug. “I know. And I’m so sorry I didn’t talk to you about it. I swear, I had no idea you were being abused, too, until Sawyer died and you told me what had been going on. I just thought I made noises like a whore. To this day, I’m silent when my husband and I have sex.”
Jesus Christ. That man screwed up so many people. Ivy holds me for a long time before pulling back. She grasps both of my shoulders and looks into my eyes. “I’m so, so sorry I didn’t save you, Elizabeth.”
“Nothing that happened is your fault. You don’t need to apologize. I’m sorry you got sucked into things.”
She sniffles back tears. “I could’ve saved you, and I didn’t.”
I shake my head. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my screwed-up life, it’s that we can only save ourselves.”
Ivy pulls a paper towel from the dispenser and wipes her nose. “It’s a good thing your mama isn’t breathing anymore. Because if she heard you say that, she’d be calling the priest for an exorcism while screaming that only God can save us.”
Only Ivy could make me laugh during my mother’s wake—after telling me she’s kept a monumental secret from me for twenty years. “You got that right.”
She smiles. “I have to get going. My daughter fell asleep in the car on the way here, so I left my husband with her in the parking lot.”
“Wait. Just give me another minute.” I swallow. There are things I still need to know. “I need to ask you a few questions, and some of them might not make any sense, but your answers are really important.”
“Okay. What?”
“Were you there that night?”
“What night? The night he . . . ?”
I nod. “The night Sawyer died.”
“Of course. You called me upset, and I came to the hotel, helped you make it look like a robbery.”
“Were we the only two people in the room? You and me?”
Her eyes dart around the empty bathroom, even though anyone coming in would’ve had to pass us. “Yes, except for him .”
“Mr. Sawyer?”
She nods.
I’m relieved to know what I remember about Ivy’s involvement wasn’t made-up. It’s difficult to know what’s real or not after finding out the truth about Jocelyn. I can’t trust my own memory.
“Was I . . . close to Lucas?”
Ivy’s brows furrow. “You were until—well, you started to pull away from both of us toward the end of senior year. I didn’t know why until I found out about you and Mr. Sawyer.
But you really liked Lucas before that, and he seemed pretty into you, too.
You used to fool around. Why are you asking me this? ”
I really don’t want to get into the issues I’ve been experiencing. So I avert my eyes. “It was a long time ago, and some things are fuzzy. What about Mr. Sawyer’s daughter? Did you know he had a little girl who died while he was supposed to be watching her?”
Ivy blinks. “No. When did that happen?”
I’m relieved it isn’t common knowledge and another thing I’ve somehow blocked out.
I’ve been questioning that since I got home from the bayou the other night.
Minton Parish is a small town; everyone would’ve been talking about a little girl dying.
But Ivy and I were still in middle school at the time, so I guess we didn’t put it together with Mr. Sawyer the teacher when we got to high school.
“She died four years before him,” I tell her.
“What happened?”
I shrug. “An accident . . . supposedly.”
The bathroom door opens. A woman I vaguely recognize walks in. I think she belongs to my mother’s church. She smiles at me sadly and makes her way into a stall. Her presence effectively brings an end to my private conversation with Ivy. It’s just as well. The less we say out loud, the better.
Ivy pulls me into a hug again and whispers, “I’m here for you, if you need anything, Elizabeth.”
“Thank you.”
She nods toward the door. “Your mom is at peace now. I hope you can find some, too.”
“Thank you for coming.”
Hours later, I think the entire town and part of the neigh-boring one has finally come by.
My mind keeps circling back to what Ivy told me today, analyzing whether it changes anything in this game of Clue I keep playing in my head.
I don’t think it does. But I’m physically and mentally exhausted, so drained that I might have a shot at sleeping tonight.
There’re ten minutes left in the last session, and the number of people in the room is finally starting to dwindle.
I’m watching a woman wipe tears and genuflect in front of the casket when a hand on my shoulder startles me.
Though I quickly settle. I have no idea how, but I know who it is before I turn.
Noah smiles, flashes a dimple. “Hey.”
I smile back. For the first time today, the gesture isn’t borne from a sense of duty. I actually feel happy to see him. “I didn’t expect you to come.”
“I wanted to pay my respects.” He looks into my eyes. “I also thought maybe you could use a friend.”
I tilt my head. “Is that what we are? Friends, Noah?”
“I can be anything you want me to be.” His eyes drop to my lips. “The night we met was pretty damn great and has me hoping maybe you’ll want me to be a little more than friendly. Though you’ll have to stop running out on me for that to happen.”
My insides flutter like a schoolgirl’s. “I bet not too many women run away from you.”
He winks. “Doesn’t matter. There’s only one I’m trying to catch.”
A man I’ve never met interrupts to offer his condolences, and then a couple swoops in to tell me how lucky I was to have a mom like mine.
Noah steps back, makes room for strangers.
Because it’s nearing the end of the viewing hours, I wind up getting pulled from one person to the next.
But even as a line forms to say goodbye, I never lose sight of Noah.
And I know he never takes his eyes off me, because I feel them.
When a lull finally happens, he makes his way back to the front of the room, where I’m standing. “I’m gonna head out. But I’ll be home all night if you want to come by.”
“Come by for . . . ?”
Noah leans in and kisses my cheek, moves his mouth to my ear. “For whatever you want. Ball is always in your court, Elizabeth. Always.”