Resting Places by Michael C. White

Author:Michael C. White
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: death, grief, grieving, family, mother, child, alcoholism, alcoholic, religion, Christianity, spiritual awakening, road trip, journey, fiction, inspirational, inspiring, faith, hope, self-discovery, mystery, parents, losing a child, losing a son, dealing with grief, dealing with death of a child, upmarket fiction, mainstream fiction, women's fiction, strong female lead, strong female character, transformation
Publisher: Open Books Press
Published: 2016-02-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

The storm having spent its fury, the next morning broke still and exhausted, like one waking after a debauched night of revelry. Leaves and branches littered the road, debris was strewn over the parking lot, and up near the motel office, a garbage can lay overturned, a trio of brazen crows picking over its contents. As Elizabeth opened her car door, they took off squawking vociferously. Stuck to her windshield was a newspaper flyer she had to peel off like a sodden bandage.

She picked up the highway and continued west. Her conversation with Zack the previous night returned to her: You’re grasping at straws, he’d said. Perhaps she was. Perhaps all of this was just grasping at straws. She thought, too, of what he’d told her about Luke seeing TJ that summer. Had her son started dating her again? There was that one brief phone call Luke had made to TJ while he was on his trip. It was odd that these seemingly inconsequential and disparate facts surrounding her son appeared to have such significance now, such import and nuance. Elizabeth warned herself not to do what she was contemplating, but lately she hadn’t heeded her own warnings. Lately warnings seemed made for others. She felt reckless and irresponsible; her only law being whatever would illuminate Luke’s end. She took out her cell phone and looked up TJ’s number, which she’d never bothered to delete. It was as if she’d not quite admitted to herself that they were over.

After several rings, the young woman’s familiar voice came on: Hi, this is Tess. I’m not here right now, but leave a message and I’ll call you back. Ciao. Elizabeth was surprised to hear her use her first name instead of her initials (she wasn’t even sure what the J stood for). She had always been just TJ. The voice brought back a painful flood of memories of the girl who used to sit in the den with Luke, eating pizza, watching TV or studying for a test with her son, her girlish laughter fluttering in the air, filling the house with joy. She missed TJ, missed even more how her son used to act when he was around her, happy, carefree, vibrant with life. Elizabeth hadn’t seen the girl in nearly two years. She’d run into TJ’s mother at the dry cleaner’s in town a few months before. It was an awkward meeting. They both smiled too much, and Mrs. Pierson acted as if Elizabeth was eighty, and hard of hearing. She spoke too loudly and rested her hand patronizingly on Elizabeth’s wrist. When Elizabeth asked how TJ was doing, the woman said her daughter had gotten a job up in Boston, at the Fine Arts Museum. Now, when it came time to leave a message, Elizabeth warned herself, No, this is all wrong. Why disturb the poor kid, needlessly bringing up such past sorrow? She hung up, without saying anything.

That day she drove the length of Tennessee, a seemingly

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