In the Heart of the Dark Wood: A Novel

By Billy Coffey

A motherless girl hungry for hope . . . and the dream that could be leading her astray.

Almost two years have passed since twelve-year-old Allie Granderson’s beloved mother, Mary, disappeared into the wild tornado winds. Her body has never been found.

Allie clings to memories of her mother, just as she clings to the broken compass she left behind, the makeshift Nativity scene in the front yard, and her best friend Zach. But even with Zach at her side, the compass on her wrist, and the Nativity right outside the window, Allie cannot help but feel lost in all the growing up that must get done.

When the Holy Mother disappears from the yard, Allie’s bewilderment is compounded by the sudden movement of her mother’s compass.

Following the needle, Allie and Zach leave the city behind and push into the inky forest on the outskirts of Mattingly. For Allie, the journey is more than a ghost hunt: she is rejoining the mother she lost—and finding herself with each step deeper into the heart of the dark wood.

Brimming with lyrical prose and unexpected discoveries, In the Heart of the Dark Wood illustrates the steep transition we all must undergo—the moment we shed our childlike selves and step into the strange territory of adulthood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Nov 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781401690106

Billy Coffey

Billy Coffey's critically acclaimed books combine rural Southern charm with a vision far beyond the ordinary. He is a regular contributor to several publications, where he writes about faith and life. Billy lives with his wife and two children in Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains. Visit him at www.billycoffey.com. Facebook: billycoffeywriter Twitter: @billycoffey

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Publisher’s Note

Billy Coffey’s novels all take place in Mattingly, Virginia, and can be read in any order. If you’ve already read When Mockingbirds Sing or The Devil Walks in Mattingly , it may be helpful to know that this story takes place eighteen months after the Carnival Day storm.

Enjoy!

We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.

—C. S. LEWIS

And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone.

—TAYLOR CALDWELL

December 19

1

Allie Granderson had not cried once in the five hundred forty-two days since everything ended; even as she sat hunched and dying, she vowed not to cry on the five hundred forty-third.

In her mind she saw the class turning to witness her final moments, mouths ajar and eyes wide. All else—the busywork of their ridiculous project, the joy of the coming holiday, the squeak of the gerbil wheel, and the gurgle of the fish tank—would be set aside. Everyone would stare as Allie sloughed off her mortal coil. Lisa Ann Campbell would sob into her sleeve from across the room. Not because Lisa Ann particularly cared for Allie’s well-being (or anyone’s, for that matter), but because she’d found cause to bawl at least once a day over something since the beginning of the school year. That small eruption would be more than enough to light the larger one in Tommy Robertson’s stomach. Tommy sat three seats up from Allie in Miss Howard’s classroom and spilled his breakfast nearly as regularly as Lisa Ann spilled her tears. His attacks would commence with a suddenness that defied belief; too often, the only foreshock would be the thrusting up of both hands in a vain attempt to gain the teacher’s attention. By then it was too late. Touchdown Tommy was what the kids called him. The nickname was neither fair nor entirely accurate, but such things mattered little in sixth grade. This was a fact Little Orphan Allie knew well.

The throbbing again—a thousand angry bees swarming in her stomach.

Allie shut her eyes and reached for the broken compass strapped to her left wrist, rubbing it like a worry stone. She drew her legs up and knocked them against the bottom of her desk, scattering both the bottle of Elmer’s and the bits of colored paper on top. Her guts were going to explode. She was going to pop like a bubble and ruin Christmas, get her insides all over the posters of the parts of speech and fractions-to-decimals that covered the walls. Lisa Ann would bawl; Tommy would yark. The only thing that made Allie feel better was knowing she wouldn’t be embarrassed because she would be dead.

The pain had arrived without warning just after lunch. The Salisbury steak was the most likely culprit—one hunk of gristly meat carved from some poor malnourished beast and drowned in a soupy brown gravy. Zach had warned her not to eat it, but Allie didn’t have a choice. She’d barely had enough time to pack her father’s lunch that morning, much less fix one for herself.

She folded her arms and hugged herself. The hurt slammed into her like a cold wind. Allie shut her eyes and bit down on the red-and-white checkered scarf around her neck. She leaned down on her desk, feeling the scarf’s prickly wool against her tongue, rubbing the compass again. That helped until a ball of notebook paper smacked her cheek.

Zach stared from his seat across the aisle. At some point between Allie eating the Salisbury steak and the Salisbury steak eating her, he’d put on his daddy’s old cowboy hat. The library book he’d checked out in second period (something about prehistoric animals of North America; Zach was always into that stuff, and Allie didn’t know why—unless of course it was just to impress their stupid teacher) lay on his desk. Resting atop that was Zach’s own ornament, nearly complete—he only had to glue the picture of his face onto the elf’s body and affix the three cotton balls down the front. He lifted his chin to the note he’d thrown at her. Allie kept her head in place and unfolded it, reading the words sideways:

R U OK?

No, is what Allie wanted to say. No, I am most definitely not okay because God’s calling in the mark He put on me, and this is good-bye, Zach—Vaya con Dios, baby.

Allie nodded yes instead. She lifted her face from the desk and peeled off a strip of red construction paper that had stuck to the side of her head. The pain ebbed enough for her to nearly straighten. She tried smiling and thought it came through satisfactory enough.

Zach wasn’t swayed. He’d seen Allie’s fake smile enough times in the last year and a half; he wasn’t fooled now. He raised his ornament and mouthed, Kindergarten stuff. Allie nodded and realized the longer she stared at him, the quicker her lie would crumble. She looked to the front of the room instead, where she found a bigger problem.

Miss Howard was staring straight at her from the cluttered desk in front of the room. Looking over those old-lady glasses she liked to wear, thinking they made her look so smart. Allie wondered just how long her teacher had been watching and just how much she’d seen. Probably all dang day. Probably everything.

She slipped Zach’s note into her pocket. Miss Howard’s chair made a raking sound over the floor as it slid back, breaking the sort of fragile peace that is nearly impossible to maintain the last day before Christmas vacation. Allie refused to watch. She was much more concerned with the invisible fist curling its fingers around her guts.

Zach whispered, Hey.

Allie looked at him and tried not to see Miss Howard walking past the Christmas tree (the ornaments were molecules fashioned by colored cotton balls and pipe cleaners, the star made of five plastic test tubes glued together) to the far end of the room, where she praised Lisa Ann’s ornament enough to stay what tears lay waiting in the little girl’s eyes. Zach shifted his ornament to his left hand and pointed to Allie’s wrist.

Gonna lose that.

She turned her hand over. Five hundred and forty-two days of wear had turned the compass’s band from bright red to a dull pink. The clasp was nothing more than three raised bumps on one end that inserted into three matching holes on the other. Two of those bumps had been worn away. The last hung only by a thin ridge of plastic. Allie clamped the band down and whispered back, Thanks. Zach tipped his black hat. He was by far the cutest boy in school, but that didn’t stop Allie from thinking that hat looked like a sombrero on anyone but the sheriff. A cough echoed through Zach’s smile. The sound came out harsh and scratchy.

Miss Howard had covered the entire first row. She stopped at each desk and pushed her blond hair

(blond from a bottle)

behind her ear, smiling at everyone’s stupid decoration, making the girls purr like kittens and the boys coo like babies. It was disgusting. Even more disgusting? It was all for show. Allie knew the only reason Miss Grace Howard had gotten up was so she could make her way to the last desk in the last row—so she could once more stick her nose where it didn’t belong.

It would suit things just fine if God killed Allie before Miss Howard got there, even if it meant Zach would have to spend the rest of his life lonesome. Then again, Allie thought that if she really was okay with dying in the next few seconds, it would be just like the Almighty to make her stick around. She reclaimed the bottle of glue and bits of construction paper scattered over her desk and began piecing her project together—green shoes and mittens to red arms and legs, red arms and legs to the green body, the picture of herself on top—just as Her Highness had shown them. As though sixth graders had forgotten how to glue and cut.

Miss Howard reached Zach’s desk and pronounced his elf "the cutest thing ever." That may or may not have been true; Allie guessed her teacher really had no way of knowing because Miss Howard hadn’t looked at Zach’s elf at all. Her eyes were square on Allie now, and that only made Allie’s stomach swirl more.

She wiped the excess glue from her ornament. MERRY CHRISTMAS DADDY went diagonally across the elf’s swollen belly in pencil. Beneath it and after careful thought, Allie added AND MOMMY. The agony swelled again as she finished the downward stroke of the Y, this time worse than all the others strung together. Her body folded in on itself once more, making a ball. The smell of Miss Howard’s fancy perfume filled her nose.

Allie?

She couldn’t turn her head. The pain hammered her, making her grimace.

Allie, are you okay?

Yes, ma’am.

Miss Howard bent low and placed a hand on Allie’s desk, too close for comfort. Allie glanced up to see her teacher staring at the ornament. Miss Howard’s lips parted, meaning to say That’s really lovely maybe, or Allie Granderson, that belongs in some fancy Paris museum. But there was only silence.

It’s that last little bit, Allie thought. The AND MOMMY. And I’ll count it to my credit if I go to my grave reminding you of that, you old battle-ax.

Sweetheart, you don’t look well.

Allie felt Zach’s eyes—felt everyone’s. Tommy Robertson turned around in his seat, hoping it was finally someone else’s turn to puke all over everything. A part of Allie, that grown-up part she had yet to realize was there, knew whatever had gone wrong inside her wasn’t the Salisbury steak. But it was the little girl she remained that looked into her teacher’s eyes just then and wondered why Grace Howard had to be so pretty and so nice, and what Allie had done to warrant the life she’d been handed. No answers came. Allie believed none ever would. That silence filled her with an anger that left her reaching for the compass once more. If God was going to kill her, then she wasn’t about to let it happen in front of the boy she didn’t want to love but did and the woman she wanted to hate but couldn’t. And Allie would. Not. Cry.

I think I’d very much like to be excused to the bathroom, she whispered. If it’s okay, Ma’am.

Allie spent the next panicked moment of her life wondering if Miss Howard would not only grant that request but demand to tag along.

Certainly.

Allie didn’t wait. She stood and took her griping stomach out of the classroom, brushing Zach’s elbow as she left. One small squeeze, one last good-bye.

At least the hall was empty. Allie held her stomach and pressed her right shoulder against the wall as she walked, using it to brace her failing body. She passed the two remaining sixth-grade classrooms. Tiny sets of eyes stared back, wondering what had happened to her now. The bathroom door stood just down the hallway to the right. Allie reached the first stall just before a final wave of agony shot through her. It was all she could do to remain upright. She couldn’t even lock the door.

She unbuttoned her jeans and sat. Both seemed right, even if whatever alarms were blaring inside her had nothing to do with toilet business. The cool of the porcelain soothed her. That feeling disappeared when Allie looked down.

Centered in the jumble of denim and cotton bunched just above her pink Chucks was a red blotch the size of a quarter. Allie bent forward, needing but not wanting a closer look. Her head shook no. Slow at first. Then faster.

Allie Granderson would not cry. That was the promise she’d made nearly a year and a half before, because crying meant it was over, and it was a promise she meant to keep. But crying was not the same as screaming, and scream she did. She screamed loud and long and did not stop even when the teacher across the hall burst into the bathroom, wanting to know who was hurt. Allie screamed at her too. She screamed that she was dying. That she was bleeding to death.

2

She didn’t look any different, at least according to the mirror. It was still the same brown hair parted down the middle, still the same two pigtails framing the same narrow face. Her clothes still fit. She certainly didn’t feel any wiser than she had that morning and felt no sudden interest in purses or makeup. As far as Allie could tell, the only differences between the girl who’d left her bedroom for school that morning and the woman who’d stumbled back in that afternoon were the two things no one could see: angry bees in her stomach, and a disagreeable hunk of smooth gauze the school nurse had instructed her to put in a place where nothing had any business being. She had no idea getting grown-up meant walking around with a grimace on her face and a hitch in her step.

Wish somebody’d filled me in on that, Sam.

She turned from the mirror to the beagle attached to the thumping tail on the mattress. Allie thought her dog, much like herself, was caught somewhere in the middle place between pup and adult. But that was where their similarities ended. Sam had no center of reference when it came to female afflictions. He raised his floppy ears and barked.

Dumb old dog.

Allie stepped away from the mirror, pausing to kiss a forefinger and touch the framed picture on her dresser. Her insides still hurt (as did her throat, what with all the hollering she’d done in the bathroom), but her daddy had given her aspirin when they’d gotten home. She scooted Sam away and sat, staring out the bedroom window. A wind gauge stood on the porch just outside. The contraption wasn’t much—a small, pink bucket filled with gravel and sand, and a wooden dowel rising from its innards. Two strips of cardboard a foot long and an inch wide had been tacked to the top, forming an X. Fastened to each end was a plastic cup, three blue and one red. Another of Miss Howard’s endless classroom projects, this one much more beneficial than the ornament. Aside from needing the cardboard strips and a few of the cups replaced during the past months, the gauge had held up like a marvel of engineering. Allie watched the cups turn in the building wind. She counted the next minute aloud as her fingers tallied how many times the red cup passed.

Ten. Ten ain’t much, is it, Samwise?

Sam didn’t know.

Nope. Ten ain’t much more’n a puff.

It would be a little while before school and work ended. For the moment, the smattering of ranches and Cape Cods along the street stood quiet. All of them bore signs of the season—candles in the windows, bulbs on the trees, lighted icicles hanging from the gutters. Pretty enough, Allie thought, but nothing more than the same-old.

Still, the neighborhood had turned itself into a veritable winter wonderland compared to the Granderson house. The only sign of Christmas there was the leaning pine Allie’s father had brought home the week before and plunked down in front of the living room window. The two of them had decorated it in silence; only Sam had commented on the finished product. It was a horrible thing for Allie to endure, having to put all those memories on the tree. That her daddy had to endure it as well only made Allie feel worse. She kept waiting for him to say maybe they should just skip Christmas again, like the town had the year before. But Marshall Granderson had only sat in front of a pile of knotted lights and tinsel, drowning in all that quiet. There in front of the window, Allie considered for the first time that maybe her daddy had been thinking that very same thing. He’d just been wanting Allie to suggest it first—to say that maybe treating Christmas like any other day would make it not hurt so bad.

The only evidence of peace on earth and goodwill to men outside was the Nativity in the front yard. Marshall had hauled the Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus out from the shed the previous Christmas, just before the mayor had announced that everyone’s heart was still too heavy for joy. Allie had refused to let him box them up ever since. Her father had bucked about the Nativity still being out there when the new year arrived and the season of the not-Christmas was over. He hollered about it again when the grass turned from brown to green and the church folk went from singing about Jesus being born in a cave to Him walking out of one. But Allie had held fast—the Nativity was going to stay put. The last time Marshall had protested (this the summer just past, right at the time of the first anniversary), Allie told him it wasn’t right for a family to be boxed up and separated from each other eleven months of the year. Her father hadn’t said much after that.

Sam snorted in her face, wanting to trade melancholy for playtime.

No, Sam. You just sit.

He did, settling on his haunches beside her. They both stared out at the plastic Mary. Allie felt Sam’s tail thump her side. She rubbed his neck, making one of his back paws jitter.

She smiled despite herself and said, You’re a stupid dog, and I don’t love you at all.

There came a knock at the door, followed by a tired voice: Allie, can I come in?

Sure, Daddy.

The bedroom door eased open. For a brief moment, Allie thought Marshall Granderson had just woken from a long nap. The front of his work shirt hung free of a waist that had withered to the point where he’d had to poke new holes in his belt. His beard had turned more gray than brown in the past year, but Allie thought her daddy still held the handsome look of a brave man trying to shoulder the burdens upon him. He looked from a pair of red eyes at the picture on her dresser and made his way to the bed.

He sat between Allie and Sam and put a hand to her forehead. Two Life Savers clicked in his mouth. Don’t think you got the fever. You feeling better?

Some. Allie tried not to curl her nose at the smell. It was like something had crawled down her daddy’s throat and died eating an orange and a cherry. Stomach’s settling a bit. It was Salisbury steak day.

Marshall cringed. I recall those days myself.

Sorry you had to leave work and come get me.

Don’t you worry about that, he said. You getting hungry?

Allie knew what that meant. She shook her head no but said, I’m fine to get something up for you, though.

Only if you’re able. Better do it soon, though. Bobby’s coming over to help with the car. I do believe we almost got that old heap running.

Allie gazed back out the window. I don’t like Bobby, she said. He looks at me wrong.

I wouldn’t lay too much on that, Allie. Bobby looks at most everybody that way.

She nodded and kept her eyes to the Nativity. Her father’s friends had fallen away in the last five hundred and forty-three days (five forty-four almost, Allie thought). For reasons Allie could not understand, the hole left by all that loneliness had been filled by the town drunk. Bobby Barnes was at their home at least twice a week, all in the guise of helping to fix the old Camaro Marshall kept in the shed out back. Allie knew better. Bobby and her daddy did more tearing themselves apart than putting a car back together.

We gotta be in town before dark, Marshall said.

I don’t really want to go tonight, Daddy. It being so cold out. And me unwell.

You just said you felt better.

Comes and goes, I guess. She shrugged, needing to change the subject. Weatherman says snow tonight. We’ll have to keep her warm, Daddy.

Marshall looked outside and crunched down on his Life Savers, letting the juice wash over his gums. He still tasted beer. We’ll keep her plenty warm. Tend to it when we get back from town. I promise.

Wind’s gonna blow.

It’ll be fine.

Marshall craned his neck against the window. Allie followed his gaze. Far down the street, a blue Honda turned onto the block.

Oh no, she said.

Marshall held his gaze as the car came closer. He crunched Life Savers more and swallowed, gripped by a sudden thirst.

Now don’t be like that, he said. Miss Grace is just heading home’s all.

Plenty of other ways for her to get there than this’n.

She was right—they both knew it, but it didn’t matter. Miss Howard’s car slowed and turned into the driveway. Sam barked when the tall woman got out. Marshall swallowed. Allie moaned.

She just wants to check on you, Marshall said.

Don’t need nobody checking on me, and her especially. Allie took her father’s sleeve. When he didn’t turn, she pulled his face to hers, taking the full brunt of the dead thing in his throat. She’s got wiles, Daddy.

What you know about wiles?

Miss Howard reached the porch. She carried a large plastic bag in her hand.

Nothing, Allie said. Only that she’s got’m.

You stay here with Sam. I’ll go.

The doorbell rang. Marshall patted Allie’s leg as he rose and left the door open. She thought maybe that was her daddy’s way of asking her to please come out and give Grace a chance. Really, closing the door had been the furthest thing from Marshall’s mind. He’d been too busy trying to figure out how many Life Savers it would take to bury the smell of beer.

3

Allie told Sam to stay and crept into the hall, where she heard Marshall say, Hello, Grace and Come in and What brings you by? and heard Miss Howard say something about Allie maybe needing some supplies. Though no longer a praying girl, Allie sent a silent plea into the ether that supplies didn’t mean what she feared.

She reached a spot at the end of the hallway close to the living room and sank to her stomach, crawling the rest of the way. Miss Howard was sitting on the sofa much too close to her daddy. The bag lay on the coffee table in front of them. She’d folded her overcoat and placed it in her lap, meaning to stay awhile. And she was smiling. That in itself wasn’t so strange—Miss Howard was always doing that, always acting like she was just the happiest person in the whole big world—but it was the way she was smiling that struck Allie just then. Maybe it was the way the lights from the Christmas tree bounced off her hair or how she looked so fine in her red skirt and white sweater. Maybe it was just the way she was looking at Marshall just then, and how peaceful she seemed. Whatever it was, in that moment Miss Howard looked like she’d just fallen out of heaven. Allie hated her more than ever.

Went by the pharmacy, Grace said. Got Allie some things she’s going to need.

Marshall rubbed his beard and said, Well, I appreciate that, Grace, but Allie’s feeling some better. Guess the cafeteria ladies decided to clear out any suspect fare before shuttering up for Christmas. I gave her some aspirin a while ago. She’ll be fine come morning.

He cleared his throat and swallowed, tasting more candy than beer. Allie’s teacher had been inside the Granderson home often over the years, though each time in the past year and a half had been just as awkward and confusing as the last. Miss Grace couldn’t so much as have a glass of tea without leaving Marshall convinced he was doing something wrong. He was often sweating by the time she left. What little bit of Marshall that still pondered the condition of his soul believed that particular sensation was the fires of hell already claiming him. He fingered the wedding band on his left hand, twisting it as a reminder even if one was not needed.

You gave her aspirin? Grace asked. You’re not supposed to do that, Marshall. Aspirin’s a blood thinner.

What’s that got to do with a stomachache?

A stomachache? Grace looked at the bag and pulled her lips inward. They came back red and full, like a blooming rose.

Claws pattered up the hallway. Allie looked back to see Sam coming toward her. He whined, turning Marshall’s eyes toward the hall. Allie pulled her dog close, shushing him.

You didn’t talk to the nurse when you picked Allie up?

No. Allie came out soon as I pulled up. I didn’t even go in.

Allie eased her head out a little more, wanting to see.

Marshall, you have to go in and sign her out. It’s the law. You didn’t know that?

A long pause, then: I was never the one who’d pick Allie up from school, Grace.

Oh. Right. Grace kept her eyes away—to Allie, it was as though she’d gotten turned around in a bad place and couldn’t find her way out—and smoothed the hem of her skirt. She reached for the plastic bag and moved it away, then reconsidered and moved it closer. Marshall, you know I care for Allie.

I do, he said.

And—still looking away—I believe you to be a good friend, always have. So since the three of us have that familiarity, I’d like to say I’m happy to . . . help. However I can. Times like this, it’s really nice to have a woman close.

Marshall shook his head, saying, I don’t . . . and looked back to the hall just as Allie’s head disappeared.

Allie’s changing, Marshall.

Allie peeked again as her daddy’s attention turned away. Grace had found courage enough to raise her chin. That brief meeting of their eyes was enough not only for both of them to look away, but Allie as well.

I know she is, he said. ’Course she is. You show me one person in town who’s the same as they were a year and a half ago.

Grace shook her head. That’s not what I mean. Marshall, Allie got her period today. In school. That’s why she had to come home.

Allie uttered a low moan and buried her head into Sam’s back. Marshall opened his mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again. He looked like a fish that had been plucked from the water.

That’s crazy, he said. Allie’s only eleven. She’s just a little girl.

Happens more than you think, Grace said. I go through it every year with at least one of my students. I know it’s scary. For you, for her especially. But she’s growing up, and that’s a fine thing. Allie’s becoming a woman.

For a long while there was only silence. Marshall sat there swallowing and getting all sweaty. Then he muttered, The tree.

Allie’s presents had already been wrapped and placed there. Dolls and stuffed animals mostly, along with a scooter she’d coveted since summer—all child’s toys. She’d picked them all herself, had even stood with Marshall in line at the Walmart watching them make their way down the conveyer. What last vestiges of faith Allie had placed in Santa or magic or everything working out in the end had fallen away since everything ended. Marshall couldn’t blame his daughter for that. One look at the bottles stashed in his bedroom closet was all the proof needed to show that much of what he had once believed was gone now too.

There was a class back in the fall, Grace said. Family Life is what they call it. All the female students get together with a guidance counselor to discuss this sort of thing. Allie didn’t go?

Marshall shook his head. I don’t remember nothing of that.

Allie would’ve had to get you to sign a form saying it was okay for her to attend.

Marshall looked to the hallway again. This time Allie didn’t bother ducking away. He said more to Allie than to Grace, Didn’t get no paper to sign.

Here, Grace said. She slid the bag toward him. There’s plenty to get Allie through the next few months. They were on sale, and I don’t want any money. I have something else too. She slipped a hand into her coat. We were making these in class when Allie had to leave. Thought she might like to hang it on the tree.

She handed Marshall the ornament. Allie watched as Marshall rubbed her picture. He smiled.

My little elf. Thank you, Grace. That was kind.

You’re welcome. I’d like to talk about what Allie wrote at the bottom.

Allie shook her head. Leave it to Miss Howard to bring that out, all in the grand cause of Talking Things Over.

I don’t think it’s healthy for Allie to be writing such things about her mother, Grace said. I know it’s not my place, Marshall, and forgive me if I’ve overstepped. But Mary’s gone. She’s been gone for a while now. Pretending she isn’t won’t make anything better. Allie has to start healing, and before she can do that, she has to grieve.

We all grieve in our own way, Marshall said. He swallowed again, gripped by that thirst, and thought of the bedroom closet. We all tell ourselves truth and call that good, and we say the lies we’re tricked into believing are bad. I don’t think that’s right at all, Grace. Whatever carries us through the day, that’s what’s right and good.

He rose from the couch and placed the ornament high on the front of the tree, just beneath the blinking star. Allie knew her teacher wasn’t convinced by anything her father just said. Miss Howard could speak of healing up and moving on as much as anyone else in Mattingly, but they’d all been spared much of the hell that God had set upon the Grandersons. Marshall opened the drawer on the end table. He returned to the sofa with a stack of cards held together by a thick, rotting rubber band and handed them to Grace.

Christmas. Birthdays. Valentine’s. Easter. Mother’s Day. That one especially.

Why? Grace asked.

Because Allie wants to hold on. It’s why she sets an extra place at the table each night and why that Nativity’s still out in the front yard. Same reason she won’t take that compass off her wrist. That was the last thing her momma gave her before she left, and Allie swears she’ll still have it on when her momma comes back. And if that’s what it takes to get her through, then I say fine. It’s good to have a hope, however false that hope may be. He looked at Allie and gritted his teeth, regretting his choice of words. And who knows, maybe her momma’ll do just that someday. Maybe she’ll just come on home.

Allie sank her head back into the hallway and stroked Sam’s head.

I understand, Grace said. It just breaks my heart to see her like this, Marshall. Allie’s broken inside. She never smiles, never speaks. I’m worried about her. I know she loves her mother. I know you do too, Marshall. So did I. Mary was a friend.

Allie saw Miss Howard dip her head.

Allie’s gonna be fine, Marshall said. It’s just been a rough afternoon.

Grace wiped her eyes and said, If you like, I can stay long enough to whip up some supper.

I appreciate it. But we got company comin’, and we gotta head to town first.

Could use some things from the grocery, Grace said. I could ride along.

Sort of a private thing. Apologies.

Allie let Sam go and pushed herself back down the hallway, stopping when the squeaking sounds her belly made on the floor became too loud. She’d never liked their trips to town (and never would), but this trip was enough to get Miss Howard away. Sam followed her back as Marshall showed Grace out. Allie thought her daddy would probably come back to her bedroom and Talk Things Over, all the time holding that bag in his hand. Then she thought no, he’d go to his bedroom closet first. He’d have to go get himself a bottle of courage. Sometimes life was better faced when you were numb. That way, nothing hurt at all.

4

The ride was quiet and broken only by Sam, who sat in the middle of the truck’s bench seat and yipped at what little of the world he saw above the dash. His tail slapped against the plastic wrapping around the flowers between him and Marshall. Sam always enjoyed their rides to town, much more than Allie enjoyed having him along. To her, the spot where her dog sat still belonged to someone else.

She shoved her hands into her coat pockets and shivered as heat from the vent sprouted goose bumps on her legs. The sun disappeared behind a bank of gray clouds easing over the mountains.

Snow’s comin’, she said.

Marshall looked out the side window and nodded.

We’re gonna keep her warm, right?

Said we would, he said. Nothing to worry about.

It’ll blow.

We’ll take care of that too.

Marshall’s old Ford crept on. Allie stared at the encroaching sky. She was rarely mistaken in her weather predictions. She pored over the back page of each morning’s Gazette and never missed an evening forecast on the TV. Even some of the teachers at school would ask her when the next snow day would be, or the last frost. Marshall listened with feigned interest as Allie slipped into a lecture concerning cold fronts and northwesterly winds and low pressures. He would take his eyes off the road and nod, seeing not a pig-tailed little girl

(young woman)

but a grown adult on the Channel 3 news, standing beside a map displaying thick, thick clouds hovering over an outline of Virginia and rubbing her compass. Telling everyone the cold was coming and the snow with it, but neither of those really mattered. It’s the wind y’all need to watch, Marshall could hear her say, because it’s gonna blow, and you better hold tight to the ones you love.

Allie finished with a report on the wind gauge outside her bedroom window, telling Marshall she and Sam didn’t think a ten was bad at all. She squirmed as another shock of pain rushed through her deep places.

Tummy okay? Marshall asked.

Yessir.

Did you . . . you know. In the bathroom? Before we left?

Allie winced at the memory of taking that stupid old bag (which, coincidentally enough, had been delivered by The Stupid Old Bag) into the bathroom and opening one of the packages. Turning the pad over in her hands. Trying to remember which way it went. Having to sit on the toilet and fish the messy one from her underwear before wrapping it up in half a roll of toilet paper so her daddy wouldn’t see. I don’t really care to speak on what I did in the bathroom, Daddy. It was bad enough having to do it.

Marshall looked back through the windshield. The silence that followed was broken not by Sam, but by the sound of Life Savers being crunched. Marshall wished for a drink and the dark curtain it turned down over his life, making everything seem smaller and farther away.

Cornfields and woods yielded to the manicured lawns and still-empty homes at the edge of town. Marshall turned left at the sign and eased through the iron gates. Much of Oak Lawn still bore the scars of what had happened. Allie had always considered Oak Lawn a happy cemetery before. Now many of the aged oaks and magnolias that had guarded the gravestones were reduced to splintered stumps. Many more had simply been