Firefly Beach (47 page)

“I’m well aware of that,” Augusta said. She smiled. She was being very brave about this. How could she say everything that was in her heart? Her oldest daughter was about to leave home just as Augusta felt she was on the verge of becoming a good mother.

“Mom,” Caroline said, taking her hand.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Augusta said, her voice strong. She knew what she had put her children through, knew how totally they had cared for themselves and each other over the years.

“We’ll take care of her,” Clea said.

“Or she’ll take care of us,” Skye said.

“Oh, Skye,” Augusta said. She had been holding herself together, but hearing Skye’s declaration, seeing her beautiful face nearly clear of bruises, made Augusta think she might break into pieces.

“Look what you did this summer,” Skye went on. “Got right between me and Simon. You protected me, Mom.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Augusta said with a certain amount of wonder. “I was never very good at it before though. Protecting you girls…”

“You’re good at it now,” Caroline said.

“I wish your father were here right now,” Augusta said.

“I wish it too,” Caroline said. Her throat was low, and she touched it as if it ached. “I think that’s what’s missing. Remember, Mom? We were talking about it a week or so ago? That one little piece?”

“Dad?” Clea asked.

“Dad,” Caroline said.

“I miss him terribly,” Augusta said.

“The summer’s been about him, in a way,” Caroline said. “With so much about James Connor and Andrew Lockwood, the hunts…”

“Homer getting old,” Clea said.

“And me getting sober,” Skye added.

“He was such an extraordinary man,” Augusta said.

“And I never understood him at all,” Caroline said. “So many things have become clearer this summer, but that part hasn’t. If anything, he’s farther away.”

Her sisters looked quietly into their teacups, and Augusta sniffled loudly.

Caroline knew it was time to go.

Her mother patted her scarf, adjusting it carefully. She did look stunning, like an aging film star. Her scarf-turbans went perfectly with her black pearls, her New England–Hollywood looks. But seeing her mother, Caroline could tell that Simon’s attack had taken something out of her. For the first time, Augusta looked old.

“Mom, are you okay?” Caroline asked.

“Just thinking of Hugh.”

“We loved him, Mom,” Clea said.

“It was never that we didn’t,” Skye said.

Augusta nodded. She looked tired and resigned, as if, like Caroline, she had spent too much time searching for the missing piece, the explanation that would weave it all together.

“Remember chasing fireflies?” Caroline asked. “Dad could do that with us for hours. It was always dark and hot, the middle of summer, and the stars were always out.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Augusta sighed.

Caroline stared at her mother, trying to memorize her face. She would take it with her wherever she went, the image of her mother’s eyes. She felt the pull of love, the eternal conflict of being a daughter.

“Remember when you were six,” Clea said. “You caught a firefly, and you were so excited, you fell and squished it?”

“I started to cry,” Caroline said steadily. “My firefly was dead, and Dad came off the porch. I remember him walking through the field, through the tall grass. He looked so gigantic.”

“Hugh couldn’t bear to hear you cry, Caroline,” Augusta said. “Ever. When you were an infant, he’d pick you up at the least whimper. The nights he was home, he would walk you for hours, up and down the hall, just to keep you happy.”

Caroline nodded, touching her lips. For some reason, she could almost remember that too. It was as if the family ghosts or angels had cast a spell on the table, made it possible to remember impossible things. Closing her eyes, she could feel herself in the palm of her father’s hand, smell his scent of cigarettes and oil paint, hear him singing her a lullaby. Driving her home the time she had a fever. But none of those things was the missing piece.

“Chasing fireflies,” Augusta said. “It wasn’t just when you were young. I vividly remember the summer Homer came to live with us, your father running through the salt hay with him, on the trail of anything that blinked.”

“I loved Dad for that,” Caroline said. It was true, she thought: With all the later hurt, during the years he spent drinking, she forgot the total love. “And I wish Homer would come back to say good-bye to me.”

After a moment, Augusta reached for her cane. She motioned for the girls to stay where they were. She stood painfully, got used to her feet, and left the room. Caroline heard her thunking up the stairs, along the upstairs hall. She wondered how long her mother would keep the house. Firefly Hill was big and rambling, and maybe someday it would start to make sense for Augusta to live somewhere else. Somewhere smaller, more manageable.

Or maybe she would stay there until she died.

“I’m going to drive the mailman crazy,” Skye said, “asking him for letters from you.”

“You have to call from absolutely everywhere,” Clea said.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Caroline said. “I’m not going. Joe will have to find someone to take my place.”

“Excellent thinking,” Clea said. “Shall I tell him to move along?”

“Caroline?”

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Caroline turned around. Augusta leaned on her silver-topped hawthorn stick, a gentle smile on her face. Clea and Skye stood still. Their mother seemed weakened by the exertion, but happy, content in a way Caroline had never seen her before.

“Go get them,” Augusta said, nodding to Skye. “Please?”

“Who?” Skye asked.

“Joe and Sam,” Augusta said.

Surprised, Skye stood still. Then she ran out the door as fast as she could. They watched her run barefoot to the car, say something to Joe.

“What, Mom?” Caroline asked.

“I have something for your friend.”

“Joe?”

Augusta nodded. She touched her black pearls, then she reached out her frail hand and touched Caroline’s cameo. Caroline had found a length of black velvet ribbon and threaded it through the fragile gold clasps.

“Beautiful things,” Augusta said, “from people we love. Objects matter.”

“I know,” Caroline said. She didn’t know what was happening, but it began to dawn on her: Her mother was honestly making peace with Joe.

The screen door opened. The September evening was cool and a small burst of wind blew in. Skye stood there, smiling. Sam burst through the door, followed by Peter. Very cautiously, Joe followed. Caroline felt her heart quicken at the sight of him. He looked so handsome and tall, his white shirt tucked into his jeans. He smiled and said hello.

Augusta put out her hand. She stood tall and regal, her face stoic and dignified. Caroline watched Joe glancing around. His gaze lit upon the old kitchen table, the terra-cotta tile floor, old family photos, clay handprints of each of the girls. But Caroline knew he was thinking about his father. Caroline reached for Joe’s hand, and he held tight.

“It was here, wasn’t it?” Joe asked.

Augusta nodded.

“Right here,” Joe said, staring at the place Caroline had shown him.

Augusta took four steps, stood in the exact spot where James Connor had fallen to the floor. “Here,” she said.

Joe went to stand beside her. Caroline let go of his hand, and she leaned into her sisters, watching Joe and her mother. The moment seemed intense and private. Charged tension passed between them, the old woman and the son of the man who had died in her kitchen that Christmas so many years ago.

“He spoke of you that night,” Augusta said in her low voice.

Joe nodded, frowning.

“I’m sorry, Joe,” Augusta said, handing him something. “Please forgive me.”

Joe examined the object in his hand. He held it up, and Caroline saw something heavy and gold.

“My father’s watch,” he said.

“I took it,” Augusta said. “That night. If you had any idea…” She bowed her head, trying to control her voice. “When it was over, when your father was lying there…”

Caroline looked at Joe, saw him wiping away tears. She wanted to go to him, but the moment belonged to him and her mother.

“And Caroline was crying so hard, clutching your picture. Something made me take his watch. Forgive me, Joe. I don’t know why I did it. I was rather crazed, you know? Your mother had my husband, so I thought I’d take something that belonged to her. I don’t know.”

Joe nodded. He gazed at the watch, turning it over and over in his hand. Caroline knew Augusta’s explanation didn’t matter. She knew what Joe’s father’s watch meant to him, and she had wondered: Searching his whole life for treasure, did any object compare to the sweet memory of his father’s gold watch? And now Augusta had given it back to him.

“Thank you, Augusta,” Joe Connor said. What he did next seemed so natural, it stole Caroline’s breath away: He took her mother into his arms. Augusta dropped her cane in order to put both her arms around his neck. The stick clattered to the floor.

“You’re welcome, Joe,” Augusta said when she let him go.

But Joe held on. His hands still resting on Augusta’s arms, he began to smile. His blue eyes widened.

“What, dear?” Augusta asked.

“Your pearls,” Joe said.

“Oh,” Augusta said, blushing with pride, brushing the pearls with her fingers. “Hugh gave them to me. They are rare black pearls, from one particular bay in the South Seas, near Tahiti or somewhere marvelous like that. But of course you probably know. Being a treasure hunter and all.”

“Actually,” Joe said, “I was thinking of how they remind me of Caroline’s eyes.”

Caroline caught her mother looking at her.

“Greece,” Augusta said after a moment. “Hugh always said he’d take me there.”

“I wish I were going,” Sam said.

“They’ll be back,” Clea said reassuringly. “Yale, you know.”

“Yale,” Peter said. “Excellent school.”

“Ah, Yale is just a four-letter word,” Sam said. “Greece is where it’s at.”

“Take good care of her,” Augusta said to Joe, looking him straight in the eye.

“I will,” he said, gazing at her hard.

“Make sure,” Clea said, standing beside Joe, her voice choked up. Skye didn’t say anything, but she nodded.

“I promise,” Joe said.

“He’s getting better at promises,” Sam said. “I swear.”

“Enough out of you,” Joe growled, but the look in his eyes was clear and full of love. “Why don’t you get busy?”

“Get busy with what?”

“Finding that girl.”

“What girl?” Sam asked, blushing.

Joe laughed. “See? You’re such a damned academic, you’ve forgotten all about her.”

“Sam’s so adorable,” Clea said. “There must have been hundreds of girls.”

“Yeah, probably,” Joe said, staying focused on his brother’s eyes. “Only one who counted, though. But he’s forgotten all about her.”

“No, I haven’t,” Sam said, so quietly Caroline almost couldn’t hear.

“A girlfriend for Sam?” Augusta asked. “How lovely! What’s her name?”

“Hey, never mind,” Sam said, now truly flustered. “We’re saying good-bye to Caroline and Joe. That’s all that matters right now.”

Caroline smiled at him, her beloved’s baby brother, and knew that some girl would be very, very lucky to have him. Then Joe took her by the arm, kissed her on the lips, and told her it was time to go. Her heart aching, she hugged them all: Clea, Skye, Sam, Peter, and the children. She told them that she loved them, she promised to write.

When she got to her mother, she stopped.

“Darling,” Augusta said, “this is it.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

“For what?”

Caroline paused. For listening to the truth, for defending Skye, for letting Joe into their home, for having the courage to start to change, for the gift she had given her daughters that night: a way back to their father. If you start with love, can forgiveness ever be far behind? But she couldn’t put those things into words.

“The missing piece?” she asked.

“Was that it?” Augusta asked, her eyes bright. “I want to feel like we found it, but I don’t. Darling, I don’t.”