The Fall of Never(76)

“What is this?” Opening the folder, Kelly withdrew a series of watercolor paintings done on thick leaves of cardboard. It was evident that they’d been recently painted—some of the paint had even smeared after being slid inside the leather folder—and it was also evident that the artist had taken great care in their creation. They were done beautifully: forested landscapes, a bridge over a tiny river, a quaint little town square…

“Glenda, will you look at this…?”

It was a portrait of Kelly.

“That’s you, dear,” Glenda said, amused. “Well, now—what do you think about that? Something special.”

“I…yes, I think so. Jesus.”

“Isn’t that just something?”

“When did he come by?”

“This morning. You were sound asleep.”

“Do you think you could get me his number? I’d like to see him.”

“Yes-yes-yes,” Glenda said. “What a nice boy. But be sure you feel better first.”

“I’m all right,” Kelly said, pulling herself from bed. The room tilted briefly to one side before righting itself again. “Thank you, Glenda. I mean it.”

Glenda paused by the bedroom door, warmed by Kelly’s appreciation. “Darling,” she said, and disappeared.

Downstairs, her mother was locked away in her sewing room while her father sat motionless in what had once been his purple hunting room. He caught her from the corner of his eye slipping past the doorway and called to her.

“Kelly…”

“Daddy,” she said.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m okay.”

“It’s a good thing Jeffrey found you when he did.”

“Yes,” she said, wondering what Kildare had been doing out there in the first place. “Is he around? I’d like to thank him.”

“Oh, I guess he’s around somewhere.”

She took a step further into the room and shivered. The curtains were drawn across the immense windows and only a tiny desk lamp at the rear of the room was turned on, providing little light. Her father rested in a large cushioned chair in a buttoned shirt and black slacks, his large feet bare. He looked at her with only the most docile observation, as if casually staring out a window and across a field bustling with wildflowers.

“You should open the curtains, get some light in here,” was all she could think to say.

A phantom smile passed through his lips and he looked away from her, hardly waving the fingers of his right hand. “I think…” he began, then paused. “I think your sister’s getting better.”

“Oh?”

“She looks healthier, don’t you think? Her skin color is good.”

“Dad…”

“I hope this doesn’t go on too much longer. She is a good girl, Becky. She’s terribly quiet some—”

“Why were you crying that day?” she said suddenly. It was stupid—there was no way he could remember—yet she continued. “When I was just a little girl. Do you remember? I saw you at the bottom of the stairwell and you were bent over and crying. I can’t remember…I think I went to you and I think you turned away…” The words flooded out of her before she could stop them, or even consider exactly what she was saying. And the words returned the image to her again—her father, crumpled in a heap at the foot of a darkened stairwell.

Her father’s eyes slowly rose to meet hers. They were sloppy and red in their sockets, as if he’d been drinking. Stark and shallow, his eyes were incapable of emotion, empty of passion. Incapable, also, of comprehension, Kelly saw.

“You remember, don’t you?” she persisted, now against her own will. She didn’t want to talk to this man, nor did she want to rekindle any memories he may have doused so long ago.

“You shouldn’t be angry at things,” he said. “You’re still sick.”

“I’m not sick. And I’m not angry. I’m just trying to figure some things out for myself. It’s important to me.”

“Yes.” Her father nodded once then turned to look at the bank of drawn windows. “I don’t think that happened. All that crying you say.”

“I remember it.”

“No,” he said, “I don’t think it did. Strange, though.”

“Dad.”

“It is.” He turned again to face her. “I love you, Kelly. Did you know that?”

She suddenly wanted to collapse to the floor, sobbing. Instead, she closed her eyes briefly and frowned.

Behind her eyelids, the world was spinning on its side.



It was a twenty-five minute walk from the compound to the foot of the hill on which the house rested. Bundled against the cold, Kelly covered the distance by herself, desperate to get away from the house for a while. It was late afternoon and the sky was the color of iron, with thick storm clouds still looming over the horizon. As the wooded hillside gradually flattened out and congregated with the valley and the adjoining town road below, the snow tapered off. The dirt road had been cleared, although she couldn’t imagine too many vehicles occupying it, and the entire valley smelled strongly of cedar and musk. Some distance ahead she could make out the steeple of the town church and some of the taller buildings just beyond a veil of snow-covered trees.