Chapter 37
Amy stood at the sink in Pam’s bathroom, lifted the beaded chain to dangle the rubber stopper over the drain and then pushing the stopper into place with her other hand. If she didn’t know this bathroom as well as her own, she would have had to spend a few minutes to complete the process, the darkness only broken by the single beam of a flashlight she’d placed on the floor of the bathroom. The bold bright light filled one corner of the small room, but did little to illuminate the sink. She could have brought one of the smaller gas lamps, but it made her nervous to walk with one when she was this tired, one stumbling step spelling disaster. Her own house down the boardwalk was filled with battery-operated lamps, nightlights, and flashlights, but Pam was a traditionalist and used only gaslight for the most part.
She grabbed the handle of the sink’s hand-pump and filled the sink with rainwater with a few strong pumps. Then she plucked up one of the shell-shaped jojoba oil soaps Pam always kept piled high in a huge abalone shell by the sink, dunked her hands in the cool water and started scrubbing. It was good that the day had been a warm one or her hands would be frozen through already.
She looked in the mirror, which was long and low enough to show her entire face. God, even in this shadowy light she looked old. Like a child who had some strange aging disease, the circles under her eyes like bruises. She always looked the worst when she was exhausted, and today had pushed her to her limits.
It had been a good day, though, a success. The pinched sad look in Hannah’s face had disappeared. They had done all of their favorite things: sailing in the bay, a jaunt in the afternoon out to the North Fork area to hit a few of the wineries there and enjoy a long leisurely lunch at a pub, and then a walk on Jones Beach, letting the still-warm waves of the Atlantic foam over their bare feet. The three women had let Hannah win their Captain’s game, giving her every point, failing to call out things that took away points. When Hannah noticed and said something, they all blamed it on old age: insisted that youth as well as skill had won in the end.
By the time they stood together in the kitchen making spaghetti for dinner, Hannah tossing the salad while the four of them sang silly faux Italian songs like “Mambo Italiano” and “That’s Amore”, Zo doing little crazy dances to make Hannah laugh, Amy knew they’d achieved part one of what they’d set out to achieve. Now, it was time for part two. Only there was one problem: Zooey.
From the minute Amy picked her up early that morning, Zo had been raring to go; convinced the time had come to tell Hannah the whole story. Amy knew that one of the reasons behind this brash and dangerous decision was the lack of sleep on Zo’s part. She hadn’t slept at all. Instead of falling into bed for few hours of rest before their departure, she’d been awake and alternating being arguing with Neil about her trip to Captain’s and packing. The whole house had been lit up as if for a party when Amy pulled into her driveway at 5:00 am. Neil had followed Zooey out to the car, still arguing with her and even tried to appeal to Amy. As usual, Amy wouldn’t back down or even answer some of his more insulting insinuations. They drove away with him still standing in the driveway, fists clenched.
Another more compelling reason for Zo’s impetuous urge was Keeley’s recent MIA status. It was a situation that had gone on too long now, her decision not to talk to Hannah after that disastrous review followed by a disconnect unlike any they had ever known with Keeley. It was as if she had mailed the keys to Hannah and then washed her hands of everyone at once. Usually, Keeley was their sunshiney go-to girl, and if she was disorganized and sometimes unreliable, she was also endlessly enthusiastic, optimistic and ultimately always there when push came to shove.
Now she wasn’t even returning phone calls, which was so odd that Amy had called Ben to find out if she was okay. He had called her right back and said that, of course Keeley was fine, and what was the matter? Amy had stuttered out an embarrassed half-explanation mentioning the unreturned phone calls and hung up as soon as she could. After, she had stood in her kitchen for a long time with her hand on the receiver, staring out the window and wondering herself. What was the matter? No matter how long Amy thought about it, it didn’t add up. It was only after reading the first part of Hannah’s novel last night that she started to see an answer take shape.
Amy dried her hands on the towel hanging from a mother-of-pearl ring by the sink and tried to clear her head, prepare. She was not the touchy-feely type, yet she knew she was the best one to broach the delicate subject of Keeley and Hannah over dinner. Pam would probably burst into tears if she started telling the truth about Keeley’s childhood and Zooey, though she had agreed to wait per their original and sacred pact, was still too close to launching into a full confession for Amy’s taste. Zo was worried and protective and Amy could certainly understand that, but now was not the time, though it appeared to be close on the horizon. It was strange being the one holding the whole thing together when the pact had been created at Zo’s insistence, Amy being the dubious one all those years ago.
After picking up the flashlight off of the floor, Amy left the bathroom and made her way across the covered back porch to the kitchen door. She opened it to a roar of laughter and the mouthwatering scent of Pam’s homemade marinara sauce. Pam was throwing strands of spaghetti at the wall with a huge windup and an underhanded pitch, while Hannah and Zooey clung to each other, laughing in that hysterical breathless way that was their own private humorous communion. Amy looked at them and felt, again, the warm glow and happiness that had infused the day. Yes, the time was coming.
Pam glanced over to see Amy’s arrival, her face red with wine. “Hey, check out this one – I’ll pull a through-the-legs pitch! This one’s a doozy!”
Amy waved at her while smiling and shaking her head. “Don’t use up all the pasta on the wall. I’m hungry.” They were drunk and she was glad they were home, safe. She was also glad she’d stuck to water at lunch and spat for the most part at the wine tastings today. She needed to be clear now.
She kept walking and went into the now-tidy living room. The albums had been stacked in piles on the coffee table, but they still made Amy uneasy. What kind of answers were in those photos? What was Hannah looking for? Well, if she was hungry for their history, she was about to get a big fat serving of it.
She found her little overnight bag and then her new cell in the side pocket, something she had given in to only last week after the school tried to reach her about Sam being sick and she had been unavailable, out training Molly for several hours in a shopping area. She hated gadgets, but decided this one was a necessity after all. There was a text from Gus: “All good at the Shaws. How r things there?”
She awkwardly typed out a text in return, hunting and pecking with knitted brows: “Pot about to boil. Will tell you more once my goose is cooked.”
There were no voicemail messages, no returned call from Keeley, even after Amy’s last message that included her new cell number. She sighed, put the phone back in her bag and stood, squaring her shoulders. She said in a low voice, “Let’s do this.”
Once they sat down at the long table in Pam’s sun room, bowls heaped with pasta and smaller bowls filled with salads, the vinaigrette making the lettuce gleam in the candlelight, Zo shot Amy a quick but meaningful bug-eyed look. Amy looked over at Hannah, who sat across from her, her face so rosy from laughter and wine, and felt a stab of regret. Then she put down her fork and began.
“Hannah? I just wanted to say again how proud we are of your book. You know, I finally read it, or at least a part of it.”
Hannah’s fork stopped in mid-twirl, spaghetti bunched in a spool around it. She looked up slowly, the warmth draining from her complexion. “You did?”
“It’s wonderful, it-“
“Oh!” Zo interrupted, trilling with enthusiasm. “It really is! I’m so proud of you. What a story!”
“But,” Amy said. “That’s the thing we wanted to talk to you about. The review that came out, your mom. We’re worried about you, and we didn’t know what to do. Giving you the keys and having you come out here to Captain’s seemed like a great solution; it was always the best remedy for us. But maybe that wasn’t the answer. Was it?”
Hannah shrugged and looked back down at her plate, she started twirling the pasta around her fork slowly against the side of the bowl. “I don’t know. I guess.”
“When you were born, we all pledged to be there for you, all became your godmothers in spite of that jerky priest, just went and did it ourselves with-“
“I know…, I know the story,” Hannah said, still looking at her plate and sounding more like the petulant teenager she used to be than the young woman she had become. But she was listening, her fork poised mid-twirl.
“Don’t take that tone with me, Hannah. We’re here to help you. And really, after reading some of your book, I realized something I never saw before.”
Hannah looked up, her eyes glistening, her lips parted. Seeing her goddaughter’s expression of open raw need, Amy knew her instinct was right.
“I’ve known your mother for a long time, and as long as I’ve known her, I’ve seen what you described in the book, about the mother? The way she shut down and shut you out? She did that to you, too. Of course she did. I just always thought it was something she only did with me, with us. I just assumed, which seems stupid now.”
Hannah shook her head a little. “No,” she whispered.
Amy took a big breath. “Well, I’ve never taken it personally because I always knew why she was that way. Well, we all knew pretty early on. But you didn’t know; you had no idea. So you had to have taken it personally, that wall she puts up. You were probably so lonely and scared. I’m so sorry. We should have been there.”
Hannah’s eyes welled up again and huge tears splashed on her cheeks. “I-I was, but-“
“No buts! It’s time for you to hear about your mom, about your grandmother. Maybe then you’ll understand and you’ll stop blaming yourself. Because it’s obvious you do blame yourself, think Keeley was rejecting you, when all she was doing was trying to protect herself. That’s what it’s really about. She closes off, and then she heals.”
Pam said softly, “And then she’s her old self again. The one we love.”
Zo reached out and put her hand gently on Hannah’s shoulder, which was shaking now. “Oh, Hannah. What have we done? I’m so sorry, I should have told you a long time ago.”
Amy kicked Zo under the table, who jumped a little and looked over at Amy with a hurt look.
“What?”
Amy didn’t answer her, instead focusing back on Hannah. Now, now was the time. She forced out the words, the tale of everything they knew about Keeley’s childhood: her brother’s tragic accidental death, her father’s near-abandonment of the family, her mother’s grief which was turned and used as a weapon against her remaining child with the help of fists and frying pans and, eventually, a knife. Pam and Zo interjected bits of the story, but it was Amy who told the majority of Keeley’s history.
Watching Hannah’s reaction, the horror, the shock, she was reassured. That had been her reaction, too, once. And if there was one thing Amy knew, she knew that she’d always been loved and that a child of love can’t understand what it is to live without it. Her greatest fear, that they had failed Hannah, slipped away as the words flowed more quickly and easily now, the truth rushing into the vacuum of silence they had foolishly maintained for too long.