The Devil Casts a Long Shadow- Chapter Nine: To Speak of You

Jena visited Nate religiously throughout the long winter.

Neither icy highways nor the exhaustion of working long shifts at the church childcare center could keep her away. Between her regular job, the occasional gig work she picked up for additional money, and the relentless unpleasantness awaiting her at home, she seldom had a moment to herself. Nevertheless, she made the journey to Colorado whenever she could manage it.

On particularly treacherous nights, she even ventured onto roads that had been closed because of the weather. She knew it was foolish. More than once, she found herself creeping along an ice-covered highway with her headlights illuminating little beyond the falling snow, wondering whether she would survive the trip.

Yet she continued.

Jena had convinced herself that her vigilance was necessary. She feared that Ivy-Mae might persuade the medical staff to discontinue Nate's life support without giving her sufficient warning. The court ruling had left Jena in an impossible position, and Nate's death threatened to set another series of legal and financial complications in motion.

She was not entirely certain why she continued subjecting herself to such risks for a husband who had rarely troubled himself over her welfare.

But she had always been better at fulfilling obligations than questioning whether they were worth fulfilling.

As winter dragged on, Jena found herself increasingly uncertain whether she was living in a home or serving a sentence in a particularly luxurious prison.

The barndominium had everything a person could reasonably desire. Its rooms were spacious, its furnishings expensive, and its construction the product of Nate's limitless appetite for extravagance.

Yet Jena could scarcely bear to remain inside it.

She spent hours fantasizing about leaving in the middle of the night and moving back in with Sue. It was a desire she had entertained even before Nate's overdose, although she had never quite found the courage to act upon it.

Now the fantasy had become a private refuge.

She imagined packing her belongings, taking Tiki, and abandoning the house to whoever wanted it badly enough to fight over it.

Unfortunately, fantasies did not pay bills.

Turner had kept his word.

The house remained on KT Construction's list of company-maintained properties, and its expenses continued to be paid automatically. Jena still had her car, which was titled in her name, and she no longer had to worry about how she would cover the mortgage or the property taxes.

That alone was enough to persuade her to tolerate circumstances she otherwise found unbearable.

She could not sell the house or make substantial changes to it, but she could continue living there.

It was an arrangement that offered security without much freedom.

Jena tried not to dwell on the distinction.

She wished Nate would recover, if only long enough to resume responsibility for the life he had created. Then she could hand the entire mess back to him and decide what she wanted to do with whatever remained of her own future.

Instead, Nate lay motionless in Colorado, suspended in a condition that seemed neither to improve nor deteriorate.

Jena sometimes felt that she had joined him in that peculiar state.

Her marriage had effectively ended, but she could not escape its obligations. Her old life was gone, yet the new one had never properly begun.

She existed somewhere between the two, occupying a beautiful house that no longer felt like hers.

Nate had surrounded himself with people who wanted something from him. Jena had recognized their greed long before he did, although he had rarely cared to hear her opinions.

Now she was the one left to deal with them.

There was something almost infernal about being forced to defend the possessions of a man who had never considered her security worth protecting.

And yet, because Turner continued paying the bills, she endured it.

By the time winter surrendered to spring, Thallea had found a new position at the ghost kitchen.

She was no longer taking orders.

Instead, she had become a delivery driver.

According to Thallea, the arrangement was considerably easier on her pregnancy. She could sit in the delivery van while the kitchen staff loaded the orders, then wait while employees at the destination unloaded them.

Jena suspected that the doubled pay was another attractive feature.

Still, she had no complaints.

Thallea was spending more time away from the house, drinking less, and even smoking somewhat less frequently.

The latter improvement had come about through one of Jena's increasingly habitual fabrications.

She had casually mentioned that Turner despised cigarette smoking.

Thallea had immediately become more conscious of the habit, particularly before leaving for work.

Jena considered it a remarkable success.

She had discovered that invoking Turner's supposed preferences was often more effective than making reasonable requests of her own.

It had not taken long for her to recognize that Thallea had developed an infatuation with him.

What she found attractive about Joel Klutz-Turner was beyond Jena's understanding.

He was gangly, perpetually unkempt, and possessed the sort of personality one might expect from a man being interviewed for a Florida news segment after an exceptionally foolish public disturbance.

He had money, of course.

Jena suspected that explained most of the mystery.

Still, she considered Thallea's interest relatively harmless.

Turner had never shown much interest in maintaining serious relationships, and the women he occasionally entertained tended to resemble Emily, his former girlfriend.

Thallea could scarcely have been more different.

Jena doubted Turner would give her a second thought.

If the infatuation encouraged Thallea to work, bathe regularly, and refrain from smoking in the house, Jena was perfectly willing to let it continue.

It was the closest thing to a productive ambition she had ever observed in her brother's girlfriend.

Thallea began asking questions about Turner.

At first, they were ordinary enough.

What did he like to eat?

Did he own a particular kind of car?

Where did he spend his weekends?

Was he difficult to work for?

Jena answered when she could.

When she couldn't, she invented something.

She knew surprisingly little about the man, considering how long their families had occupied the same social circles.

Turner had been a loner in school, one of the neglected children from the trailer park whose circumstances made him an easy target for ridicule.

His mother had enrolled him late, and he had been held back repeatedly until he was considerably older than many of his classmates.

Jena remembered him as a greasy, awkward boy who wore the same dirty clothes for days at a time.

She had spent most of her adolescence with a small group of girls who eventually left Meadow Partings, as she herself had done.

Turner had rarely been part of their conversations unless someone was making an unkind remark about him.

Even Nate had kept him at a distance during those years, except when he wanted marijuana or some other favor.

That changed after Turner inherited his father's land and discovered that the property held valuable oil reserves.

Money transformed his circumstances almost overnight.

It also transformed the way people spoke about him.

The greasy boy from the trailer park became a local success story.

The same residents who had once dismissed him now praised his business judgment, his investments, and his contributions to the town.

Jena had always found the change remarkable.

Apparently, wealth could accomplish what years of personal improvement never could.

It could even persuade people to forget how thoroughly they had despised someone.

Since she knew so little about Turner's actual preferences, Jena began filling the gaps with convenient inventions.

She told Thallea that he admired punctuality.

That he disliked smoking.

That he had little patience for people who drank excessively.

That he respected employees who kept their workplaces clean.

Thallea accepted these claims with an enthusiasm that Jena found both amusing and useful.

For once, Jena had discovered a way to influence her without having to endure an argument.

Then, one afternoon, Thallea asked about Emily.

The name brought an immediate chill to Jena's skin.

"Why is it such a big deal to ask about Emily?" Thallea demanded.

Jena was unloading the dishwasher.

She stopped with a plate in her hand.

"What?"

"Emily. Turner's old girlfriend. Are they still together or something?"

"No."

"Then where is she?"

Jena placed the plate in the cabinet.

"She was the only woman he was ever really serious about, as far as I know."

Thallea leaned against the counter.

"What's the big deal, then?"

Jena hesitated.

The memories belonged to a period of her life she had largely left behind.

"Well, you have to understand what Turner was like back then."

"What was he like?"

"He wasn't exactly popular."

Thallea smirked.

"Shocking."

"He was one of those kids everybody looked down on. Dirty clothes, greasy hair, always getting into trouble at school. He didn't have much going for him."

"Sounds about right."

"Emily was different. Her father owned the only grocery store in town. Her family had money, at least by Meadow Partings standards."

Jena closed the dishwasher.

"She was pretty, spoiled, and knew perfectly well that she was better off than most of the people around her. She wasn't particularly kind about it, either."

"So why'd she date Turner?"

"Nobody really understood that."

Jena leaned against the counter.

"One day they were together, and that was that. Eventually, she got pregnant. There was talk of them getting married."

"Did they?"

"No."

"What happened?"

"That's where things get complicated."

Jena looked toward the window.

"By then, I'd moved overseas. I heard most of it secondhand. Emily wasn't pregnant anymore, and there were rumors that she'd left town. Turner took it badly."

"Because she got rid of the baby?"

"That was part of what people said."

Jena paused.

"I don't know how much of it was true."

Thallea appeared dissatisfied.

"Well, somebody knows."

"People knew pieces of it. That doesn't mean they knew what actually happened."

Jena remembered the gossip Nate had shared with her during their years abroad.

He had enjoyed recounting other people's scandals, particularly when they made him feel superior.

According to him, Turner and Emily had gone from being inseparable to barely speaking.

Then there had been accusations involving Emily's family.

Arguments.

People taking sides.

And eventually, silence.

"Turner left town for a while," Jena continued. "He worked as a trucker until his father died.

Then he came back and inherited the land."

"The oil land?"

"Yes."

Thallea looked thoughtful.

"So he got rich after she left him."

"That's right."

"Bet she hated that."

Jena gave a humorless little laugh.

"I wouldn't know."

She resumed putting away the dishes.

"Meadow Partings was dying back then. Businesses were closing. People were leaving. Half the storefronts were empty, and there wasn't much reason for anyone to stay."

"Sounds depressing."

"It was."

Jena remembered the vacant buildings, the neglected houses, and the empty fields where developments had once been promised.

"Turner put a lot of his money back into town after he struck oil. He invested in businesses, construction, and property. It changed everything."

"So everybody likes him now?"

"Everybody likes what he's done for the place."

Jena considered the distinction.

"People don't bring up Emily because it was a bad time for him. And around here, nobody wants to be the person who makes Turner angry."

Thallea rocked gently on her heels.

"That's weird."

"Maybe. But it's how things are."

Jena thought of the way people spoke about Turner.

His money had revived a town that had seemed destined to disappear.

Some residents treated him almost as a savior.

Others simply understood that offending him could make life considerably more difficult.

Jena had never been sure whether the distinction mattered.

A man who could rescue a dying town could presumably allow it to die again.

And people who depended upon him had every reason to remain agreeable.

Thallea was quiet for a moment.

Then she asked, "So where's Emily now?"

Jena felt her shoulders tighten.

"New York, last I heard."

"Doing what?"

"Trying to be a Broadway actress."

"Seriously?"

"That's what her cousin Michelle told me at the company Christmas party a couple of years ago."

The lie came smoothly.

Jena was almost impressed with herself.

She had no idea where Emily was.

As far as she knew, nobody did.

Emily had become increasingly isolated after the scandal surrounding her family. She had made accusations that were serious enough to turn much of the town against her.

When she failed to substantiate them, people who had once been her friends began distancing themselves.

Turner had been among them.

Then Emily disappeared.

Some claimed she had moved away.

Others suggested she had gone overseas.

A few believed she had simply wanted to escape the humiliation.

Jena had never investigated.

At the time, she had been far away, occupied with her own marriage and the demands of Nate's lifestyle.

Emily's disappearance had seemed like another unpleasant chapter in a town full of unpleasant stories.

"Anyway," Jena said, "Emily moved on. I don't think Turner ever really did."

Thallea lit a cigarette.

She inhaled deeply.

"That's fucked."

Jena looked at the smoke curling toward the ceiling.

She had to concede that, by Thallea's standards, the remark represented a reasonably thoughtful assessment.

Jena turned back toward the dishwasher.

"I think that's why he has a soft spot for single mothers with little boys."

Thallea looked up.

"What?"

"People used to say Emily was carrying a boy. I don't know if that was ever confirmed, but I suppose Turner might still think about what could've been."

Thallea considered this.

Then she giggled.

"Well, he'll be extra nice to me, then."

Jena frowned.

"Why?"

"Because I've got two boys on the way."

She took another drag from her cigarette, retrieved a bag of chips from the pantry, and wandered out of the kitchen.

Jena watched her go.

She wished she had not mentioned Emily at all.

Later, Jena poured herself bourbon over ice and remained alone in the kitchen.

She had stopped making much effort to keep the house immaculate.

With Ivy-Mae waiting to claim whatever she could from Nate's estate, Jena found it increasingly difficult to care about preserving expensive possessions she might never own.

Thallea had already damaged so much that the house seemed to be deteriorating faster than Jena could maintain it.

She looked at the sticky countertop, the overflowing trash, and the greasy fingerprints on the cabinets.

Once, she would have been horrified to let the place fall into such a state.

Now she found herself wondering why she should care.

Turner paid the bills.

Ivy-Mae wanted the property.

Thallea enjoyed destroying it.

Jena merely lived there.

She took a sip of bourbon.

Her thoughts returned to Emily.

The story had never sat comfortably with her.

Emily had been proud, sometimes cruel, and inclined to treat people as though they existed for her amusement.

But none of that explained why she had vanished so completely.

Jena remembered Nate describing the collapse of Emily's relationship with Turner.

He had spoken about it with the relish of someone recounting a particularly entertaining disaster.

One day, Turner and Emily had been inseparable.

Then they could scarcely stand to be in the same room.

Nate had suggested that Emily never truly considered Turner her equal.

Perhaps that was true.

Jena had always believed Turner cared for Emily more deeply than Emily cared for him.

But there had been other stories, too.

Stories about accusations Emily had made against members of her own family.

Stories that people had dismissed as lies.

Jena could no longer remember precisely who had said what.

She wondered whether anyone had ever bothered to determine the truth.

Then she thought of how easily she herself had invented a story about Emily living in New York.

It had required almost no effort.

A plausible destination.

A suitably ambitious occupation.

A cousin who might have mentioned it at a Christmas party.

Thallea had accepted the explanation without question.

Jena wondered how many other people had done the same when Emily first disappeared.

The thought disturbed her.

She finished her drink.

Then she put the glass in the sink and decided she had spent enough time thinking about a woman she had barely known.

Whatever had happened to Emily, it had happened years ago.

There was nothing Jena could do about it now.

By the time the last of the snow melted, Jena's life had settled into something resembling a routine.

The change was gradual, but she could feel it.

Her shoulders no longer remained perpetually hunched.

She slept a little better.

She had learned how to avoid Thallea's worst moods and arrange her schedule so that they spent as little time together as possible.

The house remained unpleasant, but it had become predictably unpleasant.

Jena found that she could endure almost anything once she knew what to expect.

She also began visiting Tiki more frequently.

The elderly parrot had become so comfortable with Mrs. Flossie that Jena sometimes felt like a guest in her own bird's life.

Nevertheless, Tiki always seemed to recognize her.

His familiar chatter and bright-eyed attention provided a welcome reminder that something in the world still greeted her without expecting money, favors, or apologies.

Jena considered bringing him home.

Then she thought of Thallea.

The idea vanished.

She could tolerate the damage to Nate's furniture.

She could tolerate the cigarette smoke, the mess, and the constant demands.

She could not bear the thought of Thallea hurting Tiki through carelessness or spite.

So she left him where he was safe.

Jena also began visiting Sue more regularly.

She missed her family.

Despite the difficulties Beau and Thallea had created, she still found comfort in the familiar routines of her mother's household.

The coming weekend would be Gage's birthday.

As Beau's middle son, Gage was often overlooked.

Rowell, being the oldest, attracted attention through his growing independence. Evan, the youngest, still received the affection reserved for the baby of the family.

Gage occupied the uncomfortable territory between them.

Jena wanted to give him something special.

Thallea claimed she could not get the day off work.

Jena suspected she had made no effort to arrange it.

But she did not challenge her.

The prospect of spending hours in a car with Thallea was sufficiently unpleasant that Jena was relieved by the excuse.

Beau had promised to attend.

Jena wondered whether Thallea was deliberately avoiding him.

She had begun to suspect that her brother's presence interfered with whatever private life

Thallea was constructing for herself.

But Beau seemed determined to believe their relationship was thriving.

Jena had grown tired of trying to persuade him otherwise.

With little money available for a birthday present, Jena decided to look through Nate's belongings.

The garage and storage rooms were filled with expensive purchases he had scarcely used.

There were professional cameras, racing equipment, outdoor gear, elaborate tools, and suits he had ordered in the wrong sizes but been too proud to return.

Nate had accumulated possessions with the enthusiasm of a man trying to purchase every life he had ever imagined living.

He had rarely bothered to live any of them.

Jena rummaged through the storage area, looking for something suitable for Gage.

She wanted the gift to feel thoughtful rather than like an obvious attempt to dispose of unwanted property.

Eventually, she discovered a snowboard still sealed in its original plastic wrapping.

She recognized it immediately.

Nate had purchased it years earlier as part of an elaborate deception.

He had told Jena he was taking a skiing trip.

Throughout the week, he sent scheduled text messages describing his adventures on the slopes.

He even forwarded videos of people skiing, carefully selecting footage in which the participants' faces were obscured.

Jena had found the entire performance insulting.

She knew Nate well enough to suspect that he was lying.

After a few discreet inquiries, including a conversation with one of his secretaries under false pretenses, she discovered that he was actually staying at a swingers' resort in Las Vegas.

Nate had been so confident in his own cleverness that he had neglected to take the snowboard out of its packaging.

Jena remembered confronting him.

She had laid the unopened board across the doorway and waited for him to return.

When he arrived, she asked how his skiing trip had gone.

"Fantastic," he said.

"Really?"

"Best snow I've seen in years."

She gestured toward the snowboard.

"Then how did you manage without that?"

Nate looked down.

For a moment, he seemed genuinely puzzled.

Then he began explaining that he had rented equipment instead.

Jena asked why he had purchased an expensive snowboard if he intended to rent one.

He accused her of being unreasonable.

She suggested divorce.

He told her she was overreacting.

The argument had continued until Jena became too exhausted to pursue it.

Nate never admitted where he had been.

He had simply continued insisting that his version of events was true, as though repetition could eventually transform a lie into fact.

Standing in the garage years later, Jena felt the old anger returning.

She looked at the snowboard.

It was still unused.

Still wrapped.

Still occupying space in the house Nate had filled with evidence of his appetites and deceptions.

She attached a bow to it for Gage.

Then she looked around at everything else.

The cameras.

The racing equipment.

The expensive accessories.

The clothing.

The endless purchases Nate had made for himself.

Jena tried to remember the last time he had bought her something simply because he wanted to make her happy.

Nothing came readily to mind.

There had been flowers, occasionally.

Usually day-old bouquets from the Piggly Wiggly, purchased after he had done something

particularly offensive.

Nate seemed to regard them as an adequate substitute for an apology.

He had always been generous with himself.

With Jena, he preferred gestures that cost as little as possible.

The realization filled her with a sudden, almost childish fury.

She kicked the door of a storage cabinet.

It swung open.

Inside were still more things Nate had bought and forgotten.

Jena stared at them.

Then something in her gave way.

She began pulling items from the shelves.

Equipment.

Accessories.

Boxes that had never been opened.

Clothes still bearing their tags.

She carried them to Nate's old truck, which remained parked with its camper shell attached.

One load became another.

Then another.

Jena worked without stopping.

She told herself she was gathering things the family could use.

There was some truth to that.

Beau's children had gone without plenty while Nate had spent thousands on amusements he abandoned almost immediately.

But as she filled the truck, Jena recognized another motive.

She wanted his things gone.

She wanted to reclaim some portion of the space he had occupied so completely.

She wanted to stop opening cabinets and discovering yet another reminder of how little consideration he had shown her.

The work became strangely satisfying.

She did not consult Ivy-Mae.

She did not ask Turner.

She did not consider whether the court would approve.

For once, she simply did what she wanted.

By the time she finished, the truck was loaded with possessions Nate had scarcely touched.

Jena stood in the garage, breathing hard.

She felt angry.

She felt guilty.

And beneath both emotions, she felt something dangerously close to relief.

Nate had never asked her permission before spending their money on his private pleasures.

Why should she continue guarding every worthless treasure he had left behind?

She closed the truck's tailgate.

Thallea was still at work.

Jena left without telling her where she was going.

As she drove away from the barndominium, the weight on her chest began to ease.

The farther she traveled from Meadow Partings, the lighter she felt.

The houses became fewer.

The roads opened into long stretches of countryside.

The sky seemed larger beyond the town's boundaries.

She rolled down the window and let the cool spring air rush into the cab.

For the first time in weeks, she felt something approaching happiness.

She imagined arriving at Sue's house, unloading the gifts, and watching Gage's face when he saw the snowboard.

She imagined spending the evening with her nephews, eating dinner, and enjoying a few hours in a home that did not smell of cigarettes and resentment.

Perhaps she would stay overnight.

Perhaps she would stay for several days.

The thought was tempting.

Jena glanced at the rearview mirror.

The road behind her was empty.

She had spent so much of her life returning to places she wanted to escape.

To Nate.

To his expectations.

To the house.

To the obligations that accumulated whenever she tried to establish a little independence.

She wondered what would happen if she simply kept driving.

If she never went back.

If she abandoned the beautiful prison, the bills, the legal disputes, and the people who had made her life so miserable.

The idea filled her with an almost intoxicating sense of possibility.

For a few miles, she allowed herself to believe that leaving could be as simple as refusing to return.

She did not yet understand how thoroughly the life she wanted to escape had begun arranging itself around her.

Nor did she know that the events awaiting her would make this brief journey feel like the last time she had ever been free.

Had she known, she might have continued driving.

She might have abandoned the truck, the property, and every possession Nate had ever bought.

She might have chosen the uncertainty of an ordinary life over the security that awaited her in Meadow Partings.

But Jena knew none of that.

She was simply a tired woman driving toward her mother's house with a truck full of unwanted belongings and a birthday present for a neglected little boy.

For the moment, the air was clean.

The sun was shining.

And the road ahead seemed to lead away from Hell.

She had no intention of returning.

Not until what happened next.