Chapter 1

 

Grant

 

The constant click-clack of the train moving over the tracks lulls me into a state of complete calmness—a state I haven’t been in for the last few days. I’ve felt more pain and anguish in these last three days than in my entire thirty-five years.

Why did Dad do it?

I keep asking myself that question, over and over again. He loved my mother with a passion one doesn’t see too often. How could he have extinguished what they had?

My Aunt Betsy, Mom’s older sister, puts her arm around me and leans her head on my shoulder. Her hair is silky and soft just like Mom’s was. But Mom’s always smelled like roses to me. Aunt Betsy’s smells like lemons and honey. Not bad, but not Mom. “They had a true love. I can’t understand it at all, Grant.”

I look out the window at the dark night, my forehead resting on the pane of glass that separates me from the outside. “Me neither.” My stomach twists on itself, the way it has since I got that phone call that wrecked my world, my mind, my entire belief system. 

Trekking through the vast wilderness of South Africa at night is a daunting task. None of us would be here if it wasn’t for what my father had done.

My younger brother, Jake, moves up to sit in the empty seat across from my aunt and me. His hair is blonde and wavy, just like Mom’s was. He has our father’s light blue eyes though. A perfect mix of them both. “Aunt Betsy, can you tell us about the day they met? I love that story. And you can even leave in the risqué parts if you like.”

My head is heavy as I pull it off the window. I turn my body to lean back and listen to the story our parents have told us a number of times. Maybe there’s something more to the story that we’ve all ignored all this time. Something that will let me know why he’d do such a horrific thing.

With light laughter, our aunt starts the story about how our parents met, “Jack Jamison and Daphne Dupree were about as much alike as night and day. It was beneath the branches of a willow tree that grew along the bank of the Frio River in the hill country of Central Texas that they met for the first time.”

“Dad and Mom sure did love to go back there,” Jake mumbles as he sits back. He lays his long skinny legs out on the bench seat and leans back against the window, much like me. He’s always been my little shadow. He’s not that little anymore, but he still mimics me more often than not.

“They sure did,” I agree as I close my eyes and think about all the fun we had when they would take us to the place they met. “Do you remember how mad we’d get when they’d come back from a secret vacation and tell us where they’d gone, without us?”

Jake nods as a big grin curves his lips. “I do. Leaving us at home while they went to play in the crystal-clear water was a crime in my book.”

“Mine too.” I cast my eyes down, thinking the word crime was a thing we used to joke about—and still were. But now that a real crime has been committed by one of our own—our patriarch—it doesn’t sound so funny anymore.

Aunt Betsy pats me on the back. “You silly boys, they wanted to spend time alone, rekindling the love they found that day thirty years ago. It was a love that stood the test of time. I, for one, thought it would last forever.”

“Me too,” Jake says then looks down. I see a tear fall to his lap. He wipes his eye and turns away from us. “I don’t know if I want to hear about this right now.”

Jake is eighteen—too damn young for this to be happening to him. I’m not a hell of a lot more equipped for it myself. But I’m the big brother, the oldest of the four of us. Our sisters, Jenny and Becca, stayed back home. Only the three of us came to Africa.

Becca is only fifteen, the baby of the family. Jenny has her hands full with her, I’m sure. I wonder how she’ll take everything, once we tell her what we’ve found out.

Aunt Betsy re-situates herself, trying in vain to get comfortable. The seats aren’t made for comfort, I’m afraid. We sit in silence, the sounds of the train the only sounds we hear. Until Jake starts to snore and his head drops as he falls asleep.

Aunt Betsy smiles, pulls an old blue blanket and a tiny pillow out of the overhead compartment and gets Jake settled in so he’s a little more comfortable. Then she comes back to sit with me and asks, “So, Grant, would you like for me to continue with the story?”

It’s been many years since I’ve heard the story about Mom and Dad meeting. I think I need to hear it again. Maybe in that story will be a shard of information about what would eventually happen to them. Right now, nothing makes sense.

“Sure, Aunt Betsy, tell it to me.”