Page 58 of We Are All Guilty Here

Emmy was about to chalk up the question to her mother’s paranoia, but then she heard car wheels crunching gravel. She went to look out of the kitchen window. Kaitlynn was early today. Millie was already launching herself out of the red Mercedes. She slammed the door, then staggered across the driveway with a determined scowl on her granny-apple face. At ninety-two, she had taken the title of Oldest Living Clifton and was in no hurry to relinquish the crown.

Emmy told her mother, “Aunt Millie is here.”

“I don’t know that I’m up for talking this morning.”

Emmy didn’t think Kaitlynn was either. The engine revved as the Mercedes screeched out of the driveway. The girl had followed in her mother’s footsteps at UGA and had been practicing law for the last two years, a fact that made Emmy feel exactly eleventy billion years old.

“Millie Clifton!” Millie announced, banging open the screen door before Emmy could get to it. Millie tossed a paper sack in her direction. Emmy said a silent prayer of thanks to Taybee for sending breakfast.

“Well don’t help me or nothing,” Millie complained.

Emmy couldn’t win with these old women today. She passed her mother the paper sack as she helped Millie to the table. The tote bag was so heavy that Millie’s skin had sagged into a puddle around the straps. Library books pressed sharp creases into the corners along with a copy of the 1978 North Falls Whitepages. The books were just for show. Myrna couldn’t follow a story anymore. They would spend the morning reading down the alphabetical list of names, Millie gossiping and laughing about people who were either dead or just as good as, none of whom Myrna could remember anymore.

“Did you see this garbage?” Millie grabbed a rolled-up newspaper from the tote and brandished it like she was threatening a dog. “The Perv on the front page. The whole town’s in an uproar. Got people calling me night and day. They’re ready to go out there and take matters into their own hands.”

“Tell them to calm down.” Emmy busied herself putting away the eggs and bacon. “Adam’s not gonna be out of prison for long.”

“I should hope not,” Millie snapped. “What you need to do is drag that jackal out behind the barn and shoot him in the head. Let a bunch of crows peck out his eyeballs.”

“Aunt Millie,” Emmy tried to redirect her, “it’s not abunchof crows. It’s amurderof crows.”

“No,” Myrna chimed in. “It can’t be murder without probable caws.”

Emmy gave a stunned laugh, then she had to look away to hide her tears. After six years of grueling, relentless decline, therewere so few moments lately that Myrna was truly herself. These tiny sparks of personality were starting to feel more like callous reminders of all that had been lost. Emmy opened the drawer and found a packet of tissues. She blew her nose.

“What happened now?” Myrna sounded annoyed. “For god-sakes, Martha. Stop crying.”

Emmy bit her lip, begging the tears not to flow. This wasn’t the first time Myrna had confused her children. It was like holding onto a wrecking ball as her mother’s mind arced between comprehension and confusion.

“Myrna Louise Clifton!” Millie shouted, her tone firm. “That’s not Martha. That’s Emmy Lou, your baby daughter.”

Myrna’s confusion did not abate. “What happened to Martha?”

Even Millie didn’t have the heart to tell her that Martha had died over four decades ago. “You remember when you told me you were pregnant with Emmy Lou? We were on that trip visiting the Coleman cousins up in Maryland, and you slipped on that sheet of ice in Beulah’s driveway and broke your leg in two places. Remember?”

Myrna’s slow nod made it clear that she didn’t buy the story.

“Never been so cold in my life,” Millie continued. “And the doctor said you needed to stay up there for a few months while you healed, but then Gerald came to fetch you. Said you could recover at home. You missed an entire school year. Don’t you remember?”

Myrna kept nodding, but she was obviously still dubious. “Yes, I remember.”

Emmy was saved further pain by Cole walking down the stairs. He was already dressed in his deputy uniform. The green cargo pants and light khaki shirt were far more flattering than the previous brown, which had resembled a hot dog left out too long in the sun. Gone too were the heavy equipment belts that could herniate a disc. Cole’s ballistic duty vest was hanging beside Emmy’s on the hooks by the door. She never looked at it without remembering the tiny pajama sets she used to pack when Cole went on sleepovers. Now he was nearly a foot taller than her, and packed solid with muscle.

“Morning, ladies.” Cole had the same charming, easy grin as his father with none of Jonah’s bullshit. He kissed Millie on the head, flashed a smile at Myrna, then bumped his arm against Emmy’s as he poured a cup of coffee. “All good?”

He was referring to Myrna’s night terrors. Emmy had to get her son out of here. A twenty-three-year-old man shouldn’t be living like this. “All good.”

“I thought I’d drive up to Atlanta for the Dogwood Festival this weekend.”

“Are you telling your mother or asking your boss?”

“Depends.” He turned up the full wattage of his smile. “Was it my mom or my chief who told me that I need to develop interests outside the job?”

“Both of them were right, but let’s see how today goes. Papa’s waiting for us in his office.”

Cole slurped a mouthful of scalding coffee, then rinsed out his cup in the sink. Millie opened the phone book to start the morning. Emmy was closing the screen door when she heard her mother’s faint voice ask, “Who was that handsome young man?”

Her jaw clenched again. She tried to make it release as she walked down the stairs. Myrna probably wouldn’t eat breakfast. In the last week, she had stopped recognizing food, lost the hunger mechanism that compelled her to eat. The doctor had said it was only a matter of time, but that was what all the doctors said when they had no idea how long it would take.

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