might do.”
Emma’s brow creased. “He abused her, too?”
“Enough.” As many times as he’d vomited the story to assorted therapists, you’d think it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Wrong. “I never told Lee that part, and he had no reason to guess since he never came over here. I had cause to hate my father, Emma. He was … obsessed, is the only way to put it. That everybody was a sinner and he was the instrument of God’s wrath.”
“So you ran away.”
“I stayed as long as I could, for Mama’s sake. But once she died, it was either leave or lose what little self-respect I had left. Not to mention my sanity. This house … it’s like you said. It was infected with his craziness. His meanness. I couldn’t … I couldn’t be good enough for him.”
Or for anybody, it turned out. Including himself.
Cash stood, carrying the plate and mug to the sink, noticing the full dish rack despite the dishwasher right under it. Taking his cue, he bumped up the faucet handle, squirted dish soap on the plate, into the mug. His throat clogged. “I’d loved him,” he said over the thrum of running water, “before the craziness started. And for a long time, all I wanted was for him to love me again. Until I realized that wasn’t ever gonna happen. Lee …”
The stab was quick, but for different reasons this time. Apparently regret hurt every bit as bad as self-righteousness. The dish and mug rinsed and in the rack, he faced Emma again.
“Lee was the only person who kept me going back then. Hell, Emma … leaving him and our friendship behind nearly killed me. I doubt …” He almost smiled. “I doubt he had any idea how much I worried about him those first few months. Then to find out—” His nostrils flaring, he shook his head. “I felt like I’d been sliced open with a dull knife. Especially since I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. Why Lee’d do that to me.”
“Then why didn’t you ask him?”
Beneath the calm, Cash heard the vexation bubble to the surface. The loyal wife defending her husband. Envy flashed, receded, replaced by anger of his own.
“Maybe I ran away, but the crap my father left in my head came right with me. That I was worthless, that I’d never amount to anything. I’d already been through hell and back by then, more times than I wanted to admit. How I even got a career going …” He punched out a breath. “Frankly, it was a damn miracle I didn’t end up dead in a ditch somewhere. Not sure anyone would’ve cared if I had. Except my manager, maybe.”
“You don’t mean that—”
“I’d barely begun to get my head screwed on straight when I heard the old man’d died, that Lee’d inherited this place. What he’d done for that to happen. Guess I took it a little hard.”
Emma leaned back, rubbing her belly, and Cash thought with a start about that “And?” earlier, when she’d asked him if there was anything else in the letter. There was, but if she didn’t know he wasn’t about to tell her. Not yet, anyway. Not until he figured out what to do about it.
Obviously, though, she’d meant something else. Something Lee hadn’t seen fit to mention, would be his guess. Not that anything would change how he felt. Yeah, he’d come in search of explanations as part of some lamebrained attempt to make sense of his past. Hell, of his present, for that matter. But that was it. Some hatchets were too big to bury.
Emma had gotten up to cover the pie before a big gray tiger cat got to it. She stood still for a moment, then turned, her arms crossed over her bulging belly.
“Mr. Cochran, your father … he really was crazy.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“No, I mean, he was sick. Mentally ill. Some kind of chemical imbalance that made him act the way he did. Only nobody knew about his illness until a couple of years after you left.”
For the second time that day, Cash reeled, Emma’s words sparking off the wall of hurt and hate he’d kept in perfect repair for most of his life. “What are you talking about?”
“I wasn’t here yet—this was before I’d even met Lee—but apparently one Sunday Dwight came to town and kinda crashed the Baptists’ church service, ranting and raving and whatnot. I gather it got pretty ugly.”
Cash softly swore. “He hurt anybody?”
“No. Scared the bejeebers out of a lot of folks, though, if the way some still talk about it is any indication. Anyway, long story short, he ended up in a state facility. Lee said they tried to find you or your brothers, but it was like all three of you had vanished.”
“That was the idea,” he muttered. They were both gone now, but even before their deaths they hadn’t been close. Not when they’d saved their own butts but couldn’t see their way clear to save their baby brother’s. If he’d talked to either of ‘em more than a handful of times after they’d split, that was saying a lot.
“Once they got Dwight on the right meds,” Emma was saying, “he started acting as normal as you or me or anybody.” She paused. “When he did all those things to you, said all that stuff … that wasn’t your daddy talking. That was the sickness.”
“So, what?” he flung at her. “I’m supposed to just say, ‘I see,’ and forget it ever happened?”
“I’m only telling you what I know. What you do with it is your business.”
The rebuke hit its mark. Breathing hard, Cash turned away, grinding his fingers into the back of his neck.
“Anyway,” Emma continued, clearly unperturbed, “Lee and his folks were in the congregation that Sunday. In fact, Lee and his daddy helped the sheriff subdue Dwight, and Lee’s folks felt compelled to take responsibility. Because if they didn’t, who would?”
Yeah, Lee’s parents had definitely had a handle on the whole “Love thy neighbor” thing. Even neighbors nobody else wanted anything to do with.
“Lee’d started down at New Mexico State by that point,” Emma said. “And it was some months before the doctors felt Dwight was stable enough—and could be counted on to take his meds—to release him. So he came back here, even if there wasn’t a whole lot left to come home to by that point. Still, he needed looking after. Lee’s folks did it at first, but after they died, Lee and I took over. At least until Dwight went into a home a year or so later. Place down in Albuquerque. Nothing fancy, but Dwight seemed to like it well enough.”
Smoothing the wrinkled flannel shirt over her stomach, she said, “I assume your father left the house to us because we were the closest thing he had to family. But I had no idea Lee’d never told you what was going on.”
“Like I said, we weren’t in touch—”
“He could’ve gotten a message to you, if he’d wanted. Somehow. But it wasn’t until after Dwight’d left us the place that Lee finally admitted you didn’t know. We had words about that, believe you me.
“So, knowing the cat would be out of the bag once the lawyer contacted you, Lee asked him if he’d send along a note of explanation. Again, I assumed Lee had been forthcoming at that point. Clearly I was wrong.”
“Why?”
