Read The Circle of Blood Online

Authors: Alane Ferguson

The Circle of Blood (14 page)

BOOK: The Circle of Blood
13.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
Again Cameryn felt the grip of her grandmother’s hands tighten against hers. “You have to understand, we knew Hannah was ill back then, back before Jayne died. We knew she needed help. Your father took her to a doctor. Medicines were prescribed. But without telling us, your mother stopped taking her pills. Instead, she began smoking marijuana as a sort of self-medication. She thought it was a ‘natural’ remedy. She refused to listen to reason.”
“What?” Cameryn asked, incredulous. “But Hannah
hates
drugs. She told me so. The first week she was here she said to stay away from drugs because they were poison. ”
Nodding tersely, Mammaw said, “Nevertheless. The truth is, your mother got high every day, trying to treat herself instead of listening to the ones who knew best.”
The bite of pie turned sour in Cameryn’s mouth. Pulling her hand away, she protested, “But Hannah’s not smoking pot—”
“I’m talking about
then
, not
now
,” her grandmother interrupted. “Please, just listen to the story, girl. You may think your father and I have been too harsh with her, but there is a reason. At the time, your mother’s moods got worse and worse, and yet she refused all reason. I suspected—oh, I suspected—but Hannah lied and lied and
lied
to my face. She lied to both of us.” She sighed. “In the end, your father believed her, but I knew better. Patrick loved Hannah, right up until that day . . .”
Mammaw faltered. Shutting her eyes, she waited a moment, swallowing so hard Cameryn could see the faint undulation in her neck. “On the day your sister . . . died . . . your father found Hannah alone inside the house. She was smoking a joint, while you and little Jayne were all by yourselves outside.
“Patrick just lost it. He called her a bad mother. Hannah didn’t want to hear it. She jumped in her car and raced out of the driveway so fast she didn’t see . . .” Once again her grandmother reached out for Cameryn’s hand, cradled it between the two of hers. “Do you understand now? Your father—I—we could never forgive Hannah for what she did. The wastefulness of an angel lost. All because of stubbornness and stupidity.”
“Mammaw, I know it was wrong,” Cameryn pleaded, “but—it was still an accident.”
Mammaw fired up once again. “Is it an accident when someone’s
deliberate actions
cause a tragedy? No, no, no—back then, even Hannah realized the truth. The guilt made her try to end her own life, another sin before God to add to the first. And still your father wanted her back, until . . .”
“Until what?”
There was a beat. Slowly, her grandmother shook her head. “No, that part of the story is for your father to share.”
Cameryn felt every muscle tense. “Why are you telling me this?” she whispered.
The frown lines deepened. “Because a long time ago, your father lost himself to that woman. I don’t want to see the same thing happen to you.” Reaching up, she stroked Cameryn’s cheek. “I’m just telling you to be careful. You’ve got a big heart. You need to guard it.”
“And you’ve got a big heart,” Cameryn answered softly. “You need to use it.”
Her grandmother’s eyes widened as she pulled away. The chair creaked as she stood, her snowman earrings trembling indignantly. A crispness had returned to her voice as she said, “When I began this conversation I didn’t expect to get your cheek, Cameryn.”
“No, that’s not the way I meant it. Really, Mammaw. It’s just, everyone makes mistakes. Hannah was sorry, wasn’t she? We’re supposed to forgive, aren’t we? I mean, we’ve been going to church all my life and that’s what I learned from you. That’s all I was trying to say. Honest.”
Cameryn could tell Mammaw was wavering. Finally, with a slight nod, she said, “So you’ve been listening to the sermons, after all. Well, I suppose you’ve given me something to pray about. Speaking of which, look at the time! Since I’m needing to say a rosary for the both of us, I’d better go.” She plucked her coat off the coat rack and shrugged it on. “Mind you don’t stay at the Wingate all day.”
“I won’t. Thanks, Mammaw. For understanding,” Cameryn said, and meant it.
“I’ll tell Father John you’ll be there next week, no excuses.” With that she grabbed her oversized purse and slung in onto her shoulder as she hurried out the kitchen. The door slammed, and Mammaw was gone.
Hannah used marijuana as a kind of self-medication. . . . The guilt made her try to end her own life, another sin before God to add to the first. . . . A long time ago, your father lost himself. . . . I don’t want to see the same thing happen to you.
The words ran through Cameryn’s mind as she let herself into the Wingate, using a brass key her mother had given her. She had thought of nothing else on the drive over. It was clear that her grandmother believed the revelation of Hannah’s past would drive some sort of wedge between Cameryn and her mother, and yet, just the opposite had occurred. Cameryn now realized that her mother had not been well. Trying to make herself better, Hannah had paid for her bad choices in the cruelest of ways: with the loss of her child. No wonder she’d attempted to take her own life. The story explained so much—her mammaw’s and her father’s animosity and Hannah’s ice-cold fear. But they had all miscalculated Cameryn’s loyalty. Cameryn would stick, no matter what. Some kids at school smoked pot, and she knew the signs, knew the smell, and she was positive Hannah was clean. Since there was no way to undo the past, they all needed to let it go. It was as dead as her sister.
The hexagonal stairs rose up before her and she climbed them quickly.
She wouldn’t get lost. It was the other way around. It was Hannah who might drift away, somewhere inside her own head. It was Cameryn’s job to make sure that didn’t happen.
Knocking against the door with her knuckle, she could hear a choking sound and someone softly blowing her nose.
“Mom, it’s me,” she said, and tapped again.
“It’s open,” came floating through the door. Hinges squeaked as Cameryn pushed inside. It looked as though Hannah had been crying. She was half-sitting, half-lying on her bed beneath a comforter, her long hair falling around her like a dark waterfall, rippling and wild. The skin on her face was flushed with two red spots, one on each cheek, as if they’d been painted with watercolor. Instead of a nightgown she wore a T-shirt with long sleeves.
Rubbing her eyes with her palms, Hannah tried to smile, raising herself into a sitting position. “I’m so glad you’re here. Come,” she said weakly, patting the mattress with her hand. Crumpled wads of Kleenex dotted the comforter like balls of snow. “But shouldn’t you be in church?”
“I skipped it.”
“Today is a bad day,” Hannah said, her voice quivering. “I’ve read about . . . what happened.” A fresh wave of tears streamed down her face. “I can’t believe it. That child put a bullet into her head. I hope . . . your running after her—didn’t put her over the edge!”
Awkward, Cameryn reached out and patted her mother’s forearm. “It’s okay,” she told her. “If someone wants to kill themselves, they’ll pretty much do it. I don’t think my chasing her had any effect on her decision.” A newspaper was clutched in her mother’s hand; gently, Cameryn removed it and placed it on the nightstand.
“Cammie, did you—did you see her?”
“Yes, and I went to Durango last night. Dr. Moore did the autopsy.”
“I thought the police would call me, but they never did. I waited and waited for the sheriff to come to my door. Then I knew you didn’t tell.” When she looked at Cameryn, her eyes filmed with tears.
“I didn’t say anything about your wallet. You caught a break, because it wasn’t found on Mariah. She must have ditched it.”
“I’m scared, Cammie.”
Cameryn stood absolutely still. “Scared of what?”
But her mother closed her eyes.
“Scared of
what
? Hannah, open your eyes and look at me.”
Like a child, her mother shook her head. “Please, don’t tell. I’m so glad you didn’t tell.” Then she did open her eyes, so wide Cameryn could see the white all around. “There’s a . . . stigma . . . attached to people like me. They never forget. Your father is going to say I’m still crazy and they’ll start to talk and I don’t want them to talk. I can’t stand it when people talk about me.”
Pricks of electricity burned beneath Cameryn’s skin. The
boom-boom-boom
of her heart beating against her ribs was physical. Then she saw it, a flash, like a fish scale beneath water. “Han—Mom—what do you have in your hand?” Her mother was worrying something between her fingers. Cameryn could see silver metal flash against the light.
At first Hannah pushed her fist beneath the covers, but then gradually, she held out her hand. Slowly, twisting her fingers toward the ceiling, she opened her hand palm-up.
“It’s a ring,” Cameryn breathed. “Is that yours?”
No answer.
“Mom, where did you get that ring? If it’s not yours, whose is it?”
“Mariah left it in the cup holder of my car. She said she didn’t want it anymore.”
Plucking it from her mother’s extended palm, Cameryn peered at the ring’s design. The words
Keep Sweet
had been carved into the silver, but not the way a jeweler would do it. The words were rough, etched with block letters.
“Mariah left this in your car? When?”
“After she climbed in. She dropped it in the cup holder and said, ‘I don’t need this anymore. I don’t want to keep sweet.’” Hannah pulled her legs up to her chest so that the quilt made a tent. Hugging her knees, she rested her forehead into the fabric; her face was hidden behind quilt and hair.
“Mom, this is evidence.”
She shrugged. “You can give it to the police. I don’t want it.”
Cameryn felt a stab of fear. She began to pace, back and forth, trying to get her thoughts in a row. “How? How can I say I found it? We did a complete sweep of that alleyway. Pictures were taken. If I tell them the truth, the trail will lead straight back to you.”
“What happens now?” Hannah asked, her voice trusting.
Cameryn’s mind moved in fits and starts as she sifted through the data, for a moment not realizing that her own hand had drifted to her mouth, pressing her lips as if that could keep her thoughts sealed inside.
“I want to keep this ring,” she said finally. As she stood and looked down on her mother’s bent head, at the wavy hair, she reached out to touch it. “I’ve got to keep the ring,” Cameryn said again, louder this time.
Her mother’s tear-streaked face looked up at her. “I don’t care. I don’t want it.”
“Okay,” Cameryn said, thinking hard. “For now, they think Mariah most likely committed suicide. If that’s true then there is no reason for you to get dragged into this. As long as it stays that way, I think it’s best to keep everything quiet.”
"So you won’t tell?”
“Not yet.” It was all she could promise, because it was as far as she could think through. “The wallet wasn’t in the backpack. It might show up somewhere again. Did you report it stolen?”
Swallowing, her mother looked at her with wide eyes. There were flecks in Hannah’s eyes that matched Cameryn’s, little bits of gold, proof of the DNA that knit them together.
“No,” Hannah whispered. “I haven’t told anyone. After you called, I went straight home. I promise.”
Cameryn nodded. “In case they find it in a Dumpster somewhere, you have to say you had your purse in your car and you left your car unlocked. Someone stole your wallet and you just didn’t want to go through the hassle of reporting it. I don’t think it’s going to turn up, but in case it does, we have to be ready. We both need the same story. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I understand.” The knees, which had tented the sheet, disappeared back into the bed. Hannah gave a small smile, a child’s trusting smile. “You’re trying to help me.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Of course I’ll help you,” Cameryn answered. “You’re my mother.”
Hannah began to laugh, but then her face changed again as she tried to hold back a sob. With shoulders quaking, she patted the bed even harder. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I brought you into this mess.”
Cameryn perched on the edge of the bed as a tear rolled down Hannah’s cheek to fall quietly onto a quilted rose.
“I have to go now,” Cameryn said. She felt helpless, utterly helpless. She wanted to get up and run but instead she made herself be calm.
If it’s ruled a murder, I’ll deal with it then,
she told herself. Aloud, she said, “Tomorrow I’ve got to go back to Durango to finish the autopsy. There are some things I need to check out now.”
Hannah paused. Once again the expression shifted. She began to pick at a loose thread, pulling a loop free. “They think it’s a suicide, right?”
“Dr. Moore hasn’t figured out a manner of death yet. Tomorrow he will.”
“It’s so sad, the way she cut off her pretty hair.” As Hannah pressed her fingertips into her forehead, Cameryn tried to quell the sick feeling roiling in her stomach.
“Mom—how did you know about the hair?”
“What?” Hannah’s face looked flat and empty, far away, as if her soul hung miles above the mountain clouds. “Oh, the cook from High Noon Burgers, Barry something—he’s Mrs. Kennedy’s son. She told me this morning. I guess it’s hard to keep a secret in a small town.”
BOOK: The Circle of Blood
13.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Lords of the Bow by Conn Iggulden
A Thousand Stitches by Constance O'Keefe
Only Superhuman by Christopher L. Bennett
El caballero del jubón amarillo by Arturo Pérez-Reverte
Center Ice by Cate Cameron
Goodbye Normal by Lily N Anderson