A Single Thread (Cobbled Court) (22 page)

A
s Evelyn suggested, Margot and I started on the east side of town. Her Volkswagen was cramped, but I was glad Margot was driving. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found it hard to drive at dusk. Also, distressed as I was, I really wasn’t sure I’d be able to focus on driving. It was probably for the best. Margot hadn’t lived in New Bern for long and needed me to navigate. Together, we made a good team.

Margot was very encouraging, echoing Evelyn’s assertion that since Liza had run off so quickly with no car, no money, and probably no plan, we’d surely find her very soon. After all, only a few hours had passed since she’d bolted. The cold weather and the blanket of snow covering the ground would have made it difficult to walk very quickly. Chances were she was still within a five-mile radius of New Bern. I sat up straight and peered out the window, eagerly searching the sidewalks and roadsides for any glimpse of Liza, giving Margot directions when she needed them, and keeping one ear tuned for the ring of Margot’s cellular telephone. Evelyn and Margot had agreed to call each other the minute they spotted Liza.

But as minutes and then an hour passed and dusk became night without any sign of her, or any message from Evelyn, my despair deepened.

“It’s so dark. She was wearing that black jacket she likes and, of course, her black jeans and those awful black boots. We could be driving right past her and still not see her.”

“We’d see her in the headlights,” Margot assured me. “With all this drifted snow, she’ll have to stay close to the road. Come on, Abigail. You’ve got to think positively. We’re going to find her. Soon. And if we don’t, Evelyn will. You’ll see.”

Margot was saying all the right words, but I wasn’t convinced she entirely believed them. We drove in silence for a long time. My stomach rumbled. It was well past dinnertime, and I remembered now that I hadn’t had any lunch, but I didn’t say anything about being hungry. The only thing I cared about now was finding Liza. I looked at my watch. It was nearly nine o’clock.

“Where can she be? Oh, Margot. This is my fault. Everything. We’re not going to find her. And even if we do, I know she’ll never, ever be able to forgive me.”

Margot glanced away from the road briefly, quickly turning her head to look at me. Her eyes were full of compassion, and somehow that only made me feel worse. I didn’t deserve her pity.

“Abigail, don’t say that. Yes, it’s true. You’ve made some terrible mistakes, but you’re only human. If you tell Liza how truly sorry you are and try to explain why you’ve acted the way you have, she’ll forgive you.”

“How could she? I abandoned her, and, what’s worse, I abandoned Susan. My own sister.” I sighed. “How can I expect Liza to forgive me? I was never able to forgive her mother. Susan hurt me so badly, and I was never, ever able to forgive her for what she’d done.

“Margot, you go to church a lot, don’t you? Since you were a little girl?” She nodded. “I’ve always been a church member, written checks and showed up at services every once in a while, but I never attended regularly. Not until recently. A couple of weeks ago, the minister was preaching on the Lord’s Prayer, the part about asking God to forgive our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.” I paused, waiting for Margot to say something, to give some verse or judgment on the subject, but she just kept her eyes on the road and listened.

“When you hear something like that, that you can only be forgiven if you’ve been willing to forgive….” I didn’t have a handkerchief or tissue with me, so I wiped my eyes on the edge of my sleeve as I thought of Susan on that day when I told her that I could never forgive her and I never wanted to see her again.

“It’s too late now,” I whispered to myself. “She’s gone. It’s too late.”

“No, it’s not,” Margot said. “It’s never too late to forgive someone else, just as it’s never too late to ask for forgiveness.”

I looked at her skeptically. Margot was sweet and well-intentioned, and I’d come to admire the genuineness of her faith. In fact, the strength of her faith was part of why I’d gone back to church. She seemed so happy and at peace even when things weren’t going well. I hoped that a little of what she’d found there would rub off on me. But I was beginning to think she’d spent too much time watching those Sunday morning television programs hosted by those preachers with the blow-dried hair and southern accents. My problems couldn’t be solved by repeating the Lord’s Prayer and promising to try harder next time.

“Margot, that’s easy to say, but you don’t understand. What went on between my sister and me was just so incredibly awful. It was beyond awful. What Susan did to me was unforgivable. And I gave it right back to her, kept my promise never to have anything to do with her, not even after I knew she was dying of cancer. And that was worse than unforgivable.”

“Abigail, my mother always said that there is no pit so deep that the love and forgiveness of God is not deeper still.”

Margot was trying to help, but inwardly I was rolling my eyes at this platitude. Sure, it was easy for someone like Margot or her mother, people who’d probably thought of jaywalking as a form of civil rebellion. They couldn’t possibly understand what I was dealing with, years and years of selfishness, betrayal, and deceit—and I wasn’t just talking about me. Lies and duplicity were part of the Burgess family legacy. By comparison, Margot’s family probably looked like the Brady Bunch. I sighed, and as if reading my unspoken thoughts, Margot went on.

“Abigail, I don’t know all the details of what happened between you and your sister. I don’t need to. Sure. Maybe if I knew the whole story, I would feel that both of you were beyond the possibility of pardon, but fortunately I’m not in charge of forgiving anyone anything. This is between you and God. Not you and me, and not even you and Susan. When we sin against someone else, yes, we are wronging them, but we are also wronging God, and that’s even worse. Susan may have deserved some of your anger, but God never did.”

She pulled up at a four-way stop and looked both ways before crossing through the intersection. Her eyes were still on the road as she continued talking.

“The thing is, we’re all in the pit at some point in our lives. Some people are able to climb out and some never do. The ones who climb out are the ones who recognize their need for help, have the humility to grab hold of the rope, and faith to believe that rope is strong enough to lift them up.”

I was quiet for a moment, thinking. When I’d first met Margot, she was so happy and smiling all the time that I’d honestly thought she wasn’t all that bright. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but it’s true. Most smart people I knew, the intellectuals, were brooding and miserable and forever bemoaning the deplorable state of the world and the dumbing-down of our national standards in everything from political discourse to musical theater. They had all kinds of opinions on all kinds of subjects, but I’d very rarely seen any of them
do
anything besides complain. As far as they were concerned, the world was bad and getting worse, and anyone who thought there was anything to be done about it was a fool.

Margot, on the other hand, was the kind of person who, once she recognized a problem, immediately started searching for solutions. And I’d noticed that, very often, she found them. Sweet temper and girlish giggles notwithstanding, Margot was clearly a very intelligent woman. My brooding philosopher friends, that Greek chorus of hopelessness, would have scoffed at the simplicity of her illustration, but I also knew if I’d asked them how to get out of the pit, they’d have nothing more to offer than conferring nods and the brilliant observation that it was certainly a complicated issue. Margot was an intelligent woman, and it was clear that, somehow or other, she’d found a peace I hadn’t. But still. It
was
a complicated issue.

“Margot, I know you mean well, but you make it sound easy, and it’s not. This whole thing started before Liza was born, even before you were born. There’s been so much water under the bridge. So much went wrong. At this point, I wouldn’t even know how to begin to make it right.”

“Sure you do, Abigail. Your minister told you exactly how to begin—with forgiveness. Even though she is gone, you can choose to forgive Susan. Once you have done that, you can ask God to forgive you.” She turned her eyes away from the darkened road to give me a quick smile. “And He will, Abigail.”

“And Liza?” I asked. “Will she forgive me too?”

“Well, that’s the one thing in all this that isn’t your choice,” Margot said, squinting a little as a car with its brights on approached and she flashed her high beams at it. “Maybe she will and maybe she won’t. Deep down, in spite of all that she’s been through, Liza has a good heart, but there are no guarantees. One thing I do know for sure, she never will if you don’t ask.”

I was tired. I let my head drop back against the headrest and closed my eyes for a moment. Margot had given me a lot to think about. At my age, was it possible to change, to make things right again? Maybe. But none of that would matter if we couldn’t find Liza. Where could she be?

With my eyes still closed, I said a silent prayer.

God, I know there really isn’t any reason for you to listen to me tonight. I haven’t done a very good job of listening to you these past sixty-two years, so a part of me feels kind of hypocritical coming to you after all this time. I wouldn’t blame you a bit if you ignored me, but I pray you won’t. Margot says I have to forgive Susan so that you can forgive me, and I want to. I’m just not sure I can, not unless you help me. Please, dear Lord, please help me. I’ve always thought of myself as so strong, but I’m not strong enough for this. I just can’t do it alone anymore, and I don’t want to. Help me.

And God, about Liza. I’m so worried about her, and I can’t find her. I don’t know much about you, God, but I do know that you know where she is. Please help me find her. Help her to come home. And to forgive me. Amen.

Just as the “amen” was forming in my mind, I heard the tinny, computerized chirp of Margot’s cell phone. My eyes flew open, and I turned in my seat to face Margot as she flipped her phone open and held it to her ear.

It’s Evelyn! God heard my prayer and helped her find Liza!

And it was Evelyn. When I raised my eyebrows, silently questioning Margot as to the identity of the caller and mutely mouthed “Evelyn?”, Margot responded with a grin and a quick nod.

“Evelyn! Hi! Where are you? Did you find her?” The expectant smile on Margot’s face faded. “Oh. No, we haven’t either. No, not a sign.” She was quiet for a moment, listening. “Me too. It’s so cold out there. I’m worried. We really don’t have a choice.” Another moment of silence. A quick glance in my direction.

“She’s sitting right here. All right. Wait just a minute.” Margot took the telephone away from her ear and gave it to me.

“Here. She wants to ask you something.”

A
fter a couple of hours driving up and down every street in town, looking for Liza in every likely spot, I decided it was time to change tactics and look in the unlikely spots. That’s when I decided to call Margot and Abigail.

It was painful ground to cover, but when Abigail got on the line, I asked her several questions about Susan and Liza, their life together, and the circumstances surrounding Susan’s death. It occurred to me that perhaps Liza had headed to the house she shared with her mother, or some other place that reminded her of her old life. It was just a hunch, but I had to try something and soon.

We didn’t speak of it to Abigail, but Margot was in agreement with me. If we couldn’t find Liza by morning, we would have to convince Abigail to file a missing person’s report. Neither of us wanted to see Liza end up in front of a judge, but with the temperatures so bitter and Liza having disappeared with no money, it seemed we had no choice.

After we talked, Abigail put Margot back on the line.

“Margot? I’m going to head over to Stamford. Maybe Liza is trying to get back home. It’s too far for her to have walked, but maybe she had some extra cash in her pocket Abigail didn’t know about and caught a train. She might even have tried to hitchhike.”

“Oh! I hope not! You never know who might have—” Probably remembering that Abigail was sitting right next to her, and not wanting to alarm her, Margot didn’t finish the sentence. “Anyway, that sounds like a good idea. Now, what do you want us to do?”

“I guess you’d just better keep driving around town. Maybe she’s still there and we just missed her. You should probably go back to Abigail’s and check there. Maybe she calmed down and came home on her own.”

“All right. Did you go by the shop? Maybe she went there.”

“Good point. You have a key, don’t you? Could you drive by and see if she’s there? I’m going to start driving south.”

“No problem. Abigail and I will head over there right now. I’ll leave my phone on. Call if you find her.”

“I will. You do the same. Thanks, Margot.”

It had started snowing again, and the roads were terrible. It was well past midnight when I got to the address Abigail had given me, the townhouse that Liza had shared with her mother. I had been praying during the entire drive, asking God to let Liza be sitting on the doorstep of her old home, but she wasn’t. Next I drove around the neighborhood, through the downtown area, past Liza’s old school, and, finally, past the hospital where Abigail said Susan had died, but there was no sign of Liza.

Finally I checked in with the others and we decided to call it a night. Margot was going to drive back to Abigail’s house and sleep there; we were all still hoping that Liza would turn up on her own. I was going to head back to my place, grab a couple of hours’ sleep, and be back at Abigail’s by seven-thirty. If Liza hadn’t come home by then, we would have to consider calling the police.

Snow was falling even harder as I headed back to New Bern. Fat flakes drove toward my windshield with a constant, monotonous force that gave me the feeling of being trapped on a conveyor belt and surrounded by a continually rotating image of snowfall, running as fast as I could but getting nowhere. I was tired. It took all my concentration to focus on driving through the whirling snow. About ten miles from home, the storm subsided and I started thinking about Liza again. Where could she be?

I went over it all again in my mind, trying to think of every possible place she might have gone, but nothing new came to mind. Logically, I knew I’d done everything I could, and my exhausted body craved the comfort of my bed and a few hours’ rest, but my mind was still uneasy.

It’s just so frustrating
, I thought.
I’ve spent half the night looking for Liza, driven across the whole state, and I’ve still reached a dead end.

A dead end.

That was it! The New Bern exit was coming up on my right, but I stepped on the gas and flew past it, heading farther north toward Winthrop, a sleepy village just a few miles from the Massachusetts border. I’d never been there before, but if I could find Winthrop, I’d find Liza. I was sure of it.

The gates were open, but the wind had pillowed the snow into drifts. I didn’t want to risk getting stuck on the unplowed road, so I pulled my car up in front of the cemetery and parked.

Getting out of the car, I saw that the snow wasn’t quite as pristine as it had appeared on first glance. Someone had tromped a trail through the front gates of the cemetery and down the road, past the ancient, crumbling headstones so battered by wind, weather, and time that it was impossible anymore to know who was buried beneath them, only that those who lay sleeping there had once been “Beloved” of someone.

I followed the footsteps, first through a grove of evergreen trees shrouded with an icy blanket of snow that glittered in the first light of morning, into the newer sections of the cemetery, where those who had known this life in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries rested awaiting the clarion call to a new world, and finally to a small plot set apart, surrounded by a short wrought-iron fence, to a gray marble crypt that bore the name of Burgess.

Liza, dressed all in black, stood in front of the crypt with her head bowed. The snow muffled my steps. She hadn’t heard me coming.

“Liza?” The fence gate squeaked as I opened it and stepped into the Burgess family plot.

Liza turned around. Her eyes were red from crying, and there were dark circles under them. She didn’t ask how I’d found her.

“Sweetie, are you all right? You must be freezing. We were all so worried about you, especially Abigail.”

“I’m sure.” Her voice lacked the smug sarcasm Liza so often used when referring to her aunt, but there was a flatness, a hopelessness, to her tone that was even more disturbing. I came up alongside her and read the inscription on the stone.

SUSAN KATHERINE BURGESS

BORN
—
JUNE
26, 1950

DIED
—
SEPTEMBER
20, 2005

Susan’s tomb did not declare that she was a beloved mother, but she was. It was written in her daughter’s eyes. How she missed her. I put my arm around Liza’s waist. Her eyes were fixed on the crypt, but I could feel her body relax a little as she leaned into me.

“Tell me about her.”

“She was my mother,” Liza said simply. “She took care of me. She made sure I did my homework and cleaned my room. She told me she loved me all the time, and sometimes, when I messed up, she yelled at me. Usually I deserved it, so I didn’t mind that much. She worked really hard because I don’t have a dad. I mean…I have a dad but he bailed out before I was born.” Liza shrugged. “I don’t even know who he is. Mom had to pay the bills all by herself, and sometimes she was really tired, but every Sunday was our day together. She always got up and made a big breakfast, pancakes or waffles or something, and then we’d do something together, something inexpensive like go to the park, or window shopping, or to some free concert she’d read about.”

Liza smiled a little as she remembered. “Some of those concerts were pretty awful. Once, in February, when it was cold and miserable and there was just nothing to do, the only thing she found in the paper was an accordion recital at the Moose Lodge. Have you ever been to an accordion recital?” I shook my head. “Well, you aren’t missing anything. And it just went on and on! Mom kept making this goofy face at me and kind of bouncing in her seat, you know, like she was about to break out and start doing the polka or something. I just about choked trying not to bust out laughing. That was Mom. She could make anything fun.”

“She sounds like a wonderful mother. You were lucky.”

“Yeah,” Liza whispered. “I was lucky. For a while I was. She was the only person I could always count on. At least, I thought I could, and then…” A tear seeped from the corner of her eye as she stared at the tomb. “Now I’ve got nobody.”

“Nobody like your mother. There will never be anyone like her, but you’re not as alone as you think, Liza. There are a lot of people who care about you. Margot and I. And your Aunt Abigail. She cares about you, Liza, much more than you realize.”

Liza’s lips flattened into a thin line of disgust. “She doesn’t care about me. She puts on a good show, but she doesn’t care about anyone but herself.”

“That’s not true. And it’s not fair.” Finally looking up at me, Liza’s eyes flashed, and she started to protest, but I wouldn’t let her interrupt. “Listen to me. I know she hasn’t always been the easiest person to live with, but she’s changed. And the way she treated you and your mother was…well, it was despicable. I know that because she told me all about it and that’s the word she used to describe her behavior.”

Liza furrowed her brow, listening but not able to completely believe what I was saying. “She told you about Mom? And me? About why I’m living with her?”

I nodded. “She told me everything.” A flush of color rose in Liza’s cheeks. I suppose she was embarrassed that I knew about her run-in with the law.

“Liza, don’t worry about that. I don’t think any less of you. What you did wasn’t right, but sometimes, when people are laboring under the weight of a terrible grief, when they’re suffering and in pain, they do things they normally wouldn’t. That doesn’t mean they are bad people. Even if, sometimes, they act like they are.” I paused for a moment before going on.

“You may not believe it, but Abigail really has changed. Truly. She realizes what she’s done, and she’s sorry. She wants another chance. She wants to make things right between you. She wants you to come home.”

“She does? How nice for her!” Liza let out one bitter laugh. “Isn’t that just her all over? Abigail wants another chance. Abigail wants me to come home. Abigail! Abigail! It’s always about her! Abigail wants something, and everyone is supposed to run to get it for her. Not this time. Abigail’s sorry? Well,
I’m
sorry, but I really don’t give a damn what she wants! And I’m not going back!” She pulled away from me, turned, and started to walk toward the gate that separated the Burgess family plot from the others. I reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Liza! Wait a minute! This isn’t about Abigail. It’s about you. She’s your only living relative, your only surviving link with your mother. Whether you know it or not, whether you like it or not, you need Abigail.”

“No, I don’t!” Liza shouted as she spun around to face me again. Angry tears filled her eyes. “I don’t need anybody. You can’t trust people! They always let you down! They always leave!”

I nodded. “I know all about that. It’s true, Liza. Sometimes the people who are supposed to love you most let you down. My husband left me. After twenty-eight years, he decided he didn’t love me anymore. And it hurt, Liza. It hurt so badly that I wanted to close myself up in a box and hide. I didn’t want to risk being hurt again. For months and months, I just cut myself off from everyone. I sat at my kitchen table and cried and felt sorry for myself. I stayed there for a long, long time, but eventually I realized I had to get up and move on. I had to! Even if it meant that I’d fail or get hurt again. Liza, everything that makes life worth living—finding love, finding our dreams, trying to make them come true—is risky, but we can’t do any of those things alone. It took me a long time to realize that, but it’s true.” Liza’s breath was coming out in short, frozen bursts, and her chest rose and fell heavily as she tried to calm herself. I took a step nearer.

“I think that’s what Abigail is realizing. You might not believe it, but I think you should come home and find out for yourself. You and your Aunt Abigail are very much alike. And you’re about to fall into the same pit that she’s been trapped in for all these years. You’re going to cut yourself off from everything that matters—from family, friends, and any possibility of finding love or happiness—all because you’re afraid of getting hurt again. You say you hate Abigail, but you’re about to make all the same mistakes she has. Come back with me, Liza. Listen to what Abigail has to say, not for her sake, but for your own.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Liza whispered. “It hurts so much.” She lifted her head and looked around the frozen graveyard at the rows and rows of stone markers surrounding us. “Sometimes I just want it to be over.”

Her eyes were so weary, so sad. Eyes too old for such a young face. My heart broke for her.

“I know,” I said. “There are times when I’ve felt that way too, like I just wanted to give up, but I’m glad I didn’t. If I had, I’d never have met you. And that’s something I wouldn’t have wanted to miss. We’re not meant to live alone, Liza. Everyone needs someone to care about and someone who cares about them. We need someone to share with, to laugh with, someone who’ll yell at us when we mess up.” I smiled and reached up to wipe a tear from Liza’s frozen cheek. “We need someone to go to accordion concerts with.”

Liza sniffed and tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. Her face folded in on itself, crumpled into an expression of despair. She turned her head and covered her face with one hand. “Evelyn, you’re so nice to me. You’re just like…You remind me so much of Mom.”