Chapter One

Part One

The Present…June 2017

The phone clattered to the floor, its battery sliding across the tile until it met the apricot-colored wall. I stooped to retrieve the pieces and put the phone back together as emotion singed my throat. Surely I’d heard her wrong. Or maybe even dreamt the call. As the landline rung and the caller I.D. read “Sue Goodwyn,” reality sank in.

“Are you okay, Lily?” my mother-in-law’s voice sobbed.

“I’m just a little shocked,” I replied with tears trailing down my face. “I was half-asleep when you called. You did tell me that Sheila died, right?”

“Yes. I can’t make sense of it. She was perfectly healthy,” Sue said, her voice frail. “Is Luc there?”

“No, he’s been overseas for the past couple of weeks. He won’t return for another ten days,” I answered, now annoyed that he had wanted to keep his whereabouts a secret from his mom. He didn't like for her to worry unnecessarily.

“Do they have any idea how Sheila died?” I asked, brushing away a tear with my shoulder.

“They say it was a drug overdose, but my daughter wasn’t a druggie. I raised my kids better than that.” Anger wrapped around her words as she sobbed again.

I stared at the wall for a couple of seconds trying to process the possibility that my sister-in-law had died of an overdose. “I don’t understand. Who said she died of an overdose?”

“Her neighbor found her. They were supposed to go out for breakfast, but Sheila never showed up and wouldn’t answer her phone. Becky let herself into the apartment since Jessa was over at a friend’s house. She said Sheila looked like she was asleep in the bed, but when she tried to rouse her, she wouldn’t wake up.” Her voice seemed a million miles away. " An empty bottle of sleeping pills was on the floor beside the bed."

“This is so strange to me. We both know that Sheila did not die from a drug overdose. There’s more to it than that,” I said with conviction. “Ma, I’ll try to reach Luc and then I’ll make arrangements to get to Indiana. You hang tight, okay? We love you.”

Once I hung up the phone, I walked over to the computer and wiggled the mouse to awaken it. I clicked into my email and typed “Urgent!!! Call home ASAP!” into the heading with a “Please call me, Luc” as the main text. I looked at the time, ten o’clock, and calculated that Luc should be in his work quarters within an hour; soldiers weren't given many free weekends when they were in the Middle East.

As I fired off the email, I bowed my head as cries overtook me.

How could this have happened to Sheila? She wouldn’t take an over-the-counter painkiller but once or twice a year, and that was only for the worst of headaches. She didn’t drink, wasn’t depressed, and she was in the prime of her life. She’d been like a sister to me ever since I met her and there’d been no forewarning of any problem with her in any of our conversations. It didn’t make sense. She was the most stable person I knew, and there was no way she'd jeopardize her daughter's happiness.

I knew people could be bent, and if far enough, they would snap, but Sheila was more akin to a rock than a twig.

Deciding that dwelling on this news was imprudent, I called my best friend to see if she’d be able to watch the house and collect our mail while we were gone. I hated pestering her at this late hour since she was in the first trimester of her pregnancy, but she’d be upset if I left without telling her what had transpired. My heart broke because Carrie and her family were in their last few weeks of living in Florida; they were headed to Norfolk in less than a month. With the trip up north, we might have only a handful of times together before they departed.

When we hung up, I walked to my bedroom where I removed a suitcase from the closet and began stuffing it with enough clothing for five days. The phone rang just as I was placing dresses into the hanging garment bag.

I recounted Sue’s phone call to Luc, unable to keep my composure as trembles commandeered his voice. In twelve years of knowing him, I’d never seen or heard this typically stoic man cry. After his tears subsided, he asked, “How’s Mom handling this?”

“She sounded really bad,” I answered. “She just lost her daughter and I can’t imagine the anguish she must be feeling right now.”  I tried to brush the horror of the thought away. I'd heard the worst kind of pain was the loss of a child. It probably didn't matter to Sue that her baby was grown; her baby was gone nevertheless.

“And Jessa?”

“I don’t know. Your mom only mentioned that she’d been at a friend’s house. She was pretty out of it though--I’m worried about her.”

“Do you think you can make the drive up to Indiana by yourself?”

Forgetting that I was on the phone, I nodded my head and then gave a small laugh as I realized what I’d done.

“What’s so funny?”

“I just had a Lily moment. But yes, I can make the trip by myself. I have all our bags packed and ready to go.”

“You’ll leave in the morning?”

“No, we’re going to leave once I’ve loaded the van,” I replied. “I’m not going to be able to sleep so I’ll make the most of it. I’ll stop if I get tired.”

***

Somehow managing to avoid speed traps, construction, and heavy traffic, we arrived at Sue’s house just after five o’clock the next afternoon. I was exhausted and slightly nauseated as I tumbled out of the van.

Sue greeted us with red-rimmed eyes and disheveled hair as I opened the car door to two smiling girls. She beamed at the sight of the granddaughters she hadn’t seen since Christmas, and Rosabel and Maggy leaped out of their seats and rushed to their grandmother, hugging her legs as I kissed her cheek.

"How are you doing, Ma?" I asked.

"No mother wants to outlive her children. I wish I had one more day with her, and that it were me instead of her." She wiped away a tear. "But I'm better now that you three are here. I hate that I only get to see you a couple of times per year."

"We'll get through this, Ma. One day at a time," I said trying to stifle a yawn.

“Lily, you must be tired. Please get some rest. I’ll watch the girls and they’ll keep my mind busy.”

I didn’t object in the least and fell asleep as soon as my head touched the feather pillow.

On Monday morning, I picked up Luc from the airport while Sue and Jessa planned Sheila’s funeral. The next two days were laden with tears and marked with occasional laughter as we celebrated her life and mourned her passing. After she was laid to rest, Luc reminded me that Jessa would be in our care, a promise we’d made years ago after Sheila'd had a will drawn up by an attorney.

*      *      *

Luc and I waited behind Jessa as she slid her key into the lock and opened the door to the apartment. It seemed strange for Sheila’s bubbly personality and the wafts of whatever delicious dessert she’d prepared not to be greeting us at the door. Crossing over the threshold of what now seemed to be any other apartment, my breath caught at the thought of Sheila's death.

It reminded me of another.

I walked through the foyer and placed my purse on the ledge of the island that separated the kitchen and living room. Only a week’s amount of dust covered the top of the corian counters, the home spotless as usual and showing no superficial signs that Sheila might have been depressed or have been a drug user of any variety six days ago. Dreading the day we were going to have, I spun around to work on the task at hand; we needed to sort through Sheila’s belongings and pack up the apartment.

And we needed to look for a suicide note.

Jessa cleared her throat. By the contorted look on her face, she had something she wanted to say but was unsure how to broach the subject. After her eyes darted back and forth between Luc and me in what appeared to be a tennis match to decide whom she’d address, she finally spoke, “Uncle Luc, I think I should tell you that I’m not going to live with you guys. I want to stay here.”

I met Luc’s gaze, his eyes full of dejection and surprise. I was the first to speak. “Jessa, you’re fifteen years old. You can’t stay here by yourself.”

“I don’t want to go with you guys. I want to stay here, close to Mom. If you won’t let me live here, I'm sure I can stay at Sarah’s house,” she said, bringing her hands to her hips.

I let out a sigh and looked to Luc, who, for the moment, was a deer caught in the headlights. Clearly he was leaving this up to me. “No, Jessa. Your mom asked us to take care of you should something happen to her and we’re going to honor her request. You’re coming with us.”

Jessa’s steel gray eyes, the same as her uncle’s, welled up with tears as she began to quaver, “I don’t want to move down to Florida. If you won’t let me stay here or go to Sarah’s, at least let me stay with Grandma.”

“Sweetheart, your grandma is in no condition to care for you and it's not like you'll be able to pay rent while you're attending high school. If you're mom had wanted you to stay with Sarah, I'm sure she would have planned for that. We’re doing what your mom asked of us. It’s not up for negotiation,” I replied.

Jessa glared at me, then moved to Luc. She slumped her shoulders, lowered her chin, and widened her eyes as she prepared to manipulate her uncle, who was susceptible to her games. “Uncle Luc, please let me stay with Grandma Sue. I can help take care of her.”

Luc pulled her into an embrace and finally addressed the situation. “Jess, I’m sorry you don’t want to come with us, but Mom’s in no shape to care for you and you aren’t capable of taking care of her. Let’s not make this any harder than it’s already going to be, Sweetie.”

She shook out of the hug, stormed off to her room, and slammed the door, the brute force of it knocking to the floor one of the pictures that hung in the hallway.

I walked over to the picture and picked it up, mindful of any shards that may have been strewn. The photograph was one of the entire family, taken two years ago during one of our trips back to Indiana. The crack in the glass covered Sheila and Sue while it separated Jessa from the rest of us. A tear rolled down my cheek as I removed the picture from the frame; the crack had permanently damaged it. A moment later, rap music blared from the bedroom, as the walls pulsed to the beat.

“This has gotten a little complicated,” Luc said as I discarded the glass into the trash. “Let’s look for a note. Sheila would've left one if this was a suicide.”

I suggested we start in the office, which was as orderly as the rest of her house. Only the typical office supplies graced the top of her desk. I lifted her planner from the desk and turned it sideways to shake out any stray paper that might be hidden amongst the pages.

A small sheet of paper floated onto the floor and I bent down to retrieve it. A green cloverleaf stood out  against the white receipt from Clover Pharmacy and an audible gasp escaped me. She'd only purchased two sodas and some makeup, but the cloverleaf unnerved me.

Sheila wouldn't have gotten caught up with them, but the receipt still trembled in my hand. "Calm down, Lily," I thought. "Not everyone is as foolish as you are. You can't allow yourself to be afraid of a frickin' clover. It's probably just a coincidence."

When nothing else fell from the planner, I flipped through it, scanning for messages or any revealing information scrawled onto the pages.

I noticed several entries pertaining to Sheila’s job as a retirement planner, lunches with friends, Jessa’s extra-curricular activities, and a few medical appointments. “Did Sheila mention being sick to you?”

“I know she’s had some migraines, but that’s it. She went to the doctor, uhh, maybe six months ago?” Luc replied as he rummaged through the file cabinets.

“No, that was about a year ago. These appointments have been in the past month. I wonder if she mentioned it to Jessa or your mom,” I said, trailing off at the end. She hadn’t mentioned it to me and we spoke two or three times a week.

“I’m sure Jessa would know. We’ll talk to her once she calms down,” Luc said. “Speaking of doctors, you never told me about your check-up. How was it?”

I had a good reason for not telling him about the appointment. “Yeah, about that.” I sighed. “I wanted to tell you when you came home, but with the funeral and everything, it didn’t seem right. The doctor figured out why I’ve been so tired all the time.”

“Did he give you a prescription for iron?” Luc asked as he studied me. “I’m sure it's anemia; you're always exhausted.”

“He did give me some iron supplements, but there’s more to it than that.” I paused because I wasn’t sure how Luc was going to react. “I’m pregnant. Three months along.”

He dropped into the swivel chair and sat in silence for a few moments. “I wasn’t expecting that. When’s the due date?”

“End of December.” I diverted my eyes to a picture of Sheila handing a green balloon to a three-year-old Jessa. “I hope you’re not upset.”

Luc rose from the chair, walked over to me and cupped my chin in his hands, tilting my head upwards so I looked him in the eyes. “Lily Rose Goodwyn, how could you ever think I’d be upset with you over this?  Timing-wise it will be a challenge, especially with the move to Northern Virginia, but this baby will be a blessing, especially with so much death around us.” He pecked my forehead and met my lips with a soft kiss. My shoulders relaxed as the weight lifted from them.

After the search of the office turned up nothing of interest, I suggested we move on to Sheila’s bedroom.

I crouched in front of the cherry nightstand and slid open the drawers, nothing but some jewelry, a few keys, some photos and sewing supplies inside. I flipped through the books atop the stand, and again came up empty-handed so I walked over to the matching hope chest.

Tears streamed to my mouth as I pored through photo albums, and combed the numerous mementos Sheila had tucked away to share with her daughter one day in the future, a day that would never come. I dabbed the tears away with my sleeve, but my lips remained salty as I pursed them in deliberation at reading through her faded blue folder that was labeled “Poems, Lyrics, and Songs.” It seemed such an invasion of privacy, but I had no doubts that if Sheila’s soul were troubled, the answer would be found in this stack of papers.

I plucked the folder from the chest, and opened it to some lyrics that Sheila had written years ago, judging by the yellowed notebook paper. I felt eyes bore into me as I stood transfixed by Sheila’s lyrics, almost hearing the tune as each word danced off the page and into my subconscious. I slowly pivoted to face Jessa, her jaws clenched and her shoulders squared; she was spoiling for a fight.

“What are you doing in here?” her shrill voice asked accusatorily.

“Jessa, you know what they’re saying about your mom. We’re looking for anything that will prove it one way or another,” I answered matter-of-factly.

She opened her mouth to say something and clamped it closed, biting her lip as she shifted her attention to Luc. “You, too? You honestly believe my mom was a druggie? Or that she killed herself?”

“Jess, Sweetheart, we don’t want to think that about your mom. We don’t think she would, but she’d leave a note if…”

From the glower on her face, I braced myself for the harsh words I knew would follow. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say, Lily. I want to hear it from Uncle Luc.” She turned to him and asked, “Can you truthfully say that you think my mom did either of those things?”

“I don’t know. I want to believe that she wouldn’t use drugs or commit suicide, but I don’t know what might have been running through her head on Friday night. I do know that a thirty-six-year old doesn’t just die in her sleep. There’s always an underlying issue and that’s what we’re trying to determine. We just want to find some answers,” Luc replied, his voice full of calm and reason.

“My mom didn’t use drugs. And she didn’t kill herself. She’d never do that to me and you should know that, Uncle Luc. I can’t believe you’re so quick to think the worst of her. She wouldn’t leave me,” she stuttered. “There’s no way I’m going to live with you.”

She staggered out the door and bumped into the wall as tears flooded her face. I remained in the same spot, holding the folder for a few seconds and feeling worse than I had in a long time. I set the folder on the bed and started after her, but Luc’s hand encircled my arm before I reached the door.

“Lily, don’t. You stay here and keep searching. I’ll talk to her. I should have been the one to speak up in the first place.”

I’d combed through nearly everything in the bedroom—and found nothing—when they returned.

“Aunt Lily, I’m sorry for how I treated you. I hope you’ll forgive me.” Her eyes were red, and air whistled out of her nose as she said it, but the tone offered no apologetic match to her words.

Calling out her performance that would garner no Oscar nominations would only add fuel to the fire so I walked over to her, wrapped my arms around her, and gave her a peck on the forehead. “Of course I forgive you.

I would fight—and win—this battle with kindness. And we would figure out what happened together.