24
A few days after the Date That Wasn’t, Poe came over after work to have dinner.
She’d only been employed for a week, but she’d already gotten a little color, despite slathering on the sixty-factor sunscreen she wore to protect her bluish-white skin. Tonight, she was full of talk about how cool Audrey was, all the things Audrey knew—dropping lobster pots, tides, storms, all the things island kids knew. “She wants me to sleep over sometime this week,” Poe said. “So we can make posters and stuff for the Go Far, Be Strong thing.”
I thought of that cute little house, the stability Audrey had. Even if her parents had divorced, it was clear Amy had a huge role in the girl’s life, and while I didn’t think too highly of Luke or Teeny, they loved Audrey. As for Sullivan, I’d bet a lung that there was no better father on earth.
I wondered if he ever did things like my father had done with Lily and me. The midnight bike rides down Eastman Hill, the springtime swims, the Cave Challenge.
I hoped not. A father’s job was to make his children feel safe.
Poe never knew her father. She only had Lily and a grandmother who visited dutifully once a year...and an aunt who’d accepted no a little too easily.
“That sounds like fun,” I said, snapping out of my funk. “I mean...do you want to sleep over?”
Poe shrugged. “I guess. Yeah, I do. She’s so positive all the time. I mean, nothing gets her down, but it’s not like she’s oblivious, either.” She paused. “By the way, I’m not a lesbian in case you were about to ask.”
“I wasn’t, but it would be fine if you were,” I said.
“Everyone thinks I am because of my hair and tattoos and stuff. But I think I like guys. Just...not yet.”
“You’re not even sixteen. ‘Not yet’ is a really mature answer.”
“Did you have a lot of boyfriends?” she asked, spearing some asparagus. I’d cooked extra healthy tonight—quinoa salad with asparagus, chickpeas, red peppers, cucumbers and salmon. There was pie waiting on the counter as our reward.
“I didn’t date at all in high school. Back then, I had all the appeal and energy of a pile of sweaty gym clothes.”
Poe snorted.
“But in college and med school, sure.”
“Were the guys nice?”
“They were.” I took a drink of water. “Does your mom date a lot?”
Poe didn’t answer for a minute. “Yeah. A new guy all the time, even if she pretended they were just friends.”
“How was that for you?” I asked.
She shrugged. “It was fine. I mean, there were always people around. We almost always had someone staying with us, or we were staying at someone’s place. Usually one of Mom’s guys.” She poked a chickpea with her fork. “I’ve been living at Gran’s longer than I ever lived in one place before.”
My heart twisted. I wanted so much to tell her she could stay here on Scupper as long as she wanted. I wanted to grab my sister and shake her and tell her kids needed stability and constancy and to be able to rely on the adults in their lives, and what the hell was she thinking, having all those men parade through Poe’s life?
In the past, I’d made some gentle suggestions. When Poe was just a little thing, I’d suggested that maybe she needed more sleep and less fast food. “And how many kids have you raised?” Lily had asked, her eyes going cold and hard. She didn’t let me visit them the next day, and I’d been forced to wander around Seattle alone, feeling angry and useless.
I’d offered to give my sister money, loan her money, cover her rent, buy things for Poe. The only answer I ever got was “We’re fine.”
In other words, I had no say in Poe’s life. All I could do was spend this summer with her, and hopefully it would be at least a small positive in her life.
“Want to help me find Gran a boyfriend?” I asked, and she grimaced and brightened at the same time.
“Seriously? That’s so gross. Why would you?”
“I worry about her. She’s been on her own for a long time.” And both Poe and I would be leaving soon. “Come on,” I said, standing and gathering our plates. “I registered on a dating website. I’m screening her men before I introduce her.”
“She told me she thought you were matchmaking,” Poe said, putting her glass in the dishwasher. “When you had that dinner?”
“I was. It didn’t go so well. Someone hit a deer, though.”
“What is it with you and animals? Boomer, watch your back, boy.” She bent and rubbed him behind the ears. First time she’d called him something other than dog.
I wiped down the table, then got my computer. Poe helped herself to a slice of blueberry pie (no sugar, very nutritious, minus the lard I used to make the crust) and sat down next to me.
A sudden lump filled my throat. I was going to miss her. Lily was due out in a little more than a month. The countdown on my time with Poe had begun, and the summer, which had seemed so long at first, was slipping past like a fast-moving stream.
But Poe was older now, and now that she knew me, she’d keep in touch.
At least, I hoped she would.
“Okay,” I said, clearing my throat. “Here we go.” I clicked on the dating website and went to the profile I’d set up for my mom. I’d called her SuperMainah in her profile.
“‘Divorced woman,’” Poe said, reading out loud, “‘sixties, enjoys animals’—well, she used to, until you killed hers—‘reading, the satisfaction of a hard day’s work. I’m a no-nonsense kind of person, honest and straightforward. Attractive and fit. Great sense of humor.’” Poe looked at me. “Sense of humor? Gran?”
“You pretty much have to say that,” I said.
“So who took the bait?” she asked.
“Let’s see! Three people. Wicked pissah.” I clicked on the first guy—Servus.
“‘Hello, Supermainah!’” I read. “‘You sound very in control of life and you could be in control of me.’ Oh, God, here we go. ‘I am a very submisive betta male—’ look at this spelling, Poe ‘—seeking a strong, dominent alpha female. I acsept my inferiorty and know my place. I live with my mother, who is 103 years old and instilled my love of obediance. If you don’t mind helping with her diapers and baths, let’s hook up!”
“He sounds perfect,” Poe said.
“She does like to boss people around,” I murmured. “Moving on.” I clicked on GotLove2Offer.
“My turn to read,” Poe said, turning the laptop toward her. “‘Hello, SuperMainah, I’m glad you are so capable. I’m going to be blunt, I’m poor. I don’t have a car, my financial situation is horrible, and I still live at home with my five sisters, who are nasty bitches, all of them. I’m not the greatest-looking guy, either. I am looking for someone to give me financial support, likes to cook (for my sisters, too) and enjoys long walks but doesn’t necessarily want sex.’” She started snickering. “‘I will make your heart full again. My interests include pro wrestling, military-grade guns and...and...and cuddling.’” She shrieked with laughter.
“Oh, God,” I said. “See what you have to look forward to? Okay, next one.” I clicked on MusicalFisherman. “‘Hello there! You sound very nice and uncomplicated.’” I looked at Poe. “I’d give her uncomplicated, wouldn’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
“‘I’m a widower, a retired music teacher, no kids. I enjoy fishing and watching documentaries on the History Channel. I moved to Maine from Florida four years ago and really love it here. If you’d like to meet for coffee, I can come to your neck of the woods. I live in Kennebunkport and don’t mind driving.’”
We looked at each other, a little surprised at his normalcy. “Let’s set it up,” I said.
“You gonna pretend to be Gran?” Poe asked.
“No, I’ll come clean. Here.” I read aloud as I typed. “‘Dear Fisherman, this is actually SuperMainah’s daughter. I’ve been helping my mom with online dating. You sound really nice. Anything else we should know about you before we set up a date to meet?’”
“Oh, you’re good.”
“Once I get his name, I’ll do a background check.”
“See? This is why you’re the adult.”
Speaking of background checks... “How’s Luke Fletcher been toward you?” I asked.
She shrugged. “He’s okay. He doesn’t talk to me much. He works on engines, and I do grunt work, so I don’t really see him.”
That’s what Sullivan had told me, too, when I texted him two days ago.
The computer beeped. “It’s our suitor!” I said. “He likes us.”
“Poor Gran,” Poe said. “You know she won’t be happy about this.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “But maybe once she meets him, she’ll get swept off her feet.”
“Can you really picture that happening?”
“No. But let’s pretend.”
* * *
Two days later, Richard Hemmings, aka MusicalFisherman, met me at Jitters, the new coffee shop that had just opened. It was cute inside; whereas Lala’s was a true bakery, this was a coffeehouse, with a tin ceiling and black-and-white-tiled floor and lovely old oak door. There was a bean roaster in the back, and the smell was dark and rich. They sold baked goods (bought from Lala’s so as not to antagonize the locals, a smart business move). They also had tables on the sidewalk where extremely beautiful dogs could recline and drink water (or iced decaf, in Boomer’s case).
Xiaowen arrived about five minutes after Boomer and I did and went to the counter to order a drink. She’d wanted to check out my mother’s possible beau, and we also had some work to do on Go Far, Be Strong, which was turning into a real pain in the ass, great cause aside.
It was full tourist season, and Jitters was filling up.
Xiaowen came over, coffee in hand. “I just got these guys to sponsor us,” she said smugly, taking a pull of her drink, which was topped with a mountain of whipped cream.
“Yay!” I said. “And my practice is kicking in some money, too.”
She pulled her iPad out of her bag and showed me the bottom line.
Just about every business in town was sponsoring Go Far, Be Strong, so in addition to covering the cost of the permit, insurance, public safety and all that, we had plenty of money left over. We ordered T-shirts, and I was working on a brochure that talked about the new food pyramid and how to read nutrition labels, and a website that would link to other websites full of great information regarding health, exercise and nutrition.
The biggest message I wanted to send was our slogan—Healthy Looks Different on Everyone.
I’d gained a little weight this summer. The truth was, I needed to. Maybe it was the stress after the Big Bad Event, maybe it was just trying to be perfect all the time, at work, with Bobby, at the hospital. Here, I’d let my standards loosen a little. I had pie. Sometimes I had pie with ice cream. Not every night, but not never, either. I still ran and rode my bike whenever possible, the Dog of Dogs galloping majestically at my side.
“We should have a different tagline every year,” Xiaowen said. “Next year, it can be something like You’ll Be Amazed What You Can Do.”
“I love that,” I said.
But next year, would I be able to do this? I’d be in Boston. This was a pretty big commitment.
Well. We could get a committee, I supposed.
“Do I actually have to run in this thing?” Xiaowen asked for the forty-sixth time.
“Yes. To inspire the troops.”
“Like Lady Godiva. Should I run naked?”
“No. We don’t want a riot on our hands. Oh, look, he’s here. Hi, Richard!”
He’d sent a picture—he was tall with glasses, a fairly good head of hair, on the rangy side. He’d been quite nice about me running interference. He was a bit younger than Mom, but I thought that was okay.
He wore a polo shirt and khakis, boat shoes. No baseball cap, thank God. What was it about men in baseball caps that halved their sex appeal?
“Hello,” he said, blushing. “Very nice to meet you, Nora.” He shook my hand, then Xiaowen’s.
“Xiaowen Liu,” she said. “A great admirer of Sharon Stuart.”
“Nice to meet you both,” he said.
“This is my dog, Boomer,” I said, and though he was power napping, Boomer wagged at the mention of his name.
“He’s very beautiful.” Boomer’s tail thumped harder. “Can I get you more coffee?”
Manners, very nice looking, a little shy. “I’m all set,” I said.
“I wouldn’t say no to a slab of chocolate cake,” Xiaowen said.
“Be right back,” he said with a smile and went to the counter.
“It’s a test,” Xiaowen told me. “If he doesn’t make me pay, he passes.”
A minute later, Richard came back and set the plate in front of my friend. “On me,” he said.
My friend and I exchanged a smug look.
“Xiaowen,” Richard said thoughtfully. “That means color of the morning clouds, doesn’t it?”
Her fork froze halfway to her mouth. “Uh...yes. More or less.”
“I lived in China for a few years. It’s a beautiful name.”
“Thank you.” She glanced at me. “And what does Richard mean?”
He laughed. “Powerful leader. I think my parents missed the mark on that one. I’m a music teacher. Well, I retired after a back injury. I sure miss the students, but I’m doing a little pro bono work in Portland.”
“How nice,” Xiaowen murmured, taking a bite of her cake.
“So!” I said brightly. “Richard, I just wanted to warn you again that my mom is... She’s a wonderful person. She doesn’t like the idea of being fixed up, so...”
“Got it. We’re just friends, and she happens to run into us.”
“Bingo. We met... Where do you think we should say?”
“In a rose garden under a full moon,” Xiaowen said, and Richard laughed.
“How about on the ferry?” he suggested.
“Perfect.”
I texted my mother while Richard and Xiaowen chatted about Portland, oysters and sailing. Mom, pop into Jitters for your break. I’m here right now, and the coffee is fantastic. Should she resist (and she would), I would play the someone-I-want-you-to-meet card.
A second later, the unexpected answer popped into my screen. Sure. Be there in five. The Excelsior Pines was just down the street.
I showed Xiaowen the phone. “Unlike her to be so spontaneous,” I murmured.
“She must smell the coffee.”
“It’s excellent,” Richard said, taking a sip of his. “Xiaowen, have you been to Bard for coffee? It’s my favorite.”
“No, no, no. You have to try the Speckled Axe. Bard is for beginners.”
“Sounds like a coffee throw down,” he said, smiling.
A few minutes later, Mom came in, wearing the hotel uniform of white shirt, black pants. “Hi, Mom!” I said.
“Hello. How are you, Xiaowen, deah?” She looked at Richard. “I’m Nora’s mother. And you are?”
“Richard Hemmings.” He stood up and offered his hand, which she took suspiciously. “So nice to meet you, Sharon.”
“That’s Mrs. Stuart to you.” She scowled. “How do you know my daughter here?”
“We met on the ferry,” he said with a wink to me. “She invited me to have coffee with her and her lovely friend. Would you like something to drink?”
“I’m fine,” she said, sitting down.
“Xiaowen and I were just arguing about where to find the best coffee,” Richard said. “Do you have a favorite place to go?”
“I make my own.”
“That’s always the best.”
“Ayuh.” Mom folded her arms and looked at me. She was not pleased.
“Nora tells me you like animals, Sharon. Do you have any pets?”
“My bird just died,” she said.
Xiaowen choked on a laugh, having been far, far too amused of my tales of Tweety. “Excuse me a second,” she said, heading for the bathroom to let the not-so-young lovers get to know each other.
“I’m gonna get a refill,” I said. “Anyone need anything?” My mother looked ready to bite me, but Richard smiled and said he was all set.
I stood in the line, which was about six people deep, and watched my mother. Open up, I pleaded silently. Don’t be so cutoff from everyone.
Then again, maybe it was just me. Everyone else seemed to like her tremendously. Look at her hug therapy group.
“Nora Stuart? Is that you, dear?”
I looked up, and there was Mr. Abernathy, my old English teacher, holding a cup of coffee to go. “Mr. A!” I exclaimed, hugging him. “How are you?”
He beamed. “I’m doing very well. Look at you! It’s wonderful to see you!”
“Do you have a minute to chat?” I asked.
“Sure!” he said, his voice so familiar. We took a table near the counter.
“Do you still live here?” I asked. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“No,” he said, “but we kept the house here and come back a few weeks every year. Rent it the rest of the time. How are you? I always hoped to see you back here at reunions and whatnot.”
I nodded, feeling a prickle of shame. “Well, I went to Tufts, as you know, and then went on to medical school.”
“How wonderful! Your mother must be so proud!”
“Well, yes. When did you retire?”
“About eight years after you left. Ten, maybe.” He took a sip of his coffee. “You know, you remained the only student ever to do that Great Works project.”
And there it was. “Yeah. About that, Mr. Abernathy,” I said. My hands twisted in my lap. “I have a question you might be able to answer. Was that... Is that how I got the Perez Scholarship?”
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“Is that what put me over the edge? Because I...” I closed my eyes. “I smeared the assignment on the blackboard so Luke Fletcher wouldn’t see it.”
“All of you had four months to see that assignment.”
“I know, but...I wanted to make sure.”
Mr. A nodded. “Well, from what I know, you moved heaven and earth to get that paper done, during finals, no less. I doubt very much young Mr. Fletcher would’ve been able to pull that off. But it really doesn’t matter, dear. You already had an A-plus in my class, so the paper didn’t change your grade at all. That’s why I was so surprised that you did it.”
“If Luke had done it and gotten an A, too...”
“Ah, I see the root of your guilt. Feel guilty no more, my dear. Luke ended the term with a B-minus. His grades had been sinking all semester, and not just in my class. We all talked about it. The night of the car accident... That wasn’t his first experience with drugs, apparently.”
I blinked. Blinked again. “Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”
Mr. A reached across the table and patted my hand. “You won that scholarship fair and square, Nora. No one else was even close.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Ah, there’s Mrs. Abernathy, wondering where I am. I have to go, dear. It was wonderful to see you. Congratulations on everything.”
With that, he left.
I hadn’t stolen the scholarship, after all.
In a bit of a fog, I stood up and got back into line, and there was Sullivan, smelling like sunshine and salt air and motor oil. His skin was brown, making his eyes look like hot fudge.
I didn’t steal the scholarship. I wasn’t responsible for that accident.
Sully had never blamed me...and now I could stop blaming myself.
“Hiya, handsome,” I said.
The corner of his mouth rose, and so did my entire reproductive system, reminding me that I’d had sex with this guy. Mediocre sex, sure, but there’d been a few flashes of greatness.
Maybe we should revisit that effort.
He stood very close to me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his skin beneath. Meow. He wasn’t wearing a baseball cap, either, God bless him.
“Can I buy you a coffee?” he asked.
“What? Excuse me? Say again?”
His smile widened. He said some words—let’s have sex on this table. Or no, I think that was just my brain.
“Sorry, what?” I said, clearing my throat.
He laughed. “I’m usually the one who can’t hear things.”
“I’m...I’m dazed with lust, it seems.”
His eyes wandered over me. “Is that right?”
“Mmm-hmm.” God. My legs were getting weak. I swayed and put my hand against his chest, feeling the sun-warmed T-shirt, the solid thump of his heart.
“Hey, hot stuff,” Xiaowen said, coming up to us.
“Hey, Xiaowen.”
“We’re fixing up Nora’s mom with that hottie over there.”
“I see.”
“You can tell it’s going well by the way she’s glaring at her child,” Xiaowen said.
I snapped out of my fog. “Right. I better... I better go back.”
“You free this weekend?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“God, you two,” Xiaowen said. “You need to work on your pillow talk. Sully, see you around. You’re doing Go Far, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” His eyes came back to me. “See you soon.”
“Okay.”
“Close your mouth, Nora. Bye, Sully.” Xiaowen took me by the arm and pulled me back to the table. “You’d better be tapping that, or I will,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah.” I could barely formulate a thought.
“Nora,” said my mother, her tone somewhere between You’re grounded, young lady and I’ve just put you up for adoption. “This poor man thinks I’m looking for a boyfriend. Came all the way out here to meet me.” She turned back to him. “Sorry you wasted your time, mister. Make my daughter pay for your ferry ride.” She stood, jammed her hands on her hips and said, “Get your butt home for dinner tonight.”
“Sounds fun,” I said. She glared. “Yes, ma’am,” I amended.
“Sorry again, pal,” she said to Richard. “Xiaowen, always nice to see you.”
My phone dinged—it was the clinic. I wasn’t on duty today, it being Friday, but this usually meant something big. “I have to go,” I said. “I’m so sorry, Richard.”
“Not at all,” he said graciously. “I’ve always meant to come out to Scupper Island.”
“I’ll walk you to the ferry,” Xiaowen said. “Don’t get any ideas. I talk a good game, but I’ve sworn off men.”
“At least tell me why over a drink.”
They left, flirting and chatting. My mother glared some more. “What the hell was that?”
“I have to get to the clinic.”
“Nice try. They’ll either die or get better, no matter what you do.”
“I have a slightly different attitude, being a doctor. Walk and talk, okay?” She stomped out in front of me; I’d walked here, and it was only five minutes to the clinic. “I confess, Mom. I want you to have someone in your life. Lily will be out soon, Poe will go back to Seattle, I’ll be back in Boston, and life on this island isn’t easy! Is it so wrong for me to worry about you?”
“Worry all you want!” she snapped. “Stop fixing me up! I’m fine the way I am. And don’t be late for dinner.”
* * *
I stashed Boomer with Amelia, who loved him, and saw the patient—a summer kid who’d scratched his cornea. Piece of cake, definitely something that could’ve been handled by Gloria, but she was all about making my life harder these days. I gave the mom the gel antibiotic, told the little guy to take it easy and went to the counter where Gloria sat, staring straight at the computer monitor, pretending I wasn’t there.
“Paperwork on the last patient. I’m surprised you needed to call, but I’m glad you did. Whenever you feel over your head, just give me a shout.” And take a bite, missy, I added mentally. It was the end of a long day, and I was itchy and scratchy from her shitty attitude.
I’d ridden my bike to work today, and it had been a great choice. There was something intimate and exhilarating about riding a bike through a town, even one I knew as well as mine. The pace was fast enough not to get into a conversation, slow enough to smell the good smells of burgers and some kind of dessert and someone’s pipe smoke, all made more intense by the salt air. Boomer loved it, too, since I was too slow for him on our runs, forcing him to trot. With the bike, he could canter alongside.
I stopped at the package store, once a dive with yellowing windows where serious alcoholics got their booze, now a rather lovely wine shop, and bought a bottle of pinot noir to bring to my mom’s, put the bottle in my basket and continued on.
I turned on Oak Street, where Sullivan lived. Hey, it was a legitimate through road. I slowed a little past his house. His truck wasn’t there (which was good, since I was stalking), but I didn’t know if Audrey was home or at the boatyard or maybe at Amy’s.
You could tell a lot about a person by where they choose to live. Sully’s house was quietly charming, well kept and fairly unadorned, just like the man himself.
It made me smile.
I kept riding, intending to go home, maybe (maybe) take a quick swim and then shower. It was getting warmer, and the sky, which had been pure blue two hours ago, was now filling with towering gray clouds. Thunderstorms were coming. I hoped I’d be home for them. I’d gotten to the point where I loved the rocking of my little houseboat, the flashes that lit up the cove and sky, the bolts that made me squeak and jump in my chair.
About forty feet from the top of the hill, where the road curved and steepened, my cell phone rang. “Dang it,” I said. I’d wanted to make it to the top without stopping, get my cardio and burn off that creamy iced coffee I’d had. Cholesterol, yo.
I pulled over under a pine tree and pulled my phone from my purse.
“Dr. Stuart, it’s James Gillespie.”
For a minute, I couldn’t remember who that was, but the Morgan Freeman voice clued me in. The private investigator I’d hired that day in Boston, the day I’d seen Voldemort.
“Hi! How are you?” I said.
“I’m fine. And yourself?”
“I’m good. Do you... Do you have anything?”
There was a pause. Never a good sign. “Well, yes and no. As you said in my office that day, your father’s name is extremely common. Without his Social Security number, it’s a bit of a crapshoot.”
“Right.”
“I did find two notices of the deaths of men named William Stuart, however. Both with your father’s date of birth, both born in New York City.”
Panic flashed across me, finding every injury I’d ever had—my clavicle, my knee, my shin from where I’d whacked it so hard in college on the steps of the library, every place Voldemort had hurt me. Don’t be dead, Daddy. Don’t be dead.
“One is from seventeen years ago. Cause of death was a car accident, El Paso, Texas.” There was a pause. “The other, I’m sorry to say, was a suicide. Buffalo, New York, eleven years ago.”
A chickadee lit on the branch next to me. So pretty, those little birds, so industrious and smart. I felt a little faint suddenly, gray spots hiding the bird, and sucked in a breath.
“Dr. Stuart?”
“Still here,” I said. My voice was odd. Another breath. The gray spots faded.
“Neither had obituaries, and there were no next of kin or spouses listed. No Social Security numbers available, either.” He coughed. “Would either of those locations have made sense?”
“Um...no. Not really. I mean, he could’ve gone anywhere.”
“If you had his Social Security number...”
“Right.”
“It would be on your parents’ marriage certificate, if you have access to that. Without it, I’m afraid I’m at the end of the road.”
“Thanks, Mr. Gillespie. I’ll let you know if I find anything else.” I hung up and got back on my bike.
I didn’t realize I was crying till the wind blew its breath against my tears.
* * *
Rather than go home, I went to my mother’s, propping my bike near the back door, a leftover habit from childhood. Poe was at work and so was Mom, which meant I could snoop all the way up till dinnertime.
If my father was dead, I wanted to know. I couldn’t imagine my mother throwing away a document like her marriage certificate—or divorce papers.
God. I didn’t even know if my parents were legally divorced.
I hadn’t thought about snooping when I first got here, and given my injuries, it would’ve been tough. Man, that seemed like an age ago, when I had the crutch and the sling.
The house smelled like meat loaf. Mom made hers in the Crock-Pot, one of her few not-horrible dinners. At least I wouldn’t have to contend with Tweety, I thought, then felt immediately guilty.
Boomer lay down in front of the woodstove, panting happily. I got him some water and took a breath. The den would be the place to start, I guessed.
Unsurprisingly, my mom’s desk was tidy and organized. Feeling another kick of guilt (twinge just wouldn’t cover it), I opened her file drawers. Neatly labeled files of bills, receipts, the local businesses who hired her as a bookkeeper. Health—God, did I even dare? I did. It contained a copy of her lab work, all perfectly normal, and a prescription for glasses.
There was one for Poe—school records from Seattle, a report from the Greater Seattle Department of Children and Families. “No evidence of abuse or neglect,” it said. Seemed like my sister had been investigated after her run-ins with the law.
Oh, Lily.
There was nothing here about my father.
I went upstairs into Mom’s room, just across the little hall from mine. A memory drifted down—me, scared of something at night, coming across the way in a nightgown, wanting my parents but not wanting to wake them up. My father’s hand on my head, getting a glass of water, waiting for the water to be cold, then tucking me back in bed, telling me Mr. Bowie, my teddy bear, would protect me.
No. That had been Mom. I remember her talking in a growling voice, pretending to be Mr. Bowie. “No one will get past me!” And we’d laughed there in the moonlight, Lily fast asleep in the other twin bed.
Her bedroom hadn’t changed much.
I opened the night table drawer and closed it fast. Okay, then. Mom still had womanly needs. Good for her. I’d get some eye bleach and erase that memory, stat.
The other night table drawer had a Stephen King novel in it. Funny. I didn’t know my mother liked him. She didn’t used to—she’d ask me why on earth I’d read something scary before bed. Guess she’d fallen into the trap.
Her bureau contained the normal things—socks, underwear, turtlenecks, jeans. In her closet, not much of interest. Winter coat, boots, sweaters, her one dress.
Hang on a second.
There, behind her bulky winter coat, was a box. I pulled it out.
It contained pictures. Pictures of my dad. Of us. Our family.
Seeing his face after all these years hit me square in the chest.
He was so young! How had so much time passed without him? How had we survived the loss of him?
Here he was, laughing in the canoe, his hair black, face young. Maybe when they were dating? The two of them on a hiking trail, both wearing jackets and hats, the foliage brilliant around them.
Dad holding me in the hospital after I was born. I knew, because my mother had written on the back—Bill with Nora, 2 days old.
There were dozens. Some were in frames, and I remembered them sitting on the shelf over the couch in the living room. Some had faded, some were better quality, but all a treasure chest of memories. Lily, about three, sitting on a pony, Dad holding the halter. Daddy and me sitting in his chair, reading a book. The four of us squinting into the sun. Mom and Dad eating cotton candy. When the heck had that happened? Dad flipping burgers on the little round grill we’d had as kids. Lily sitting on his shoulders, reaching out for snowflakes.
The pictures were mostly from our golden years—the first seven or eight years of my life. They tapered off after that.
Why had Mom kept these from us?
When was she supposed to give them to you, Nora? said a voice in my head. You’ve been away from home for half your life.
And so had Lily.
Boomer nudged my head, and I turned. He licked my cheeks—I was crying again, for the second time this day.
The love my father had for us—for all three us—radiated out of these pictures like sunshine.
How could he have borne life without us?
I leaned against my dog’s solid neck and let the tears seep into his fur.