The Silent Waters
Page 39
“How did you know?”
She smiled and glided back and forth in her wicker rocking chair. “I know Maggie, and I know the look on people’s faces when she falls apart. I’ve seen it on her parents’ faces more than I’d like to admit. Now come on up here. Take a break. Come inside and I’ll make you some tea.”
I arched an eyebrow. Inside? I hadn’t ever seen Mrs. Boone invite someone into her house. Half of me thought if I walked in she might kill me, but the other half was way too curious about what it’d be like inside her home.
Her screen door squeaked as she opened it. She held it wide for me to walk inside, following closely behind me. “You can wait here in the living room. I’ll go heat up some water,” she said, walking toward her kitchen.
I paced around the living room, looking at her home. Her house was a museum; every piece of artwork looked like it was from the 1800s, and every statue sat behind a glass casing. Everything was polished and clean, and seemed to be in its rightful place.
“Are you sure you don’t need help?” I asked.
“I’ve been making tea for years and never needed help.”
I wiped my hand across her fireplace mantel, my fingers collecting dust, and I frowned. I wiped my hand against my jeans. Her fireplace was the only place in the room with dust. It was almost as if she collected every inch of filth and dropped it on the mantel. Strange. I lifted up one of the dust-covered frames and stared at Mrs. Boone with a man I assumed was her husband. She sat in his lap, smiling up at him as he smiled at her. I’d never seen Mrs. Boone smile the way she smiled in the photograph.
I picked up another photo, one where the couple stood on a boating dock with a child in front of them, who was laughing in the picture. The transition of the girl growing in the photos was hard to watch. She went from a smiling kid to someone who frowned, to someone who displayed no emotion at all. Her eyes looked so empty. There had to be over thirty frames packed on the fireplace, each picture showing different moments from Mrs. Boone’s past.
“Who’s the girl? In the photos?” I asked.
She peeked into the room before stepping back into the kitchen. “Jessica. My daughter.”
“I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
“Did you ever ask?”
“No.”
“That’s why you didn’t know. You stupid kids never ask questions. All you do is talk, talk, talk, and no one ever listens.” She walked back into the living room, fidgeting with her fingers before sitting on her couch. “The water is heating.”
I picked up a dust-covered record and blew off some of the grime. “Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay, by Otis Redding?” I asked.
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 the 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.”
She smiled and glided back and forth in her wicker rocking chair. “I know Maggie, and I know the look on people’s faces when she falls apart. I’ve seen it on her parents’ faces more than I’d like to admit. Now come on up here. Take a break. Come inside and I’ll make you some tea.”
I arched an eyebrow. Inside? I hadn’t ever seen Mrs. Boone invite someone into her house. Half of me thought if I walked in she might kill me, but the other half was way too curious about what it’d be like inside her home.
Her screen door squeaked as she opened it. She held it wide for me to walk inside, following closely behind me. “You can wait here in the living room. I’ll go heat up some water,” she said, walking toward her kitchen.
I paced around the living room, looking at her home. Her house was a museum; every piece of artwork looked like it was from the 1800s, and every statue sat behind a glass casing. Everything was polished and clean, and seemed to be in its rightful place.
“Are you sure you don’t need help?” I asked.
“I’ve been making tea for years and never needed help.”
I wiped my hand across her fireplace mantel, my fingers collecting dust, and I frowned. I wiped my hand against my jeans. Her fireplace was the only place in the room with dust. It was almost as if she collected every inch of filth and dropped it on the mantel. Strange. I lifted up one of the dust-covered frames and stared at Mrs. Boone with a man I assumed was her husband. She sat in his lap, smiling up at him as he smiled at her. I’d never seen Mrs. Boone smile the way she smiled in the photograph.
I picked up another photo, one where the couple stood on a boating dock with a child in front of them, who was laughing in the picture. The transition of the girl growing in the photos was hard to watch. She went from a smiling kid to someone who frowned, to someone who displayed no emotion at all. Her eyes looked so empty. There had to be over thirty frames packed on the fireplace, each picture showing different moments from Mrs. Boone’s past.
“Who’s the girl? In the photos?” I asked.
She peeked into the room before stepping back into the kitchen. “Jessica. My daughter.”
“I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
“Did you ever ask?”
“No.”
“That’s why you didn’t know. You stupid kids never ask questions. All you do is talk, talk, talk, and no one ever listens.” She walked back into the living room, fidgeting with her fingers before sitting on her couch. “The water is heating.”
I picked up a dust-covered record and blew off some of the grime. “Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay, by Otis Redding?” I asked.
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 the 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.”
