And then Aunt Aurora said he was a mean old man and he ought to be proud of Winona for being able to see a mistake and to want to fix it.
Aunt Winona tried to explain that it wasn’t a choice she was making, that some things were the right thing to do, and he went into his study and slammed the door shut. I ran up after Mom and tried to talk to her, but she just curled up on her bed like a snail and stared at the wall, and when I went back to the farmhouse, Aunt Aurora threw me out. She didn’t even let me ask any questions. And Aunt Winona looked like she was gonna cry. It’s all a big mess. No one cares at all how I feel.
But I don’t care what any of them think or say, I’m gonna believe in my dad, and if that pisses off my mom, too bad.
On the morning of the mayoral debate, Winona woke well before dawn and couldn’t go back to sleep. For a long time she lay in her bed, staring out the small panes of the French doors at the gray November morning.
At eight o’clock, she finally threw the covers back and got out of bed. Padding barefooted downstairs, she made a pot of French roast coffee, poured herself a big mug, and carried both the coffee and her debate notes upstairs.
For the next four hours, she sat in bed, reading and rereading her notes. She made sure that every necessary fact was firmly in her head—the population projections for Oyster Shores, the environmental concerns over the slow death happening in the waters of the Hood Canal, the socioeconomic hardships faced by residents as the salmon and timber industries lost viability. She wanted her neighbors to leave this debate with an absolute belief in her ability to manage their community. She wanted folks to say that she would undoubtedly become the best mayor ever. That was goal #1. Goal #2 was actually being the best mayor in modern memory.
At two o’clock, Aurora showed up, armed with her big makeup case and a new outfit for Winona. Vivi Ann was conspicuously absent.
Aurora pushed her way into the house. “I couldn’t stand seeing you in one of your boxy blue double-breasted suits.”
“Hey. They’re expensive.”
“That’s hardly the ‘A’ answer. Look, I’ve brought you this lovely Eileen Fisher outfit. It’s flowy but professional. And how about a necklace a little trendier than Grandma’s pearls?”
Winona sat down on the end of her bed. “I’m in your hands.”
“Perfect.”
“How’s Vivi?”
Aurora combed her hair out, began straightening it with a flat iron she’d brought from home. “Quiet. Afraid, I think. Noah is certain his dad will be coming home any day.” She leaned down. “You’re sure about this, right? The court will test Dallas’s DNA against the sample and let him out if there’s no match, right?”
Winona squirmed beneath the weight of that question. “All I know is I can’t sleep since I found out he might be innocent. You should see the prison . . . and Dallas. He looks as beaten as Vivi Ann does.”
“Yeah,” Aurora said, gently pulling Winona’s hair back into a pretty filigree barrette. “I always wondered . . . I mean, he loved Vivi Ann so much. I never believed he was sleeping with Cat. I should have said something back then.”
“I wouldn’t have listened to you. No one would have.”
“But it would have helped Vivi to know she wasn’t alone.”
Winona thought about that. It was true that sometimes the support of only one person could make a difference.
For the next hour, they left the topic of Dallas Raintree alone. They talked about the debate and next week’s election and the upcoming holidays. Aurora bitched about Ricky’s infrequent and rushed phone calls, while Winona studied her notes.
By the time they finally left the house, Winona knew she looked as pretty as was possible. Aurora had straightened her hair and done her makeup to perfection, emphasizing her brown eyes and pale skin. The outfit she’d brought was an unconstructed jacket made of a soft burgundy fabric and matching pants, with a black scoop-necked tank.
“Ready?” Aurora asked when it was time to go.
“Ready.”
They went outside and walked down to the high school. There, they ducked into the girls’ locker room to await the start of the event.
“Thanks, Aurora,” Winona said, hugging her sister. “Your support really means a lot to me.”
“Knock ’em dead, sis.”
Winona watched her sister leave the locker room, then sat down on one of the slick wooden benches to study her notes one last time. She was so deep into the facts and figures that she was startled when someone came to get her.
“It’s time, Winona.”
She laughed, feeling nervous and excited. Almost giddy with anticipation. She’d never been more ready for anything in her life.
Maybe she’d even go on from here.
Senator Grey.
Why not? She followed the council member out to the gymnasium, where hundreds of her friends and neighbors sat in folding metal chairs on the basketball court. In front of them, two podiums with microphones had been set up.
At her entrance, the crowd fell silent, watching her in what could only be described as awe. Their respect washed over her, gave her strength. She went up to one of the podiums and took her place behind it. A moment later her opponent strode into the room; he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You look mighty pretty tonight, Winona,” he said, extending his hand to shake hers.
“Why, thank you, Thad. But looks aren’t what matters here, you know.”
“Since I’ve been mayor for eight years, I imagine I know more about what matters than you do, but don’t let ignorance stop you from speakin’ your mind.”
Winona smiled brightly, thinking, I can’t wait to kick your ass, while she said, “We’ll see soon enough.”
Then, like a fighter in the ring, Thad went to his corner—the podium—and she stayed where she was. Between them, the man who’d been mayor ten years ago, Tom Trumbull, stepped up to the microphone and introduced the two candidates and outlined the rules for the question-and-answer debate format.
“We’ll direct the first question to Mayor Olssen. Thad, you’ll have two minutes to answer, and Winona, you’ll have one minute to rebut his answer. Shall we begin?”
Erik Engstrom immediately stood up. “Mayor Olssen. We all know that the mayor’s office is in charge of overseeing local law enforcement. How will your administration help make us citizens feel safer?”
It was a ridiculous question asked by an idiot, but there was nothing she could do about that. Smiling, she scanned the crowd, looking for friendly faces. Aurora and Noah were right up front; they nodded encouragement at her. Vivi Ann and Dad sat stiffly beside them; neither was smiling. Of course they’d be here. Dad wouldn’t let the town know there was discord at Water’s Edge. People would talk. For once she was grateful that he cared so much about appearances.
Mark and Cissy were seated in the back, with Myrtle.
“Your turn to respond, Ms. Grey,” Trumbull said.
Winona didn’t miss a beat. “Local law enforcement needs financial support and careful monitoring, but they certainly don’t need more government pressing down on them, making it harder to do their job. As mayor, I would make it my duty to aid Sheriff Bailor and his deputies, not to get in their way.”
Aurora and Noah clapped loudly in response.
Winona felt a trickle of anxiety when she looked at the rest of the audience; they were sitting with their hands in their laps.
Myrtle Michaelian stood up. “Winona,” she said in a halting voice. “I’d like to know how you think it’s staying out of the police’s way when you accuse them of being stupid.”
“I’m sorry, Myrtle. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I hear you suddenly think Dallas Raintree is innocent. So that means the police and the jury were either stupid or wrong. And I guess you figure I’m a liar.”
Winona understood the long faces looking up at her now. News of her petition had gotten out faster than she’d expected.
She
took a deep breath and began to explain, forming each word with exquisite care, but as she looked out over the crowd, she knew. Her words might be perfectly chosen and elegantly, passionately strung together, but in the end they were weightless things, bits of sound and breath that disappeared like soap bubbles into the air. No one cared about remedying a long-ago mistake.
No one cared about Dallas Raintree.
Halfway through her explanation, Trumbull cut her off, saying, “Your time is up, Winona.”
And the people applauded.
Chapter Twenty-six
This is the worst Christmas ever. We went to church but I guess all that talk about forgiveness and faith is a bunch of shit. I mean, hardly anyone in town will talk to Aunt Winona and all she’s trying to do is tell people that maybe they were wrong about my dad.
He’s not helping either because he STILL WON’T SEE ME. Aunt Winona says he doesn’t want me to see him in handcuffs and behind bars but that is so lame. I know all this would be easier if I could just hear him say he didn’t kill that woman.
I tried to talk to Cissy about all of it but even that isn’t working like it used to. We talk at school and stuff, only people are watching us now, pointing and whispering. At the winter break assembly I couldn’t find her anywhere. I know she was hiding so she didn’t have to be seen with me. The worst part is I get it. I know how mad her dad is at Aunt Winona. And Cissy says her grandma just cries all the time. It totally pisses me off. Why does everyone care so much about my dad being a murderer? It’s like just the IDEA of him being innocent makes everyone crazy. Aunt Winona says It’s because people need to believe in the law and the cops and we’re scaring them, but that’s totally bogus.
I tried to talk to my mom about it on Christmas night, after we got home from Grandpa’s. I could tell she was sad and she’s doing what she always does when something bugs her, she gets all quiet and stares out the window as if she’s waiting for something. But she has a chance to believe in my dad again, maybe even to hope that he can come back to us and she acts like Aunt Winona is ruining our lives for even trying.
So tonight I asked her. I said why don’t you want Dad to come home to us?
And she DIDN’T EVEN ANSWER ME. She just walked into the kitchen like I was invisible. So I went into my room and slammed the door shut behind me.
What an excellent Christmas.
P.S. And Aunt Winona lost the election by a landslide. Rumor is that only Aunt Aurora and Mom voted for her.
Vivi Ann heard Noah’s bedroom door slam shut. She bowed her head, releasing the breath she’d been holding.
This couldn’t go on any longer.
Straightening her spine, trying to simulate a strength lost long ago, she went into the hallway and walked down to his room. Even as she knocked and heard his irritated, “Come in. I can’t stop you,” she wondered what exactly she would say. Opening the door, she went inside, pretending to study the posters and pictures tacked up onto the walls. “You asked me why I don’t want Dallas to come back.”
“And you stared out the window.”
She turned to him finally. “Yes. Can I sit by you?”
“I don’t know. Can you?”
She went over to his bed, said, “Move over,” and then sat down beside him. “Remember when you were little, before the electricity was done in your room? I used to sit here with you and read by flashlight. You loved The Dark Is Rising, remember?”
“Just answer the question, Mom.”
She leaned back against the wobbly headboard and sighed. “I never should have let you hang out with Win. You’ve learned her Doberman techniques.”
“Don’t say anything bad about her. She’s the only one in this stinking family who cares about my dad.”
“Believe me, Noah. I care about your father.”
“Coulda fooled me. You never talk about him. There aren’t any pictures of him in the house. Yeah, you really care. You’re not even hoping he’ll get out of prison.”
“You’re young, Noah, so hope seems shiny to you, and I’m glad of that. I really am. But I’ve learned differently over the years. It can be dark, too.”
“So? You don’t just give up on someone.”
Vivi Ann closed her eyes in pain. “That’s an easy thing to say, Noah. You have no idea what we lived through, Dallas and I.”
“Did you ever ask him if he did it?”
“No,” she said quietly. “I believed in him. I believed and believed and believed . . . then his last appeal was denied and he stopped coming out to see me. By then I was a mess. You remember that day we got in the car accident?”
“Yeah.”
“Waiting for him to come home almost killed me. I don’t want you to go through what I did.”
“I have to believe, Mom,” he said.
“A son should. And the man I married, the one I loved, is worth everything you’re feeling. That’s the man who is your father, not the killer you’ve heard about all your life. But try to . . . understand why I can’t stand beside you on this. I’m just not strong enough. I am ashamed of that.”
Noah reached over and held her hand. “You were alone, though. I have you.”
Winona stood at the window of her beach house, watching the road above. It was the ninth of January, a cold and blustery day that hinted at a coming rainstorm. The low gray sky matched her mood, made everything outside look faded and soggy. An inauspicious start to the new year.
The school bus came into view above the trees, stopping for a few minutes at the top of Mark’s driveway. When it drove off again, she stood there, still staring out at the bare, wintry backyard, feeling a rush of loneliness on this Monday morning.
Last night she’d lain in her lonely bed for hours, trying to figure out how best to proceed with Mark. She’d given him time to come to his senses, assuming he’d walk over here one night and say he was sorry, but it hadn’t happened. November had rolled into December, and then into a new year, and still he hadn’t walked from his house to hers. She made sure to be here a lot, to keep her lights on late into the night, and still, nothing.
Last night, for the first time, she’d wondered if he was waiting for her. She was the one who’d made the mistake (she hadn’t told him about the petition; she should have; she saw that now), so maybe he was waiting for her apology.
The more she thought about it, the more likely it felt.
Dressing carefully, she bundled up in her wool coat and headed next door. With only a moment’s hesitation, she went up the flagstone steps and rang the doorbell.
He answered quickly, coming to the door in his slippers and robe, with his hair still wet from the shower. “Hey,” she said, smiling uncertainly. “I thought maybe you were waiting for me to say I’m sorry.”
The smile she needed so desperately didn’t arrive. “Winona,” he said in an impatient tone, “we’ve had this discussion before. Too often.”
“I know you love me,” she said.
“No, I don’t.”
“But—”
“Did you even speak to my mother? Did you warn her that this firestorm was coming down? Reporters call her every day. She barely leaves the house anymore, she’s so upset.”
“I never said Myrtle was lying on the stand.”
“Oh, really?”
“Eyewitness mistakes are common. I’ve been doing research—”
“Either way you’re saying it’s her fault, and everyone in town knows it.”
“You don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand. You’re hurting everyone with this crusade. Do you really expect us to just accept it?”
“I thought you would, Mark. You know me. I wouldn’t be doing all this for no reason. It’s the right thing. I should have done it a long time ago.”
“That’s the thing: I don’t know you. Obviously I never did. Goodbye.” He stepped back and closed the door.
All the way back to her house, in her car, and into town, Winona replayed his words: No, I don??
?t. She wasn’t sure which hurt more: the idea that he didn’t love her now or the unsettling truth that he never had. For the first time in years, she longed to talk to Luke, to sit down with him as they had when they were kids, and ask him what was wrong with her, why she was so easy to discard and so difficult to love, but in the years of his absence, their friendship had faded. He called once or twice a year and they talked mostly about his children and her career.
In town, she pulled into her garage and walked around the side of the house and through the front door.
Lisa was at her desk, typing at her computer. “Your father is in the sunroom. He was here at eight when I got in. Sitting on the porch.”
“Thanks.” Winona took off her coat and went back toward the sunroom.
He sat stiff-backed in the antique white wicker chair by the French doors, with his boots firmly planted on the floor. His gnarled, bony fingers lay splayed on his jean-clad thighs; there was the telltale tremble in his hand. His white hair was thin and unkempt-looking beneath his brown, sweat-stained cowboy hat, and even in profile she could see the tension in his jaw.
“Hello, Dad,” she said, coming forward.
He pulled his hat off and set it on his lap, pushing a hand through his hair. “You got to stop this, Winona.”
She sat down on the plush sofa opposite him and knew this was her chance to make him understand. “What if we were wrong?”
“We ain’t.”
“Maybe we were.”
“Drop it, Winona. People are talking.”
Winona got to her feet. “That would be what you care about. The great Grey family and our precious reputation. You’d rather have an innocent man rot in prison than admit to making a mistake. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You never have.”
He got to his feet in the gradual, rickety way that had become normal for him, but there was nothing frail in his eyes. The look he gave her was cold and dark. “Don’t you talk to me that way.”
“No. Don’t you talk to me that way.” She almost laughed, but was afraid it would sound hysterical. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear you say you were proud of me?” Her voice trembled on that, caught on the sharp point of a need that began a lifetime ago, almost before she could remember. “But that’s never going to happen, is it? And you know what? I don’t care anymore. I’m doing the right thing with Dallas, and if I discover I’m wrong, I’ll live with it, but I won’t spend the rest of my life thinking I made a mistake that mattered.”