The Sweetness of Forgetting (51 page)

And that, I am afraid, is the legacy I will leave behind—that of a cold heart.

I know that is the only way you have ever known me. But I want you to know that I was not always that way. There was once a time when I was happy and free, a time when I loved without reservation, because I didn’t know how much love could hurt. I wish you had known me then. And I wish you had known Jacob, for he would have loved you with that sort of depth too. He would be very proud of you. Instead, I made all the mistakes I could have made, and in the end, I leave this world with nothing.

My deepest wish for you is a fate different from mine. I wish that you learn to open your heart. I kept mine closed for all these years, because I was frightened, and that was a mistake. Life is a series of chances, and you have to have the courage to seize them, before the years pass you by and leave you with nothing but regrets.

Your life still lies before you, as does Annie’s. Learn to let people love you, my Hope, for you deserve that love. Learn to love freely. Love is so much more powerful than you realize. I know that now, but it is too late for me.

What I wish for you, dear Hope, is a life lived fully. A life lived freely in this country that lets you be what you are. A life lived knowing that God exists everywhere you are; he lives among the stars. And I wish you a life lived happily ever after, just like in the fairy tales I told you when you were a little girl. But you must go after that kind of life with all the strength of your heart. For it is only by loving, and having the courage to be loved in return, that you can find God, who exists most of all in your heart.

I will love you always,
Mamie

Chapter
Thirty-three

I
’m crying by the time I finish reading the letter. I put it down, and with the blanket still wrapped around me, I pad to the back door and walk out onto the deck, breathing in the cold night air. I pull Mamie’s blanket tighter around my shoulders and imagine that it’s her arms, enveloping me in one last hug.

“Are you up there?” I murmur into the nothingness. In the distance, perhaps carried across the bay a block away, I can hear the faint sounds of people celebrating the last hour of the year that’s about to end. I think about all the things that can be started over, and all the things that can never be undone.

I look up at the sky and try to locate the stars, the ones Mamie was always looking for. I find them now—the stars of the Big Dipper—and follow the line formed by two stars in the bowl, just like she’d taught me, until I see the North Star, Polaris, glimmering overhead, due north. I wonder whether that’s the direction to heaven. I wonder what she was searching for all those years.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been looking at the sky when I notice a tiny motion somewhere between the Dipper and the North Star. I squint and blink a few times, and that’s when I see them.

Against the inky backdrop, so faint I can barely make them out, two stars are moving across the sky, just past Polaris, making their way deeper into the heavens. I’ve seen shooting stars before; after all, the nights on the Cape are black and deep enough that you can see farther into the darkness than most people along the East Coast. I spent many nights during my teenage years counting stars and wishing on the ones that fell from the sky.

But these stars are different. They’re not falling. They’re making their way across the blanket of night, shimmering and brilliant as they dance side by side across the darkness.

My jaw falls as I follow their flight. The sounds of the earth—the distant laughter, the faint babble of a far-off television, the lapping of the waves on the beach—fall away, and I watch in a bubble of silence as the stars grow smaller and smaller, and finally disappear.

“Good-bye, Mamie,” I whisper when they’re gone. “Good-bye, Jacob.” And I believe somehow that the wind, which is whistling around me now, is taking my words up to them.

I search the sky for another minute, until the cold begins to seep into my bones, then I go back inside the house, where I pick my cell phone up from the kitchen table. I dial Annie first and smile when she answers.

“Everything okay, Mom?” she asks, and in the background, I can hear the sounds of celebration in Chatham. There’s music, laughter, happiness.

“Everything’s fine,” I say. “I just wanted you to know I love you.”

She’s silent for a moment. “I know,” she says finally. “I love you too, Mom. I’ll call you later.”

I tell her to have fun, and after I hang up, I stare at the phone for thirty seconds before scrolling through my phone book and hitting Send again.

“Hope?” Gavin’s voice is deep and warm when he answers.

I take a breath. “My grandmother left me a letter,” I say without preamble. “I just read it.”

He’s quiet for a minute, and I curse myself for not being better at this.

“Are you okay?” he finally asks.

“I’m okay,” I say, and I know it’s the truth. I’m okay now, and I know I’ll be okay. But there’s still something missing. I don’t want to wait a lifetime to put the pieces back together, the way Mamie did, the way my mother never had a chance to. “I’m sorry,” I say in a rush. “I’m sorry about everything. For pushing you away. For pretending you didn’t mean something to me.”

He doesn’t say anything, and in the silence, my eyes fill with tears.

“Gavin,” I say. I take a deep breath. “I want to see you.”

I can hear him breathing. In the pause that stretches between us, I’m sure that I’ve lost him.

“I’m sorry,” I say finally. I look at the clock: 11:42 p.m. “It’s late.”

“Hope,” Gavin says finally. “It’s never too late.”

I hear his Jeep in my driveway fifteen minutes later, and he’s at my door just before the clock strikes midnight. I’m already waiting for him, with the door wide open, not caring that the coldness of the night is pouring in. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“Hi,” Gavin says as he comes up beside me in my doorway.

“Hi,” I reply. We stare at each other, and Gavin reaches for my hand. He’s not wearing gloves, and neither am I, but there’s a heat between us, and every cell of my body feels like it’s on fire, despite the iciness outside. From somewhere in the distance, we can hear the faint strains of a countdown, and then a muffled cheer as the New Year begins.

“Happy New Year,” Gavin says, taking a step closer.

“Happy New Year,” I murmur.

“To new beginnings,” he says. And before I can reply, his arms are around me, and his lips are on mine.

Above us, the stars twinkle and dance, winking down at us from the endless sky.

Acknowledgments

T
his is the book I’ve been wanting to write for years, and seeing this come to fruition has taught me some important lessons about following my heart and surrounding myself with wonderful, decent people whom I truly trust and cherish. My agent, Holly Root, and my editor, Abby Zidle, are both incredibly kind, hardworking, wise, and talented, and I can’t even begin to sufficiently express how much I appreciate all their effort, insight, friendship, and encouragement. I think I’m the luckiest girl in the world to be working with them.

Agent Farley Chase has been an absolute rock star of foreign rights, and the lovely Andy Cohen has my West Coast calendar full. I’m also very grateful to Lindsey Kennedy, Beth Phelan, Parisa Zolfaghari, Jane Elias, Susan Zucker, Jennifer Bergstrom, and Louise Burke for the roles they’ve all played in making this novel a reality. I don’t think it would be possible to find a kinder, more supportive team.

Novelist Wendy Toliver has been an incredible sounding board, friend, early editor, and brainstorming partner; I also want to thank Anna Haze—who died far too early, at the age of nineteen—for bringing Wendy and me together. What a wonderful
gift. Henri Landwirth, the first Holocaust survivor I ever met, was a great inspiration. Lauren Elkin, my close friend and old Paris roommate, once again put a roof over my head during a research trip to the City of Light; her first novel (
Cités Flottantes
) came out in April 2012 in France, and I couldn’t be happier for her.

I’d like to thank the many people who have gone out of their way to answer questions about factual points in this book. Darlene Shea of Brewster Fire & Rescue helped with an early draft, and Danielle Ganung helped answer bakery question. Karen Taieb from the Mémorial de la Shoah in Paris was incredibly helpful with my Holocaust research in France. Bassem Chaaban, the director of operations for the Islamic Society of Central Florida, and Rabbi Rick Sherwin of Congregation Beth Am in Orlando, were kind enough to help me fact-check some of my religious and cultural references. Any errors are my own.

Big thanks also to Kat Green, Tia Maggini, Vanessa Parise, Nancy Jeffrey, Megan Crane, Liza Palmer, Sarah Mlynowski, Jane Porter, Alison Pace, Melissa Senate, Lynda Curnyn, Brenda Janowitz, Emily Giffin, Kate Howell, Judith Topper, Betsy Hansen, Renee Blair, GK Sharman, Alex Leviton, Kathleen Henson, Anna Treiber, and Jen Schefft Waterman, who have been great sources of professional inspiration, brainstorming, and friendship over the years! Thanks also to the
Daily Buzz
crew, especially Brad Miller, Andrea Jackson, Andy Campbell, Mitch English, Kia Malone, KyAnn Lewis, Michelle Yarn, and Troy McGuire.

Thanks to my many, many other wonderful friends, including: Marcie Golgoski, Kristen Milan Bost, Chubby Checker (and his wonderful wife and kids), Lisa Wilkes, Melixa Carbonell, Scott Moore, Courtney Spanjers, Gillian Zucker, Amy Tan, Lili Latorre, Darrell Hammond, Krista Mettler, Christina Sivrich, Pat Cash, Kristie Moses, Lana Cabrera, Ben Bledsoe, Sanjeev Sirpal, Ryan Moore, Wendy Jo Moyer, Amy Green, Chad Kunerth, Kendra Williams, Tara Clem, Megan Combs, Amber Draus,
Michael Ghegan, Dave Ahern, Jean Michel Colin, John and Christine Payne, Walter Caldwell, Scott Pace, Ryan Provencher, and Mary Parise. I’m incredibly lucky to have such wonderful people in my life.

A special thank you to Jason Lietz—for everything.

I’m also blessed with the world’s greatest family, including my mom, Carol (the most supportive person in the universe); my sister, Karen; my brother, Dave; and my dad, Rick. Thanks also to my brother-in-law Barry Cleveland, my aunt Donna Foley, my stepmother, Janine, my cousin Courtney Harmel, my grandparents, and everyone else, including Steve, Merri, Derek, Janet, Anne, Fred, Jess, and Greg. I love you all so much.

The Sweetness
of
Forgetting

KRISTIN HARMEL

INTRODUCTION

To say that Hope McKenna-Smith’s life hasn’t turned out quite the way she planned would be an understatement. At thirty-six, she’s a law school dropout, a divorcée, the owner of a nearly-bankrupt bakery in a Cape Cod tourist town, and the caretaker of her beloved, Alzheimer’s-stricken grandmother, Mamie. When Mamie suddenly presents Hope with a list of names and urges her to travel to Paris to find these mysterious strangers, Hope nearly dismisses the request as yet another one of her grandmother’s delusions. But when she decides to take a chance on the unknown, Hope embarks on a trip of a lifetime; one that will take her both through Mamie’s haunted past and through her own journey of self-discovery.