The Girl in the Woods Page 3

  ‘Unbelievable, right?’ asked Blair.

  Celeste nodded slightly.

  ‘Honestly,’ said Blair, ‘I am trying to imagine what she sees in him. Uncle Ellis? I mean, how hard up would you have to be?’

  Celeste suddenly gripped Blair’s fingers with more force than Blair could have imagined possible.

  ‘Blair, listen,’ she said. ‘While they’re gone …’

  Blair frowned and leaned in close to her sister’s face.

  ‘I’m listening,’ she said.

  Celeste licked her cracked lips.

  ‘We have to talk about Malcolm,’ she said.

  Blair’s first thought was to deny this. To assure her sister that there was no urgency about it. But the words died on her lips. Celeste was dying and the thing foremost in her mind was her son. It would be wrong – cruel even – to pretend that she didn’t understand.

  At least Blair was ready for this. She had given it a lot of thought. It was not something she would ever have wished for and she still didn’t know how she would manage, with her long hours and a ten-year-old who knew no one in Philly. But she would find a way. Whatever it took.

  ‘I don’t want him to grow up in this house without me,’ said Celeste.

  ‘I totally get that,’ said Blair. ‘We both know what that was like.’

  Celeste nodded. ‘I need you to stand up to Ellis for me. He might give you a hard time.’

  ‘Just because he’s Ellis. Don’t worry,’ Blair reassured her. ‘I’m not some helpless kid anymore.’

  ‘I know. I trust you,’ Celeste whispered. She squeezed her sister’s hand. ‘Blair, I’ve given it a lot of thought.’

  ‘I’m sure you have,’ said Blair.

  ‘The thing is, this is his home.’

  ‘This house?’ Blair asked, incredulous.

  ‘Yorkville. These mountains,’ said Celeste. ‘Everyone he knows. He loves it here.’

  Blair nodded. She could not imagine why anyone would love it here, but she knew that many people did.

  ‘I want him to stay here. To live with Amanda and Peter. And Zach.’

  Blair was too stunned to speak for a moment. ‘Amanda?’

  ‘She’s been my best friend forever.’

  ‘I know,’ Blair stuttered, ‘but I thought …’

  ‘The Tuckers are like family. They love him. They want him there.’

  ‘Celeste, he’s my nephew. I want to … take care of him,’ Blair cried, surprised by the sincerity with which the words sprang from her lips.

  Celeste tried to smile, but there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘Oh Blair, that’s kind. But I know what your life is like. There’s no room in it for a young boy.’

  Blair turned her face away angrily, trying not to say anything to her dying sister that she would regret later.

  ‘There are a lot of ways … you can help him,’ Celeste said softly.

  ‘Like what?’ Blair asked gruffly, bruised by her sister’s decision.

  ‘Well, as you know, I have nothing to leave him. Maybe … if you could help him out from time to time …’

  ‘You mean, like, financially?’ Blair asked bluntly.

  ‘Only if you want to …’ said Celeste. ‘I would never ask …’

  Blair was both hurt … and relieved. Giving money was easy, compared to raising a child. Part of her wanted to say something mean, to hurt Celeste for her choice. But she reminded herself that she had asked how she could help and Celeste had told her honestly. This was no time to be petty.

  ‘Of course I can do that,’ Blair said. ‘I’ll gladly do that.’

  ‘And you’ll stay in his life, right? You’ll come to see him.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Blair, even though she could scarcely imagine coming back to this town for any reason.

  ‘When he gets older, maybe he’ll want to come to the big city,’ Celeste said hopefully.

  Blair was tempted to say something brusque about Malcolm never wanting to leave these hills. And then she looked into her sister’s weary, pain-filled eyes. She’ll never see him grow up, Blair thought. It was hard to imagine how awful it must be for a mother, to know that.

  ‘Maybe he will,’ Blair agreed gently. ‘Maybe he’ll … go to school there. He’ll always have a home with me, if he wants it.’

  Celeste closed her eyes.

  ‘Thanks for understanding, Blair.’

  Blair nodded. She did not really understand. She was hurt and … insulted, in a way. But she knew she had to try and see it from Celeste’s point of view. She didn’t want to take everything familiar away from her son. The front door slammed and Blair jumped. She looked around and saw Malcolm trudging in, his backpack slung over his shoulder. His narrow shoulders were slumped and he looked weary, his school clothes dingy and disheveled.

  ‘Malcolm,’ she exclaimed.

  Malcolm stopped short, alarmed at the sight of his aunt at his mother’s bedside.

  ‘Hey Aunt Blair. What are you doing here?’

  Blair hesitated. How much did the boy know? Children had a way of avoiding the obvious. She remembered that from her own mother’s death.

  ‘Uncle Ellis called me. So I came.’

  ‘Why?’ he demanded alarmed.

  ‘Because I missed her,’ said Celeste, in a weak, but determinedly cheerful voice. ‘Come here and give me a kiss.’

  Warily, he approached his mother’s bed, bent down and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.

  Celeste smiled. ‘How was school?’

  ‘Lame,’ he said, shifting his backpack from one shoulder to the other. ‘Did my cat come in?’

  ‘I don’t know. I may have been asleep,’ said Celeste.

  ‘He came in. He went back toward the kitchen,’ said Blair.

  ‘It’s a she,’ said Malcolm. ‘Her name’s Dusty.’

  Blair smiled. ‘That’s a cute name.’

  Malcolm shrugged. ‘I woulda rather had a dog, but the vet had this cat. So I took it. I like her. She’s pretty cool.’ Malcolm started to walk back toward the kitchen.

  ‘Malcolm. Stay a minute,’ said Celeste.

  Blair looked at the deathly pallor of Celeste’s complexion, the almost imperceptible movement of her chest. She was emitting a dry, halting whistle with each breath.

  ‘I’ll come back,’ he promised. ‘Later.’

  Blair could remember, as if it were yesterday, being in his shoes. He didn’t want to see his mother like this. He was thinking that if he avoided going near her, maybe she would stop all this, get well and come back to their life. Come back to him.

  ‘Ok,’ Celeste whispered. ‘Love you.’

  ‘Love you too,’ he mumbled.

  Blair gazed helplessly at her sister’s face. ‘Don’t worry, Malcolm. I’ll stay with her.’

  TWO

  When Blair looked back on the next few days, they seemed to meld into one long, miserable day. The ancient curtains were pulled shut and the living room seemed to be in a constant twilight. Other people came and went, visiting and speaking in hushed voices. A few of the guys, whom Ellis drank with at the VFW, showed up with their wives. The women each sat a few helpless moments with Celeste, while their husbands drank beer in the kitchen with Ellis.

  Darlene was often there and she and Blair would have desultory conversations. Blair wanted to ask her about Uncle Ellis, but it seemed disrespectful somehow. She settled for asking Darlene about her life.

  ‘Well, I’m divorced,’ said Darlene. ‘My son still lives in Colorado.’

  ‘I noticed your Colorado license plate. How do you like living here?’ Blair asked her.

  Darlene shrugged. ‘It’s ok. I’m living with my brother, Joseph. His wife of many years died, so I came here to try to help him out. They lived on a farm that used to be her family’s place. It’s very peaceful there.’

  ‘That would not be my idea of a good time,’ Blair admitted. Then, realizing how judgmental that sounded, she tried to mitigate the harshness. ‘I guess
I’m just too used to being on my own.’

  ‘Well, Joseph’s my twin,’ said Darlene. ‘I can practically read his mind. I could tell that it was too much for him to handle all alone.’

  ‘Was his wife sick for a long time before she died?’ Blair asked.

  ‘No, it was sudden. He tried to be stoic after Eileen died, but the shock of it was awful.’

  ‘It was good of you to come here to be with him. Leaving your other life behind that way couldn’t have been easy.’

  ‘Well, there wasn’t that much to leave behind. Besides, that’s what you do for family, right?’ Then she looked kindly at Blair. ‘You’ve been a very good sister to Celeste.’

  Blair could not help blushing.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, inordinately grateful for the woman’s kind words. She often felt that no one understood how much this was tearing her up, but, of course, there were people who did. Several people.

  Amanda came by often. Sometimes she came with her son, Zach, and sometimes with Zach and her husband, Peter. They would pick Malcolm up for dinner and the two boys would roughhouse or tease one another as they left the house. Amanda was always tearful as she stopped in the living room to see Celeste. Peter would remain in the doorway, but Amanda would lean over to brush Celeste’s hair back and kiss her forehead.

  ‘How are you holding up?’ Amanda asked Blair one evening as she arrived.

  ‘I’m stiff in muscles I didn’t know I had,’ Blair admitted. ‘I’d kill for a yoga class.’

  ‘They have one at the Rec Center. Why don’t you go? Take a break. I’ll stay with her.’

  Blair looked at Celeste’s face.

  ‘No. I need to be here,’ she said.

  ‘I understand. She’s been my best friend forever,’ Amanda said. ‘I always thought we would spend our whole lives together.’ She stifled a sob. ‘What will I do without her …?’

  Blair thanked Amanda for taking Malcolm away from the gloomy house for the evening. The woman nodded.

  ‘Maybe it will get his mind off it,’ she said, and then she shook her head sadly. ‘As if …’

  ‘Celeste told me,’ Blair said, ‘that Malcolm is going to live with you … after …’

  Amanda nodded and began to weep. ‘It’s all that I can do for her.’ Then a thought suddenly seemed to occur to Amanda. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  Blair swallowed hard and shook her head.

  ‘No. I think it’s very good of you.’

  ‘She wants him to live here, where everything is comfortable for him and familiar. And she said that you would explain it all to Ellis.’

  ‘Oh I will,’ said Blair grimly.

  ‘We went to an attorney and everything. Celeste didn’t want to leave it to chance.’

  ‘That was wise,’ said Blair. She glanced at Celeste, still breathing and felt terribly awkward to even be mentioning what was going to happen after … ‘I don’t think we should …’

  Amanda glanced tearfully at Celeste’s face.

  ‘No. You’re right …’

  They never discussed the details. It was just too final a conversation to have while Celeste still lived.

  The hours dragged but the days seemed to pass in a twinkling. Celeste rarely opened her eyes and when she did, she seemed to look upon the room and the friends and family members gathered there, as if she were already far, far away. Once in a great while she would utter a few words, but they were often garbled, and made no sense.

  Sometimes Malcolm would come and stand beside the bed, staring silently at his mother. Blair tried to talk to him, but he mostly ignored her attempts, retreating to his room. One night, as Blair was sitting beside Celeste’s bed, all her muscles cramped, longing for the peace and release of a long yoga class, she suddenly saw Celeste’s eyes open and stare at her.

  ‘Hi sweetie,’ she said, glad she was here, rather than off in some class contorting herself into the downward dog. Here she was needed. Though, in truth, she was no longer sure if Celeste was aware of anyone or anything around her.

  Celeste frowned, the parchment-colored skin of her forehead rippling slightly. She spoke in a whisper and Blair had to lean over to hear her.

  ‘I have to tell you something,’ she said quite clearly.

  Blair’s heart jumped. ‘Anything,’ said Blair.

  There was a painful silence.

  ‘I did something bad,’ Celeste whispered.

  ‘Oh Celeste. There’s nothing bad that you did,’ Blair said urgently. ‘Nothing that matters now. You’ve always been the best mother and the best sister …’

  ‘Blair …’ Celeste said, a note of impatience in her scratchy voice.

  Blair was shocked by her sister’s insistence. She acquiesced immediately.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Blair. ‘Tell me what you were going to say.’

  Celeste closed her eyes and, for a moment, Blair thought she was going back to sleep. And then she seemed to marshal her forces. She opened her eyes and looked straight at Blair.

  ‘Adrian Jones,’ she whispered.

  The name surged through Blair like a jolt of electricity. It was about the last thing she had expected to hear. No one had mentioned that name in years. Adrian Jones. Blair understood that he had another name now. Something Muhammed. He had become a Muslim in prison. He was in the state penitentiary at Greenwood. He was serving a life sentence for the murder of Molly Sinclair.

  Blair frowned at her sister. ‘What about him?’ she asked.

  Celeste stared at Blair for what seemed like a long time. She licked her lips a few times, as if she was going to speak and then she didn’t.

  ‘You’re talking about the guy that killed Molly,’ Blair prodded her.

  Celeste looked relieved, as if she was not sure that Blair had understood who Adrian Jones was.

  ‘He didn’t,’ she whispered. ‘I was there.’

  ‘You were where?’ Blair demanded. ‘I don’t …’

  ‘That night. In his car. Like he said.’

  Blair stared at her dying sister, trying to grasp what she was hearing. On the evening that Molly was killed, after she left Blair’s house, it had begun to rain. Blair could remember looking out at the rain and worrying about her friend. Chased away by Uncle Ellis, Molly had set out walking without even an umbrella or a raincoat. During the trial, the prosecution produced a witness; a delivery truck driver who had seen a car pull up beside Molly that rainy evening, on the road leading into the woods and saw Molly get in. From the man’s description, they were able to trace the car to Adrian Jones.

  Adrian Jones, a young African-American man who had been picked up a few times for possession of marijuana and shoplifting, knew Molly. His mother made pies and pastries for the Apres Ski café. When he was questioned, Adrian insisted indignantly at first that it was not him, not his car. When the police searched his car and found Molly’s cell phone, wedged in the back seat, Adrian changed his story. He admitted picking Molly up, but insisted that he was not alone when he stopped for her. Celeste was with him and recognized the girl as Blair’s friend. They offered Molly a ride because of the rain.

  Uncle Ellis had been apoplectic when he heard this incredible lie. Blair could remember the raised voices, the accusations, the word ‘nigger kid’ spat repeatedly from Uncle Ellis’s lips. Celeste had been steadfast, insisted that she was nowhere near that car. That she didn’t even know Adrian Jones. Without an alibi, Adrian Jones became the obvious, the only suspect. At his trial, the jury convicted him in less than two hours.

  ‘Celeste, that can’t be. He went to jail for that. Adrian Jones. He’s been in jail for … years.’

  ‘Yes,’ Celeste croaked. ‘I lied.’

  ‘But why?’ Blair demanded, shocked by her sister’s treachery. ‘What were you thinking? Didn’t you know what kind of trouble you were getting him into? You were sixteen. You had to know what would happen.’

  ‘I didn’t …’ Celeste protested, and Blair saw tears form in her fever bright eyes. />
  Celeste held Blair’s fingers in a surprisingly strong grip. Blair could see that it was taking every ounce of her will to explain this.

  ‘Uncle Ellis. Me with Adrian … He would have killed me. Put us out in the street. You were so young,’ Celeste said. She closed her eyes.

  Oh no, thought Blair. Wait, just a minute. She had to stifle the impulse to tear her fingers from Celeste’s grip. To push her away. You didn’t do this for me, she wanted to say, don’t use me as your excuse.

  ‘I’ve been gone from this house for years,’ she cried. ‘But Adrian’s still in jail. And you’re saying now that he’s innocent. How could you …?’

  ‘I was a coward,’ Celeste whispered.

  ‘Celeste, my God …’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Celeste whimpered. ‘Sorry.’

  But even as she reeled with disbelief, Blair knew that Celeste was right about one thing. Uncle Ellis never made any secret of the fact that having to raise his nieces had ruined his life. It would have seemed like all the rationale he needed to pitch them out. To expect a teenager to stand up to her bitter guardian, to defy those fascist rantings which were almost his religion, was the unforgivable thing.

  ‘Tell them,’ Celeste whispered.

  ‘I’m sorry. What?’ Blair asked.

  ‘Tell them. Tell someone,’ Celeste pleaded. ‘He didn’t kill her.’

  Blair shook her head, as if she could not process the information all at once.

  ‘Please,’ Celeste whispered.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I understand,’ said Blair. ‘I will. Don’t worry. I will.’

  Celeste sighed. Having rid herself of her terrible secret, she seemed to relax. Celeste’s eyes closed and her ragged breathing became shallow. Her grip on Blair’s fingers loosened and then her hand fell away.

  ‘Celeste,’ Blair whispered. ‘Can you hear me?’

  Celeste seemed to be receding in front of her eyes. Blair stared at her sister’s waxy face, while her brain went into overdrive. My God, she thought. That man is in prison for a crime he didn’t commit and now I know it for a fact. I have to do something about this. Celeste, freed of her guilty burden, began to breathe more slowly, with greater difficulty. Blair watched her helplessly. Her head was pounding and she was overcome with the exhaustion of sitting beside that bed, waiting. How long had it been? Her heart felt as if it were being torn and twisted in her body as she watched her sister start to disappear. Although she did not feel the least bit tired, she lay her head down on the bed, near Celeste’s face. She could smell her sister’s breath, foul as a pit. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, against the pain.