Chapter 39

Ginger

 

 

Six Months Later…

 

 

The fire in front of me blazed, tempting me to step right in. I had already died once in 1986. Then I died another thousand deaths over as I took each blow to the gut after Rick left. Punch. And Cole was taken. Punch. Then my house stolen. Punch. Now my firstborn son buried. Punch. As the flames raged, it felt like I was about to die again as I saw my dead son’s handwriting scrawled across an envelope addressed to me…a death I had long waited for.

My fingertip paused at the crease. I was afraid to open it. A letter six months from beyond the grave wasn’t something to take lightly. I had no idea when he had penned this, or what horrible thing he couldn’t tell me in person that prompted him to write me instead.

“You can do this,” Tara said, her words offering great comfort. Then she switched to a Russian accent and added, “You’re strong, like bull.”

I chuckled, instantly recalling the movie quote. “There’s Something About Mary. And no, I’m not strong. Not anymore.”

“Ging, give yourself credit. You’re the toughest old bird I know!”

Smiling, I knew no matter what was in the envelope, Tara would be here. The truth was, I could only do this with my best friend beside me.

With a trembling hand, I tore across the edge of the paper, slicing it open to find two pages inside. One handwritten, and one formally typed. It was a terrifying revelation, as experience had taught me that formal letters contained foreclosure notices, or child welfare investigations, or bankruptcy statements, or any number of terrible outcomes. Nothing good ever came from a formal letter.

I placed the handwritten page on top, instantly recognizing Benny’s clean script. I could barely see through my tears as I imagined him sitting down, pen in hand, to write this, whatever it was. It was time to find out.

 

Dear Mom,

We both know I’ve been a terrible son. Controlling, manipulative, making you think you’re going senile. Wanting you out of the way. Most of all I’ve been selfish. I always blamed you for how I ended up like this, because I thought you chased my dad away. And because you were obsessed with a dead son I couldn’t compete with. I can’t explain why I’ve treated you like this; there’s no reason, only that I hated you for wrongs you never committed.

I’m sorry isn’t enough. I’m sorry that I stole from you. I’m sorry that I wasn’t honest with you. I’m sorry that I wasn’t a better son. But this isn’t a sorry letter. This is a letter of amends.

I instructed my lawyer to give this to you once everything is settled. As soon as you get it, I’m taking you out to dinner to celebrate. It was always important to me that you get closure on the past, and this was the only way I could think of to give you that.

As you know, I’ve never been the best with money. I lost so much of Sloane’s trust, always falling into bad debts or chasing poor investments. But while I neglected to invest in my marriage, I didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. It’s why I wanted to make sure you were set for life. It’s why I wanted to sell your house—to finally chase a worthwhile investment.

That investment is you, Mom.

During a long, lonely night of vodka-induced self-reflection, I decided to look into Corbin Roth and how he scammed you out of your beach house back when I was a kid, the house I know you loved more than anything. The home your family built, that you wanted to pass down to me one day.

After a lot of digging, I realized that you weren’t the only one Roth took advantage of, so I started collecting names, property sale details, and I threatened to expose what he had done and sue him. While there was no way I was going to win, I did finally get him to concede the beach house and return it to you, along with some monetary damages for your loss and the property value that you should have been entitled to. It should be enough to cover the property taxes and insurance for as long as we’re alive, and then some.

It’s your victory, Mom. The legacy you had talked to me about as a kid. And along with this letter you should find a check, as long as everything works out as I hope it does.

I chose to write you instead of telling you in person, in case it didn’t work out and your hopes were crushed. I don’t want anything in return from you for this—it’s the first time I could do something without getting credit for it, without personal benefit. Simply for the joy of taking care of my mother.

The attorney will have additional paperwork for you, but if you ever wondered if I loved you, please let this show you what lengths I would go to for you. I’ll protect you at any cost, and proudly so.

Much love,

Your devoted son Benny

 

Behind Benny’s letter was the typed one, on his attorney’s letterhead. As my eyes scanned the words, I couldn’t quite believe what it was telling me.

It was a letter of settlement from Corbin Roth, and just as Benny had explained, it stated that the deed would be returned to my name, and a check was enclosed to cover the damages. At the bottom of the envelope was a single bronze key. The same key I had been forced to turn over the day I lost the beach house. I clutched it in my palm and pressed it to my heart.

Tucked into the fold of the paper was the check. I nearly choked as I read the amount: $500,000

Half a million dollars. Plenty to restore the beach house to a livable condition. My son had done this, for me! Benny had come through for me in the most amazing way in the end.

I pulled out my phone, finding the last message Benny had left me. I clicked play and listened to my son’s voice, recounting the mundane details of a grocery store order, to his parting words:

“Mom, in case I never tell you, all I want to do is make you proud of me. I want to make up for the hell I’ve put you through. You never deserved what Dad did, or what I’ve done, or losing Cole. I want to do better, be better, for you, and I’m trying. Day by day, right? I love you, Mom.”

As I hung up, I held tightly to this renewed understanding of my son and myself. I hadn’t failed him like I thought, and in the end he hadn’t failed me. No matter what terrible detour life took us on, there would always be hope left to cling to.

“So?” Tara’s voice cut through my thoughts, swirling with shock and love and longing.

“Benny got my beach house back. After all the crap he put me through, there was some good left in him.”

“Wow,” was all Tara could say.

What other words could express the shock of discovering that the son I thought hated me in fact loved me?

“Do you still want to burn it all?” Tara asked.

“Yep. I’ve never been so certain of anything.”

Coming around the fire to help me, Tara lifted one side of the EVIDENCE box, while I lifted the other, and we pulled it toward the ring of stones we’d made. Lifting the box, we swung it once, twice, and let go on three as the cardboard landed in the center of the ring, crashing into the flames before catching.

It was oddly fitting that we had picked a spot on the beach in front of the old beach house, which was now technically mine again. I watched as the flames devoured everything it touched, claiming every last piece of my past as little more than golden embers.

“Mamó, you’re missing the party!” Nora called to me from further down the beach where she was playing frisbee with Chris and Jonah. We had decided on mamó for my name, the same word I used for my Irish grandmother.

“You ready to celebrate our family being reunited and the trial being over?” Tara looped her arm through mine as she guided me down the beach to where the party was already getting started.

“I sure am. Are you?” I lobbed the question back at her.

“More than anything!”

A lot had happened over the past six months. A lot to mourn, and a lot to celebrate. I buried Benny on a stifling July day one week after he passed and the investigation was closed. I wore a frumpy old-lady jacket dress, black as a whore’s heart, as my father used to say. My one concession to whimsy was the feathered pillbox fascinator with polka-dot veil, worn at a jaunty angle. A good Southern girl, even a bereft one, lives to turn heads. And I succeeded. Even Benny, bless him, couldn’t have stifled a smile.

Just as I had uttered my final goodbye, a storm rolled in off the coast, scattering the small crowd. Only I had remained standing in the graveyard, letting the rain beat me and the wind whip me. A chilling, perfect symmetry to the night he had departed this earth.

With Tara at her side, Nora had come clean to the police about her involvement in Benny’s death, and Chris was subsequently released. The trial was short and cut-and-dried. While “accidental killing”—the surprisingly simple legal term for what Nora had done—wasn’t something Nora would want to put on her college applications one day, at least the court went easy on her. She was convicted of breaking and entering, with a sentence of community service hours and an assurance from their lawyer that her record would be sealed as a juvenile.

Tara was charged with concealing an accidental death and ended up with six months in county jail and a fine, which was lenient, according to her attorney. It was a terrible accident, but at least no other lives would be lost over it. Although our mistakes had been plenty, they were fueled by a loyalty to family and devotion to friendship.

A massive beach blanket had been set with food and plates, while Peace and Sloane were walking Havoc along the beach like a large dog. Someone had affixed a party hat on the tiny horse, which had slid sideways off his head. He seemed too delighted with the carrots Sloane was feeding him to care.

I was pretty sure Sloane and Peace were plotting Nora’s upcoming birthday party, which was guaranteed to be a big deal if Sloane was involved. She was all too happy to take the wheel on that, considering her event planning business was booming, and she was something everyone kept calling an “influencer.” I had no idea who she was influencing, but apparently it made her famous. I could name a dozen other things she deserved to be famous for, like her cranberry pistachio white chocolate scones, but what did an old lady like me know?

Eloise’s absence wasn’t lost on me. While I had chosen not to press charges against her for abducting my child, she wasn’t someone I could be around. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I loved Jonah too much to send his mother to jail, though I could have cared less about what happened to Eloise. At least she’d given me ample space to connect with my son, which I appreciated. Even if I did add a curse word every time I uttered her name.

Tara left my side to join Nora in a game of Frisbee, while I dropped to the sand, enjoying its cool softness between my bare toes. A moment later Jonah sat down next to me, kicking up a dusting onto my colorful peacock kimono. Oddly enough, it was the same one I’d worn the night he was born.

“What’s it feel like?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“To get your family back?” Jonah elaborated.

“You tell me.”

“It feels pretty amazing. I have you to thank for that.”

“Me? I didn’t do anything,” I said.

“Yeah you did. I got your persistence. I don’t know if Tara told you, but I struggle with depression, pretty bad some days. But even during the darkest days something always tells me to keep going. Now I realize it was you. It was like a tiny version of you inside me kept pushing me to not give up.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. All I could do was feel it, let it stir my heart.

“You went through so much,” he continued. “But you’re still standing. Pain tried to wrap itself around you, but you shed it and kept going. That’s some pretty impressive resilience, Mom.”

It was sweet hearing those words—that one word Mom in particular—from him.

“You should be a therapist,” I said, smiling at him.

“I’ve actually been considering doing that.”

I reached for him, realizing I had been holding something that I didn’t need anymore.

“I have something for you.” I picked up his hand and turned it over, gently opening his fingers while I dropped the item in his palm.

Jonah looked at it with a question in his eyes—our eyes.

“What’s this?”

“It’s the key to the beach house.” I turned around and glanced at the decrepit building, suddenly embarrassed and wondering if he would even want it. “I thought maybe with the settlement money we could fix it up together and you could have it. Eventually you could raise your own family there.”

He laughed, and I wasn’t sure if he thought it was a bad joke, until the laughter turned into whooping. “Are you serious? I don’t know how to thank you!”

My son hugged me, and I never wanted to let go. As I squeezed him, the fire behind us was dying, along with all of my secrets, my past, my fears, and my pain floating up in a cloud of smoke once and for all.

Little did I know my life was just beginning, even at my ripe old age.