Chasing Lilacs (30 page)

“Of course. Moving on, like you said. No more crying for Mama.” As soon as I said it, tears sprang to the surface, fuzzing
everything. I blinked and swallowed to keep from letting them fall.

“You don’t sound all right.” She took my arm and led me into the front room. “I’m here to listen; you know that. Something
has upset you, I can tell.” She gathered me in her arms, guiding my head to rest on her shoulder.

I pushed her away. “Nobody listens to me. Why should you?”

“I’ve had my share of regrets. Not being more sensitive to you. We’ve not given each other much of a chance, have we? Me and
my being so bossy. It’s no wonder you don’t trust me. And it’s something I would like to change, if you will let me. I’m listening
to you now.” She smiled at me, not in her normal sarcastic way, but like she meant it.

“Well, try this out then. I just found out Mama didn’t love me. How would you like it if you found out after thirteen years
your mother never loved you?” I scooted away from Aunt Vadine on the couch.

“Of course your mother loved you. How on earth did you come up with the idea she didn’t?”

“The letters, for one thing. She never read them.”

“Letters? What letters?”

“Nothing I want to talk about.”

“Sammie, I know it’s hard to talk about our hurts. Keeping them bottled up, though, will only make it harder for you in the
long run. If she wrote you a letter, maybe it would help to tell someone about it.”

She called me Sammie, not Samantha.
Maybe she is trying to change. No, she won’t ever change. She’s just trying to trick me so she can bring it up later
.

“She didn’t write me. It’s the ones I wrote her.” The sound of Mama’s letters crackling in the fire filled my head. “Nothing
that concerns you.”

She smoothed a wrinkle in her dress. “I know it’s hard being a teenager. I had my share of traumas during those years. Nothing
like what you’ve been through, but I know how emotional this time can be. You think a certain way one day, another way the
next. That’s one reason I’ve stayed at Graham Camp as long as I have. For you. To get you the help you need for your irrational
behavior.”

“What kind of help?”

“Counseling. A juvenile program. I understand they have one in Amarillo.”

The hair on my arms stood up. “You think I’m a juvenile delinquent? I haven’t broken any laws or stolen hubcaps.”

“Of course you haven’t. It’s a program for those with emotional struggles. A place where you can talk out your problems. I’ve
tried to provide the stability you need, but I’m just so inept.” A sigh escaped her lips. “Still, I’m willing to stay until
you get back on track.”

“I thought you were waiting for Daddy. To become his new wife.”

Her arms twitched ever so slightly, but her face looked pleasant. Calm. “Oh, in the beginning I suppose I entertained those
ideas, seeing him so needy and all, but I know now that’s not going to happen.”

“You said you believed in second chances.”

“Funny you should say that. I didn’t see it at first, but in the last few weeks I’ve come to realize my second chance is with
you.”

“I don’t get it.”

“The thing is, I had a baby once.” She had a faraway look in her eyes. Sad, like I’d seen sometimes in Mama.

“What happened?”

“He was stillborn. My marriage didn’t work out, and then I never married again. I was thrilled when you came along. A niece
I could love on.”

“You said I was a nuisance.”

“You were.” She wrinkled her nose and patted my knee. “All children are. That doesn’t mean we don’t love them. I didn’t have
the opportunity to raise my baby boy, so I have no real experience. Being here at Graham Camp has been good for me, seeing
how young people act and talk. I’m willing to make a go at being the aunty you never had. If we work together, you might not
even need professional help. I know I can’t replace your mother, but maybe we could be friends, confide in one another.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that.” After all she’d done, why should I trust her now?

“I understand. I have a lot to learn, some old habits to get rid of. Your daddy told me about Alice and her change of heart
about Slim. Now that was something, you know.”

The muscles I’d kept bunched up relaxed a little. Maybe I should give her another try. It was either that or get shipped off.
I
looked at her and shrugged. “You’re right. Mrs. Johnson is like a whole different person.”

Aunt Vadine made a little O with her mouth, and her eyes widened. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. Actually, I wanted it to
be a surprise. After hearing you tell your daddy how much you wanted to be on the paper, I called Mr. Howard yesterday. Told
him I thought you were ready to come back.”

“Really? You did that?”
No way
. Not after all the stink she made. Still…

“Sure did. Now, I’m still not crazy about all that pounding you do on the typewriter, but maybe it’s something I’ll get used
to.”

She sounded sincere. Maybe it was me who had a problem with trusting people. When I looked at Aunt Vadine, her eyes sparkled.
She had made the first step. Now I had to decide. I told her thanks and let out my breath.

She held out her arms, and I let her hug me. A nice soft hug that had a familiar smell when I closed my eyes and breathed
in through my nose. Not Juicy Fruit, something faint and sweet.

“I don’t suppose you’d like some supper? You’ve had a long day.”

“I’m starved.”

“Filthy too. Look at all that dirt on your clothes. Why don’t you go take a bath while I cook us something?” Her voice had
a teasing ring to it. Besides, she was right—I was a mess.

I hurried off and took a bubble bath, washed my hair, and put on clean clothes. Aunt Vadine had potato soup ready when I came
out of the bathroom. She asked about Slim, and I told her about Cly and me working on his garden.

“That’s lovely, dear.”

Lightning started flashing through the window while we watched television. I thought about Slim and wondered if the almanac
predicted rain for mid-April. Once in a while Aunt
Vadine tilted her head toward me and smiled, and not once did she pick up her crochet hook. Personally, I couldn’t get used
to this new Aunt Vadine and thought any minute the bubble would break and we’d be flying off the handle at each other again.
I yawned and stretched.

“I swan, I bet you’re plumb worn out. Working outside all day. I’m a little tired myself. What say I make us both a cup of
hot chocolate before we turn in?”

She whisked into the kitchen and rattled a pan. After a few minutes, she called out, “You know, tomorrow we should bake some
peanut butter cookies. Would you like that?”

It was a start. Maybe she
was
trying.

We sipped our chocolate and listened to the rain hammering the roof. When my cup was empty, I took it and Aunt Vadine’s to
the kitchen and rinsed them in the sink. I yawned again and said good night.

When I slipped under the covers, Mama’s robe rubbed against me. How had I forgotten her robe? Repulsed, I wadded it up and
threw it off the bed, then curled onto my side. The ice pick feeling came back inside.
Mama didn’t read my letters.
I gritted my teeth and forced it out of my mind. A streak of lightning lit up my room, and I saw Aunt Vadine standing in
the doorway, her lips tilted into a smile.
Lilac.
That was the smell I couldn’t identify earlier. When had she started using Mama’s lilac water? A fuzzy-headedness came over
me. Another yawn.

Dear God, please watch over Slim. Help him get better. Tell Mama she should have read my letters
….

Rain beat on the roof, sharp pinging sounds. Hail? No, a different sound—louder—more metallic sounding. My body felt stiff
from sleeping too long in the same position, but when I tried to move,
I couldn’t. My arms seemed locked at my side, tangled in my covers. I twisted, thinking how hard my feather mattress had
become. Had I fallen out of bed onto the floor? Or gone to the closet in Mama and Daddy’s room? That would explain the blackness
when I squinted my eyes trying to make out where I was.

Had I dreamed of the black hole again? This time I wasn’t being sucked into the swirling dark pit. No, definitely not a dream.
But where was I?

The smell of dirt mixed with oil and dampness in the air came to me. I tried to lift my head and get a better whiff. No pillow
rested under my head. I turned my face and felt the grit of dirt on my cheek. My heart pounded in rhythm to the rain.
Take off the covers!
Squirming, I worked one arm up across my belly and then the other one.
Where am I? How did I get here?

Had I spoken the words or was my mind playing tricks on me? My throat got a tight feeling. Again, I twisted my head and saw
a tiny sliver of light, as thin as a pencil, stretching from one side of the room to the other down low, next to the floor.
The garage. I must be in the garage, but why?

A scuffling noise came from one corner. I shuddered.
What if it’s a mouse? Or a
rat?

Don’t be silly. You’ve never seen a rat at Graham Camp.

Shivers zinged along my legs still tangled in… in what? A blanket of some kind. I took a deep breath and heaved my body over
to my stomach. Maybe I could free my arms and legs that way. The hard surface of the garage—I knew now that’s where I was—pushed
against my arms. Sweat popped out as I lunged to make another roll. And another. I felt the blanket loosen as cold hit my
arms and legs. A clap of thunder shook the air. I drew myself into a ball and covered my head with my arms.
Click. Screech.
The familiar creak of the garage door opening. When I lifted my head, Aunt Vadine stood against a gray sheet of rain, the
wind whipping
her thin robe like a ghost costume. She stepped inside. The wet nylon of her robe clung to her, outlining the bulges of her
hips and breasts.

“Samantha? Are you in here?”

I edged toward the wall, pulling the blanket with me.
Mama’s quilt?
I knew it was. More light came into the garage, faint and shadowy. I looked again at Aunt Vadine, but something else caught
in the corner of my vision. A figure hung from the ceiling, swaying… swinging.

I screamed. And screamed again. More screams, but I didn’t know if they were mine or Aunt Vadine’s. She rushed in and knelt
beside me. “You poor child. What are you doing in here?”

“What is
that
doing in here?” I pointed to the hanging figure. “
Who
is that?”

The stepladder lay on its side in the dirt slightly away from the center of the garage.

She turned her head and gagged. “Oh dear. What the devil?” She pulled me to my feet and dragged me to the ladder. She uprighted
it and said, “Help me! Hold it steady.” She climbed onto the first step, then the second. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t
help myself. I wanted to throw up, the phlegm rising but stuck in my throat.

“Oh, Samantha. Look at that. There’s not a body in here at all.”

I forced myself to look. No legs dangled down. But what I saw did make me throw up. Vomit spewed out of my mouth, splatting
on Aunt Vadine’s ankles.

Mama’s robe dangled above us, stuffed with something, and tied with a rope in the spot where I imagined Mama hung herself.

Aunt Vadine stepped down and pulled me to her chest. “Oh, you poor dear. You must have thought…” She leveled her gaze at me.
“You. You did this? How could you?” She turned away, hiding her face. “All your cries of desperation, and now this?”

The folds of her saggy body enveloped me. I wrenched my head back, her fingers like claws in my back. “What? You… you think
I did this? No. No. No! It’s sick. A sick joke. I swear… there’s no way… I couldn’t have.”

Could I?
I had been so upset about Mama. Had I slipped over the edge and done this horrible thing? I closed my eyes and tried to think.
To remember.

Aunt Vadine’s talking kept my thoughts from coming. “I worried myself plumb sick about you last night. Moaning in your sleep.
Thrashing around. I tried to stay awake, but I must have drifted off. When I woke up, you were gone. I turned the house upside
down looking for you. In the closets, under the beds, everywhere I could think to look. I felt close to having a heart attack
myself, worrying that you had run off. Thank the Lord you’re safe, where we can get you the help you need.” Her palm pushed
the back of my head into her shoulder.

I pushed away from her. “Take that thing down. I didn’t do it.”

She held her hand over her heart. “I pray your daddy will be home soon. He’ll have to see it. He’ll be as desperate as I am
to get you help.”

My head cleared a little. I turned away from the swaying robe, limp, lifeless like Mama. I knew I hadn’t hung Mama’s robe
from a rope. But if I didn’t, who did? Only one person came to mind. Aunt Vadine. She was the one who was desperate. All that
talk about confiding in her. I knew it was a lie.

Think
. I had to think what to do. The smell I noticed earlier came to me—the smell I thought was oil. It wasn’t. It was Daddy’s
kerosene lantern—the Coleman we took fishing. Whoever did this had to have a light. A flashlight wouldn’t have worked with
just one person. But Daddy’s lantern would have. I had an idea.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, dear. Anything.”

“How do you think I did this”—I pointed behind me in the general direction of Mama’s robe—“in the dark?”

“I have no idea. A flashlight maybe. Or your daddy’s kerosene lantern. I know I’ve seen one around here somewhere.” She craned
her neck and looked around. “Over there. On the workbench. Isn’t that your daddy’s lantern?”

It was. And it wasn’t where I’d seen it yesterday. Was it only yesterday I found the letters? My stomach tightened. How could
I call her a liar? Something else.
Think. Think. Think.

“How did I wrap myself up tighter than the husk on a corncob in that old blanket?”

“You call the quilt your grandma Grace made an old blanket?”