sixteen

Peyton and Aunt Gert sang and danced all the way from the VFW hall to her purple bungalow. The breeze was picking up, and they could hear occasional thunder off in the distance. The Atlantic coast could swing from hot and sunny to brisk and stormy in a heartbeat.

They were walking up the driveway, laughing about one of Peyton’s missteps, when Aunt Gert suddenly fell silent and stood very still. She was frowning and staring at her house.

“What’s the matter, Aunt Gert?” Peyton asked.

She pointed at the dark house. “I never leave the lights off when I’m out at night.”

Now Peyton was looking at the bungalow barely visible in the darkness, surrounded as it was by palms and tropical shrubs. “When we left for the VFW, I asked if I should turn off the living room light, and you said no,” he reminded her. “I’m sure I left it on.”

“I’m sure you did too. Let’s get to the toolshed.”

Inside the dark shed, Aunt Gert felt her way to a spade, which she handed to Peyton, and a shovel, which she held on to herself. “Follow me,” she whispered to Peyton, “and keep quiet.”

They tiptoed onto the front porch, stopped, and listened. Nothing. Aunt Gert felt for the key she kept on top of the door frame, but it wasn’t there. She looked at Peyton, then slowly turned the doorknob. They both heard it click open. Just inside the living room, Aunt Gert reached for a lamp and switched it on. No one was there. The living room was empty, the lamplight a comfort.

Slowly, they made their way through the small dining room and into the kitchen—both of them empty. Down a short hallway to the bedrooms, they found Aunt Gert’s door open, but Peyton’s was closed. They crept to it and listened. There was no movement inside, but they both heard a sound, faint but audible. Aunt Gert motioned for Peyton to get his spade ready, then she quickly opened the door to his room and turned on the light. They both gasped and dropped their weapons in a clanging heap on the floor.

“Katie?” Aunt Gert exclaimed, rushing to the bedside, where Peyton’s mother lay on top of the covers.

She was fully dressed—including her shoes—and looked like she had been crying forever. Peyton could see her mouth moving but couldn’t make out what she was trying to say. Finally, he heard it: “He’s gone.”

Aunt Gert sat down on the bedside as she took a handkerchief out of the nightstand and handed it to Peyton’s mother. “I know you’re heartbroken, honey, but remember your child is listenin’, and he’s gonna remember every word you say.”

Peyton’s mother looked up and saw him standing in the doorway. He hadn’t moved since he saw her there.

She held her arms out to him, and Aunt Gert slid down to make a place for him next to his mother.

“Daddy?” he said.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“How? I mean—I thought—I thought he was getting better.”

She reached up and laid her hand against his face, answering in fits and starts as she struggled to breathe. “He was getting better . . . every day. Just this morning . . . we walked out onto the hospital terrace . . . to enjoy a little sunshine . . . We talked about you . . . what we might all do together before school starts back . . . We talked about . . . moving back to Tybee.”

Peyton’s mother lowered her hand from his face and was no longer looking at him but staring instead at some distant point in space, as if she were replaying a memory to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. “While we were talking . . . he leaned his head back against his rocking chair . . . and closed his eyes. I watched him smile into the sun . . . and I remember thinking . . . that there’s never been . . . a more beautiful face in the world . . . But then . . . I saw him turn his head just slightly . . . and he frowned . . . like he was trying . . . very hard to hear what somebody was saying to him. And then . . . then he relaxed and smiled again. He was nodding, as if he were . . . answering a voice I couldn’t hear . . . He raised his hand to his head, looked at me, and said . . . ‘I have to go now, Hoppy.’ And then . . . then his head slumped over . . . as if he had dozed off . . . He looked so peaceful . . . like every care he’d ever had . . . suddenly got lifted away . . . all at one time. But he never woke up.”

Now she was looking at Peyton again. She sat up in bed and said, “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” He put his arms around her and held her tight. “I just didn’t see another stroke coming, honey. I wish I could’ve prepared you—but I wasn’t ready myself.”

Aunt Gert, who had been sitting silently while his mother poured out her grief, finally spoke—but in a quiet voice, not her usual commanding one. “Peyton, let’s give your mother this room till we figure out what’s what. Everybody’s way too tired for any o’ that business right now. You like the porch best anyway, so that’s all settled. Katie, are you hungry at all?”

Peyton’s mother grimaced, as if the thought of food might do her in right now.

“Alright, then. Tomorrow morning we can figure out what happens next, but for right now I think sleep is best. Or at least rest. I doubt any of us will sleep much tonight.”

Peyton kissed his mother on the cheek, then walked silently out to the sleeping porch, feeling stunned, numb, and a little nauseated. He lay down on one of the beds, thankful for the cool pillowcase against his face and the breeze coming off the river. It wasn’t possible, was it—that his dad could be gone from this earth? Even when he was drinking, at least he was here. Peyton could look at him in the flesh and still see the father he had been before the war. But never again.

“You didn’t take time to pack, if I know you,” Aunt Gert said. “Not to worry. I still maintain your special drawer.”

Kate mustered a weak smile. “When Marshall would take Peyton to UGA for the weekend and I’d come down here, you used to take me shopping every time, but you wouldn’t let me wear my new clothes till the next trip.”

“My way of keepin’ you comin’ back,” Aunt Gert said, handing her a nightgown from the drawer and sitting down next to her on the bed. They put their arms around each other.

“What on earth am I going to do?” Kate asked.

“Nothing tonight, Katie. Nothing tonight.”