Revenge Walk Page 13

“Price Reed, this is Yvonne and Phil Lindlor.”

  “Yvonne,” Price repeated in a low tone. “Jean’s … daughter?”

  “Yes.” Yvonne bit her lip to keep the tears in check, but shook Price’s hand warmly. She laughed at her own poor attempt to stifle the flow. “Sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes. “This is… difficult. Strange.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Price said quickly. “Come in, please. Sit down.”

  Yvonne and Phil took seats on the couch, Price across from them. Sam and Lacey took other chairs.

  “When did you get here?” Price asked.

  “This afternoon,” Yvonne said. She chuckled at Price’s obvious surprise. “Lacey called me Monday to tell me about the letters and the diary, then she scanned one letter in and emailed it to me. I have to admit, it really knocked me for a loop. I felt completely… lost. Adrift. As if everything I’d ever been attached to was suddenly gone. As if everything I thought was real just… disappeared. I didn’t know what to think, what to believe.” She shook her head. “It was an immediate and total identity crisis.”

  Price nodded sympathetically. “I can imagine it was.”

  “I was an absolute mess the rest of the day, and most of Tuesday as well. I was awed, angry, bewildered. I can’t even tell you all the emotions I cycled through that day. It was like being in a dryer, bouncing around from one feeling to the next.” She sighed. “Finally I knew I had to come back here, see for myself. I had to see the letters, see what my mother left behind.” She shifted her gaze from Price to Sam. “But then, to find out what Sam was doing, was going to do, I… still can’t believe it.”

  Price grinned. “You didn’t know about your mother’s ghost?”

  “No.” Yvonne looked down at her hands, a faint blush staining her cheeks. “When Lacey first called me, I didn’t give her much of a chance to explain, and I certainly wasn’t listening with much attention.” She lifted her eyes to Lacey. “I’m sorry I was so rude to you.”

  Lacey dismissed that with a wave. “Perfectly understandable. Don’t even think about it.”

  Just then voices drifted down from the upper floor, and footsteps on the stairs heralded the approach of Vicky and the girls. The girls were freshly wrapped in their robes, their wet hair gleaming.

  “No creak on the stairs,” Lacey said to Price with a grin.

  “Not anymore.”

  He introduced his wife and daughters to the Lindlors, and Vicky’s face displayed a similar shock at understanding just who their visitors were.

  “You came,” she said, shaking Yvonne’s hand absentmindedly.

  “Yes, we came. We had to. I had to.” She motioned around her. “The house looks wonderful. It’s nice to see it cared for.”

  “We love it,” Vicky said. She sat next to Yvonne and the girls crowded in close. “Would you like to look around?”

  “I would love that.” Yvonne glanced to Sam. “Is that all right?”

  “Sure. Go ahead and look through the first floor. When you’re done, we can all go upstairs. I’m sure there’s someone up there who will be happy to see you.”

  Yvonne and Vicky rose and moved into the kitchen. Tansy followed, while Melody hung back with her father.

  “Well,” Price said to Phil, “this must all seem pretty strange.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Phil said. “But if it helps Yvonne…” He shook his head. “She’s had a tough life. Nothing came easy to her, and she’s fought for everything she has. This,” and he spread his hands to indicate the house, “may be the break she needed. The proof that life doesn’t have to be so hard. I don’t know.” He smiled tentatively. “I guess we’ll see.”

  It didn’t take long for Vicky and Yvonne to tour the lower floor. When they returned to the living room, Yvonne went to the window seat built into the tall side window.

  “This used to be my favorite spot,” she said with longing. “I used to love to sit here and stare out the window, imagining all sorts of things: dragons, unicorns.” She smiled wistfully.

  “That’s Melody’s favorite place,” Vicky said, her hand on the head of her oldest. “She’ll sit there and read for hours.”

  Yvonne was thoughtful for a moment, then turned to Sam. “These girls are almost the same age as Lynette and I were when…” She swallowed. “Do you think my mother knows? Understands?”

  Sam nodded. “Yes, I believe she understands that Melody and Tansy are not you and Lynette. She did everything she could to protect them from the well. From the same fate.”

  Yvonne nodded. “Vicky told me when we were out on the patio.” She glanced around the room, and finally toward the stairs. “I hope… I mean, I would think that would give her some kind of satisfaction, that she was able to keep them safe.”

  “I think so,” Sam said. He scanned all the faces in the room. “So, are we ready to go upstairs?”

  The eight of them gathered at the base of the stairs. Price pointed out the new wood on the middle stair. “That’s where your mother put those letters,” he told Yvonne. “And other things. We’ll show it all to you, after.”

  She nodded. Lacey noticed the wide, almost wild look in her eyes as she peered up the stairs.

  “Okay,” Sam said, drawing everyone’s attention. “Here’s what I think we ought to do. I’ll go in first, and Lacey will follow so she can film. Then, Yvonne, I’d like you to just come and stand inside the door. Everyone else, I think, should wait outside the door, but you’ll be able to see everything, hear everything. Does that sound reasonable?”

  Nods all around.

  “All right. Let’s go.”

  Sam led the way up the stairs. Again, Lacey noticed the distinct lack of a creak when she stepped on that middle stair, felt the sturdiness of it. The old giving way to the new.

  On the landing, Sam stopped at the closed door until everyone had crowded around. He looked from face to face, smiling at last to the girls that pressed against their parents. He nodded to Lacey, and opened the door.

  Lacey raised her phone and started to video.

  Sam stepped into the room and approached the open area near the window. He stood quietly, eyes narrowed, breathing deeply as he assessed the feel of the room. After a moment, he lifted his gaze toward the ceiling.

  “Jean Hawkes,” he said solemnly. “We know your story. We know why you grieve. That day—that awful day—when Lynette died, we know you lost more than just your youngest daughter. You lost both your daughters.” He turned slightly, letting his last words echo away. “We found your letters, Jean. We found your diary. We know what your mother did, how she took Yvonne from you. How she kept her from you, poisoned her against you. We know that you were unable to fight her. We know she had her revenge for your leaving her.” His lips pressed into a thin, hard line. “For all your flaws, you were a better mother than she was.”

  He raised his hands, fingers spread. “Jean, Yvonne is here. Your daughter has come home.” He turned and motioned to Yvonne, beckoning her to him. She stepped forward hesitantly. Her chin quivered, and silent tears streamed down her face.

  “Just stand here,” Sam said softly. He put his hands on her shoulders. “You don’t have to do anything, say anything, unless you want to. Just let her see you.”

  Yvonne nodded, then lifted her eyes to the window. Sobs shook her body; she bit her lip to keep them quiet, but small mewings escaped. She closed her eyes and let the tears flow.

  Lacey had to tighten her own jaw to keep her tears at bay. She watched Yvonne through the screen of her phone, watched her struggle. The silence of the room changed subtly. Lacey imagined sadness turning to wonder. Sorrow turning to joy.

  “Mama?” Yvonne’s voice was small, quiet—the voice of a child. “Mama? I’m… I’m here. I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t want to leave you. I never wanted to go. But Grandmother…” Sobs choked off her voice. She swallowed deliberately and pushed through. “I missed you, Mama. And I never knew that you missed me.”

  Lacey dashed tears f
rom her own eyes, heard sniffling behind her.

  Yvonne pulled in a deep breath, inflating her body. She pressed both hands to her heart. “I love you, Mama. I love you.” She put her hands to her face and let the sobs take her.

  Sam stepped up behind Yvonne and put gentle hands on her shoulders. “She hears you,” he said softly. “She sees you. You’ve given her back what she lost so long ago.”

  As Lacey watched through the screen, the sheers at the window suddenly ballooned outward, rising, lifting, fluttering in a breeze that wasn’t there. The soft fabric reached for Yvonne like hesitant fingertips. Reached, almost touching, then falling gently back to their place beside the window.

  They settled into stillness.

  The only sound was Yvonne’s muffled cries.

  Sam slid one arm around Yvonne’s shoulders. “She’s gone. You did it. You released her.” He turned her gently. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs.”

  ~~~

  Six of them sat in the living room. Yvonne’s sobs, muffled by the closed bathroom door, still sounded through the house. Phil stood at the closed door, waiting for his wife.

  Lacey turned off her phone and slid it into her pack. She glanced around at Price and Vicky, Tansy and Melody. They all looked a little shell-shocked.

  “You’ll have no more issues here,” Sam said quietly. “The room is clear now.”

  Vicky nodded mutely. Her eyes were red-rimmed, black smudges underneath from her mascara. She looked down at her two daughters. “That poor woman,” she breathed.

  Sam smiled briefly. “She’s okay now. She’ll go on to the next phase, wiser, stronger, happier. She’s already begun.”

  Lacey thought they all exhaled together, all releasing the tension that had gripped them. All breathing out the sorrow and pain.

  The bathroom door opened. Phil murmured to his wife and took her into his arms. They walked together into the living room, and sank down on the couch. They seemed reluctant to let go of each other.

  Vicky put a hand to Yvonne’s back and rubbed absently, as if soothing a child.

  When Yvonne regained control of herself, she smiled weakly to the others. “Sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be,” Price insisted. “It’s absolutely fine. But now…” He hesitated, tipping his head at Yvonne. “How would you like to see what else your mother left for you?”

  Still wiping at the tear tracks with the heel of her hand, she nodded.

  Price rose and left the room, then returned immediately. He set an object on the coffee table in front of her.

  “Oh!” Her voice caught in her throat. Very gently she lifted the lid on the music box. The small thin strains of When You Wish Upon a Star emanated from the box.

  “That was my favorite song,” Yvonne said in a hushed voice. “From Pinocchio. I loved that movie.” She touched the music box with loving fingertips, stroking the gleaming lacquered wood. The song slowed, the notes coming further apart, softer, until they finally stopped.

  She gently closed the lid.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” she said to Price and Vicky. “You have no idea what you’ve done for me.”

  Price scoffed. “Thank them,” he said, waving at Sam and Lacey. “Without their help, we’d never have known about any of this.”

  Yvonne turned to Sam and Lacey. “Thank you.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She put out a hand and Lacey caught it, squeezing gently.

  “You’re welcome.”

  ~~~

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Thursday afternoon, Sam came home early. His clothes were spotted with smears and drips of gray clay.

  “Taking a break?” Lacey asked.

  “Yeah.” He kissed her and pulled a bottle of vitamin water from the fridge. “But I’ve gotten a lot done. I should be able to fill all those orders within a few weeks.”

  “Great.” She grinned at him. “I got a call from Yvonne earlier.”

  “Oh? They on their way home?”

  “Nope. Gonna spend a few days here.”

  Sam took a long drink and joined her at the table. “Doing what?”

  Lacey leaned her chin in her hand. Her eyes sparkled.

  “They’re going to Disneyland.”

  “Disneyland?”

  “Yeah. She said it was about time she recaptured the childhood she missed.”

  Sam laughed out loud. “Yes, it is,” he said. “Time indeed.”

  ~~~

  Thank You for Reading

  I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, I would greatly appreciate a short review on Amazon or your favorite book website. Reviews are crucial for any author, and even just a line or two can make a huge difference.

  --MJB

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Melissa Bowersock is an eclectic, award-winning author who writes in a variety of fiction and non-fiction genres: contemporary, western, action, romance, fantasy and spiritual, satire and biography. She lives in a small community in Northern Arizona with her husband and an Airedale terrier.

  For more information, visit

  http://www.newmoonrising.net

  or

  http://www.melissabowersock.com

  Find Me Online on Twitter and Facebook or visit my blog at:

  http://mjb-wordlovers.blogspot.com

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