Secrets at Dillehay Crossing - Chapter 16 - Yesterday is Not Today

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The sun rose as a canopy of gold, lifting the blanket of night from the Mason property. Lilly’s alarm clocked sounded, rousing her from her fretful sleep. She patted the mattress searching for Nick but didn’t find him next to her. She stood up, quietly slipping into her comfy jeans and t-shirt. Shoeless, she softly shuffled down the stairs where she found Nick fully clothed in yesterday’s attire sound asleep on the couch. She tiptoed into the kitchen and puttered about making breakfast for her and Nick. He didn’t stir, so she prepared lunch in advance of Grammy’s arrival then sat down at the table waiting for Nick to awaken, tapping her feet on the floor and clicking her fingers against the table. She stared down at it, marveling at the wood that had once been part of his parents old barn and letting her fingers trace its ragged nail holes rendered beautiful by the deep varnish his father applied to it decades ago. When she could wait no longer, she gingerly crept into the living room.

“Honey bear,” she whispered in his ear, “time to wake up.”

Nick slowly stirred and sat up, his eyes holding a puzzled look. “What? What time is it? What day is it? Where am I?”

“You’re in our living room, Nick.” She said in a delicate voice, sitting down next to him. “You seem disoriented. Where were you just before I woke you?”

“It was all so real, Lady Bug! I was a boy again, sitting on the pier with Cousin Willie.” He let out a huge breath as if he was suddenly unburdened, as though shrugging out of a heavy coat. “We were sitting together dangling our feet off the pier. I heard the water splashing along the shore of Hawkes Pond and even felt the cold water on my feet. We were watching the bobbers on our fishing lines hoping to nab at least one fish before the sun set. For a moment I took my eyes off my pole. Suddenly, the end splattered into the water, sending dragonflies off their lily pads. ‘Whoa, keep your eyes on your fishing pole!’ Willie said, reaching over and steading my cane pole. We sat as still as the pines, as if time were suspended, and waited. The sun had all but set when suddenly my bobber zinged under the water. ‘It’s a whopper!’ he cried. He grabbed me from behind, and I leaned back into his arms. Together we pulled. And there, breaking through the water, erupting into the glimmer of twilight was the biggest fish we’d ever seen. Willie unhooked the shimmering fish, and I held my breath. Neither of us spoke; we just stared at one another. That’s when you woke me.”

“What a beautiful dream, Honey Bear! Sorry I woke you from it.”

“Have you ever had a dream like that—one so real you were confused when you woke up?”

“Yes! Definitely. All the time. Once when I was a little girl I dreamt that the grass in my backyard was blue. Barefooted, I stepped off Grammy’s back porch. The grass underneath my feet was soft and warm, gently tickling my feet. Each bladed formed a cushion of blue; and together the blades moved in the summer breeze, dancing then flattening under the wind in beautiful shimmering waves, turning momentarily to reflect the brilliant summer sunlight. I stood in awe staring at the blue grass rising up into the sky leaving perfect green grass underneath my feet. It painted the sky above me the same perfect shade those soft blades had been. That morning I woke suddenly like a switch had been flicked on. I ran from my bed to the back yard. And you know what? The grass was green and the sky was blue! My dream seemed so real. I was confused but so convinced that the grass had really painted the sky blue that I told everyone where the blue grass had gone.”

“Blue grass! Come on!” A teasing smile crossed his face.

“I’m serious, Nick. I distinctly remember that dream.”

“Only you, Lilly, only you.” Nick threw back his head, peals of laughter burst from deep within his stomach.

“Ha! Ha! Well, I’m glad you found my dream so amusing,” she countered suppressing her own laugh, sputtering like an old water faucet. But Nick’s laugh was contagious, and Lilly burst into hearty, uncontrolled laughter. “My stomach’s starting to hurt!” she blurted out, unable to stop her eyes from watering. “Stop! Please stop laughing, Nick!”

“Okay, okay,” he breathed in deeply forcing his diaphragm to relax.

Lilly blinked back the tears and noticed the scrapbook lying on the floor. “Did you look at the scrapbook last night?” She asked, picking it off the floor and laying it on the coffee table.

“Yes, I did. In a way I’m glad you found it. Looking at it helped me remember Willie, but--,” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, “I just wish you hadn’t been so secretive and snuck behind my back. Doing so makes me distrust you. I don’t want mistrust to become a wedge in our relationship.”

“Me neither, Nick. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’m not in any way excusing my actions, but I thought you’d object to my learning more about your childhood and your family. I believed I had no other choice but to sneak into the attic. I figured asking for forgiveness was better than getting permission.”

“I confess. I’m like my dad and Granddaddy Dave, stubborn and overbearing sometimes. So, yes. I would’ve balked at first, but I’d like to think that I would’ve eventually seen how important your desire was. Relda was right. You shouldn’t have to ask permission to go into your own attic.”

Lilly lay her head on Nick’s shoulder and gazed into his eyes, “I love you, Nick Mason.”

“I love you too, Lady Bug.” The telephone rang, and he gripped her tightly by the shoulder. “Don’t answer it. Please. I want to savor this moment a little longer.”

“Let me go, Nick.” Lilly nudged herself loose “It’s probably Grammy calling.” She darted into the kitchen and answered the phone. “Hello. Oh hi, Grammy! Yes, we’re still expecting you. I have the spare bedroom ready for you. What? Oh, any time—the sooner the better. Lunch? Come hungry. No, don’t be silly, Grammy. You’re no trouble. We’re looking forward to spending some time with you. Oh, did I tell you? Yesterday, I found the old Mason family scrapbook in our attic. It has some of the cutest pictures of Nick when he was a little boy. I thought you’d like to look at it with me. Heavens, no! You don’t need to bring anything. Just be extra careful driving on the freeway. See you soon.”

Lilly hung up the phone and sat down at the kitchen table rehearsing in her mind how to tell Grammy about Willie, imagining her reaction She tried to eat breakfast, but couldn’t, nausea gripping the muscles of her stomach. “You’ll stay with me won’t you, Nick?” she pleaded, pushing her plate aside.

“Well…uh…yes,” he said in an uncertain tone. “If you don’t think I’ll make her uncomfortable.”

“Grammy’s comfortable with most anyone. But I’m guessing you’re the one who’s not comfortable given the situation, right?”

Nick pushed the food around his plate, looking away momentarily before answering. “I guess I’m not. ”

“I’m awkward, too, and don’t even know where to begin, but having you with me will make me feel more confident. Plus, I hope you’ll chime in at some point and share what you remember about Willie.”

“Well, okay, Lady Bug. I’ll stick around,” he said in a strained voice.

They silently gazed out the window waiting, suddenly taken aback by an unexpected sun shower blowing across the Mason property.

“Listen to that rain!” Nick rushed to the open back door. “Those drops are bigger than prairie hailstones and coming down just as hard!”

Minutes later, a late model sedan pulled into the driveway. An elderly woman climbed out and scooted through the rain. Nick grabbed his umbrella and streaked outside towards her. “Here, Grammy, let me help you.” He opened his umbrella shielding; but the wind whipped under the fabric, bending the springy metal ribs backwards, and within the seconds the two of them were soaked. They dashed for the back porch and stood under the awning, laughing at one another in a way that felt cozy and welcoming even as they shook the rain from their drenched heads.

“Hurry inside!” Lilly urged, holding open the back door. “Let me get you towels to dry off.” She sprinted up the stairs, retrieving towels for them remembering to stuff the pendants and Willie’s birth announcement into her jeans pocket.

“Thanks, Doodlebug.” Grammy fluffed the moisture out of her hair then dried her arms and legs. “Mercy! That was quite a little shower, and it came from nowhere!”

“Here, have a seat,” Nick said, pulling out a chair for Grammy at the kitchen table. Lilly has lunch ready.”

“What a gentleman! Thank you.”

“Do tell! Is that chilled avocado soup I see on the countertop?”

“Yes, Grammy, it is. I made it especially for you. I know it’s one of your summertime favorites. I also made pimento cheese sandwiches using your recipe. Are you hungry?”

“I am now!’ Grammy smiled, surveying Lilly’s finished product. She fixed her eyes on Lilly, recalling what a creative, eager but messy little cook Lilly was growing up. Whenever she was in the kitchen Lilly invariably ended up with flour on her cheeks and socks, and her apron was splattered with every manner of stains, especially chocolate. When she was about ten, she moved about the kitchen with a faux-adult air, masking where she was unsure by calling Grammy her “assistant” to do something for her. “You were such an adorable little cook, Doodlebug.”

“She’s more than adorable now. She’s beautiful, but she’s still messy when she cooks!” Nick quipped, loudly slurping on his soup.

“I can’t believe you said that!” Lilly tightened her right fist and playfully punched Nick’s upper arm.

“OW!” he grabbed his arm, pretending to grimace with pain.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Nick. You’re such a baby! And where are your manners slurping your soup like that? Shame on you!” Lilly wrinkled her nose with disapproval.

“I hear tell that slurping soup is a compliment to the chef,” Nick retorted, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Okay! You win! Touché!”

“Are soup and sandwich enough food for you, Nick?” Grammy asked, taking her napkin from her lap and laying it next to her plate.

“This was more like a snack for me.” He pouted, feigning the most woe begotten face he could muster, focusing on his empty plate. “Lilly doesn’t feed me enough.”

“Oh, you poor thing! I can see how gaunt and pale you are.”

“Don’t worry about him, Grammy. Nick will get more than enough to eat over at Dave and Relda’s. He’s the official taste tester for the brisket that Granddaddy Dave’s smoking for tomorrow’s shindig.

“You two are quite the entertaining couple. Oh, to be young and in love!” The ghost of a smile brushed her mouth and a hint of sadness crossed her face. “Where’s that scrapbook you told me about, Lilly?” she asked, pushing her plate away.

“In the living room.” Lilly’s face suddenly paled “I’ll fetch it.” She scurried to the living room, returning with the scrapbook.

With Lilly on one side of her and Nick on the other, Grammy flipped through several pages of photographs and memorabilia focusing her attention on pictures of Nick when he was a little boy, particularly drawn to pictures of Nick’s boyhood companion, Cousin Willie. She lingered on one specific photograph, inexplicably drawn to the boy staring back at her. His eyes were a dark brown, almost inky black, and held a certain warmth and mystery that seemed oddly familiar.

“What a precious little boy! Such heartwarming eyes and captivating smile. And those tattered overalls and fedora hat. He’s the kind of little boy I’d like to take home with me.”

“I know what you mean, Grammy. Everyone just adored Cousin Willie. Even though he was adopted, everyone treated him like family. For me, he was the big brother I didn’t have,” Nick paused, his face beaming. “We spent our summer days together from sun up till sun down. We fished from the pier at Hawkes Pond, built a raft then launched it into the water, flew kites, and rode horses. He was my best buddy, and I’ve not had a friend like him since—

“—since? What happened?” Grammy studied Nick’s face for a long moment.

“It was awful, just awful,” Nick replied, his chin quivering slightly. “We were chasing this racoon along the banks of Dillehay Creek hoping to catch it and make it our official summer mascot. When it darted underneath some brush, we should’ve just let it be. But we didn’t. Instead I convinced Willie to reach in and grab it. When he did, the racoon bit him. Being out in the country, we thought nothing of getting bit—it happens all the time. So, we washed the wound in some creek water and went on to our next adventure, not knowing that the racoon had rabies. A few days later, Willie developed a dangerously high fever. Within two weeks the rabies virus consumed him, and he died. Just like that—poof! He was gone. If only—if only I hadn’t asked him to chase that racoon, he’d be alive now.”

“If only?” Grammy interrupted. “You’re punishing yourself unnecessarily.”

“What do you mean?” Nick stiffened at the deliberate almost scolding tone of her voice.

“For much of my young life, I constantly asked myself lots of if only questions. If only I’d gotten my first husband to the hospital in time. If only I’d raised my son differently, he wouldn’t have become a vagabond and abandoned Lilly. If only I hadn’t gone to the dance that night. If only he hadn’t left. If only he’d returned. If only I’d saved money. If only I’d better understood Lilly. If only this, if only that. My if onlys were endless. I learned too late, Nick, that I couldn’t second guess myself. My choices, your choices—anyone’s choices, words, and actions are born in the moment. If onlys are born in the past; they breed guilt and discontent that haunt us like ghosts keeping us stuck in the past.

The past is just that—the past. Each day you’re are a new person who doesn’t need to carry remorse, guilt, or discontent into the new day with you. It’s amazing how many people ruin the beauty of today with the sorrows of yesterday. Yesterday doesn’t exist anymore! Life is fluid, constantly moving forward. Trust me, Nick. You can’t live your life backwards. Yesterday is not today.”

“But—but, I should’ve stopped him. I’m responsible. I feel guilty for being alive.”

“Why do you need to feel guilty, Nick? Have you ever asked yourself what purpose your guilt serves? More importantly, will your guilt bring Willie back to life?”

“Well, no! That’s absurd!”

“Right! Guilt serves no one; yet, you’ve embraced it and apparently wear it proudly almost like a badge of courage. In my heart of hearts, I believe your guilt, anyone’s guilt, is akin to driving around the block over and over, faster and faster. It’s a pointless attempt aimed at keeping someone or something alive—something we just aren’t ready to accept or let go of for whatever reason.

I can only speak for myself, but my own guilt comes from fear, anger, and a sense of helplessness, especially in regards to death—specifically my late husband’s death. I once blamed myself for his death, but I’ve come to understand that death, like life itself, is out of my control; and each of us feels powerless when it stares us in the face. The enormity of it all overwhelms me so I embrace guilt as a means of staying in the past—in that painful moment where I felt helpless and out of control, afraid of moving on. Can’t you see, it’s all such a vicious, almost cruel cycle?”

Nick pursed his lips in thought. “Wow, Grammy. You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he replied, avoiding direct eye contact feeling as if he’d just been lectured to. “I’ve never thought of guilt in that way. I’m sorry, but I’m not sure it applies to me.” He tilted his head slightly attempting to keep a neutral facial expression

“It may or may not true for you. Only you can know for sure.”

“I need time to think,” he quickly rose to his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Granddaddy Dave’s waiting for me. I best get over there; we have scads of things to do before tomorrow.”

“I understand, but before you go, may I offer one more thing for you to consider?” she asked, her voice faltering.

“Sure,” Nick nodded hesitantly. “Go ahead.”

“We’re all brief candles, some shorter some longer, some snuffed out sooner than others. None of us knows when our candle will stop burning. Willie’s candle was short, extinguished sooner than you wanted, but you’re not to blame. I do hope you one day accept that.”

Without saying another word, Nick hastily left the kitchen, his thoughts swirling in his head.

“I spoke my heart, but did I say too much?” Grammy asked, pausing slightly. “Was I too strong? Perhaps I should apologize?”

Lilly tilted her head from side to side, weighing her response. “I don’t really think so, but I do think you rattled Nick’s cage. His cage needed to be rattled though. We’ve not been married for long, but I realize that sometimes Nick has to be alone and let ideas simmer in his head for a while. So don’t lose any sleep over it, Grammy. He’ll come around, and certainly you need not apologize.”

“Well, alright. If you say so.”

“How ‘bout we look at some more pictures?”

“Splendid idea, Doodlebug. Let’s!”

They leisurely turned each page, reading the inscription underneath some of the photographs losing track of time, absorbing themselves in the Mason family history.

“Oh! Look at this picture! What an endearing family!” Grammy pointed to a professionally-made family portrait. “Who do you think they are?”

“I’m not sure. What does the inscription on the back say?”

Grammy carefully removed the picture from the photo corners and read the photographer’s stamp on the back: Rose, Charles, and Willie Mettner, copyright George Burke Studio, August 15, 1946.” Hand scribbled underneath the stamp were the words: Willie’s 10^th birthday. “So Rose and Charles adopted Willie, but how are they related to the Masons?”

“Rose is Relda’s younger sister, and Charles is Rose’s husband.”

Grammy drew the picture close to her face, scrutinizing Rose and Charlie’s faces. Then something caught her attention. “What an odd coincidence. Look.” Grammy pointed to the medallion draped around Rose’s neck. “It’s identical to the one I received at the Catholic Maternity home. You know the one I told you about—the Sisterhood of the Children of Mary.”

“Hmm….that is odd. I looked at that picture yesterday and didn’t notice it.” Lilly fidgeted in her chair. “What are the odds?” She plucked at her pockets. The two pendants buried in her pockets were gnawing at her, begging to be released from their secret captivity. “And—and what’s even more peculiar is that Willie’s birthday is the same day as your little boy’s.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Look Grammy on the back of the picture. See,” Lilly turned over the photograph, “It’s August 15^th.”

“How’s that even possible?”

“I don’t know, Grammy. Do you remember any other women giving birth at the Catholic Maternity Home on that date?”

“No. I honestly don’t recall any woman at the Home having a due date even close to mine.”

“And you were never told who adopted your son?”

“No, absolutely not. Adoption was secretive and hush hush back then. No files were kept, and only the Reverend Mother knew who the birth mother and adoptive parents were.”

“And you didn’t get a good look at the couple who adopted your son?”

“No. I’d just given birth and was in somewhat of a stupor. What are you suggesting, Lilly? Just spit it out.”

Lilly retrieved the pendants and birth announcement from her pocket, placing them on the table in front of Grammy. She started to speak but fumbled for the right words, eventually stringing together a few incoherent sentences. “This pendant. I—I found it yesterday. The one around Rose’s neck. I—I believe it’s the same one she wore when this picture was made. It’s the same as yours. And—and the birth announcement. It—it tells me Willie was born on the same day your son was.”

“Heavens, child!” Grammy felt her stomach sink. “Why didn’t you mention all this yesterday?”

“I just couldn’t,” Lilly paused, regaining her composure. “Not—not until I confirmed with Relda—which I did when I got home last night. She told me that Rose and Charlie adopted Willie from the Sisterhood of the Children of Mary on August 15, 1936. More than a coincidence, right?”

Grammy clutched her hand to her heart, but she already knew the answer. “Yes, more than coincidence,” she answered, her eyes holding a flash of shock. “Rose must’ve been the woman I saw receiving my son and the miraculous miracle pendant from the Reverend Mother. Rose and—and Charlie are the couple—the ones I saw from my bedside. They adopted him!” She cried out loud, the color suddenly draining from her face. “My entire life I wondered about my son, his whereabouts, and who his adopted parents were. I hoped he was happy, healthy and loved. In just a matter of a couple of hours, I found him. Then lost him all over again. This just can’t be. It just can’t be.”

Lilly reached over to give Grammy a hug, but her muscles were frozen, too numb to receive it. “I don’t know what to say or do to help you, Grammy. Do you want me to sit here with you or do you to be alone for a while?”

She glanced over at Lilly, her voice weakened and cracked when she spoke. “I don’t rightly know. I—I don’t rightly know.” Her breath hitched in her chest. “I don’t know anything right now.” Grammy wrung her hands, absently staring out the kitchen window, her gaze unfocused and distant. “I think I’ll just sit here and thumb through this album some more—alone I think.”

“Okay, Grammy. I’ll leave you to it.” Lilly quietly left the kitchen, softly climbing up the stairs to the spare bedroom and unpacked Grammy’s suitcase, hanging up her dresses and placing her personal items inside the dresser drawers.

Grammy slowly turned the pages of the scrapbook. She saw Willie sitting in his high chair; and in her mind’s eye Willie was bouncing in his high chair dancing to music only he could hear. She looked at the picture of him walking at nine months and imagined him moving his knees like they were just hinges, wobbling to and fro before falling on his padded bottom. How cute he is at two, those chubby cheeks dimpling when he smiles and his little legs moving like a clockwork toy.

She looked at him sitting on a rocking horse, envisioning him throwing back his head and giggling like only a young child can. “Giddy up! Go faster!” she thought she heard him say, laughing that infectious kind of laugh that lights up adults—like an echo of the children adults once were.

She turned another page, momentarily believing it was her, not Rose, escorting Willie to the school bus stop on his first day of school. The school bus drove off, and she watched him disappear down the road, his fedora hat peaking over the back of his seat wobbling like it was only loosely attached to his neck. On another page, she saw him on the beach. She sat down next to him, his browning legs curled under, dusted with sand like flour on bread, sitting close to the lapping waves absorbed in building a sandcastle. In a different picture she saw Willie standing at the water’s edge, his eyes following a seagull in flight, observing as children do, with that look of love and awe. His eyes stayed with the bird, the beating wings capturing his mind the same way soft waves on the beach captured hers.

How happy Willie is! Grammy sighed, realizing that for Willie happiness was simple—hugs with mama and playing ‘let's pretend.’ It was a bedtime story featuring Winnie the Pooh; it was the knowledge that life was all taken care of. Food was always available, and he had a comfortable bed. It was friends to play with and birthday parties with cake, candles, ice cream, and presents to unwrap. It was leaving cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve and singing Christmas carols. It was beachcombing in the summer. It was hunting and fishing with his father and Uncle Dave. It was visiting with his cousin, Nick, and flying kites and running in the woods with him. It was sitting next to Nick on the pier and splashing his feet in the creek, not caring what time it was unless he was hungry. Although a happy boy, Grammy figured Willie, like any child, probably threw a fit when his brain couldn’t understand his world. Sometimes he may have even scrunched up his face and stomped his feet, his face going red, and was quite possibly disciplined for it.

Grammy turned the last page, closed the scrapbook, and leaned back in her chair. I wish I could go back, back in time and hang onto my baby boy with motherly arms and never, ever let him go. What if…she started to say, but she knew her what if wouldn’t bring Willie back into her life. She slumped over the table, buried her face in her hands, and wept.

In the background she heard the upstairs telephone ring and Lilly answering it. “Hi, Relda. Yes, I told her. How is she? Fine, I think. You’re right. She’s made of pretty durable stuff. I should probably go downstairs and check on her. What? She’s been looking through the scrapbook. By herself? Yes. She needed some time alone. Your Texas lemonade. Splendid idea. What am I bringing tomorrow? Potato salad and coleslaw. What about Nick? Have you seen him? Did he say when’s he coming home? Oh. Well, uh okay,” she replied, a hint of disappointment creeping into her voice. “Tell him I miss him. Yes, I’ll be wearing the boots you gave me. See you tomorrow at the shindig. Oh wait. Wait, Relda. Don’t hang up. I almost forgot to tell you. I invited one of the Hickory Pines residents to the shindig. Who is he? His name is Frank. I can’t tell you much about him except that he’s a terribly lonely man, and I just felt inclined to invite him. I’m not even certain he’ll come. Thanks for understanding. Till tomorrow.”

Lilly hung up the phone, putting on her happy, nothing’s wrong face, and ventured downstairs where she found Grammy slightly slumped over the kitchen table, her brows creased and face tensed. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her tone casual and light, retrieving a pitcher of Texas lemonade from the refrigerator and sitting down next to Grammy.

“I’m heartbroken,” she replied sniffing back the tears.

“I see,” she said, pouring them each a glass of lemonade, a pained expression crossing her face.

“This heartbreak feels cold and hard, like heavy concrete drying in my chest. First I was numb, now I feel raw, like there’s no skin over my pain, and the air makes it bleed.” She downed the entire glass of lemonade. “Even my soul hurts.” Then she laughed, uncontrollably blurting out, “Willie’s like a mini Jack with my dimples. He must’ve been the perfect child.”

“Why are you laughing, Grammy?”

“I don’t rightly know.”

“I’m surprised!”

“I am too!” Grammy sat motionless, idly picking at her fingernails. “Now that I think about it, I remember laughing at my husband’s funeral service. At the time, I thought laughing was a rather peculiar, tactless way of dealing with the stress of the funeral and the pain I felt. But laughter felt natural, almost as if laughing was the only thing I could do. I was embarrassed, of course, until the funeral director took me aside telling me he’d seen lots of people laugh during funerals. ‘Laughter and grief,’ he reassured me, ‘are kind of like a horse and carriage. You can’t have one without the other.’

Even after the graveside service, I laughed again, my face blushing bright red. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. Tears are your inner angel pleading for help,’ he said, patting me on the shoulder, ‘but laughter is your outer self celebrating the life that’s just passed. Laughter allows you to move on.’.” Grammy laughed again, finally able to give Lilly a hug. “I much prefer your Aunt Ruthie’s explanation. It’s much simpler. ‘Sorrow and joy, tears and laughter are but two sides of the same coin; you’ve got to have them both.”

“Awww! Aunt Ruthie! She isn’t one to mince words. She’s my free-spirited aunt!”

“Do you recall those flashy earrings she always wears? They twinkle like tiny chandeliers.”

“And what about those multi-colored bangles she repeatedly wears around her wrists? They make a sound that is sort of a laughter.”

“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten about her love for bangles. They’re undeniably Ruthie, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are, and she wears them perfectly.”

“Ruthie is such a bodacious flapper girl at heart, even as she’s aged.”

“I miss her! Maybe we can visit her sometime, sometime soon. What do you say, Grammy?”

“That would make for a lovely trip, just the two of us, like we did when you were growing up.”

Grammy and Lilly continued reminiscing, the daylight slowly draining from the sky. Dusk arrived, the last of the sun's rays cosseted behind wispy, soft grey clouds. The moon slowly rose, its light casting a soft white glow across the banks of Dillehay Creek and the shores of Hawkes Pond. Nick dug his spurs into Majestic’s sides racing along the creek’s edge towards home.

“Whoa, boy! Whoa,” he shifted his weight into the saddle and back. Majestic, feeling Nick’s weight shift, responded instinctively and slowed. With both hands on the reigns, Nick pulled back. “Easy, boy, easy. This is the spot. Easy does it.”

He dismounted; tied Majestic to one of the trees; and sat down at the exact spot where he and Cousin Willie often fished. Something rustled in the nearby trees. He blinked. “Who goes there? Is that you, Willie?” he asked, staring into the underbrush. A rabbit jumped out and skittered past him. “I didn’t think so, not in the flesh anyway. Strange. I can feel your presence, though. If you’re here and can somehow hear me, I need to tell you something. I wish that raccoon had bitten me instead of you. Then I would be the one that died, not you. To this day, I feel guilty being the one still alive. I hear tell I need to let my go of my guilt, but I confess. I don’t know that I want to, and I sure as hell don’t know how. Maybe Grammy and Relda are right. I’m afraid to let go of my guilt, afraid that if I do I’m somehow abandoning you, afraid that I’ll forever lose the memory of you.”

Nick dug up a smooth, flat rock from the dirt “This is for you, Willie!” He stood up, holding the rock between his thumb and middle finger. In one fluid motion, he swung his arm, flicking his wrist forward and spinning the rock off his index finger. It landed parallel to the water, bouncing only a couple of times off the water’s surface before sinking. “Okay! Okay! I admit it. You always did skip rocks better than me.”

Nick walked along the creek’s edge and stopped. “Even though you’re gone, I admit I occasionally see you in the water’s reflection and hear your voice whispering to me through the trees. I remember all the fun things we used to do—hunting, fishing, skipping rocks, flying kites, and chasing one another along the creek. As fun as all of that was, Willie, for your sake as well as mine, I must let go of you and my guilt. It’s time, but I’ll come here to this very spot, our spot, knowing your spirit is here, knowing I can feel your presence. Wherever you are, know I hold you close to my heart. You’re always with me. If I’m fortunate to one day have a son, I promise you, I’ll name him after you, keeping your memory alive.”

Nick peered beyond the tree line, the rising light of the full moon illuminated his front porch summoning him to return home. He turned around, retracing his footsteps where Majestic stood patiently waiting for him. Nick grabbed Majestic’s reigns, put his left foot into the stirrup, and pulled his body up and onto Majestic’ back, slowly sinking into the saddle. “Come on, Majestic. Time to go home.”

The two trotted as one, returning to the barn where Nick untacked and unbridled Majestic before placing him in his stall for the night. “Good night,” Nick said, petting Majestic’s neck before flicking the light switch off.

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