Lily White Lies(92)

He put a finger against his nose and sniffed. “What did he tell you?”

My hopes were beginning to dwindle. “He said he killed your son but others have told me he didn’t.” I pleaded, “Mr. Ellis, please, I haven’t been fair to him and if he didn’t do it, I owe him even more. He won’t be with me forever; so please, I’m begging you...” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Please tell me the truth.”

He turned his chair toward the window without answering me. Several minutes passed while I anticipated his reply.

Suddenly, he stood, walked past me and disappeared out the door without as much as a word.

I had no way of knowing if he was coming back. Did I upset him so much that he felt he had to leave the room immediately? I didn’t know if I should sit and wait for him to return or if he would appreciate it if I were gone when he got back. I debated several more minutes and as I stood to leave, the door opened behind me.

He was carrying an old, wooden box the size of a hatbox. Like the tree at the pond, it bore carved affections of one-time loves. Rather than taking his seat behind the desk, he stopped directly in front of me. My nerves stood on end waiting for him to speak.

“I don’t do many decent things or so I’m told...” Rubbing a hand across the top of the box, he said, “You asked me a question and I know you’re expecting an answer, but I can’t do that, you see.”

I lowered my head, and asked, “Why not?”

“Because, if I were to answer your question, I would have to tell you that your grandfather killed my son.”

Biting on my lower lip, I turned my head away when I couldn’t stop my tears from spilling over.

“Now let me finish.” Placing his free hand on my shoulder, I slowly turned my head back toward him and he continued, “But I’m not going to tell you that. You hear what I’m saying?”

He opened the box and reached into it. Pulling out what appeared to be a journal; he looked at it thoughtfully before handing it to me.

“Here, take this with you. You read it. It’ll give you the answers you’re looking for.”

Turning his back toward me, the wooden box hit his desk with a thud and he bellowed, “Now be on your way. I can’t be babysitting you all goddam day. Go ahead, get out of here.”

In my confusion, I managed to smile graciously and mouth the words, ‘thank you,’ before leaving him alone with his memories.



Ivory called to me from a room off the foyer. “Nice to see you made it out in one piece,” she said with a laugh.

I nodded and glanced down at the book that I clutched in my hands.

Her expression became serious, as she joined me at the door. “Did you get what you came for?”

Looking past her, I replied, “Not exactly, but I got more than I came for.”

She offered a knowing nod, as we walked onto the porch.

“Ivory, do you think he’d mind if I sat in the gazebo for awhile?”

Looking toward it, she said, “Go ahead, I’ll tell him you’re feeding the fish if he asks.”



I sat quietly, taking in my surroundings. On my lap sat the answers to all of my questions and now that I was so close to knowing the truth about the past, I couldn’t help but feel scared. Maybe it was the fact that the man I was expected to hate by birthright was the same man who gave me what I was looking for or maybe I was just afraid of what I would learn between the pages of the journal.

I stared at it for several minutes, contemplating the decision I already knew the answer to. I opened the journal to the first page, took a deep breath and began to read.

Written in a woman’s handwriting, it began, June 27th, 1980...





Twenty-Eight





...He leaned back on the couch and I leaned into him. With my head snugly in the bend of his neck, I breathed in his scent, as he began to read a twenty-four-year-old confession...





With apprehension, I began to read of the past, penned in ink.



According to Jack, yesterday was not one of my better days. I wish so much I could remember what made it so dreadful, but as usual; I am left to sit alone and think about it. Jack has been very attentive today, so much as to plant the rose bush I asked for. Never has their been a more kind-hearted man. Thank you for the gift of a good day and I pray for another.



I stared out over the grounds. I realized this was Gayle’s journal, but couldn’t fathom how I would find the answers to my questions in it when the people who lived through it couldn’t help. I turned the page and continued.



July 2nd, 1980

This has made three good days in a row and I hold hope that there will be many more. When I stumble onto a bad day, I feel as though I am of no use to anyone. There is no feeling in the world as horrifying as the feeling of being useless. My concerns regarding Wesley are growing rapidly and I don’t know how to help him. Jack has given up all hope, but I continue to pray that he will find his way home from the bottle. Dear Father, I don’t know why you misdirected our boy, but it’s time for him to come home. He has lost his lovely wife and beautiful son, what else does he have to lose before he sees the self-destruction that lives inside of him? I will continue to pray for him and my return to health.