She nodded. “My husband and I had a cabin up north on the lake. I still own it…I should sell it, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It’s the last place my family was at our happiest,” she said, remembering. “Each evening Stanley and I would sit at th
e end of the dock, looking out at the sunset while that record played and Jessica ran around in the grass, trying to catch dragonflies.”
I sat down in the chair across from her and smiled her way.
She didn’t smile back, but I didn’t mind. Mrs. Boone was known for not smiling.
“So…” I cleared my throat, feeling awkward in the silence. “Does your daughter ever come by to visit?”
Her eyebrows lowered, and her hands fidgeted against her legs. “It’s my fault, you know,” she said, her voice somber.
“What’s your fault?”
“The night of the accident… What happened to Maggie, it was my fault.”
I sat up straighter in my chair. “How so?”
Her eyes grew gloomy. “She stopped by my yard that night. She asked if she could pick flowers from my yard for her wedding. I yelled at her and sent her off, telling her to not come back.” Mrs. Boone studied her shaky hands, still tapping her fingers against her legs. “If I hadn’t been so mean—so harsh—she could’ve spent more time in my yard. She wouldn’t have wandered off to the woods. She could’ve been safe from whatever it was that took away part of her mind that night.”
Tears started falling from her eyes, and I could feel her hurt. I understood her guilt, because I had felt it too all those years ago. “I thought the same thing, Mrs. Boone. I was supposed to meet her that night in the woods, and I was late. If I hadn’t taken all that time picking out a tie, I could’ve been there to protect Maggie. I could’ve saved her.”
She looked up and wiped her eyes, shaking her head. “It wasn’t your fault.” She said it so quickly, obviously afraid of me placing that kind of blame on myself. It was sad, how quick she was to take the blame, and how quick she was to make sure I wouldn’t.
I shrugged. “It wasn’t your fault, either.”
She stood up and walked to her mantel, staring at the photographs. “She was just like Maggie as a child, my daughter. Talkative—a bit too talkative. Wild, free. She wasn’t afraid of anyone, either. She saw the best in the most damaged kind of people. Her smile…” Mrs. Boone chuckled, picking up one of the frames that showed Jessica grinning wide. “Her smile healed. She could walk into a room, tell the worst of jokes, and make the grumpiest person in the room laugh so hard their stomach danced.”
“What happened to her?”
She placed the photo down and picked up another, where Jessica’s smile was gone. “My brother came to visit. He was going through a divorce and needed to get away, so he came and stayed with us. One night, we were having a cookout, and Henry was drinking too much, growing angrier and angrier. He started an argument with my husband, Stanley, and they were seconds away from fighting. Then came sweet, silly Jessica with her bad jokes, which made everyone laugh, even drunken Henry. Later that night, Stanley went to check on Jessica. He found Henry in her room with an empty bottle of alcohol in his hand. Henry was passed out, naked and drunk on top of my daughter, who was frozen in her fear.”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” I said the words, and when they left my mouth, I knew they weren’t enough. No words could express the feeling in my gut. I’d lived on the same block as Mrs. Boone all my life and never knew of the storms she’d sailed through.
“Jessica didn’t speak after that. I quit my teaching job and stayed with Jessica to homeschool her, but her light was stolen away. She wasn’t the same after what Henry did. She stopped speaking and never smiled again. I didn’t blame her, though. How could you speak when a person you were meant to trust stole your voice away? Jessica always walked around as if there were voices in her head, demons trying to make her crack. When she turned twenty, she finally did. She left a note saying she loved Stanley and me, and that it wasn’t our fault.”
My eyes shut, remembering Mrs. Riley’s words.
She tried to kill herself.
She turned my way and frowned when she saw my look of despair. “Oh, dear. I was supposed to have you over to take your mind off your own issues, and I just made you feel worse.”
“No, no. I’m just so unbelievably sorry. I don’t know what to even say to any of this.”
“No worries. I wouldn’t know either.” Her teapot started whistling in the kitchen, and she shouted, “Stanley, can you get that?”
I narrowed my eyes at Mrs. Boone, and she paused. Moments later, she realized her mistake and hurried into the kitchen, then came back with the tea. We sat there and sipped the disgusting tea in silence. When it was time for me to leave, I stood and thanked Mrs. Boone for inviting me in, not only into her home, but into her history.
As she held the front door open, I asked her one last question.
“Is that why you offered to visit Maggie? Because she reminded you of your daughter?”
“Yes and no. Maggie has a lot in common with my Jessica, but there are big differences.”
“What’s that?”
“Jessica gave up on life. Maggie every so often has these flashes of hope. I see it more and more often with her. She’s going to be okay. I know she is. I have to believe she is going to be okay. You know the biggest difference between the two?”
“What?”