You ever walk back into a place that still remembers your sins better than your face?
That’s Piedmont for me. Every porch, every mailbox, every sigh of the wind through the pines says my name like a warning.
I been gone fifteen years, most of it spent trying not to remember why. But the thing about the past is, it waits. Patient as kudzu, growing back no matter how many times you cut it down.
The Huddle House looks the same as the night I left: windows fogged, neon buzzing, smell of grease and coffee thick enough to choke on. Sadie Mae’s still behind the counter, movin’ slower maybe, but her eyes are just as sharp. I didn’t go in. Couldn’t yet. Not till I knew whether I was remembered with pity or poison.
I walked the edge of Terrapin Creek instead, same path I took the night I ran, moon high, heart hammerin’, Lily Pearl callin’ after me. Only this time, she didn’t call. Just the frogs and the soft shuffle of leaves.
The secret that sent me runnin’? I can still see it plain as that lightning strike that summer.
Lily Pearl’s letter, written in her hand, tucked in the family Bible. The one that said the man I called “Daddy” wasn’t blood at all. That the real one was somebody else. Somebody still livin’ then, a man married to somebody else.
I’d thought she was holy, my aunt. She was, in her way, I reckon, but holy things burn, and I got too close to the flame.
That letter tore through this town like wildfire when I told it. Folks picked sides, friendships ended, and Lily Pearl, God rest her, locked herself away and never spoke my name again.
Now, standing at her grave, I felt that silence like a hand on my throat. I laid my palm on the cold stone and said, “I’m back, Aunt Lily. I finally came home.”
The wind stirred, soft and sure. Somewhere out by the fence line, a bird whistled one long note, the same one she used to call me in for supper.
And for a moment, I could’ve sworn I saw her, not as she died, but as she was: apron on, hair pinned back, eyes full of weary love.
Then she was gone, and the pines were still again.
I turned toward town, knowing full well the whispers had already started.
They always do in Piedmont.
And maybe this time, I’ll let them.
Because secrets don’t rest easy here, and I reckon it’s time somebody told the whole story right.
*****
New Yesterdays can be found at: Books-A-Million, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon, as well as your favorite bookshops. The Audiobook is available from Libro.fm, as well as Amazon.
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