The Silent Sister(10)
I reached into my purse and pulled out the folded twenties. I held them out to him. “This is yours,” I said. “Take it.”
He hesitated, then took the bills from my hand.
“I love you, Danny,” I said.
He looked toward his trailer. “I’m just glad I can keep the land,” he said as he opened the door and got out of the car. Those words heartened me. If he still cared about keeping the land, he was thinking of the future. He wasn’t about to blow his head off. Not tonight, at least.
I left my headlights on until he was inside his trailer, then I drove back and forth in tiny arcs until I was facing forward for the slow drive out of the forest, my mind consumed by the work that lay ahead of me. It wasn’t only the house and my heart that needed to be repaired while I was here, I thought. Somehow, I had to also heal my brother.
5.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to Mac’s RV Park. I tried to think back as I made a right turn onto the long narrow lane, driving in the opposite direction from the acres of woods that sheltered Danny’s trailer. It must have been either last summer or the summer before that. I’d come to New Bern for a surprise visit and, not finding Daddy at home, I drove out here and found him working on the boat ramp. When he looked up and saw me, his smile lit up his face. It felt strange to pull into the park now, knowing he wouldn’t be here.
My father kept his own small, aging RV in the first of the twelve sites, and I thought I’d check it out before driving to the Kyles’ motor home. I parked next to the RV, then realized I had no key for it. I tried the doors, but they were locked, so I got back in my car and continued down the gravel road.
Mac’s RV Park was not exactly a hot tourist destination. It was a funky little strip of land nestled between a wide, navigable creek and the Croatan Forest, and it offered no amenities other than electrical and water hookups and a boat slip. I wasn’t sure how Mac’s compared to other parks, but I’d always liked how each of the twelve sites was private at this time of year when the trees were full, cut off from the other sites by a patch of forest on either side. I could see a few other RVs through the trees and hear the distant laughter of kids playing in the creek.
The Kyles’ RV sat on concrete blocks in the last site, close to the creek and shaded by the trees. A Ford sedan with fading green paint was parked behind it. Their RV was nearly as old as my father’s, but much larger. A striped awning sagged above the door and the roof had caved in near the front of the vehicle where a tree must have fallen on it. It was a sad-looking thing, their motor home, and I guessed the Kyles were having trouble keeping it in decent shape. I hadn’t seen Tom Kyle in years, but he had to be my father’s age—pushing seventy. I wondered what he’d do with Daddy’s pipe collection.
I parked behind the Ford and spotted Tom on the other side of the RV at a fish-cleaning table. He wore an undershirt and camouflage pants and appeared to be working on that morning’s catch. He was a bigger man than I remembered. Tall and broad shouldered, he’d probably been muscular in his youth, but the years had taken a toll. He looked up when I closed my car door, squinting from behind silver-framed glasses as I walked toward him. I could tell he didn’t recognize me.
“It’s Riley MacPherson, Mr. Kyle,” I said. “Frank MacPherson’s daughter?”
He set down his knife and his expression changed. It was more of a frown than a smile. “Riley,” he said. “Haven’t seen you in a long time. How’re you making out?”
“I’m all right,” I said. “I’m down here to get the house and everything squared away. Thanks for taking care of things here at the park this past month.”
He shook his head. “That was too bad about your father.” He looked down at his hands, his fingers glittery with fish scales. “Things won’t be the same without Frank around here.”
“He left one of his collections to you, Mr. Kyle,” I said. “His pipes.”
“Verniece and me’ve been keeping up with the reservations and all,” he said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Do you want to check over the books? Will you be handling that from here on?”
I could tell he didn’t understand what I’d said. Whether it was his hearing or his cognitive skills, I didn’t know.
I shook my head. “I came here to tell you that my father wanted you to have his collection of pipes,” I said, raising my voice a bit. “I’m not sure exactly what they’re worth, but he wanted you to have them. His lawyer will work out the details.”
My words finally sank in. He nodded slowly, his eyes on the table and its three fish rather than on me. I couldn’t read his face. “Well,” he said after a moment, “that was nice of him.” He looked out at the creek. “Anything else in his will we should know about?” he asked, surprising me. Had he expected more?
“No,” I said. “The pipe collection is the only mention of you.” All morning, I’d been picking up broken glass from around the pipes. I didn’t think any of them had been damaged in Danny’s sudden burst of anger.
I heard the creak of the door on the other side of the RV. “Who’s here?” Verniece Kyle walked around the corner of the motor home.
“Verniece,” Tom said, “do you remember Frank’s girl? The little one?” he added quickly, as though he didn’t want her to conjure up any thought of my sister. Had they ever known Lisa? I didn’t see how they could have.