The Book of James (25 page)

But it wasn’t going to be easy. As far as I could tel , I held the most important card in whatever game Cora and I were playing:

my husband’s rotting corpse. Cora would make me suffer for it,

but she seemed very certain I wouldn’t just pack up and go. And

she was right.

The woods were so quiet it was eerie. Cora leaned back against a

tree, her head down, her eyes shut. She took slow, deep breaths.

The memories that had been surfacing for the past week were right beneath her eyelids all the time now.

The path where she stood was devoid of growth, the result of

almost a century of foot traffic. It ran straight through the thickest part of the woods, then forked. The left path, now mostly over-grown, ended at the iron gates of the cemetery. The right trail

continued through the woods to what had once been a swimming

hole.The air smelled like pine. Pine and old leaves. She ran her fingertips over the trunk and tried to concentrate. She’d come here

for a purpose. There was no time for the past to fill her mind so completely that she couldn’t finish what needed to be done.

The sun broke through the tree branches, creating a pattern

of light across the soft earth. Her mind flashed to one summer

morning more than sixty years before, when she had walked this

very path with her mother. Her mother had carried a basket in one hand and clasped Cora’s fingers with the other. They were headed

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to the small swimming hole fed by the creek deep in the woods.

She’d planned a picnic, and Cora had helped to make cheese sand-

wiches earlier that morning. They spread a blanket in a nice spot and put the food out on napkins. Cheese sandwiches and fruit.

Her mother’s stomach was swollen with pregnancy, her move-

ments slow and clumsy. They sat for hours and listened to the

sounds of the water and the birds. Her mother told her the baby

was coming into the world soon and she would have a little brother or sister. Cora still remembered the feeling of that conversation: contentment, happiness, peace.

They sat by the water and watched for frogs. When Cora saw

one, she ran wildly in pursuit. Her mother laughed at her antics—

the only time Cora could remember her mother laughing. She sat

on a large rock, her blue maternity dress pulled up just a little, her head tilted back. A deep, throaty ruffle of a laugh came from her small frame.

These memories, so real, confused Cora, disoriented her. She

opened her eyes, uncertain of her surroundings, like waking from

a vivid dream. She pushed off the tree trunk where she’d been leaning and rushed down the path. Determined to get to the swim-

ming hole before it was too late. If she could get to the swimming hole, maybe she could stop what was about to happen.

She saw movement in front of her, a rustle of leaves. Heard the

crackle of footsteps on pine needles. But the quicker she chased

those sounds down the path, the fainter they became.

She reached the creek and stopped abruptly, half of her shoe

sinking into the mud at the water’s edge. The sides of the swim-

ming hole had been banked up long ago. But the large rock where

her mother had sat that day was still there; the remnants of the

rope swing still hung from a tree limb far above.

Cora heard her father’s voice in her ears. He was calling for her mother. He was angry.

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“No, Mother, get up, now. Run.” She stood by the creek, shout-

ing to the images in her mind.

Her father. Her father was long dead. But Cora saw him com-

ing through the trees. He walked right past where she stood.

“Get Cora and get out of here, now! Mother, please,” she cried.

She sank down to the ground and began to cry. “Don’t let this happen again. Not again.”

She ducked her head down and covered it with her arms. She

knew what happened next—every word, every movement. She’d

relived it in her head forever.

“It won’t happen again, Edward, I promise. It was just one time,”

her mother said. She was sobbing. She had done the unthinkable.

She’d ventured out of those gates earlier, unaccompanied, without permission.

He grabbed at her and took a fistful of her hair. “You disobeyed

me. You made a fool of me in front of the help.”

He hit her. He slapped her face and hit her about her pregnant

body. Then he let her go, or he pushed her, Cora wasn’t sure. She fell facedown into the dirt and didn’t move. Cora ran. Four years old. She ran and ran until the screams faded. She climbed the fence and hid under the Coopers’ front porch for what seemed like days.

When an eternity had passed, she went back to the swimming

hole. The basket and blanket were still there. Everyone was gone.

Something bad was happening, Cora knew. She sat on the blanket

and hugged her knees. She ate part of a sandwich that was left and pretended that her mother was still there with her. Cora would

talk to her and then answer for her. She pretended that they were together until it was so dark she couldn’t see in front of her. Then she packed everything up and went home, thinking her mother

would be proud that she’d managed the heavy basket. But when

she let herself in through the side doors, the sounds of her moth-er’s screams filled the house. She screamed until her labor went

into the second day and she was too weak to make noise. Her

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screams and those of Cora’s baby brother filled the house long after they were dead.

Cora allowed herself to feel every moment of those memo-

ries, then she opened her eyes. There was nothing. Just a creek

now. She slumped forward a little to try and catch her breath. She had to focus on what was important. Her mother and father were

both long dead. Cora opened her eyes to find nothing there. Just

the filled-in creek. Retracing her steps, she found the gate of the cemetery.

The fence was made of stone with a wrought-iron gate, locked

tight. Cora had a key and had refused to use it since the day they lowered her father’s rotting carcass into the ground. Now she hesitated and took a deep breath. The key fit into the old lock and

turned without resistance. She pushed the worn gate open and

looked around. Grass had grown up almost knee high. Inkberry

trees spread out across one side, stretching and filling an empty corner, the branches creating havoc in the small space.

She allowed herself only a brief glance toward the headstone in

the far corner that peeked out above weeds. She didn’t want to see her father’s grave, to be so close to him. She had to care about only one thing now. Nick was coming home.

The spot where she would put his body was as far away from

her mother and father as possible. It was clear on the other side of the cemetery, shaded by the branches of a large oak that grew

outside the wal s. Someday, she and Nick could be there together, at peace, forever. They deserved that.

She dropped to her knees and started clearing the weeds.

I stood in my room before a full-length mirror. Fuck Cora. I wasn’t moving Nick’s body anywhere. My only hope was that I could

wrap things up here quickly and get out before she started making funeral arrangements. I could only imagine who might attend this

ceremony. Me, Cora, Ginny and her brother, Dr. Cooper? Four of

us standing around in black on her family plot while Cora exer-

cised her last bit of control over Nick’s life? She’d have to kill me first. I brushed my hair and pulled it back. I realized I still had Dylan’s girlfriend’s shirt. Maybe he wanted it back for old time’s sake. And I felt like talking.

He opened the door, dressed in shorts and a gray T-shirt. He

looked tired. “Bad timing?” I asked. I looked at my watch. It was almost nine at night. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late.”

He motioned me in. “It’s been a long day, I was on my way to

bed. I have an early meeting in the morning and then court at nine.

What’s up?”

“Just wanted to bring your shirt back and to talk for a little bit, but I forget people have lives and I’ve interrupted yours. Here.” I 208

ELLEN J. GREEN

handed him the shirt. “It’s not clean—you see, Sunday is laundry

day and I could’ve waited, but I kind of wanted your company.”

He smiled at me. A weary smile. “You can sit down.”

I sat on the edge of the sofa a little uneasily. “You don’t look

too good.”

He sat next to me. “Nah. I’m fine. I’m actual y glad you’re here.

I was going to call you anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“I was talking to my father today, and I told him about our trip

out to see the gardener. About how you went inside and I sat in the car. About Nick being locked in a room with his Bible. All of it.”

“And?”

“Very odd. He started defending Cora. Telling me that what

happened back then wasn’t her fault. Leave the woman alone. Stay

out of it. Stay away from you.”

I was intrigued. All worries about intruding on Dylan van-

ished. “Defending her?”

He nodded. “He said she’s gone through a lot in her life. People

don’t understand her. Then I heard him on the phone not even ten

minutes later. He wasn’t yelling, but almost.”

I felt a little ball in my stomach that was twisting as he talked.

“Who was he talking to?”

“That’s the thing. He said he was talking to this pain-in-the-ass client, John Sherman. I didn’t think much of it because Sherman

cal s twenty times a day. But I had occasion to talk to Sherman later that day, and he said my father hadn’t returned any of his cal s.”

“So who was he yelling at? What was he saying?”

Dylan shrugged. “I didn’t have my ear up to the door. I couldn’t

even hear words, but he was angry. Then it dawned on me that this was not even ten minutes after I was telling him about the gardener. So I think they’re connected.”

“So wait, how close was your father to the family?”

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“He met Nick’s father in law school, and they started this

firm together. He always handled all Bradford’s legal affairs when Bradford was out of town, and once Bradford died, he handled

Nick’s too.”

I was sitting there absorbing all this when I suddenly stood up.

“Hey, take a walk with me? It’s nice out. Not too cold. Just put on jeans or something.”

He arched one brow, amused or bewildered. “I think I’m going

to go to bed.”

“You’ve just been going over this in your mind for hours, hav-

en’t you? You’re not going to sleep, you’re all wound up. So get

dressed and we’ll go for a walk. I could use it too.”

He shook his head dubiously, but changed his clothes. We

left the house and walked toward town. “So what do we do about

this?” I asked.

He hesitated. “I’ve told you, it’s not like my dad and I are close anymore. But it’s unlike him to hedge around something that

should have a simple explanation. I’ll check his office when I get a chance, see if there’s anything there. But I don’t think this is a legal issue. I think it has something to do with his friendship with Bradford.”

In the center of town we found a bench. I sat down and closed

my eyes. Neither of us said anything for the longest time. But it was a comfortable silence.

“I’m so mad at Nick,” I said, breaking the silence, “and I know

it’s pointless. But when I die, if I see him, I’m going to punch him in the face. Hard.” Dylan laughed. “It’s not funny. Oh, and guess what?” I grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. “Cora wants to exhume

his body and have him buried in her family plot.”

Dylan turned to me with an incredulous look on his face.

“What?”

“Yeah, she keeps telling me that Nick is a Monroe and belongs

in her family plot, not next to his father.”

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“How’s she figure he’s more a Monroe than a Whitfield?”

I shrugged. “Who knows. All I know is that the idea got her so

excited that she touched me with those cold lizard hands of hers.”

“She can’t do anything without your approval.”

“I know. And I think that’s why she’s been so generous in let-

ting me stay; she wants my signature. But I have no intention of

giving it. And get this.” I hit his arm. “In the middle of all this, she refused to let my friend Samantha stay with me. Sam’s flying down from Portland. She texted me. Day after tomorrow. I thought she

could stay in my room with me. But Cora said no.”

“Did you offer to trade Nick’s body for a room at her house?”

He was laughing.

“No, but I thought about it. She’d probably dress him in those

old clothes she’s been keeping and prop him up in bed.” It was such a terrible thought that I had to laugh. We stood and started walking again.

“Your friend can stay with me if you want,” he offered.

Something rumbled deep inside my head. “You wouldn’t mind

the intrusion?”

“Intrusion? You’re at my door all the time as it is, how much

more of an intrusion could it possibly be?”

“Ha ha.”

He smiled. “At least this time you weren’t covered in dirt,

leaves, gravel, or briars—or trying to climb fences. Or forcing me into that crummy car.”

We’d walked all the way back to his house. I looked at my

watch. We’d been gone almost an hour. I felt good, like the walk

had taken his mind off his father.

“Yeah, wel . Next time, maybe,” I said.

“Is your friend anything like you?”