Ink and Bone (33 page)

When the parade had concluded, Eloise stood for a moment in the doorway and glanced back at Finley with the very face of love and compassion. But then she, too, was swallowed.

And then the church was just a church, a quiet little place nestled deep in The Hollows Wood. And there was silence, a blessed, perfect silence, except for the singing of the rose-breasted grosbeak, its pretty notes filling the warm spring air. Finley dropped to her knees and let out a wail that was the single dark note of all her sadness and anger and loss.

When she came back to herself, she was on the edge of the hole in the mine, her torso hanging over the abyss with Jones Cooper holding on to her ankles, and a pale and shaken Chuck Ferrigno with a gun in his hand, the shot he’d just fired ringing in Finley’s head.

THIRTY-FOUR

T
he smell of coffee, the hum of the espresso machine woke her. Bacon, cinnamon, eggs, a culinary symphony of aroma enticed Finley to pull the pillow from her head. But then it all came crashing back, as it did every morning since she lost Eloise. And Finley stayed in bed, pulling the covers tight around her, turning away from the idea of breakfast, even though her stomach was growling and she couldn’t afford to lose any more weight. She looked like a ghoul, haunted and wasting.

Then came the pounding on the door. She put the pillow back over her head and clung to it, even as he tried to tug it away from her. He finally succeeded.

“Today’s the day, sis,” said Alfie, loudly snapping the shade open. The light was blinding. What time was it? “You’ve done enough wallowing. This morning, you rejoin the living.”

“Go away, Alfie,” she said.

“No,” he said. “Enough’s enough.”

He gleefully stripped the covers off her bed, leaving her in only a tank top and underpants in the harsh cold of an old house in the morning.

“Go away,” she roared. He ran off laughing, clutching at her blankets. She felt the energy of a laugh, but she tamped it down hard.

“Kids,” said Amanda mildly, walking into the room. Finley’s mother offered the soft chenille robe that was hanging over the chair. Finley took it grudgingly, got up, then sank into the chair by
the window, looking out at the oak tree in Eloise’s yard. It was the oldest oak tree in The Hollows. Today, the branches were bare and black, a stark relief against the blue-gray sky.

“I think you should try to go back to class today,” said Amanda. Her straw-colored hair pulled back into a ponytail, she wore no makeup. She looked as pale and young as the pictures hanging on the wall downstairs. She was small like Eloise, careful in her movements.

Alfie had returned with the covers, and Amanda busied herself making the bed. Then she moved to the dresser, neatly arranging everything there—the phone Finley wouldn’t turn on, the brush she refused to pull through her hair, her wallet with no money, keys she hadn’t touched since Eloise’s memorial.

“I’ll drive you,” said Alfie.

“I’m not ready,” she said.

“You’re never going to be ready,” said Amanda, sitting on the edge of the bed. She folded her hands in her lap, seemed to steel herself. “You have to ready yourself to return to life. Trust me. There’s no magic doorway through grief. Sometimes you just have to bust out.”

Any anger Finley usually had for her mother had drained the night Eloise left. That’s how Finley saw it. Eloise made a choice and left her. Anger and sadness were one ugly mass in her stomach.

“I can’t.”

Amanda didn’t say anything for a moment, just regarded Finley with eyes ringed with fatigue. Finley got a glimpse of her own selfishness; Eloise had been Amanda’s mother. Amanda had been here within twenty-four hours and handled everything from phone calls, to funeral arrangements, to reception details. She handled it all with her usual steely panache. She cried at night when she thought everyone else was sleeping.

Your mother is a stoic
, Eloise had said.
She holds everything in. I don’t think she trusts anyone to take care of her when she’s vulnerable
.

“Let’s at least try for breakfast at the table.”

When Finley had come home that first night, alone except for
Jones, who slept on the couch and stayed until Amanda arrived, they’d found the letters on the kitchen table. One for Jones, for Finley, for Amanda, Alfie, and Ray. Finley’s sat unopened on her dresser. Everyone else had read his, but no one but Ray had talked about it. It seemed that everyone knew Eloise was sick, except for Finley. It was a big secret that everyone kept.

“It’s what she wanted,” Amanda had said when Finley confronted her. “A person has a right to choose how she lives.”

“And how she dies?” asked Finley bitterly.

“Well, yes,” said Amanda, her face going tight with sadness. “Don’t you agree that we deserve that dignity if we can have it?”

“How the hell should I know what we deserve?”

Finley had wished that her father were here. But as usual when he was needed, he was nowhere to be found. He’d called, of course. But when it came to getting on a plane and dealing with the reality of everyone’s grief—that was more than he could do. He’d made excuses about work, his new girlfriend, sent flowers.

“Okay,” said Amanda, lifting her palms. “Okay.”

“She was the only one who understood what I am,” said Finley.

Amanda hung her head. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean—” started Finley.

“No, I get it,” she said. “I screwed up and I’m sorry. Just know, please know, that I was just trying to keep you from having the kind of life she had. That’s all. I’m so sorry.”

A rare embrace had followed, one which went on for hours and in which Finley got her first good sleep since Eloise left.

*  *  *

Now, in the kitchen, Finley ate. She started off refusing, then nibbling, then scarfing down everything on her plate. Amanda and Alfie ate, too. Alfie was going home soon. Amanda was going to stay on for a while, so Finley could decide what to do.

“I never thought I’d be back in this house for any period of time,” said Amanda, clearing the dishes. “But I guess The Hollows gets what it wants.”

After breakfast, Finley took a shower, letting the near-scalding hot water turn her skin pink and fill the shower with steam. What was notable was the silence. For the first time in her life, Finley was alone. Everyone was gone—even Faith and The Three Sisters. The Whispers had been completely quiet. Eloise was right; they finally got what they wanted. There was nothing left to say.

*  *  *

Finley had managed to dress herself when the doorbell rang. It had been nearly a month since the service for Eloise, which was held at the little old church in the woods and attended by hundreds of people from all over the world, even though most of them had to stand outside. It had been simple, and brief, just the way Eloise had specified in her notes to Amanda and Ray.

“There shouldn’t be any grief for me,” she wrote in her note to Ray. “Just know I loved you in my way. And let me go.”

“She had no idea how much I loved her,” Ray had told Finley after the reception when she’d walked him out to his car. “I didn’t even care that she’d never love anyone but Alfie. I just wanted to be with her, to show her some of the happiness of this world.”

“I think she’d have let you if she could,” said Finley. “She wanted to come and be with you. She told me so.”

Eloise had been fighting cancer for the better part of seven years, Finley had learned. It had been in remission until very recently. When it returned, she refused treatment. It was a decision that she’d shared with no one, except her doctor.

Now, Finley stood at the landing, hearing the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Curious, she climbed down the stairs and was surprised to see Eliza and Betty Fitzpatrick in the foyer. She paused on the stairway and tried not to stare at Eliza, who looked pink and healthy, if a little haunted around the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” said Betty, when she saw Finley. “I know your family is grieving a loss. But Eliza wanted so badly to come, to thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” Eliza said. “I’m sorry you lost your grandmother.”

She was a sliver of a girl, with a Dreamer’s eyes, a bright shine.
What else would Eliza see with those eyes? Finley hoped nothing but love and light and laughter. But that wasn’t the way of things, was it?

“She said that it was her time to go,” said Finley, happy to be able to talk about it with someone who could understand. “You couldn’t have done it. And neither could I. It wasn’t our time. Neither of us could have showed them the way home.”

“Real Penny wanted me to do it.”

“She was as lost as any of them,” said Finley. She told Eliza about the fire, how Penny had killed herself to escape the father who abused her and the mother who didn’t believe her. But the girl already knew.

“She didn’t know what she was asking,” Finley said. “They don’t always know.”

Eliza nodded grimly, and Finley led her over to the couch and took her hands.

“My grandmother told me that you would not be scarred by what’s happened to you,” said Finley. “That you will move through the pain and trauma in time, and learn to honor the strength and specialness inside you. Can you feel that?”

Eliza looked toward where her mother had stood and nodded uncertainly.

“I have nightmares,” she said, starting to shake. “I still see him.”

“He’s gone,” she said. “Detective Ferrigno shot him and he fell down the hole.”

“They never found him.”

“He’s gone,” said Finley. She squeezed Eliza’s hands hard. “I swear he’ll never hurt you or anyone ever again.”

“And Bobo?”

“He’s in the hospital,” said Finley. “He won’t be coming out. Not anytime soon.”

The girl’s mouth was just a thin line, her eyes a gray field of sadness. But she’d be happy again one day. Eloise had promised that, and she had never been wrong once.

“I’m sorry you lost her,” said Eliza again.

“She’s with me,” Finley said, just to make the girl feel better. But as the words passed her lips, she knew it was true. She felt stronger than she had in weeks.

“You gave me my daughter back,” Betty said at the door when they left. Her eyes brimmed wet with happiness. “I don’t know how you did it, but you found her. We’ve lost so much—but there are no words for my gratitude.”

“Just honor her,” said Finley. “Honor who she is and what she is. Listen to her, so that she can learn to listen to herself.”

“I will,” said Betty, the words clearly resonating. “I will.”

*  *  *

Finley didn’t make it to class. Instead, Alfie, Amanda, and Finley tended Eloise’s garden. They cleared the overgrowth and trimmed the healthy perennials. Eloise had neglected to clear the annuals, which Finley took to mean that she hadn’t had the energy to do it. Why hadn’t she asked Finley? Because if she had, then Finley would have known that Eloise was sick. And Eloise hadn’t wanted her to know that.

Dear Finley,

Don’t be angry. I know you are. You’re just like your Aunt Emily that way. You’d rather be angry than sad. There’s so much more power in that, or so it seems. Remember it’s okay to be sad, to feel it and then move through.

Their breath came out in clouds as they raked the beds and pulled the weeds, which were withered and brown from the cold. It hadn’t snowed again since that first snowfall, but the ground was hard and the sky was a persistent gray.

“This is what I hate about the Northeast,” said Amanda, who also hated gardening. “You don’t see the goddamn sky from November through March.”

“It’s not that bad,” said Finley, seeking just one patch of blue to point at. But there was nothing. Amanda blew out a breath but didn’t argue. She still had that hollowed look that grief gave a per
son, that sinking under the eyes, that thinness to the mouth. It had made her quieter, less eager to take up an argument.

“I’m going in to make some hot chocolate,” Amanda said after a while. She leaned her shovel against the house and peeled off her gloves.

“Sweet,” said Alfie. He dropped his rake and rubbed his hands together. It was his last weekend. On Monday, he was going back to Seattle. “I’ll help.”

“You coming?” said Amanda to Finley, who was still raking.

“Call me when it’s ready,” she said with a smile. “I’m going to bag up the mess.”

We all have our time and season in this life. And I have had mine. Now I can do what I think has been expected of me all along. I just wasn’t ready to let go until now.

Finley bagged up the clippings and the weeds. She liked the work, just like Eloise had, the tending, the cutting and clearing away of dead things, making room for the fresh green buds of new life. Finley trimmed away a few brown branches on the Devil’s Walking Stick.

For years Eloise had tried to get rid of the plant, she’d told Finley, only to find it coming back year after year. Finally, she just let be the native plant that she had thought was just a weed. She discovered that its flowers and berries were a valuable nutrition source for butterflies, wasps, and bees. That its fruit drew robins, bluebirds, towhees, thrushes, and rusty blackbirds to her yard. It wasn’t a plant that she had chosen for her garden, but there it was nonetheless. Ralph Waldo Emerson thought of weeds as plants “whose virtues had not yet been discovered.” Eloise decided that she would take the same position. She let the plant grow, only to discover that it flowered in autumn, enjoying a final color show before winter fell.

You have been a joy to me, Finley. You are so much more native, so much more in charge of your gifts than I ever was. The road you walk will be easier
and more fulfilling than mine, I’m sure. And I will always be here for you. My great love for you does not end with my passing. You, better than anyone, must know that. So hold that love in your heart and let me go.

Finley heard her mother calling, but she wasn’t ready to go inside, even though the sun was dropping and the air growing colder. When the bag was full, she tied it and sat on the little bench, spent. Her body ached from the work, reminding her that she was horribly out of shape. She took a deep breath and surveyed her work, as the sun dropped lower.

“Finley!” Her mother’s voice carried on the air, faint and beckoning.

“Coming, Mom!”

She was about to go inside when something caught her eye, a glitter, a rush of shadow. When she turned back, Eloise and her grandfather Alfie stood over by the garden gate, looking as bright and giddy as a pair of lovebirds. Finley half expected to see a robin come down and land on Eloise’s finger as they approached.

Finley wanted to be angry, to rage, to cling to her sadness, but instead she felt the energy of a smile. Finley never realized how much she looked like Eloise when her grandmother was younger and happier with everything before her.

“Are you ready to let me go?” asked Eloise.

Eloise told Finley long ago that a haunting was a relationship, that the dead clung to the living only as much as the living clung to the dead.