Blood Wounds Read online

  "You have nothing to apologize for," Sam said. "Not to me, at any rate. Just trust me to do my job. Deal?"

  "Deal," I said. "And thank you."

  Fourteen

  PAULINE LEFT AFTER we got back to Faye's. She offered to stay until after lunch, but she had a long drive ahead of her and I told her to go.

  Then I urged Faye to go back to her office. "I'll be fine," I said. "I ought to call home and start on my homework."

  "I'll call you later," Faye said. "And don't be shy about calling me."

  "I won't. I promise," I said.

  Moe gave Faye a nudge as she left. I went up to my room and, while I sat on the bed, Curly emerged from the closet to keep me company.

  I stared at the yearbook pictures of my mother and Budge. I stared at my textbooks. I stared at the quilt, at Curly on the quilt.

  Finally I pulled out my cell phone and called home. There was no answer, so I called Mom's cell, but she didn't answer that either.

  I felt the now familiar wave of panic wash over me. Somehow, somewhere, my whole family had vanished and I was left alone in Pryor. It was my punishment for being defiant. If I couldn't be Quiet-Never-Make-A-Fuss Willa, Mom and Jack, Brooke and Alyssa, wanted no part of me.

  I couldn't even blame them. Quiet-Never-Make-A-Fuss Willa was gone, replaced by the self-pitying, scene-making daughter of a...

  I couldn't bring myself to define Budge, to put a label on him. Because whatever he was, I was his daughter, and whether I loved him or not, whether I even knew him or not, he was a part of me, so entwined with my body and my soul that he could never be disentangled.

  If Jack had been able to adopt me, would I be sitting on this bed, staring at Dwayne Coffey's high school picture? If I'd had as much right as Brooke and Alyssa to call Jack Daddy, would I have truly believed he loved me as much as he loved them?

  We're a happy family, I said to myself, closing the yearbook and piling it on top of the others. We have to be. Because if I didn't have that to believe in, then I had nothing left at all.

  Fifteen

  MY CELL RANG. I answered it. It was Mom, I told myself, or maybe Jack.

  But it was Faye. "How're you doing?" she asked. "Hard at work?"

  I'd spent so much of my life claiming things were fine when they weren't that it surprised me to hear the truth come from my mouth. "No," I said. "I haven't even tried."

  Faye laughed. "At least you're honest about it," she said. "I have a couple of things to tell you. First off, you don't have to worry about the house and the bank and mortgages. Turns out Budge and Crystal rented. I had a nice talk with Harry Norris—he owns the house—and he said the police are all through with it, and since the rent's paid up till the end of the month, you have plenty of time to go there, look through the things, and make up your mind about what you might want. He said the police did a pretty good job cleaning up, but you can tell something awful happened, so you should be prepared."

  "I don't want any of their things," I said.

  "Still, you should go through it," Faye said. "Budge's grandma will probably track Trace down so he can get his share, but you're here, so you might as well take what you want. Harry's going to drop the key off later and you can go over tomorrow."

  "All right," I said, and Polite Willa kicked in. "Thank you."

  "You mentioned wanting to go to your grandparents' grave," Faye said. "I can't get away from the office, so I asked Erma Jenkins to take you. She was good friends with your grandma and grandpa. She knows right where their graves are, so you won't get lost. She'll be dropping by in a few minutes to get you."

  "That's very nice of her," I said.

  "Well, she's kind of curious about you," Faye said. "Because of your momma, and Erma being friends with the family for so long. I told her you're the quiet type and upset about things so she shouldn't plague you with questions. She said she understood and she thought it was right Christian of you to want to visit your grandparents' graves. The two of you should hit it off just fine."

  "Did she know Budge?" I asked.

  I could hear Faye sigh. "Honey, this is a small town," she said. "Everybody knows everybody one way or another. If you want to know if she liked Budge, well, that's a whole other thing, and you'll have to ask her yourself. Not that anybody's about to say they did."

  "No," I said. "Of course not."

  "I got an e-mail from your momma," Faye said. "She and Jack are flying down to Orlando for a couple of days. They'll bring the girls back home on Wednesday. Jack thought it would be a good idea for Terri to be out of town until things cool off. She said she'd call you after she and Jack get settled in to a motel."

  I pictured Mom alone in the motel while Jack had dinner with Val and their daughters. It didn't matter. She'd probably be so knocked out by sedatives, she wouldn't notice.

  "I'd better get back to work," Faye said. "Sam's still digging around, trying to find out what's rightfully yours. Now you be nice to Erma and I'll be home around five to hear all about it."

  I said goodbye and hung up. My family really had vanished. I couldn't imagine a time before when Mom and Jack might have taken off for some place, any place, without letting me know first.

  "Well, I hope they'll all be happy in Orlando," I muttered. I pictured them in a Sears photograph, Jack with his wives on either side, Brooke, Alyssa, and Mickey Mouse seated in front of them.

  I laughed. Curly gave me a look and that made me laugh even harder.

  "I'll never replace you with a mouse," I said. "Not even Mickey."

  That must have satisfied him, because he yawned and went back to sleep. I would have done the same except I was too nervous about meeting Erma Jenkins. So I went downstairs and sat at the front window, waiting for her to arrive.

  She did about ten minutes later. She rang the bell and I opened the door. As I did a cat scurried in. Larry, I guessed, the mostly outdoors cat.

  "You must be Willa," the woman said. "Terri Doreen's little girl."

  "I am," I said. "Are you Mrs. Jenkins?"

  "That I am," she said, looking me over carefully. "You're all Coffey, aren't you," she said. "I don't see a bit of Penders in you."

  I've always known I don't look like my mother, but Mom would never admit it. Jack likes to say he can see Mom in my smile or in some small gesture.

  Mrs. Jenkins checked me out some more. "All Coffey," she said. "But I suppose that's not your fault. You ready to go?"

  "Yes," I said, grabbing my bag. "Is the cemetery far?"

  "We'll drive it, if that's what you mean," Mrs. Jenkins said. "I know how you city folk can't stand walking."

  There was no point explaining that I didn't live in a city. Instead I allowed myself to look at Mrs. Jenkins, although not as boldly as she'd looked at me.

  She was old, older even than Pauline, and she was thin, with short, no-nonsense hair and dried-out skin. I might be all Coffey, but Mrs. Jenkins looked all Pryor to me, the kind of person Mom had been so desperate to escape from, even in high school.

  "How's Terri Doreen?" she asked as she floored the gas pedal, paying no attention to the stop sign at the corner.

  "She's fine," I said. "Did you know her when she was growing up?"

  "Of course I did," Mrs. Jenkins said, barely swerving to avoid a woman dragging a screaming toddler across the street. "I was at her christening. What a day that was. After all poor Clara had been through, you'd have thought the crown princess had been born."

  "Clara?" I said.

  "Your grandmother," Mrs. Jenkins said. "Your momma never bothered telling you your grandparents' names?"

  "No, of course she did," I said. "Clara and Doyle Penders. I just never think of them that way." Or any way at all, I thought. "What had she been through?"

  "All those poor babies," Mrs. Jenkins said. "Well, you'll see soon enough."

  The way she was driving, I figured we'd end up in the cemetery right alongside my grandparents. And even with her speeding, it took ten minutes to get there. Defin
itely too long a walk for us city folk.

  I tried to remember the last time I'd been to a cemetery, but the funny thing was, I couldn't be sure I'd ever been to one. I'd attended a couple of funerals, one for Jack's great-uncle, another for the mother of one of my friends. But I hadn't gone to the cemetery for the actual burial either time. So I wasn't sure what to expect, except that Pryor seemed such a dirt-poor town from the little I'd seen of it, and I thought the cemetery would have the same dusty, worn-out look.

  But I guess the people of Pryor spent their money on keeping their cemetery nice. There were trees there, and lots of bouquets by gravesites, and the tombstones varied in size and fanciness.

  "Should I have brought flowers?" I asked Mrs. Jenkins as she drove through.

  "I got you some," she said. "On the floor in the back."

  I turned around and saw a supermarket bouquet. "Thank you," I said.

  "Had to go to Center City to get them," she replied. "Every flower in town's already been bought for poor Crystal and the babies."

  "I really appreciate it," I said. "And thank you for bringing me here."

  "Doyle and Clara were my friends," Mrs. Jenkins said. "Damn shame the way their children treated them." She braked so hard, I thought the airbags would inflate. "The Penders family plot is over there," she said. "Get the flowers and you can see."

  I unbuckled the seat belt, got out of the car, and then opened the back door and reached over to get the flowers. I wasn't sure if I should offer to pay for them, but it seemed wrong to ask at the cemetery.

  Instead I followed Mrs. Jenkins to the Penders plot. All their tombstones were small and unadorned, although other graves nearby had angels and crosses.

  "The Penders were never much for fancy displays," Mrs. Jenkins said. "Good thing too, since Martin wasn't going to shell out for anything fancy. Practically a crime, the coffins he put his parents in."

  "I think things look nice," I said, walking over and inspecting the various names. Some of the dates were from the 1880s.

  "Your great-great-grandparents," Mrs. Jenkins said. "Or great-great-greats. I lose track. But there've been Penders in Pryor as long as there's been a town."

  I had never really thought of myself as a Penders. My last name was Coffey and Mom's was McDougal. It was a strange sensation to be standing there surrounded by the remains of family I had never known, would never know.

  "Martin must not have much money," I said, bending over to read names and dates. "He has such a big family."

  Mrs. Jenkins snorted. "He was mad, that's all. Had no right to be, with Terri Doreen cut out of the will altogether."

  "Why was she cut out?" I asked.

  "For stealing," Mrs. Jenkins said. "Taking money from Doyle's wallet so she could run out on her husband. Not that he approved of that either. Doyle always took marriage vows real serious."

  "Mom was desperate," I said. "She had to get out." I remembered her yearbook. Most likely, she'd been looking for an excuse. Just as likely, Budge provided her with plenty.

  "There they are," Mrs. Jenkins said, pointing to one larger tombstone and a row of small ones.

  The large one said DOYLE PENDERS / CLARA PENDERS, with the years of their birth and death. Martin really hadn't gone for a lot of frills.

  I put the flowers down and looked at the small ones. Two said BABY BOY PENDERS and two said BABY GIRL PENDERS.

  "Stillborns," Mrs. Jenkins said. "One before Martin and three more before Terri Doreen."

  I gasped. "Did Mom know?" I asked.

  "Of course she did," Mrs. Jenkins said. "We respect our dead in Pryor. Martin and Terri Doreen came to the cemetery regular with Doyle and Clara."

  Budge had five children, I thought. Martin had eight. My grandparents six. Mom had one. Had Brooke and Alyssa and I kept her and Jack from having more? If you asked her, she'd say she has three daughters.

  "You said Martin was mad," I said, straightening up and looking around at all the family I would never know. "What was he mad about?"

  "Not getting any of the insurance money," Mrs. Jenkins said. "Not that he would have spent it on fancy tombstones. Just given it to that strange cult he belongs to."

  "Why didn't he get insurance money?" I asked. "They died in a car crash, right? I thought accidents were covered by insurance."

  "Doyle's blood alcohol level was too high for the insurance people," Mrs. Jenkins said.

  "He was drunk?" I said. "He was driving drunk?"

  "There's a difference between one beer too many and drunk," Mrs. Jenkins said. "It was Saturday night, he'd put in a long week at the tannery, and he and Clara went out with some friends. Doyle liked his beer. Most folks around here do, even those who pretend they don't and try to keep others from drinking. Don't know where they get that idea. Plenty of drinking in the Good Book."

  "Mom didn't go to the funeral," I said. "I thought it was because I was too young, or she and Jack couldn't afford to go."

  "People here said it was because she was too ashamed to show her face," Mrs. Jenkins said. "Stealing from her daddy and running away like that. And some said she knew she'd been cut out of the will and that was why. But I figured she was just too damn mad. She loved her momma so, and Clara worshiped the ground she walked on. No love lost between Terri Doreen and Doyle, though, and then with the sheriff saying the accident was his fault, I don't think Terri Doreen had it in her to forgive him. Probably still hasn't."

  She must have been so ashamed, I thought. Jack's parents were such nice people: two kids, five grandkids (not including me), center hall colonial, Irish setter. Not rich like Val's parents, but more the way you imagined grandparents to be. And there was Jack with his college degree, a career he loved, two remarkable daughters, and an ex-wife rapidly rising up the corporate ladder.

  Mom had a high-school diploma, a brother in a cult, a violent ex-husband named Budge, and parents who died from drunk driving.

  For the first time in days, I felt something other than anger and resentment. I felt sorry for Mom, sorry for where she'd come from and what she didn't have.

  "It's so sad," I said, gesturing at the tombstones, at the ones for the four stillborn babies. "So much loss."

  "It'll be worse on Wednesday," Mrs. Jenkins said. "When the Coffey babies are laid to rest."

  Sixteen

  MOM CALLED ME THAT NIGHT, after Faye and I had eaten what passed for pizza in Pryor. If I'd given any serious thought to staying in Pryor and working at the tannery, the pizza convinced me otherwise.

  Faye tactfully moved into the kitchen, taking the dishes and remains with her.

  "We're in Orlando," Mom said. "Faye told you?"

  "Yeah, this afternoon," I said. "Mom, I went to the cemetery today. I saw where all the Penders are buried."

  "Oh," she said. "I didn't think you'd want to do that."

  "I did," I said. "Erma Jenkins took me. She said you and your mother were really close, that she worshiped the ground you walked on."

  "She was a good woman," Mom said. "She shouldn't have died the way she did."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I wish you'd tell me more about her. I'd like to know."

  "After you get back," Mom said. "She loved you so much when you were little. She practically raised you for a while there. I was working, so she looked after you."

  "I remember a little bit," I said. "She had a big picture of Jesus. And a cat. And there was a cuckoo clock."

  "You loved that clock," Mom said. "That's the one thing Momma and Daddy had that I wanted. I asked Martin if I could have it, but he said no, it was Daddy's express wish I not get anything from them. I told myself it didn't matter, that you'd already forgotten about the clock by then."

  "I haven't thought about it in years," I said. "What was the cat's name, do you remember?"

  "Ezekiel," Mom said. "Big old tomcat. As ornery as Granny Coffey."

  "I wish you were here," I said.

  "I'm never going back," Mom said. "I spent half my life trying to escape. I don't e
ven like knowing you're there."

  "I know," I said. "I'm sorry. But it felt so important to me to be here. And I was angry at you. I'm not sure why anymore, just that I was."

  "We'll talk about it when we're all home," Mom said. "I love you, Willa. All I want is for you to be safe and happy."

  "I know," I said. "How's Orlando? Is Jack with you?"

  "He's at Val's," Mom said. "It's a real mess."

  "Why?" I asked. "What happened?"

  "What didn't?" Mom replied. "The plan was for us to stay at Curt's and Jack to go back to work today. We figured the girls would fly home on Tuesday. But yesterday Brooke had a total meltdown."

  "Brooke?" I said. Brooke never goes crazy. It's not that bad things don't happen to her, although they don't very often. But on those rare occasions when she's disappointed or upset, she just shrugs it off. No, worse. She shrugs it off with a smile, a laugh.

  "Brooke," Mom said. "I can't blame her. At first she said she was okay with everything that happened, but Sunday afternoon, one of her friends called to say she'd heard that Budge had carried Krissi's head to our door."

  "He didn't, did he?" I asked.

  "No," Mom said, a little too quickly. "No. People make things up. But that's the story that's making the rounds, and Brooke believed it." She inhaled deeply. "Well, why not believe it?" she said. "It doesn't matter if it's true or not. He was driving around for God knows how long with Krissi's dead body in the back of the car. He slaughtered her, her sisters, her mother. Why not carry her head around like a bowling ball?"

  "Mom," I said.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I guess Brooke could handle things when it happened in Pryor, but once it reached our front door, it was too much for her. There was no way she could travel on her own, let alone with Alyssa to look after."

  "So Val insisted Jack come get them," I said.

  "It was Jack's idea," Mom said. "He figured we'd both be better off away from home until things cooled down. We flew to Orlando this morning."