Folly Cove (34 page)

“They won't! Not once they know I've lied.”

“We all lie, Sarah. That's part of what makes us so interesting as a species: we communicate with language, and sometimes that language is compromised by our fears. That means relationships are always challenging. When you were institutionalized, I saw your medical records.” Flossie turned her palms up. “They told your story. And seeing the truth didn't make me hate you.”

“It made you pity me! That's even worse!” God, how Sarah wished she could drown herself right now. How tedious this all was. How tedious, and how painful, to look at Flossie and see that she was right.

“I didn't pity you, exactly,” Flossie said slowly, frowning. “But I did feel sorry that you were treated so badly by your mother. Anyway, your childhood is part of who you are, and it's part of who your daughters are. They need to know where they came from.”

“Why? So they can suddenly doubt themselves?” Sarah spit back. “So they can think of themselves as the grandchildren of a woman who whored herself for booze and very nearly whored her own daughters, and as the children of a mother who didn't know how to love them because she was too
busy
trying to keep the wolves from the door?”

“Yes,” Flossie said. “All of that.”

“If you tell them everything, you'll destroy them.”

Flossie shook her head. “I know your daughters. They're strong women, Sarah. Maybe they'll be angry for a while, but they'll forgive you. If you let them.” She leaned forward, her narrow face pink and shiny from the heat of the water. “I don't care about your real name or where you grew up. They won't, either. But they
will
care if you never tell them the truth and they find out. Come to my house tomorrow
at ten o'clock. All three of them will be there. I'll tell them about Neil, and then I'll tell them about you.”

The water, which had been so soothing, so hot and perfumed, now made Sarah feel like she was choking, lying in it and thinking about her hospitalizations, about how Flossie must have dug around in her things to find her birth certificate for the hospital and had then made calls and discovered Joanie and everything there was to know about Sarah's medical history: broken bones. Bacterial infections. Bruises. Burns. Her injuries served as a record of her mother's mental illness and of her own neglect and abuse. Her shame.

Flossie said softly, “Trust me, Sarah. You need to do this.”

“No, I don't. Because I don't want my children looking at me with pity the way you are now.” Sarah pulled the washcloth up to her chin. She wanted to cover her face with it.

“You're mistaking pity for compassion,” Flossie said.

“I don't think so.”

“Sarah, do you think our childhood was really better than yours? Financially we were better off, but our father drank and gambled. Our mother essentially medicated herself into oblivion with pills—that was easy to do in those days—and ignored us. That's why Neil and I were so close.”

“You were lucky, having each other.”

“You had a sister.”

Sarah sighed. “I did. But she and I had different fathers and different childhoods. I looked out for Joanie when I could, but we were never close. That's why it used to kill me, when Laura and Elly and Anne were so close. Like their own little tribe. I felt left out of their magic circle.”

“Your girls love you,” Flossie said. “You just can't see it. And one of the best things you've done in your life is have three daughters who will look out for each other after you and I are long gone.”

Sarah smiled a little. “I like the thought of that.”

“Good.” Flossie put her fingers in the bathwater. “It's almost my temperature now.”

Sarah turned the hot water back on, using her foot to work the
lever. “Good-bye, Flossie. It's time for you to go. I can't even pretend to do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend that I can tolerate your interference in my life.”

Flossie stood up. “You're making a mistake. I want only the best for you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it. Now get out.”

Sarah waited until she heard her sister-in-law retreat through the hallway and shut the apartment door behind her. Then she held on to the tub railing and slowly eased herself up out of the water, shivering as the cold air hit her.

She blinked with shock, staring at her crystal jar of cotton balls and tubes of makeup and wooden hairbrush as if they belonged to another woman, things so unfamiliar to her now that Sarah could almost believe she'd been dreaming, only to wake the way you do, sometimes, feeling unmoored and alone. The rest of the night stretched out before her like a dark wood, terrible and cold, with no clear path through it, only the stirrings of her own fragile heart to guide her.

I
t was going to be a clear day, Anne thought, but right now morning mist lay across the calm green sea like gauze. Laura and Elly had driven to her house about nine thirty, after Laura finished getting Kennedy off to school and did her barn chores.

They'd had coffee and muffins—Anne made her favorite, banana nut muffins with chocolate chips, which Rodrigo still refused to see as appropriate for the inn—and now the three of them were walking up to Flossie's house for what Elly called “The Be-All, End-All Mysterious Buddhist Meeting with the She Yoda.”

Elly led the way, her long legs carrying her across the rocky cove effortlessly, her blond hair bound in a messy bun, but with tendrils escaping across the collar of her blue jacket like some sort of sea creature.

Despite her shorter legs, Laura had no trouble keeping up with Elly. She still wore her jeans and riding boots; probably walking with Elly was easy for her because she was so accustomed to leading horses. Laura looked like she was finally sleeping better, though she'd confided over their coffee that this was the night she and Jake planned to tell Kennedy about their separation. She was worried about that.

Anne's struggle to keep up with her sisters brought back her memories of their childhood games, when she was the one calling, “Wait for me!” She was breathing hard from the exertion.

Of course she had a handicap. Lucy rode on her hip, and Anne would
swear the baby was a pound heavier than yesterday. She should have put Lucy in the backpack, but that was often difficult, now that Lucy had decided she hated the thing.

“It's like trying to stuff a cat in a bread box,” Elly had said this morning. She'd offered to hold Lucy's arms down to keep them from flailing, but in the end Anne decided to leave the backpack at home and carry her.

“Huh,” Elly said. “If you were our mother, you'd put her in a straitjacket to make her behave.”

Now, watching Elly hike freely, Anne thought about how having a baby had separated her forever from Colin, and for that matter, from anyone who hadn't experienced motherhood. She was bound to Lucy in a way she'd never expected, her baby's cries piercing her heart and causing her breasts to tingle. Her past inclination to take risks on surfboards and horses, on bicycles and in cars, with men and with jobs, was dampened now by her need to keep her child safe. She also knew she wouldn't have it any other way.

They reached the bottom of Flossie's steps and halted in silent mutual agreement. “Really, what do you suppose is so important that Aunt Flossie has to tell us all together?” Elly said, looking up at Flossie's sea glass and driftwood mobile tinkling in the wind.

“Maybe she's going to join another convent.” Laura glanced at Anne. “You could live here this winter if she does. It would be a lot warmer than the cottage.”

“Or maybe she's in love and running away with him,” Elly said. “I saw some guy coming out of her house the other morning when I was visiting Mom.”

“Probably a yoga student,” Laura said.

“Not unless Flossie's in the habit of kissing her students after practice,” Elly said.

“I don't think Flossie would run off even if she was in love,” Anne said. “She doesn't let love dictate her life the way we do ours. Anyway, she seems happy living alone.”

“That's what I'm going to be like,” Elly declared. “Solitary and content.”

Laura and Anne hooted, which caused Flossie to appear on the
porch above them. “Well, look what the tide brought in. Come inside before that baby catches cold. It's raw out.”

Anne was the last one to enter the house. She handed Lucy to Flossie, who immediately put her head down so Lucy could grab at her short gray hair, giggling.

As Anne took her boots off on the porch to spare Flossie's floors, she wondered when her aunt had started to worry about babies and cold weather. She could remember Flossie taking her down to the beach with her sisters even in snowstorms. Anne had loved it. There was something magical about the gray flannel clouds, the icy wet jewels on their faces, the waves thundering against the rocks while they built snowmen on the beach. They ornamented the snowmen with seashell buttons, necklaces of seaweed, and driftwood arms.

Once, she and her sisters had made a snow mermaid. Anne had cried when she melted; she'd loved seeing their mermaid lying on her voluptuous side, facing the open sea.

Flossie had passed the baby to Laura, who was dangling measuring spoons in front of her while Flossie made tea. Anne perched on a kitchen stool and glanced around at the crowded kitchen, interested, as always, in how other people cooked.

Copper pots and iron frying pans hung from hooks on a pegboard. Jars of spices, dried beans, and pasta were neatly arrayed on metal shelves, and a block of good knives stood next to the sink. Everything here was basic but functional, even the outdated gas stove and small white fridge.

It was the sort of kitchen you could cook in all your life and not miss anything, Anne thought with pleasure. There was nothing here like the unnecessary things some people were swayed to buy, like one-step corn kernelers, egg separators, pepper corers, or strawberry hullers.

“Let's go into the living room, shall we?” Flossie said, sounding suddenly formal now that they were holding their tea. “We'll be more comfortable there.”

When they were all settled—the three sisters in a row on the couch, Lucy on a quilt on the floor, lying on her back with fingers in her mouth,
looking at the odd sight of them all above her—Flossie sat on the white armchair, closed her eyes, and took several deep, steadying breaths.

Flossie wore her usual workout clothes. Her face, despite its deep lines, was elegant and carved looking, Anne thought, the cheekbones prominent. It was easy to believe that men still found her compelling and sought out her company. Perhaps the fact that she preferred to live alone made her even more attractive to them.

As she continued her deep breathing, Flossie's chest rose and fell, her jaw gradually relaxed, and the lines in her face eased a little. Anne half expected her to start chanting.

They waited silently for several minutes. Even Lucy was quiet. Anne was afraid to look at her sisters, because she knew they'd start laughing from nerves. She could see Elly's knee jiggling from the corner of her eye and put a hand on it to make her stop.

Finally Flossie opened her eyes. To Anne's shock, they glistened with tears. “I have some sad news to share,” she began.

Anne felt her heart pounding and folded her hands, clammy from nerves. Was Flossie ill?

No. She wouldn't say that was “sad” news. Self-pity wasn't her aunt's style.

Flossie shifted her weight and pulled an envelope out of the pocket of her hooded black sweatshirt, then slid a letter out of the envelope and said, “I had hoped your mother would tell you this herself, or might join us here this morning. Since she has chosen to absent herself, the responsibility falls to me. Girls, your father has passed.”

“What are you saying?” This was Laura, sounding querulous with shock. “Dad's
dead
?” She looked at the others. “Is this
new
news? I thought he probably died a long time ago, to be honest.”

“Me, too. How did you hear this, Aunt Flossie?” Elly said.

Flossie held up a hand to stop them. “I will tell you everything,” she said, “but I need to do it in my own way. Please remember this is my brother we're discussing here. My little brother.” The tears that had been shining in her eyes were sliding down her cheeks, making her skin glisten, too. She pulled a tissue out of the box beside her and
patted her face. “As your mother may have told you, Neil wrote to both of us from time to time,” she said then.

“Of course she didn't tell us,” Elly said. “Mom never tells us anything.”

“Why didn't
you
tell us?” Laura demanded.

“Well, our correspondence was very sporadic,” Flossie said. “Please don't be too hard on your mother. Or on me. We really had no way of contacting your father. He lived on the street a good deal of the time.”

“Where was he?” Anne said.

“Different places, I think, but Florida at the end of his life. He'd finally gotten himself straightened out.”

“After only thirty years,” Laura said. “Gosh. Quite the overachiever.”

“This isn't the time to say harsh things,” Flossie admonished gently.

“Don't get me wrong. I loved Dad,” Laura said. “He was so supportive of me, and so much fun. I think that's why it just about killed me when he left us. So I'm not really sure how I feel right now.”

Flossie nodded. “Of course. And I don't blame you for being hurt. Neil never should have abandoned you girls the way he did, no matter how he felt about Folly Cove or your mother.”

“So why did he?” Elly said.

“Your father was an alcoholic,” Flossie said. “He wasn't in his right mind half the time. He was also riddled by guilt, especially when he was sober. He tried to stay in touch with you girls, sending you letters and cards and the occasional gift. But then he stopped after a few years. Not to excuse his behavior, but I think it was easier for him to divorce himself completely from you, because it was so painful for him to think about how he let you down.”

“What do you mean? He never tried to stay in touch,” Laura said. “I sure never got any cards or gifts from Dad. Did you guys?”

Anne and Elly both shook their heads. “Mom probably kept them from us,” Elly said. “That would be like her.”

Then Anne remembered. “The dolls!” she said. “Remember those dolls we got the first Christmas after Dad left? They weren't from Santa or Mom. There wasn't any tag on them at all.”

“The ‘my twin lookalike' dolls!” Laura exclaimed. “I'd forgotten all about those.”

“Yours had red hair, Anne, and mine was blond,” Elly said.

They'd discovered those dolls under the tree one Christmas, with no tags on the boxes. Even then Anne had known they were far more expensive than any gifts their mother or Flossie ever bought them. She'd been young enough to believe it was Santa's doing; she'd cried when Laura said only babies believed in Santa.

She and her sisters had immediately started arguing about which doll was prettiest. It was a few hours before they noticed that Anne's doll had the wrong eye color. She was crushed. But it made sense, if her father was the one who'd sent them, that he'd make a mistake like that.

“So Dad gave up on us,” Laura said. “Figures. He's a man.”

“Now you sound like me,” Elly warned.

“Well, Bradford women don't exactly have a great track record with men,” Laura said with a sniff. “We're born fools for love.”

Anne was watching Flossie, who was staring at the letter in her hands. The letter had been folded and refolded so many times that it had multiple creases. “Is that a letter from Dad?”

Flossie nodded. “He wanted to come home, in the end. But then he was diagnosed with liver cancer. He didn't want to show up and be a burden to me or your mother.”

“Yeah, because he knew Mom was pissed at him. She would probably have run him over with her car,” Laura said.

“I don't know about that,” Flossie said. “Your parents still loved each other. I know you find that hard to believe, but it's true.” She looked at them, one at a time, to emphasize her point. “Now let me read this to you. It's from your father. He wanted me to do this.”

“Can't we read it ourselves?” Anne asked. She didn't want to cause Flossie more pain.

Flossie shook her head. “Neil wanted it done this way. He loved you all equally, and he felt I should deliver this to you all at the same time.”

“He could have written us separate letters,” Laura grumbled, but Flossie silenced her with a look.

Then Flossie began reading:

My dear girls,

You have grown up without me. That is both a cause for sorrow, because of how much I missed, and a reason to celebrate, because I'm sure you were better off with me gone. I had hoped not to go to my grave without seeing you again, but the Fates, as always, have a way of playing tricks on us pitiful humans. If your aunt is reading this letter to you, it means my clock has run out.

I am sure you are angry with me for leaving. That's a good thing. Anger gives us strength. You were raised by your mother, so I'm certain you've all become very strong, independent women. But please don't let anger interfere with your ability to love, because love is the greatest gift of all.

I want you to know that I've followed you from afar, at least online, whenever I have been able and well. In a perfect world, I could congratulate you myself for all of your accomplishments. In this very imperfect life of mine, I must settle for saying I am honored to have had any small part in putting the three of you on this planet to follow your passions. I hope you will celebrate your accomplishments, keep taking risks, and continue to follow your hearts.