Silent Killer. Beverly Barton

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      As soon as Cathy and Seth left the house, she asked, “What was that about your going over a song for tonight’s services?”

      “Don’t you remember, Mom? Once a month, on Sunday night, the teenage guys take turns acting as the song leader.”

      “Oh. Yes, of course. If I’d known you were going to be doing that this evening, I’d have made plans to be there.”

      He shrugged as they left the porch. “It’s no big deal. Besides, we’ll do it again next month.”

      “I’ll be there then.”

      “Yeah, sure.”

      They walked side by side, heading west toward the center of town, which was only four blocks away. A couple of times, neighbors sitting on their front porches or out in their front yards gawked as they passed, as if they were shocked to see the crazy widow walking the streets with her son. A couple of neighbors threw up a hand, waved and spoke. Seth returned their greetings.

      One block passed and then another, neither she nor her son speaking to each other again. Cathy hated the awkward silence. It was as if she and her own child were strangers. Just make conversation, she told herself. Nothing heavy.

      “School’s out in a couple of weeks, huh?”

      “Ten days,” he said. “Exams are next Thursday and Friday.”

      “I can hardly believe that my baby boy will be a junior in high school this fall. It seems like only a few years ago that you were in kindergarten.”

      “Yeah, that’s what Nana says all the time.”

      “Your nana is a wonderful lady,” Cathy told him, completely sincere. She loved Mona, who had in many ways been more of a mother to her in the past sixteen years than her own mother had ever been. “I’m grateful that she’s been here for you while I’ve been gone.”

      Seth didn’t respond. He just kept walking at a slow, steady pace, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead.

      They crossed the intersection at Mulberry and Fifth without encountering even one vehicle. Dunmore was quiet and peaceful on Sunday midafternoons. After church, people either went home or out to eat. By now everyone had reached their destination.

      “What are your plans for the summer?” she asked. “Are you doing anything special? Playing ball or—”

      Seth stopped abruptly. “Mom, I play baseball and football. Have you forgotten that, too?” He stared at her, studying her with his intense, narrowed gaze.

      “No, of course I didn’t forget. I just…The question came out before I thought. I’ve been trying so hard to think of something to say, to come up with casual conversation.” She looked him square in the eye. “I’m fine, honey. Don’t worry. I’m not sick anymore. I’m completely well.”

      His gaze hardened. His brow wrinkled.

      She could tell that he desperately wanted to believe her. But Seth had been there that day, when she had run down the hall, alternately laughing and crying hysterically before locking herself in her bedroom and refusing to come out. He had stood outside the door, beating on it, begging her to open up and let him come in. He had listened to the sounds of her emotional meltdown, the laughing and crying that she could not control. She had known she was losing it, but she had been unable to stop.

      She vaguely remembered that sometime later, her mother had knocked on the door, called her name and demanded she stop all the nonsense and come out immediately.

      “Catherine, you’re frightening your son.” When she hadn’t responded, her mother had continued calling her name over and over. “Cathy? Cathy, can you hear me? Cathy!”

      They would never forget what she had said to her mother that day before she fell across the bed in a fit of uncontrollable, manic laughter.

      “Cathy’s not here. Cathy’s dead.”

      That had been a year ago. A year of therapy. A year of healing. A year of learning to accept herself as she was, to acknowledge her true feelings and to come into her own as a grown woman. And most importantly, to forgive herself for not being perfect. Her words that day had been prophetic. The old Cathy was dead.

      She reached out and grasped Seth’s arm. “I’ll be there for every game from now on. I promise.”

      “Okay. Sure.”

      She saw a glimmer of hope in his beautiful blue eyes.

      She had disappointed him, had let him down. She would never allow that to happen again. But he didn’t know that. It was up to her to prove to him that she was completely well, that she was whole and that for the rest of his life he could count on her.

      She released her tight grip on his arm. “You know I’m staying with Lorie, but just for a little while. I plan to find a house for us soon. I’m going to start looking next week.”

      “Mom, I…I can’t come and live with you.” He stared down at the sidewalk, avoiding direct eye contact.

      “Of course you can, and you will. I’m your mother. You belong with me.”

      Don’t push so hard. Don’t demand. Ask. “I want you to live with me. Don’t you want that, too?”

      “Granddad says you’re not ready for the responsibility, that you might not ever be. He thinks I should stay with him and Nana until I leave for college in a few years.” With his head still bowed, he lifted his gaze just enough to glance at her quickly. “You can visit me anytime you want, and…and once you’re settled in and all, I could come visit you.”

      I don’t want you to visit me. I want you to live with me. “That’s what J.B. wants. What do you want, Seth?”

      That’s it, Cathy. Put your son on the spot. Make him choose between you and his grandfather.

      “Mom, I don’t want to hurt your feelings…”

      “If you want to stay with J.B. and Mona for a little while longer, then that’s what you’ll do.” Agreeing to give up her son even for a few more weeks was one of the most difficult things she’d ever done. “I’ll find a house for us…for me. And I’ll go back to work at the antique shop with Lorie. I’ll visit you, and you’ll visit me. We’ll take this one day at a time. Does that work for you?”

      “Yes, ma’am.” His lips curved into a hesitant smile. “Thanks, Mom, for…Well, for…”

      “It’s only another block into town,” she said. “Want to stop at the Ice Palace and get Cherry Cokes?”

      “Yeah, that sounds great.”

      Baby steps. One day at a time. That was how she had recovered. And it was the way she would regain her son’s trust.

      On her drive home from the interfaith Sunday afternoon social she had attended at St. Mary’s in Huntsville this afternoon, Lorie questioned her motives for taking part in any event even vaguely associated with religion. Her strict Baptist upbringing, her parents both fanatics of the first order, had turned her СКАЧАТЬ