The Last House on the Street(76)

I’m completely in the dark. “I didn’t know that’s how your husband died,” I say.

“Went out in those woods right where your house is now and shot himself in the head. Took us two days to find him.”

Oh no. My hands grow damp on the steering wheel. Why hadn’t anyone told me? Had Jackson known? Did he keep that from me, too? That, and the little girl who drowned in the lake?

“My daughter never cared about me,” Miss Pat prattles on. “Why should I care about her?” She points to the small parking lot in front of a brick medical building. “This is it,” she says. “Just turn in here.”



* * *



When I bring Miss Pat home an hour and a half later, Brenda greets us on the porch.

“Thank you, thank you!” she calls to me as I help Miss Pat up the porch steps. “You saved us.”

“It was no trouble,” I say as the old woman and I reach the top step. I raise my voice as Mrs. Hockley reaches for the handle of the screen door. “It was nice chatting with you, Miss Pat!”

She waves without turning around, and Brenda helps her open the door. “You go on in, Mama, and I’ll be in in a minute,” she says. Once she sees the old woman safely inside, she turns to me.

“Did she talk to you?” she asks. It seems like an odd question.

“A bit,” I say. “She told me how much she adores you. I guess you’ve been the daughter to her that Ellie couldn’t be, since she lived so far away.”

“Well, I adore her, too,” she says. “My mother died when I was thirty and Miss Pat moved right in to fill that spot for me.”

“How did you make out at the dentist?” I ask, to be polite. Her tooth is not what’s on my mind.

“Need a crown, but at least my tooth’s no longer killing me.” She smooths the shorter side of her white hair behind her ear. “Is your little girl doing okay?” she asks. “I hope she’s not too traumatized by the other day. That was so weird.”

“I’m the one who’s traumatized by the other day,” I say. “I’m still mad at myself for not keeping a better eye on her.”

“Well, you don’t expect strangers to be wandering around a neighborhood like this one, do you.”

“Miss Pat mentioned something disturbing,” I say, changing the subject. “Did Ellie’s father kill himself in the woods by my house?”

“Yeah, he did.” She looks down the street where my house waits for me. I have the unnerving sense that it’s alive. That it’s mocking me. “That was a horrible time,” Brenda continues. “And Ellie didn’t even come home for the funeral.”

“Wow.” I try to imagine not caring enough about my father to stay away from his funeral. It’s impossible. “That’s so sad,” I say. “He must have been horribly depressed.”

Brenda looks toward my house again, then turns back to me. “Do you believe in ghosts?” she asks, head cocked as if she’s truly curious about my answer.

“Not at all.”

“Well, that’s good,” she says. “Because that lot your house is on…” She shakes her head. “Between Mr. Danny shooting his head off, and that little Black girl who drowned … and I’m guessing the Klan killed some people back there … and now someone tried to take your daughter … well, it’s just good you don’t believe in ghosts. At least one generation of kids grew up thinking that little girl haunted those woods. There used to be a path that led to a school back there”—she points toward my house—“and no one would walk on it any longer. They’d rather walk an extra quarter mile to school than go by that lake.”

Thanks a heap for telling me that, I think to myself. But I make myself smile. “Well, fortunately I think that’s all just silly.”

She smiles at me. Gives me a wink. “Then you’re the perfect person to live there,” she says.





Chapter 36



ELLIE


1965

Jocelyn and I had a cell to ourselves in the county jail. It was exactly as I’d imagined a jail cell to be: disgusting. But after putting up with the Daweses’ outhouse, I figured I could handle the filthy exposed toilet and brown-stained sink. And after sleeping in my sleeping bag on the hard floor at the school, I could handle the wretched bare mattress—as long as it wasn’t infested. That thought kept me sitting up most of the night, my back against the hard, concrete wall.

They’d divided us up, Jocelyn and me in one car. The boys, including Curry, in the other. The officer didn’t answer when Jocelyn and I asked him what the charges were against us, but we knew it didn’t matter. We were headed to jail, no matter what.

When we were finally alone in the cell, we sat next to each other so we could whisper without any other prisoners overhearing us. The cell across from us was empty, but we could hear women’s voices coming from somewhere nearby. Yelling, mostly. Let me outta here! and Fuck y’all!

So it wasn’t until we were sitting side by side on the cool, filthy floor, our backs against the concrete wall, that Jocelyn whispered to me. “Where’s Win?”

“I got him out of the van when we saw the police go into the building to get y’all,” I said.