Dallas got up and hobbled around, pacing along the table, chains clattering on the floor. “It’s dangerous to do this,” he said.
“Not if you’re innocent.”
He laughed at that.
She went to him, came up behind him. She would have touched his shoulder, but the guard was eyeing them suspiciously. “Trust me, Dallas.”
He turned. “Trust you? You must be kidding.”
“I misjudged you. I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t about you misjudging me, Win. You were so jealous of Vivi Ann it made you blind.”
She swallowed hard, knowing that accusation would stay with her for a long time. “Yes,” she said. “Maybe that’s why I’m here now. As atonement.”
That seemed to surprise him. “I don’t want to hurt her, or Noah.”
“I don’t know about love or damage or hurting, Dallas, but I do know that it’s time for the truth.”
It was a long time before he said, “Okay,” and even then, when he’d agreed, he looked unhappy, and she knew why. He knew this legal system—and love—better than she did, and he knew the price they all could end up paying for the hubris of hope.
Chapter Twenty-five
In a lightly falling rain, the Grey family walked home from church. On this first Sunday in November, the town looked dull and a little forlorn. Bare trees lined the empty sidewalks, their rough brown trunks blurred by the misty haze that rolled in off the water.
From a distance, the family would have looked like a black caterpillar, huddled as they were beneath their umbrellas, winding their way up the hill and down their long, uneven driveway.
This was always the worst part for Vivi Ann. She was okay with the Sunday morning walk to town, the service, and the refreshments. It wasn’t until now, the walk down the driveway, that she remembered that it was Dallas who’d planted these trees. They’d been tiny, spindly, untried things back then; the ground at Water’s Edge had nourished them, made them grow strong. Once, she’d thought she was like those trees, rooted here, planted firmly enough to grow and flower forever.
By the time they reached the house, piling their rainy outerwear and rubber boots by the door, Vivi Ann’s mood was as gray as the weather. It wasn’t that she was unhappy or depressed; rather, she felt listless. Out of sorts.
And she wasn’t alone in this. Noah had been moping around for weeks now, too, quick to slam doors and disappear into his music.
Vivi Ann tried to put all of that out of her mind on this Sunday afternoon as she led the way into the kitchen and started dinner.
“You do realize that the sherry-Parmesan-cream sauce and pie dough defeat the healthiness of the veggies?” Aurora said as Vivi Ann put three homemade chicken potpies in the oven.
“It’s a Paula Deen recipe,” Vivi Ann answered. “Be glad there’s no mayo or sour cream involved. Besides, you could use a few pounds.”
“I get more stuck in my teeth than she eats,” Winona said.
“Ha ha ha,” Aurora said, pouring herself another glass of wine. “That’s so funny I forgot to laugh.”
It was a remark plucked directly from the grassy field of their childhood, and Vivi Ann found herself smiling for the first time in days. Picking up her wineglass, she said, “Let’s go sit on the porch. Supper won’t be ready for forty minutes.”
They all went out onto the porch and sat down. Leaning back into the frayed white wicker chair that had been Mom’s favorite, Vivi Ann put her feet up on the railing and stared out over the ranch. A silvery curtain of rain fell from the eaves, blurring the green acreage, making everything look distant and insubstantial. The beach-glass wind chimes clattered musically every now and then, a reminder of who should be here and wasn’t. It made her wonder suddenly what this family would have become if Mom were still here. When you hear the wind chimes, remember my voice, Mom had told them all on the night before she died. Vivi Ann didn’t remember much from those last few months, had blocked out most of it, but she remembered that night, with the three of them clustered around Mom’s bed, holding hands, trying not to cry. My garden-girls. I wish I could see you grow.
Vivi Ann released a heavy sigh. What she wouldn’t give for one more day with her mom. She tapped the wind chimes, listening to their sweet clatter. For the next half an hour, they talked about unimportant things; at least she and Aurora did.
“You’re awfully quiet today, Win,” Aurora said from behind her.
“You sound surprised,” Winona said.
“It’s Mark, isn’t it?” Aurora asked. “Has he said he loves you yet?”
Winona shook her head. “I think true love is really rare.”
“Amen to that,” Aurora agreed.