Girls of Brackenhill(45)

“Why did she marry him?” Hannah wondered aloud. Who would marry an angry, abusive drunk? The only way was if he didn’t use to be that way. If life had ruined him. Had he started drinking because of Aunt Fae? Had Aunt Fae and Uncle Stuart’s affair turned Warren mean?

“Oh, well. Warren used to be a catch. Oh sure, he had tons of girlfriends from all over. Seemed to be plenty of women in love with Warren Turnbull. Some local, some from up north. I don’t even know where he met ’em all.” Lila pressed her index finger to her lips, thinking. “You know, before he pissed away his money, he was the only plumber in town. Every pipe in Rockwell was plumbed by Warren at one point or another. Even the hospital called him for backed-up toilets and clogged drains. He held a monopoly on the whole county, so he wasn’t rich, but he made a living. He was handsome too. A little rough and tumble, but nobody seemed to mind that.”

“How’d Fae and Warren meet?”

Lila looked up at the ceiling, searching her memory, her face twisted in concentration. “You know? I’m not sure. If I had to guess, I’d say a bar. Your Aunt Fae was pretty in her day. She came from Parksville, just down Route 17. In a town like Rockwell, everybody knows everybody, and your mama and your aunt Fae were just known. They were pretty girls from a respectable family. And everyone knew your grandmother. She was a county beauty, kind to boot, and real gem of a person.”

Hannah knew this to be true. She knew her grandparents had lived in Jeffersonville, in a Main Street duplex. Her grandmother had been a secretary at the high school before she’d died young at sixty-five from a sudden heart attack. Hannah’s grandfather had died a few years later from liver failure, his insides pickled in whiskey. He’d been a drunk but a jolly one. Functional alcoholic, they’d have said now, but back then he’d just been known as a widower, still in love with his wife, drinking to pass the time until he could see her again. He’d been a retired navy man, the owner of a local hardware store. When Mom had talked of her parents—which was infrequent—it had always been with fondness and a wistfulness that Hannah could never quite pinpoint.

“Then why did she leave him, do you know?”

“Well, Warren was abusive. He turned mean with age. Some men just do, you know? His anger became legendary. Most people stay out of his way now. All the women eventually left. Fae left; Ellie left. Everyone he loved left him.”

“Ellie?” The name sent a jolt through Hannah. Ellie. Ellie. All that long auburn hair, wild around her face. Telling jokes in the center of the circle that first day at the pool. Ellie, Julia’s best friend that last summer, the two of them stealing down the path toward the river, tossing glances over their shoulders. Ellie, in the center courtyard at midnight, her skin blue in the moonlight, her skirt and heels both high.

“So sad, that one. Such a troubled young woman. But see, she was a child too. Caught up in Fae and Warren’s drama. She adored Fae. Then she’d been alone with Warren, and it was too hard. I don’t blame her for leaving. Although I wish she’d get in touch. Last I’d heard, she just wanted to forget Rockwell. Who could blame her?” Lila opened and closed her mouth, like she wanted to say more, but instead pressed her palms to the tabletop, her lips together. “You know, I don’t hate Warren; I’m probably his only ally around these parts. He had a horrific childhood. So now he spends all his days down at the bar. Drinking away his life, what’s left of it.”

Lila rambled on, but Hannah couldn’t focus. Ellie had loved Aunt Fae? She’d never even seen them speak to each other. “Wait, Lila. Who is Ellie? To Warren?”

“Oh, I thought you girls were all friends once upon a time. Ellie Turnbull. With the red hair? Well, maybe you didn’t know her. She left Rockwell the minute she turned sixteen. Had to be 2001?”

“We knew Ellie,” Hannah whispered, her mind reeling.

“Oh, well then, see? You already know. Warren was Ellie’s father.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Now

Back in the car, Hannah concentrated on deep breathing. She’d left Lila’s in a hurry, probably suspiciously quickly. She didn’t care. She needed to sort through the knot of new facts, needed time alone to unwind the skein of memories, coming furiously now.

Ellie, with the red hair, tough but so beautiful. Bright-red lips, tight skirts, high heels. Mean, caustic. That last summer, Ellie and Julia tucked away in Julia’s room, Hannah with her ear pressed against the door, trying to hear a whisper, a giggle, anything. Not understanding why she couldn’t come in, be part of it. Why couldn’t two be three? She wasn’t a baby, only two years younger. She knew about boys and clothes. She could have been part of them. Why? she’d wanted to shout at the time. Why was she so excluded? The isolation felt sudden, as if she’d been surgically extracted from her sister’s inner life. It had been whole and complete in a matter of a few weeks, and she’d been left alone in the castle night after night while her sister sequestered herself in her room with Ellie, who alternated between mean and forlorn.

Three days before her sister had gone missing, Hannah remembered finding Julia alone in the courtyard, her skin shining from the light of a bright full moon. Julia’s eyes had been wild. Her hair matted on one side, like she’d been sleeping on it. What time was it? Almost midnight. What had made Hannah wake up and look out her window to the courtyard below and see Julia, ethereal and white, in her nightgown? What had made her run down the spiral staircase, through the halls, and out the kitchen door after her? She’d just been standing there. Hannah could have sworn her mouth was moving, like she’d been talking. But to whom?