Chapter 3
Standing at only five feet tall with an aged white exterior, this monumental part of Lady Indigo appeared dead.
At one time, she had the sole duty of being the heartbeat of this home.
As long as she ticked, life continued. Laying my hands on either side, I felt the cold realization that life had not continued.
Seemed with her passing, a lot had died right along with her.
I wiped a palm over the face of the antique grandmother clock, removing the layer of dust, and read the time.
Two thirty-two. Had it been morning or afternoon when the clock drew her last breath, I didn’t know.
Arlo’s time of death happened midday. Olla passed away early evening, so the house’s time of death didn’t correlate with either of theirs.
I couldn’t bring either of them back, as much as I longed to, but I had the ability to resurrect this clock.
Cy used to be the clock keeper until I turned eight and all but demanded he pass his duties down to me.
My brother was a meticulous person, and he took teaching me the intricacies of maintaining the clock seriously.
He drew diagrams in a small notebook he labeled Grandmother Clock Responsibilities and he would stand by me to supervise, critiquing as I went along.
He could have played his I’m-older trump card, but he seemed to enjoy teaching me something.
I wished he would pop in now and stand over my shoulder with instructions while I wound the clock, but nowadays the only instruction he’d given me was to stay away.
Brushing my hands together, I made my way to the laundry room and retrieved a dust rag.
Returning to the clock in the back hallway, I began wiping away the last two years’ worth of neglect.
I took my time, cleaning the clock until the glass panels were sparkly clear.
I tucked the rag into my back pocket, opened the bottom case, and pulled the first chain until the weight reached the top.
The zipping sound interrupted the quiet of the house in a familiar way.
So familiar and nostalgic, my chest and throat tightened with a fresh hit of grief.
Sniffing, I pulled the other two chains, repeating the process to wind the clock.
A gentle shove set the pendulum into motion and the tick-tock began, bringing the heartbeat of the house back to existence.
I closed the bottom and opened the clockface to set the time to fifteen after four.
With the clock restored to order, I took a step back and watched the pendulum sway while listening to the rhythmic tick-tock, tick-tock.
“Sure wish it was that easy to restore my life . . .” I mumbled under my breath.
Eventually, I gave up staring at the clock and moved on to nothing much of anything.
I found myself in the kitchen staring out the window, then sitting on one of the bottom steps of the staircase.
For the first time in forever, I didn’t have a schedule to adhere to nor did I have to do anything in particular.
For some reason, that made me anxious. The idea of all this freedom should have given me a celebratory vibe, not this deep-seated dread.
You could sneak a drink and no one would know.
I bolted off the step. “No, no, no . . .”
Meditation and yoga were two tools I learned in rehab to reduce stress and to divert my attention to something besides my anxieties and cravings.
Feeling the tides of restlessness rise, I made quick work of opening up the windows facing the Atlantic.
Dropping onto the area rug, I crossed my legs into a half chair pose and centered my thoughts on the crashing waves just outside.
With measured breaths, in and out, I pictured myself sitting on the deck of a boat, my body swaying from the sea’s current and not my panicking nerves.
A sudden noise jolted me out of the boat.
I rose to my feet and followed the sound to the kitchen.
An iPhone on the counter by the fridge with a note beside it was lighting up with an incoming call.
I’d totally missed seeing both the note and the phone earlier.
Tentatively, I picked up the phone, read Cy’s name on the screen, then slid my finger across the green button. “Hello?”
“Good. You found the phone I bought you.” No greetings, straight to the point. Typical Cypress Wilder.
“Uh . . . yeah.” I looked around to see if I’d missed anything else, like maybe a family member who wanted to help me celebrate my freedom, but found nothing. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Of course I did. You didn’t have one.” The sharpness in his tone sent an instant wave of humiliation over me.
“I really appreciate it. Thank you.”
“The six-month termite inspection and treatment was done two weeks ago . . .” Cy plowed forward with the facts. The math professor couldn’t help himself, I supposed.
I scanned the note as my brother continued going over other things I already knew, like where the key to the lawn mower was, and how to put gas in it.
Lana stocked the fridge and pantry but from here on out, that’s your responsibility. Olla’s Caddy is in the garage. Taxes and insurance are up-to-date. Take it out for a drive at least once a week. The number to your new phone is below. FYI, the tracking is on. Don’t turn it off.
Cy
I opened the fridge, revealing completely stocked shelves of everything I would need, undeservedly.
A variety of condiments, fresh fruits and veggies in the crisper, a half gallon of two-percent milk, deli meats and cheeses.
“Thank you for the phone and groceries.” I shut the fridge and leaned against the stainless steel door. “Let me know how much I owe you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” His sigh had a weight to it, the cumbersome sound speaking of how much of a burden I was on him. “Did you get settled in?”
“Pretty much.” All of my belongings still sat untouched in the car, but I would get to that later.
I’d also be adding the phone and groceries to the amount I already owed him.
Just paying off my debt wouldn’t make things right with him, but I had to start somewhere.
“I miss y’all. Why don’t you come down for the weekend? The weather is supposed to be nice.”
“I’m stuck teaching a Maymester last minute. It starts on Monday, so I have to prepare—”
“I could go to y’all.” Sullivan’s Island was just far enough away from my family in Columbia to keep me at arm’s length. Out of sight, out of mind. Exactly how Cy said he wanted it. But it’s not what I wanted at all. I wanted my family. Needed them, more precisely.
Cy didn’t respond right away, so I already knew the answer before he said, “Now isn’t a good time.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded to the empty room. “No worries. Another time then.” I waited a few beats to see if he would add a little bit of kindness to soften his rejection, but he remained quiet so I asked, “How’s Lana and the kids?”
“They’re fine.”
I rolled my stinging eyes. Apparently, my brother had no plans on cutting me any slack.
Not that I deserved any, but darned if it wouldn’t have been nice all the same.
“Will you let Fernie know I sent her a letter out yesterday? She should get it tomorrow, I think.” It was a drawing she could color in, something I’d been doing every other week since going to rehab.
“Sure. By the way, Fern doesn’t want to be called Fernie anymore. She just goes by Fern now.”
I laughed, barely bringing any actual humor to the sound. “She’s not even three, Cy. I doubt she’s old enough to be deciding such.”
Cy didn’t laugh at all.
“I’d really like to see her.”
He let out another long-suffering sigh. “We both know that’s not a good idea.”
“Why is that?”
“Seriously, Junie? What did I promise you after your arrest?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my forehead. “To protect Fern. To always put her first in decisions about me.”
“This is me putting her first. Let me keep that promise without you holding it against me. For your daughter’s sake, I will not agree to you being around her until I know she’ll be safe with you. Take this summer to prove yourself, that you can stay clean and out of trouble.”
I sniffed, using the sleeve of my blouse to wipe my nose. Cy was right, but danged if it didn’t hurt.
“Listen. I need to go. But be sure and call Mom and Dad and let them know you’ve been released.”
Let them know you’ve been released. I filed that away under things I never wanted to hear again, along with you are under arrest.
“Okay.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, growing agitated.
“Thanks again for everything. Call me soon and maybe I could speak to Fern next—” He ended the call before I finished, dismissive as always.
A bubble of indignation hiccupped out of me.
Sniffing, I pulled up the contacts in the phone and saw that the good son had already added my parents’ numbers.
I looked at the clock on the stove and did the math.
They were five hours ahead of us, past their bedtime, so I settled on a text in a group chat.
I’m a free bird!
At the moment, my arborist father and botanist mother were in England aiding in the world’s largest seed conservationist project at Wakehurst. I really didn’t know much about Rupert and Rose Wilder beyond that, so it always felt like communicating with distant relatives.
I stared at the unanswered message until my eyes blurred, growing more upset over something else I had no control over.
My parents were who they were, brilliant yet neglectful, successful contributors to society yet forgetful parents.
As I set the phone down, another piece of paper underneath Cy’s note caught my eye.
I slid it out and what I saw sent a sharp pang through my chest.
Local Woman Arrested