The Truth Against the World (18 page)

When I looked at myself in the mirror above the faucet, I had the odd sensation I was looking at a stranger. I saw a flash of fear cross my face, and then suddenly my dream came flooding back. Along with it came the insistent feeling that there was something I still had to do. Something Olwen wanted from Gareth, from me. My legs felt wobbly and I leaned my hands on the edge of the basin.

The metal box—that had to be important. I'd never dreamed about it before; I was positive of that. Maybe it was something Gareth knew about, something he'd forgotten to tell me. Maybe it was symbolic.

If that was symbolic, then what about the part where I'd clutched Gareth's hand? I knew what Rae would say about it, but Rae wasn't here to tease me. In fact, besides my parents, I didn't really have anyone
except
Gareth.

Maybe that was all the dream was about. Maybe it was my subconscious telling me I did have someone I could talk to. And I did have a phone. This was what it was for.

I glanced at the clock and grimaced. Not at 6 a.m. That would be just plain rude.

I splashed cold water on my face and pulled my hair back into a sloppy bun before emerging into the front room.

Mom and Dad were already up, sitting at the table looking exhausted. Dad had a half-empty bowl of cereal in front of him and was flipping through a newspaper. Mom was working on her laptop, but she looked up long enough to insist I eat something. I took a banana from the fruit bowl and ate it standing up, leaning against the counter.

The banana sat heavily in my stomach as the three of us gathered in Gee Gee's bedroom half an hour later. The room only held objects now—the hospital bed and the clothes and belongings the only reminder that Gee Gee had been alive there just a day ago.

“You're very lucky you had a chance to say goodbye, you know,” Mom said softly, running a hand across the quilt before sitting at the foot of the bed.

I shifted uncomfortably. “I know.”

“Your mom and I said our last goodbyes before the van came to take her to the mortuary yesterday,” Dad said. He sounded matter-of-fact, but the lines around his eyes looked deeper than ever, and my heart ached for him.

“We're going to go through your Gee Gee's things today, maybe box some of them up and see what we want to keep,” Mom said, sounding uncharacteristically tentative. She stole a quick look at Dad. “Why don't you spend some time outside
and get some fresh air? You probably won't want to hang around all day while we sort through clothes and papers.”

A tiny alarm bell went off in my mind.

The metal box. What if it was with Gee Gee's things? I had to find it, or whatever it might once have held. At the very least, I could find something out about Rhiannon's life before.

“I can help,” I said. “I don't really feel like going out, anyway.”

Dad looked at me with a slight frown and then shrugged. “Okay. We could use another pair of hands.”

I tried to explain. “I want to see if she has any old letters or diaries, or anything interesting. Maybe pictures.”

“You're welcome to anything like that,” Dad said, “but as far as I know she never was much for keeping mementos.”

I glanced at the wooden lovespoon, sitting forlornly on the bedside table, and I knew he was wrong.

But after a few hours of packing clothes into bags, and emptying some boxes that Gee Gee had shipped here but never unpacked, we'd come up empty-handed as far as interesting documents were concerned. I had a moment of hope when Mom unearthed a stack of papers from one of the boxes in the closet, but when I dove into it, I only found old utility bills, receipts, and a smattering of random magazine articles about everything from quilting to the Welsh National Assembly. None of it gave me any proof of what Gee Gee had been hiding. If there had been any letters or pictures, she'd hidden them well—or destroyed the evidence.

I couldn't help it; frustrated tears spilled out. I'd been sure I didn't have any more tears left to cry, but apparently I was wrong. Mom and Dad both sat down next to me on the bed and Dad hugged me to his side, letting me cry.

I tried to breathe deeply.
Lleuad.
Moon.
Aderyn
. Bird.
Canu.
To sing.

Gradually, my tears slowed. It seemed like an impossible task, finding something that I wasn't sure existed in the first place. I didn't even know what exactly I was looking for, or if there was even a point to searching anymore.

After a moment, Dad stood up and started rummaging through boxes again. I sighed and stared down at the carpet, trying to focus on the feeling of Mom stroking my hair, tucking escaped strands behind my ears.

The shuffling noises stopped suddenly and I glanced up. Dad was holding Gee Gee's jewelry box, which had been sitting on the dresser.

“Well, I'll be damned,” he said, pulling something out of the box. A silver chain glittered as it spilled out of his palm. “Look at this, Wynnie. It's your grandmother's locket. I haven't seen this in years. I thought it was long gone.”

That was what Gee Gee had always said; that it was lost. My heart pounded. I reached a hand out, then hesitated.

“Why don't you take it?” Dad said. “She would have wanted you to have it.”

“I agree.” Mom took the locket from his hand and unclasped it, putting it around my neck and then fastening it carefully. The inch-long silver oval was cold against my skin as it rested on my chest. I looked down at it. It was the same locket from my picture of Gee Gee when she'd first come to the States. I reached up and closed my fingers around it, clutched it as though I could somehow absorb any remaining molecules of Gee Gee from the locket and into myself.

Then I looked up at my dad. He smiled at me, and something inside me loosened.

Later that night, I was lying awake in bed thinking about the funeral. I clenched the bedspread in my hands.
I couldn't picture what it would be like; Gee Gee's body had already been cremated. And who would even be there? Would I have to talk to them, these strangers who knew Gee Gee from her former life? If I could steel myself to talk to them, what would they tell me?

I couldn't help thinking that we had to do something more, something other than this funeral for strangers. It felt inadequate.

Dad said Gee Gee wanted her ashes scattered or buried somewhere near the sea; we could take an urn home if we wanted to, but she'd been insistent on a part of her staying in Wales.

I sat up in bed. Really, we
could
do something. We could find the gravesite, like we'd been talking about all this time. We could find that clifftop overlooking the sea. If Gareth and I could locate it, if he could remember where it was, maybe we could bring my parents to the spot and convince them that Gee Gee's ashes belonged there.

That felt right.

I turned on my bedside lamp and picked up the locket from the nightstand. It was silver, tarnished and worn, and looking at it reminded me of when Gee Gee had first moved in with us. I'd looked at her old pictures a lot then, wondering about them, wondering about her. Now I had more questions than ever.

I popped open the hasp and peered at the tiny photograph. It was a black-and-white portrait of a baby wearing a little knit hat. The baby was dark-eyed and solemn, with very cherubic cheeks. Grandpa William? Or someone else? I gingerly pried the photo out with a fingernail, but nothing was written on the back. I replaced it as best I could and closed the locket again.

As the mechanism snapped shut, I thought I heard something rattle inside. Maybe I hadn't put the picture back in properly. I opened it again, but the picture seemed fine. I looked closely, turning it around and around in my hands, and then I noticed something I hadn't seen before: on the inside left door of the locket, the side without the picture, there was another hasp that was barely visible.

There was a second compartment in the locket.

The release button was minuscule, and I pressed it with the edge of my thumbnail so that the little flat door could spring open. When it did, a tiny key fell out. It was about the size of a luggage key, tarnished and old-looking.

I stared at it uncomprehendingly for a few minutes.

Then I thought:
My dream. The metal box.

It had to be somewhere. I just didn't know where. But I was sure now that it existed, and I was certain that this key would open it.

18

Nid hawdd cuddio rhag amser.

It is not easy to
hide from time.

Welsh proverb

The day of the funeral, the sun came out for the first time in a week. Gee Gee would have been happy to see it, the golden rays painting the hillsides and dappling tree-shadows on the ground. I had to squint against the brightness, look away.

As we arrived at the Methodist chapel, there were already a few people wearing somber colors gathered outside, speaking in quiet, muffled voices. A small group.

Maybe more would arrive soon.

I walked up the path leading through the churchyard, my parents behind me. Unlike the Anglican church on the east side of the town, there was no wooden-roofed lych-gate leading into the yard, no elaborate stained glass or ornate carvings. It was just a simple, whitewashed stone building with square windows and a squat clock tower with a heavy-looking bell inside. The bell was green with patina, and weathered; it looked as if it hadn't been used in decades.

I saw a few familiar faces—Hugh and Annie, Margie and Peter—but even as I said hello, there was an odd, stiff feeling pervading the atmosphere. Not only that, but it seemed like people were staring.

Not at my parents, but at me.

“That's the great-granddaughter!” A stage whisper—it came from a small knot of three gossiping elderly women in old-fashioned black hats.

“No!” another voice said softly. “Oh, yes, I do see it now!”

The women nodded politely as we went by, but they stared hard at me. My parents didn't seem to notice. I felt a surge of anger, felt like ripping their silly hats off their heads and yelling, “She didn't do anything wrong!” Instead, I ducked my head, feeling my cheeks flame. I didn't really know exactly what Gee Gee did or didn't do.

The chapel lawn was bright green, and the grass was dotted with tiny yellow wildflowers that waved in the breeze. At the top of the lawn, on a short concrete stairway, stood Gareth, looking uncomfortable in dress clothes and a loud red-and-blue argyle-patterned tie. The man with him was clearly his great-granddad, a bushy-browed old man wearing a dark suit and a moody expression. I self-consciously smoothed down my long black skirt and quickened my pace. My low-heeled shoes clopped a little on the pavement, breaking the hush.

Just before I reached them, Gareth's great-grandfather abruptly turned and went through the chapel's wooden doors. A faint drift of organ music reached my ears as the doors opened and then shut. Gareth trotted down the stairs to meet me.

“I was hoping to meet your great-granddad,” I said. People were being so bizarre. I would have liked to think it was just the situation, the funeral, but it felt like more than that.

“He went in to get a seat,” Gareth said, then hesitated a moment. “Um, sorry again about your great-gran.” He gave me an awkward hug.

“Yeah. Thanks.” My stomach flip-flopped as I remembered my dream, remembered what it felt like to hold his hand.

We pulled apart and stood silently for a moment. I couldn't quite meet his eyes.

“Interesting tie,” I finally said.

“I had to borrow one from my great-granddad.” A faint hint of a blush reddened Gareth's ears.

“It's … well, it's a little 1970s, that's all.” I fingered his tie for a moment and then straightened it as well as I could.

“Or 1870s,” Gareth said, one side of his mouth twitching upwards in a smile. I managed a faint smile of my own.

I moved aside to make room for the gossipy ladies, who were making their way inside the chapel. Behind them came my parents. Dad put a hand on the small of Mom's back as she mounted the steps.

“Hello, Mr. Evans, Mrs. Evans. I'm sorry for your loss,” Gareth said stiffly. His ears reddened again as he shook both of their hands. They nodded and thanked him, then went on to greet more people inside the chapel. Mom looked pale and washed out, and Dad's eyes were sad and lined. I wondered if they felt as sick inside as I did.

“I have to tell you … ” I put a hand on Gareth's arm, then changed my mind and drew it back. In a low voice, I said, “I had this dream a few nights ago, about Olwen.”

“Yeah?” Gareth moved closer, his eyes searching my face.

“It was weird. Complicated. At first, I was in the cottage, packing away Gee Gee's belongings. I found a metal box, and it seemed important, but then the dream changed. You were in it, and we were walking along a path near the sea.”

Gareth looked at me strangely, his eyebrows raised and mouth half-open as if to say something. Then the church bell gave a single, deep bong. All the hushed conversations went silent and people began to gather in small groups to file into the church.

“Let's talk after the service,” I whispered loudly. Then Mom was taking hold of my arm and gently pulling me up the steps into the dimly lit chapel. Gareth nodded, still staring at me, and followed us in.

Everything inside was either made of dark wood, like the benches, or painted the same stark white as the exterior. Even the walls were lined with dark wooden panels up to the wainscoting, and above that, white paint soaring up to the dark beams of the ceiling. Despite the light filtering in through the small square windows, the place felt dark; it had an air of seriousness, and I felt nervous and exposed.

I was glad Gee Gee wouldn't be buried here, at this chapel. I wanted to see her reunited with the sand and the wind and the sea. Not moldering away inside this oppressive place.

Someone cleared their throat, which echoed around the cavernous room. Then I heard the plink of a piano. All the whispers went silent.

The service began with a hymn, slow and resonant, from a tiny choir up in the balcony that included the three gossips from outside. Soon, scattered voices throughout the chapel picked up the melody, and then the harmonies. There were only about twenty people standing among the worn pews, but it sounded as if there were twice as many, the sound swelling rich and full.

Arglwydd, dyma fi
. Lord, here I am.

I couldn't understand the rest, so I just closed my eyes and let the music wash over me. I leaned against my dad and felt the vibrations in his chest as he hummed along. In my mind, I could see Gee Gee, lying there as if asleep, her emaciated face seeming relaxed and relieved. My sadness was a hard knot in my chest, a piece of wood.

Everything after that blurred together. Somebody said a greeting in Welsh, then in English. Dad went up and said a few words—nothing I could remember later. Then Mom. Then the Lord's Prayer, in both languages. Then it was all over, the congregation and choir once again joining their voices in a mournful song called “Aberystwyth.” The slow, stately notes sounded timeless, and unbearably sad.

The final verse was sung in English, and chills ran up and down my spine as I heard the words ring out in the dim, dark hall:

“Jesus, lover of my soul,/Let me to thy bosom fly,/While the nearer waters roll,/While the tempest still is high;/Hide me, O my Savior, hide/Till the storm of life is past;/Safe into the haven guide,/O receive my soul at last.”

My breath hitched in my lungs. I hadn't prayed since I was little, but as the last notes of the hymn rang in my ears, I squeezed my eyes shut and begged whoever might be listening, out there in the darkness, to help Gee Gee be at rest now.

What about Olwen, though? Could I do the same for her? I didn't know.

Afterward, Mom, Dad, and I took up spots at the bottom of the steps, shaking the hands of stranger after stranger as they passed by, filing out of the chapel. Gareth gave his condolences again, apologizing for his great-granddad, who had slipped out sometime during the final hymn. Hugh and Annie hovered at the back of the line until the crowd died down. Then Hugh grasped Dad's hand in both of his meaty paws, looking like he was about to cry himself. Annie gripped me in a forceful hug.

I scanned the last stragglers milling around outside, trying to find Gareth. After a few moments, I located his conspicuous tie. I hurried over and grabbed him, ignoring the shiver that arose at the feeling of his arm under my hands, and pulled him off to the side a few feet, behind a gnarled old tree.

“We have to talk,” I said, loosening my grip on his arm with a conscious effort. I felt that same sense of urgency rising again, the feeling that kept hounding me. “We have to figure out what to do about Olwen.”

“Yeah,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. He looked thoughtful. “And your dream … I had something to tell you about that.”

“Wyn!” My mother's voice rose above the sound of the crowd and the wind.

I sighed. “You're coming back to the farmhouse, right?”

“Should I bring something?” Gareth asked. “Don't people always take casseroles to these things? Except the only thing I can make is eggs and bacon.”

“You don't have to,” I said, trying to smile. “Just … please come.”

Dad was pulling the car up in the lane outside the gate, so I shot one last forlorn glance at Gareth and walked away.

It was only four thirty, and I was already tired of complete strangers coming up to me and telling me how much I looked like my great-grandmother when she was young, then simpering sympathetically and going off to stuff their faces at the food table.

If they'd said anything about the other Olwen, I might have been interested. Instead, I had to plaster on a fake smile as people flowed in and out of the old farmhouse, bringing in covered dishes of food, lingering to talk to my parents where they stood by the old stone fireplace. A chaos of competing smells was making me faintly nauseated: casseroles, pasta dishes, cakes. Mrs. Magee kept flitting back and forth in the background with an anxious frown, and for once I felt like frowning along with her.

I put a hand to the front of my dark-gray sweater and felt the comforting shape of the locket underneath, resting against my skin.
Soon
, I told myself.

After a while, Gareth walked in, wearing the same outfit he'd had on earlier but minus the garish tie. He was alone, carrying yet another cake box and a small grease-spotted paper bag. After he put the cake on the table and politely greeted my parents again, we moved out of earshot and Gareth presented the bag with a flourish.

“For me?” I said, smiling a little. Whatever it was, it was greasy and fried and it smelled amazing. My stomach let out an audible growl.

Gareth grinned. “Onion rings. Still hot. I remember you blogging about eating them with your friend, and I thought you might miss it, so … ”

“Where did you get onion rings here?” I felt like I might cry.

“The fish and chips shop was still open, so I had them fry some up,” he admitted. “They don't normally have them, but my great-granddad knows the owner.” He ducked his head. “Hope they're okay.”

I swallowed, my throat tight. “Let's take them outside.”

I took two plastic plates from the stack on the food table and grabbed a fistful of napkins. Dad was busy talking to one of his distant cousins over by the hearth, and Mom was already starting to pack the remaining dishes of food into a cardboard box.

“Can you two help me? I need to take this back to the cottage,” she said. I opened my mouth to protest. “Then you'll be free, I promise.”

I shut my mouth and nodded. I didn't want to argue. Not today. And even though I didn't feel like I could do one single thing more today, I handed the onion rings and plates to Gareth and took the box Mom handed me.

Soon.

When we stepped outside, the sun was low in the sky, shining orange light through the trees. Birds were making a ruckus in the top branches. I took deep breaths of the crisp, damp air as we walked as quickly as possible down the path.

Inside the cottage, I put the box of dishes on the table and helped Mom load the small fridge. By the time we were done, it was jam-packed with casserole dishes and Tupperware.

“I'll give you some to take home,” I told Gareth.

“You don't have to,” he said, “but cheers.”

“So,” I said after a pause. “About those onion rings.”

He turned to my mom and held up the greasy bag. “Could I stay for a bit? I brought these specially for Wyn.”

She nodded and tilted her head toward the sitting area. “Just for a bit. And take some sodas with you. God knows we need the room in the refrigerator.”

Gareth and I sat on the couch about a foot apart, our snacks on the coffee table in front of us. As we ate, it felt like the space between us was charged with static. I tried to ignore the feeling by cramming food into my mouth.

The onion rings were the best I'd ever eaten, and I said so.

Gareth looked inordinately pleased. I felt my face get hot, and I looked away, toward the kitchenette. Mom was at the sink now, the sound of running water mingling with the clatter of dishes.

“Well?”

I turned back. Gareth was looking at me expectantly.
I began in a low voice, so Mom couldn't overhear.

“Okay. Here's the thing. You know that dream I told you about, where I found the metal box?” He nodded. “Well, it was like a lockbox, with something important in it. When I woke up, I was so sure it would be here, but I couldn't find anything like it when we went through Gee Gee's stuff. All I found was a key, a tiny key.”

“So you checked all her things?” Gareth asked.

“Yes. That box has got to be somewhere,” I said. “I just don't know where. This might sound weird, but … I feel like we're
supposed
to find it.”

“I know what you mean.” Gareth fiddled with his napkin,
then set it on the table. “Listen, though. I—I think I might know where the metal box is.”

“Really?” My heart started beating a little more quickly and I looked up at him. He was pulling his phone out of his pocket, tapping the screen with quick fingers.