‘Cutler and Maisie were your great-grandparents.’
Charlie nodded seriously, wrapping his small hands around the metal handle of the umbrella, and pulling it close to his head. ‘Okay then.’
Inside the gate, the paths that wound around the graves were as empty as the parking lot. Ryan wiped the rainwater from his face, then put his arm on Charlie’s back, leading his son deeper into the graveyard. Occasionally they passed a family – heads down, black umbrellas up – paying respects to their loved ones on this Thanksgiving afternoon.
Finally they passed the bank of trees he knew led the way to his family’s plot. It was a private part of the cemetery, marked by marble busts and intricate stones, and everything about the graves reflected the wealth of his ancestors. Shaws had lived in this town since the seventeen hundreds, though it was only in 1835 that this cemetery had been constructed.
The two of them took a left, past the familiar names of Ryan’s ancestors; Marthas and Williams, Johns and Eleanors, all of them long buried, though their blood still ran through him today. With his hand still on his son’s back, he steered him to the far right-hand side, where two simple, white stones marked his grandparents’ final resting place.
That’s when he realised he wasn’t alone. Standing there, in a thick, red coat, with a pale grey umbrella sheltering her body, was his mother. She was staring at the gravestones, her red lips pursed, her eyes narrow. She looked smaller than he remembered – smaller and thinner – and her hair, once big and healthy, was sparse around her head. As he and Charlie approached the gravestone, she glanced up, blinking as she tried to focus on the figures in front of her.
‘Ryan?’ Like the rest of her, Nancy Sutherland’s voice seemed almost weightless. ‘Is that you?’
His heart was racing. He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that had made its home there. The last time he’d seen this woman – half a lifetime ago – she’d been crying, her face red with sadness, her eyes wet with tears. She’d begged him not to leave, but she never understood. Watching his father belittle her every day was killing him.
‘Mother.’ He nodded. He felt Charlie shift his feet beside him, but his son said nothing.
‘I heard you were back in town. And this must be your son.’
Ryan nodded. ‘Yes, this is Charlie.’
Her face softened. ‘Hello Charlie, I’m your grandmother.’ She licked her thin, red lips and took a step towards them. Charlie shrank against Ryan as if seeking protection.
‘My grandmother lives in San Diego. Her name’s Samantha.’
His mother’s lips trembled. ‘But I’m your other grandmother.’
Charlie frowned, and looked up at Ryan. ‘Is that true?’
Ryan placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Remember I told you about my mom and dad? That they lived in this town?’ Charlie nodded, his eyes still wide. ‘Well, this lady is my mom. Her name’s Nancy, and she’s your grandmother, too.’
She’d cleared the distance between them, coming to a stop in front of Charlie. Her eyes were watering, her mouth still quaking, and she bit down on it as if to still the shakes. ‘Charlie, I’ve been hoping to meet you. I’m so happy to finally be able to say hello.’ When she glanced at Ryan, he could see his reflection in the mirrors of her eyes. ‘He looks just like you did at his age. A Shaw through and through.’
‘My name’s Charlie Shaw Sutherland.’
A single tear rolled down her papery cheek. ‘That’s a very nice name. And a very significant one, too. Has your father told you that the Shaws built this town from nothing? And that our family – your family – are very important?’
Charlie looked up at Ryan, his face full of questions.
‘I haven’t told him that, no,’ Ryan said. ‘Because I’ve brought him up to realise that everybody’s important. And that we’re no different to anybody else he meets – rich or poor.’
His mother flinched, and Ryan immediately regretted his harsh tone. ‘I’m sorry, I—’
She waved her hand. ‘Don’t apologise. I understand what you’re trying to say. But he is your son, half of his blood comes from this land. He is as much the product of the Shaws and Sutherlands as he is of his upbringing. And he should at least know something about his history, even if you turned your back on it.’
‘He’ll know when he’s ready,’ Ryan said, keeping his voice free of emotion. ‘And he’ll know why I found it so suffocating, too. I want him to grow up knowing he’s more than a name, more than a small town where everybody knows everyone’s business. And more than anything I want him to know that no man should ever treat a woman the way Dad treated you.’
‘He’s not so bad any more,’ she told him, though the quiver in her voice didn’t back up her words. ‘He’s getting old, we both are, he’s mellowed.’
‘He’s still a bully. I saw that when he called me into his office.’
‘You saw him?’ Her mouth fell open. Ryan guessed there were still secrets between them, the way there always was. Growing up, his father had ruled their house with an iron will. What he said always went. If anybody dared to stand up to him, they’d feel the force of his wrath.
Maybe that’s why Nancy Sutherland had stopped standing up for herself. And when Ryan had tried to stand up for her, she’d told him to stop, to respect his father. That she would never leave him.
In the end it was Ryan who’d left. From the moment he’d stepped on the airplane he’d felt free.
‘Yeah I saw him. It was as pleasant as always.’