Jacob's Ladder (19 page)

“Well, maybe that's the purpose of an afterlife,” Thomas replied. “Maybe the mercy we don't find here, we'll find there.”

A barge moved along the river. They both glanced up to watch the vessel as it passed. It was long and empty except for a few old tires and large spools of rope. Lights danced along the sides. One man stood inside the small captain's cabin. They waited until it was all the way to the bridge before speaking again.

“Rip came by yesterday,” Rose finally said, glad to be able to tell him about everything that had happened.

He nodded.

She saw that he had already heard. “Mary?” she guessed, remembering that her friend had also told the sheriff.

“Lou Ellen again,” he replied. “She was in quite the confessional mode. She told me practically everything, about you, about her. Some of it was more than I really wanted to know.” He smiled. “Anyway, she said that you were upset that he was here, that he brought his new wife with him.”

Rose didn't reply.

“She said she didn't know what you talked about,” Thomas said. “That you didn't tell her that.”

Rose nodded. She remembered how she had felt after her ex-husband drove away, how she hadn't mentioned to her friends his reason for coming. She wondered if Thomas was waiting for her to tell him, whether he was curious about what had been exchanged between her and her ex-husband. But she understood that being nosy was not a trait of this man she had come to love. Thomas was content to wait to hear from her only when she was ready to tell. That was one of things that drew her to him, the ease with which he let her unfold her stories.

“It's my father,” she said, not really having a reason to keep the news to herself any longer. Besides, she realized, she had already told Sheriff Montgomery. She might as well tell the person who mattered most to her, she decided. “Rip said that his condition has worsened and that I should go back to Rocky Mount to let him say his good-byes.”

Thomas waited awhile before making a reply. Rose could tell by the way he hesitated that he was being very careful with the words he chose, that he understood the weight of the situation.

“And what do you think?” he finally asked, knowing some of the history between Rose and her only surviving parent.

“I think I don't owe my father anything else. I think it was out of line for Rip to come here with his new bride and tell me this. I don't want to be told that I have to go back there. If I go home, I'll expect him to apologize for all that he put me through, and I'm afraid that once again I'll be gravely disappointed and that I'll be the one to come away feeling guilty.” She drew in a breath. “I'm tired of thinking about him and having to sort through more emotions than a person should have to deal with in one lifetime.” She looked away.

“Why didn't he tell my brother, who, by the way, lives less than ten miles from the nursing home? Why is it that I'm always the one who has to attend to him?”

Thomas didn't respond. He knew Rose's questions weren't really meant to be answered.

“When do you have to make your decision?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she said with a sigh. “If he's as bad as Rip says, then I guess sometime soon.”

Thomas nodded; then he cupped her chin in his hand and gently turned her head so that she was facing him.

“It doesn't matter to any of us what you choose,” he said softly. “We all love you, Rose; Lou Ellen, Mary, Rhonda, Lucas, and I, and we always will.”

He reached up and slid a piece of hair away from the wound on her forehead.

Rose thought he was going to say something more, but he didn't. She expected that he would tell her what he thought she should do, or say he'd go with her, or give her other alternatives to think about. But he only held her. He didn't say another thing until they walked to her camper and he kissed her good night, and then it was only the promise that he would see her in the morning. She watched him walk up the driveway and down the lane toward his place.

Later, however, when she slid into her bed, stretched, and then curled under the cover of a light blanket, she thought about his comment, and she understood completely. What Thomas had said and what he had not said were exactly right. And in spite of the harrowing events of her day, Rose fell fully and calmly into sleep.

TWENTY-TWO

It was late when Rose was finally roused from her sleep. She had slept long and deeply, but she did not feel rested when she woke. She felt troubled, exposed in the way she used to feel as a child and as a young married woman, the way she hadn't felt in months.

She tried to shake it off and glanced over at the clock on the microwave oven and saw that it was almost 11:00
A.M.
She wondered why someone hadn't stopped by or called. She was usually at the office well before that late-morning hour and she was surprised that Mary hadn't driven over in the golf cart or Thomas hadn't arrived at her door to wake her up for work or at least to check on her.

When she sat up, however, the thin skin stretched and swollen across her forehead, an ache instantly reminding her of her recent injury, she saw that she had left the shades on the window by her bed open. Anyone walking by could have seen that she was asleep.

She guessed that she had been looked in on and then left alone. Probably more than once, she thought, realizing how concerned Mary and Ms. Lou Ellen and Thomas had been the night before. She knew that it had been evident to everyone at the cabin that she was tired and in need of a little extra sleep.

She stood up from the bed, a bit wobbly, and fixed a pot of coffee. She wondered where the old and familiar feeling had been for so long, wondered why it had suddenly been brought to the surface once again—if it was a consequence of her headache or of the pending decision she knew she would have to make.

She found the milk in her refrigerator and set it out by the sink. Then she went into the bathroom, threw some water on her face, and looked at herself in the mirror. The wound on her forehead was now blue, the cut had healed over, and the swelling had diminished a bit. All that was left was a large bruise, a slender line above her brow, and the dull throbbing sensation that reminded her of how it felt to slam against the window of Sheriff Montgomery's car.

She studied the injury and decided a little foundation and powder would cover most of the discoloration. After she brushed her teeth and combed her hair, she reached for her makeup bag to disguise the wound and also add a little pink to her cheeks.

As she stared at herself in the mirror, the small sponge carefully blotting against her skin, she leaned in closer, her eyes and the bones of her jaw magnified, and suddenly noticed, to her great surprise, how much she looked like her father. In that instant of recognition, she understood the bump on her head had not been the source of her discontent.

As a child, Rose remembered, she had favored her mother. They shared the same peach skin, the thick dark hair, the faint glow of hopefulness. But this time, as she studied her reflection, recalling only glimpses of her mother from outdated photographs yellowed from time and wrinkled from constant folding and unfolding, and realizing that she had aged well past the early and untimely year of her mother's death, she peered at herself and recognized only her father returning the gaze. The wide nose, the thin brow, the dark nature of his large brown eyes, all of the features of the man she had hidden from most of her life, were now completely hers.

She watched him, pondered him, regarded him. And then she said out loud, as if he were in the room listening, as if he had told her what she had seen for herself, “There you are again.”

Rose put down the sponge and went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. She sat down at her table, trying to erase the reflection from her mind, the trouble in her heart. She knew she would have to decide what to do about visiting her father soon enough, but she didn't want to be reminded of him first thing in the morning. She didn't want to see him so clearly, so closely, and she didn't want to be locked again in the grips of her family's dark history, her father's heavy hand.

She finished her coffee, dressed, and, without the aid of a mirror, continued putting on her makeup. She walked to the office, sorting through the memories, the possibilities, and the matters at hand.

It was cloudy, still cool for the late-morning hour. Rose walked up the driveway, noticing that the group heading to Texas was gone, that a new rig from California was parked three sites down from hers, a large motor home, the expensive kind, with three bedrooms and top-of-the-line appliances. She eyed the luxurious vehicle, the heavily shaded windows, wishing she could get a closer view, and wondered who was staying in such nice accommodations.

She walked beyond the line of sites on the river and headed past the area that was closed to campers, the yellow police tape still marking the entrance, barring people from heading down to the murder site. She stopped, looked over in the field to the empty place where the camper had been parked, and then moved to the office.

Mary and Ms. Lou Ellen were sitting at the desk behind the counter.

“Rose is finally up,” Mary announced.

Both women turned to their friend as she walked in the door. Relief appeared to settle upon their faces. The dog sat up by the counter and wagged his tail.

“Darling Rose, how are you this morning?” Ms. Lou Ellen asked.

Rose went right to her and, without an answer, leaned over and kissed her friend on the top of her head. Ms. Lou Ellen reached up and took Rose by the hand. She held it for a few minutes.

The act was Rose's way of saying she was fine, of releasing her friend from the guilt that Thomas had said she suffered, and of signaling her affection for the woman who had become so important to her. She wanted her to know not only that was she forgiven but that she was greatly admired and loved. She stood up and smiled, stepping a few feet away from the table.

“I am fit as a fiddle,” she finally replied, not revealing the fretful way she had slept, the decision with which she wrestled, the old veil of trouble now pressing down hard upon her.

“Your head look better,” Mary responded.

She had stood up from her desk and walked over, examining the wound they remembered from the previous night. Mary had already been by her camper at least three times that morning. She had observed her friend's chest rise and fall, saw her body change positions on her bed, and, confident that she was alive and breathing, had decided not to wake her.

“It feels better today,” Rose replied with a smile. “I think being back in my own little camper helped tremendously.”

Ms. Lou Ellen nodded with a wink. “Did you sleep, dear, or did Thomas fulfill his duty?”

She slid papers off of the chair beside her, making room for Rose to sit down.

“‘Fulfill his duty'?” Rose asked, surprised by the question, uncertain of the meaning behind it.

The older woman smiled. “Keeping you awake?”

Rose sat down.

“He was supposed to make sure you didn't go right to sleep,” she said. Then she pointed to her own temple as further means of explanation. “Because of your head wound, dear.” She appeared puzzled at Rose's reaction.

“Oh,” Rose responded. “His duty … I was thinking … Well, never mind what I was thinking.”

Rose rested her elbows on the table. “We stayed up a little while, but I had been alert and conscious for at least six hours since the injury. That's enough time to allow for concussion-related problems.”

“I see,” the older woman replied. “Well, you are the nurse.” She smiled.

“So, what have I missed this morning?” Rose asked.

She reached down and petted the dog. “Lester Earl, you seem to have made a home for yourself here.” The dog stood up and then headed to where Mary had returned. He curled himself between her legs.

“He's trying to win Mary's heart,” Ms. Lou Ellen reported, watching the dog.

“He's your husband,” Mary snapped. She spun around, whipping her legs past the dog, who yelped and then hobbled over to the older woman.

“Ex-husband, Mary dear,” Ms. Lou Ellen replied. “He has his freedom to charm any woman he chooses. And it appears as if he has chosen you.”

“It's okay, Lester Earl,” Rose said as she turned around and faced the counter where Mary was standing. “It takes her awhile, but she'll warm up to you. She did with me when I showed up unattended.” She turned back around, reached across the table, and took part of the newspaper her friend was reading.

“Yes, but I warm up to you because you give me lunch break,” Mary said, eyeing Ms. Lou Ellen's companion.

Rose thought she saw a hint of a smile coming from her friend. She did not comment.

“That's the only reason?” she asked.

“Of course,” Mary replied.

“Well, I never thought I'd see such a thing. Mary demonstrating good humor.” Ms. Lou Ellen grinned.

Mary made a hissing noise, moved to her seat at the desk, and began reading the mail.

“So, what's happening in West Memphis today?” Rose asked. She skimmed over the front page.

“Just the usual,” Ms. Lou Ellen replied. “A couple of car wrecks, at least one church supper, and high school baseball.” She was reading the obituaries.

Rose flipped through the section she had picked up, wondering if there had been any mention of her kidnapping or of the murder of the man from New Mexico.

“Clyde Gilbert died,” the older woman said somberly. “He had cancer, I think. And he was a very sweaty man, if I remember correctly.”

“Well, I assume it was the cancer that killed him, since I don't recall ever hearing of death by perspiration,” Rose responded.

“Doesn't say,” she replied. “The family will receive guests later this evening.”

“Maybe you take them some of Rose's funeral food,” Mary suggested as she threw away some junk mail.