She Dims the Stars(17)

“Grandma—“

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry. I apologize. Look, I know you don’t want anything to do with me, and I can live with that. Really. But I’m twenty one now, and I just want to know about my mom. Patrick doesn’t ever talk about her, and I don’t know anything. You’re the only person who I thought could possibly give me any information on her. What she was like. Who she was.” My voice cracks and I try to tuck away the bit of desperation I’m starting to show.

“She was a wonderful daughter until she met your father. And then she died.”

I close my eyes when she says it, because I know what she’s implying. “I’m sorry. Would you please just give me five minutes of your time?”

Ruth’s eyes flick to a huge grandfather clock standing in the hallway to my right, just in my line of vision. “I have a dinner. Today is not a good day.”

I nod. “I understand. I did come a very long way, though. Would you mind if I used your powder room?”

The look of distrust in her eyes would destroy anyone else, but I’ve experienced much worse. And I’m simply putting on a show to gain entry into this house. Stooping to conquer, if you will. She only nods the slightest bit and then moves out of the way to let me pass.

“You’ll have to use the one upstairs. The one down here is being renovated.”

I take the stairs two at a time and locate the one she has mentioned, turn on the light and fan, close the door, and step back out into the hallway. There are multiple doors on each side of the hall, and I tentatively open each one, hoping not to make a sound as I try to figure out which room used to be my mother’s. It’s nerve wracking trying to be quiet, keeping my footsteps light, listening out for her to come barreling down the hallway, calling me a heathen and throwing holy water at me.

I’m disheartened each time a door reveals another room that is nothing more than a guest room, an office, or storage. And then I see it—the last room at the very end of the hallway. Opening it is like stepping back in time. The walls are a faded yellow wallpaper with little embossed canaries all over it. The bedspread has massive flowers embroidered everywhere, and a crocheted blanket of contrasting colors hangs off the side of four-poster bed. Framed concert posters adorn the wall, and pictures are tacked up on corkboard that’s aging and missing chunks.

There’s a suede fringed purse hanging from the back of her closet, a flower wreath sticking out of its pocket. I reach out to pull it down, and the closet door eases open enough for me to see plastic containers stacked inside the closet, arranged one on top of the other. All of them labeled: Wendy.

Wendy’s pictures.

Wendy’s drawings.

Wendy’s school papers.

Wendy’s books.

Wendy’s medical records.

I have no idea how long I’ve been in here. There’s no telling how much longer Ruth will buy me being in that bathroom. But I’ve just been handed a key to my mother’s entire existence, and I’m not about pass it up. I quickly open the one with the pictures first and grab a stack blindly, shoving them down into the purse I’ve now claimed as my own. I bypass the drawings and papers, and I’m about to move beyond the books to the medical records when I notice that the books in question aren’t reading books they’re journals. They’re diaries. With speed I can only assume is fueled by adrenaline, I jerk that drawer open and grab all of them, shoving them into the purse as well.

I’m just about to open the container holding the medical records when I hear my name being called. My heart lodges into my throat, realizing I’ve been caught. Ruth is banging on the bathroom door, and I jump to my feet, knocking over one of the bins in the process, sending a whole box of book reports scattering across my mom’s old bedroom floor.

The commotion sends Ruth running in the direction of the bedroom, and in a moment of panic, I lunge for the double windows and throw them open. Running out onto the balcony that my mother probably once stood upon, I debate whether or not to run or stay. I sling her purse over one shoulder then mine over the other and crawl over the railing.

It’s a short fall, but my life flashes before my eyes anyway, and I lose my breath upon impact. When I come to a few moments later, I am on the ground staring up at Ruth Dewitt shouting at me from the balcony that I’m from the devil, and I need to be cleansed of my sins. She’s calling for an exorcism. She’s practically screaming for a healing from my wicked ways.

All I can focus on are the purses bouncing at my sides as I round the corner of her house and wave my hands frantically while shouting for Elliot to start the car, because I’m one hundred percent sure she’s about to call the police.





Nags Head beach stretches out to my right, and the long pier extends into the waves on my left. Cline is out somewhere in town getting food, and Audrey sits between a couple of dunes as the sun begins to set in the sky The salt water carries in the wind, and I can feel it start to clump in my hair as I walk the edge of the shoreline, waiting.

I just have no idea what I’m waiting for.

She came tearing out of Ruth’s backyard, screaming for us to drive like she was in some kind of bank heist and had half a million dollars’ worth of jewels in her possession. The pure excitement and fear on her face made my heart slam into my sternum, and Cline started swearing, and then, suddenly, she was in the car and the front door was open, and there was yelling and I was driving. Tires squealing. I slammed my head into the top of the car. Cline went flying across the backseat and almost into the back of the Xterra. But all the while, Audrey just held onto the oh-shit handle, a huge smile on her face, and her other arm gripping onto an old bag full of what I now know is a bunch of journals and pictures of her mom.