“Don’t talk like that,” Felicia said.
“It’s the truth. I’m ninety-one. Nobody in my family ever lived this long. I could go tonight or tomorrow, and I’m at peace with that,” Varina said.
“Why is this so important to you, Varina?” Lizzie asked. “I can’t believe you don’t want to forget this date and everything associated with it. What happened to you—”
“Is in the past. And that’s why I cast that ugliness out of my heart. I’m not letting it fester there like a poison-filled boil,” Varina said. She grasped Lizzie’s hand tightly and gazed out at the moon in wonder. “You know I wouldn’t ever say that man’s name after that night. I couldn’t. But when I woke up to this sunny morning and realized what today is, it struck me from out of nowhere. I can’t hate him no more. He is long dead, cold and in the grave, and I am alive and more blessed than I deserve. I got me a son I never even knew about. I got my own little home right here on this island, got family and friends…”
Marie nodded and grasped her daughter’s hand. Wordlessly, Brooke reached for Felicia’s hand.
“His name was Russell Strickland,” Varina said. She repeated the name, enunciating and pausing between each syllable. “Russ. Sell. Strick. Land.”
Without prompting, the women repeated the name.
“Russell Strickland is powerless over me,” Varina said. She shrugged out of the blanket and took one tentative step into the water, and then another, letting out an involuntary yip of shock as the cold water reached her knees and then waist. She turned once, looking over her shoulder at the four women, standing naked on the shore.
“Y’all coming?”