Whenever Coop mentioned Celia’s death, he never said people thought he was to blame. Maybe he didn’t want to breathe fresh life into an old rumor. Maybe part of him was afraid I’d run for the hills. I exhale in frustration, shooing away my mental images of Celia and Bridgette. The scent of pollen and dirt drift upward, tickling my nose. There’s a potted collection of wildflowers resting next to my bench. Looking across the way, I see each bench has its own arrangement beside a memorial plaque. I stand, looking to see what my bench represents, to whom it pays tribute.
Underneath my seat is a picture of a blonde girl with striking blue eyes, hypnotic really. The inscription reads: In loving memory of Celia Gray. May your light shine on us all. My eyes dart back to the girl’s face—Celia’s face—which, in some ways, appears harsher now. Like she’s taunting me. As I scamper away, the sign at the entrance reminds me to never forget.
All I want to do is forget. About Celia. About the past. I’d like to make a home of this place without constantly feeling followed by ghosts.
Eleven
Helena
I got a glimpse of Madison today, but I didn’t have the nerve to talk to her. Not yet. One of my first stops after arriving in Whisper Falls was Nectar, the uppity eatery owned by none other than Regina Douglas. I snagged a spot by the window, attempting to familiarize myself with this town again and the people in it. When I saw Regina behind the counter, I felt a rush of nervousness. Thankfully, she was preoccupied with kneading and chopping; she didn’t notice me.
Imagine my surprise when halfway through my sandwich and waffle fries (which I reluctantly enjoyed), Madison approached the counter. I did a double take, finding it hard to believe my luck. It’s only my first day back in Whisper Falls, and here comes my target. Some would say it’s the lack of options in this backwards town, but I think it’s something else. Kismet. Fate.
That ashy hair is hard to confuse with anyone else. It had to be her. I watched as she had a brief conversation with Regina. The two don’t yet seem comfortable with one another, and I wonder how else Madison is struggling to adjust. She didn’t seem particularly happy as she sat alone, waiting on her order. But maybe that’s just her. Resting Bitch Face, is that what they call it? Madison definitely has that. In fact, the only time she smiled was just before her food arrived, when she was staring in her lap, presumably texting someone. Probably Cooper.
She looked up at me once, but then lazily drifted her gaze to the other diners without giving me a second thought. I’m used to going unnoticed these days. As a young woman, I turned heads. Now, I’m easily overlooked in crowds because my looks have faded and I’m always alone. Practically invisible. It’s been that way for years, which is why I’m not intimidated to come back here and do what must be done.
Watching Madison saunter out of the restaurant, I could see she didn’t possess any of the loneliness and bitterness that plagues my existence. Perhaps she has some insecurity. Beyond that, she has her whole life in front of her. She bears all the promise any girl her age should, the promise my own daughter exuded when she was still on this earth.
The last time I saw her was nothing like the last time we spoke. By then, the brightness I’d seen in her that day was gone. I’d felt it dimming for weeks. I could sense her holding back, cutting our conversations short. Not only did Cooper Douglas take her away forever, he took little bits of her leading up to that day.
“Tell me what’s wrong, sweetie,” I said to her over the phone.
“Nothing,” she said. But I knew something was off. Something personal was pulling her spirits downward. I needed to know what it was.
“Is it your boyfriend?”
“Gah, Mom.” She sounded like an annoyed teenager full of resentment. If only she’d seen I had once been a young woman, capable of understanding. “I don’t know. I love him, I know that. But there are things we need to work out.”
“Like what?”
“Just some stupid rumors,” she said, her voice starting to crack. “We need to talk, but I’m hoping things will blow over.”
Rumors. A parade of faces flashed through my mind. Other young, vibrant girls. Had he chosen one of them over my daughter? None of them could compare, surely. Her father used to fool around on me, and I could remember that throbbing feeling. The resentment building, becoming too heavy to carry. That rejection, ripping the glow away, leaving nothing but gloom.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“Nothing’s happened yet,” she said, failing to sound positive.
“Everything will be okay. You know I’m here for you.”
“I know.”
“Maybe it’s time for another visit?” I needed to see her. Hiding her feelings was too easy over the phone.
“Soon, Mom.” Then there was a sound in the background. “Cooper is waiting. I need to go.”
“I love you, honey,” I said, but she had already hung up.
The waitress with the arm tattoo returns to my table, interrupting my memories. Perhaps it’s a good thing, as I was right at the point where things turned bad. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks.
“All good here. Thanks.”
I exit the restaurant, looking over my shoulder one last time at the sister. She was a teenager last time I saw her, and it looks like she hasn’t gained five pounds since then. Thankfully, she doesn’t recognize me. I don’t think the brother would remember me, either.
From where I stand, I can see the Gazette headquarters. I wonder if I should confront Cooper myself. Maybe I should just get a glimpse of him. Or cause a real scare by throwing a rock through the window. The idea makes me laugh, but I realize that’s the old me. Dealing with Cooper directly didn’t work last time, nor did causing a scene. That’s why I must go through Madison. I’m a stranger to her, and she’s an outsider here, which makes her easier to isolate.
I walk in the opposite direction. I reach a small courtyard with a gazebo. If I recall correctly, this place was under construction last time I was here. I had thought the bulldozer and lumber were eyesores in the middle of this quaint town square. The sign reads: Whisper Falls Memorial Gardens: Always Remember, Never Forget. I remember reading, in the Gazette actually, about this place. I’d wanted to return to Whisper Falls for the dedication, but that was in the thick of my drinking days. Even I couldn’t handle my crazy then, though I’d like to think I’m better at controlling myself now.
There are six memorial benches, each one paying tribute to a fallen Whisperanian. When I arrive at the third bench, I see her picture and plaque:
In loving memory of Celia Gray. May your light shine on us all.
My breathing gets wobbly and I fall to my knees. I stare at her beautiful face. I think of what Cooper must have done to her. The only thought worse, is that he got away with it. I begin crying. At first my sobs are shallow, then they fall heavy and deep. I’m wailing in the middle of the courtyard as I might if I were alone in my motel room.
On the sidewalk, strangers stop and watch, but they don’t dare approach. Their stares are confused, then sympathetic. We humans are drawn to tragedy in the same way we’re mesmerized by fire: its power, its unpredictability, its warmth. Being near heartache reflects how cold we never realized we were. We watch on thinking, Those poor people. We never dare to think, Poor us. The only time we are untouchable is when faced with another person’s misfortune.