True Places(91)

Ash was dead. He’d been dead a long time, but not to her. She’d kept him going inside her, her memories of him so plentiful and strong and sharp they didn’t seem like memories at all. That was the best she could figure. She had needed him that much. He’d been her family when Mama wouldn’t talk, and company when she was all alone. He’d been there, when she could find him, in the frightening and confusing time after Suzanne pulled her out of the woods. If I had died then, Iris thought, I’d never have had to lose Ash. It wasn’t the sort of thing someone could choose, though. She was the one here, the one left behind. She could sit against this tree, long into the night, with an ache pulling along the whole length of her. She’d done it before, three years ago, at the edge of the hole.

The forest became quiet, a thick quiet like a sleeping bear with no worries and no conscience. Iris did not feel tired. Her thoughts drifted from the windmill beside the old house to the blanket of white wake-robin, and to the familiar streams she’d crossed several times that day, always expecting to hear Ash laughing or see him darting away, teasing. Her memories encircled her. In the end she slept.

Dawn came for her quietly. Clouds covered the sun, and the birds were tentative despite the urgency of the season. Iris sat up, untangled herself from the sleeping bag, and stood. She couldn’t spend another day, every day, wandering through the woods. It wouldn’t make her happy as it once had done. Nothing would. She had to move on and find out what was next. Suzanne would be waiting for her, she was certain about that, either in the car or at the cabin.

Iris drank the last of her water, packed up her belongings, and set off. It felt good to have somewhere to go, to have someone waiting. It didn’t fix the hole in her heart, but it was all she had.



The cabin looked different from what she remembered, smaller and less solid somehow, like she might be able to put her hand straight through the log walls. Iris spotted Suzanne on the porch step, facing the other way, and hadn’t realized how much she had wanted Suzanne to be here. She couldn’t cope with venturing inside on her own. Suzanne would help Iris stay attached to what was, instead of what had been.

Iris was halfway across the field before Suzanne saw her, got to her feet, and hurried to meet her. Iris started crying as soon as Suzanne put her hands on Iris’s cheeks. Her mother had often done the same. Mama was everywhere here, like Ash was scattered through the woods.

“Are you all right?” Suzanne asked.

Iris nodded and more tears spilled. She glanced toward the seep where the irises grew, to see if they were blooming. Suzanne followed her gaze and must have understood, because she pulled Iris close.

“There’s something inside you need to see.”

Iris loosened herself from Suzanne’s arms so she could see her face. “Is it bad?”

“I don’t think so.”

Iris followed Suzanne to the porch and left her pack there. The door was open. Suzanne stepped aside so Iris could go in first, but Iris shook her head. She wanted to be shown. Suzanne went in and Iris stepped in after her and looked around. So much dust and dirt. Mama would have been furious.

Suzanne went to the table and brought her a piece of paper. “A note from your father. From the summer before last.”

Iris accepted the paper, her eyes on Suzanne’s face. “What do you mean?”

“From your father. He was here.”

The letter shook in Iris’s hand. She tried to read it, but the words wouldn’t stay still. She drew a deep breath, started at the top, and read it through. Her mouth went dry. Daddy had been here. He might not be dead. Iris touched her fingers to the writing as if it were linked to her father’s hand. She spoke, her eyes fixed on the letter. “Why didn’t he come back sooner? Why didn’t he?”

“I don’t know.”

Iris looked up. Something in Suzanne’s voice made Iris think maybe Suzanne knew more than she admitted. “My father said it was his fault. What does that mean?”

“I guess he didn’t want to write out the explanation. He didn’t expect anyone to even read it.” Suzanne pointed to the bench. “Do you want to sit down, Iris? Have you eaten anything?”

Iris took a seat and read the letter again, hoping to find more words this time. “I didn’t even think about who made that marker.”

“You were too upset.” Suzanne sat on the opposite bench and leaned across the table. “Iris, who was Ash? Was he your brother?”

Sadness rolled over Iris. “Yes.” She closed her eyes to stop the tears from coming. A flood of images streamed before her like a TV show on fast forward. Ash burning with fever. Iris in the upper bunk because he was too weak to climb up top. Mama making compresses, mixing up medicines she gave to Ash drop by drop. Daddy going in and out of the cabin a hundred times, working outside on something, then coming in again, pacing. Iris stayed out of the way, but always where she could see Ash, on the top bunk, or on the porch looking through the window. It was the middle of summer, as sweet a time of year as they ever had, but as long as the days were and as gentle as the weather was, the days and nights were black and damp. Finally, after a night when no one slept and Ash lay white faced and quiet, too quiet, Daddy packed a few things and scooped Ash into his arms. Iris followed them out the door, would’ve followed them all the way to where they were going if Mama hadn’t stopped her.