So I choose Saturday, two days from now, at midday, and once she confirms I thank her and log off. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. In fact, I have serious doubts that delving into Aunt Alice’s past will provide answers to help bring her peace now.
But I have to try.
Aunt Alice was my rock for so long; it’s time I repaid the favor.
Twenty-Five
Alice
THEN
Losing my father had been hard at the time. Not because I missed him so much as how his death affected Mom. Her crippling grief distracted me, and in the end I didn’t mourn him that long. When Mom died I was almost relieved. Seeing her suffer those last few weeks as the lung cancer ravaged her had not been pretty: her anger at the injustice of dying too young, her humiliation when she became incontinent and had to rely on me for everything. Her antipathy had increased exponentially with her deterioration until she’d been unrecognizable at the end, a shell of the woman I’d once loved.
But I never knew real grief until Cam died.
Each day blends into the next, an all-pervasive numbness that makes the simplest of tasks impossible. But I have to function, the girls are depending on me, and no way in hell I’ll lose them.
They’re the only part of Cam I have left.
He was supposed to be alive, raising his girls with me. A tight-knit family bound by our mutual disbelief Diana could give away their child so callously, Di left out, me being stoic and gentle so he couldn’t help but love me eventually. The good sister. The dependable sister.
But Diana screwed me over yet again. I’ve pieced together what must’ve happened from the neighbor Cam had been helping. Apparently he got a call that had him running across the field, where he got into the car with Diana by the gate. Diana had been distraught, yelling and screaming, and they’d driven off in a squeal of tires. The neighbor had been concerned because the car had been swerving until out of sight, but had attributed it to a tiff between husband and wife.
Though I hadn’t tampered with those brakes, Diana’s erratic driving had been because of me regardless. I was responsible. I’d made my sister so distraught she couldn’t drive properly and she’d ended up killing them both.
I did this. I’ve lost the love of my life because of it.
It makes me want to protect his children even more.
Lizzie is with me now too, formally adopted. She’s a sweet two-and-a-half-year-old, the image of her father, and I’m instantly drawn to her. I expected trouble from the relevant agencies because of my age and being sole guardian of Brooke and Freya, but the attorney had somehow wangled it so that worked in my favor, a loving aunt providing a stable home environment for Di and Cam’s three girls.
Not that Lizzie will ever know she’s theirs. I hate the thought of her growing up and learning her mother dumped her, so I have a plan and this time it will be foolproof.
I have already put both houses on the market, Cam’s and mine. They both belong to me now and courtesy of Cam’s life insurance policy his daughters will never want for anything. Once the houses sell we will move, leaving Verdant and its haunting memories behind.
A new start in a new town far from here, where I can claim Lizzie as mine, and no one will be the wiser. I must protect her from the truth and that means telling a little white lie.
I will be her mother, and a stand-in mom to Brooke and Freya as their aunt. They’re all too young to remember otherwise and after much searching I find the perfect place.
A sprawling Spanish-style stucco on top of a clifftop, with smaller bungalows on the property. It’s beautiful and I instantly fall in love. Martino Bay channels the beauty of nearby Monterey but appears more unspoilt.
I like its hint of wildness, of promise.
It’s the perfect place to raise my family, leaving secrets that can destroy us far behind.
Twenty-Six
Freya
Brooke’s distracted when I get home from work. She’s her usual bubbly self around Hope and after we eat the simple mac and cheese Brooke cooked for dinner, the three of us play several games of checkers. Lizzie’s reading to her mom and Riker is locked away in his studio trying to finish a commission for the mayor’s office, and I’m glad it’s just the three of us.
Does Brooke remember she taught me how to play checkers on this very board over twenty years ago? How our games usually ended in tears—mine, not hers—because I hated losing to her in anything.
She never understood my competitive streak, how everything I did was to beat her. Aunt Alice got it though. It made me wonder if she ever felt second best to our mom, even though Alice was the older sister. It would make sense because she would always console me and while she never overtly made Brooke feel bad I could tell she liked me best.
“Mom, you’re toast.” Hope jumps my last three checkers and whoops, as I huff in faux exasperation.
“Who taught you how to play like that?” I pretend to pout and she laughs.
“Auntie Brooke, she’s a killer with board games.”
Don’t I know it and my mood instantly sours.
“Time for bed, young lady,” I say, and Hope groans.
“Can’t I stay up a little longer?”
“Going to bed means you get more time with that amazing new paranormal novel I got you,” Brooke says, laying a hand on Hope’s shoulder and my daughter practically glows.
“Off to bed now,” I say sharply, and two sets of accusatory eyes focus on me. “Sorry, I’m a tad tired.”
“Or a sore loser.” Brooke winks, referring to my tantrums in the past, and I want to throttle her.
“Will you say goodnight later?” Hope asks and to my chagrin she’s looking at Brooke.
“Sure, munchkin.” Brooke gives her a brief hug and I busy myself packing away the checkers so she can’t see my dour expression. “I’ll be in later.”
Hope barely gives me a second glance as she heads off to her room and I wait until my angst is under control before glancing up to find Brooke staring at me.
“You sure you’re just tired?”
“Yeah.” I fake a yawn. “We’ve got a lot of deteriorating dementia patients at work at the moment and some days are a lot worse than others.”
“Speaking of dementia patients, how bad is Alice, in your professional opinion?”
“What do you mean?”
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is she now and is there any hope of improvement?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I love her and I’m concerned,” Brooke snaps, immediately swiping a hand over her face. “Sorry, I know we’ve already discussed this but I want to know more about our parents and Alice is so out of it all the time, I guess I wondered if there was a chance she’d ever be lucid.”
This, I can handle, giving a trite medical answer she has no hope of analyzing and finding it lacking in any way.
“She’s about an eight at the moment.”
While I hate seeing Aunt Alice so non-compos, I’m thankful she is. Not that I like seeing her deteriorate so quickly; it guts me, watching the once vibrant woman who loved me become a blathering mess. But with our aunt’s increasing incoherency, I’m terrified she’ll let my secret slip. Aunt Alice and I have managed to keep the past where it belongs for so long and no good could come of dredging it up now.
What would my sister think if she knew about Eli and me?
“And she’s probably going to get worse. Early onset dementia often has a swifter progression.”
Brooke’s face falls. “So there’s no hope?”
“There’s always hope but I’ve seen too many patients go through this.” I shake my head, dutifully sad. “If it’s any consolation it’s always harder on the family than the patient.”
She nods, thoughtful. “How’s she been since I left? Has she led a full life?”
“She’s been fine before the dementia started four months ago. She’s dated occasionally, but she’s mostly helped me raise Hop
e and hung out with Lizzie a lot.”
Brooke doesn’t say anything and I probe. “Where’s all this coming from?”
Brooke lets out a little sigh. “She never spoke about our parents and now it’s too late to find out anything.”
That prickle of unease is back, rippling down my spine. I can’t have Aunt Alice letting the truth slip about Eli and me. It will ruin everything.
“Why do you want to dig into the past? What good can come of it?”
I aim for blasé, like it doesn’t matter how much probing Brooke does into the past. But I know my sister. She doesn’t give up easily and if she gets a hint of a mystery, she’ll delve until she discovers the truth.
It doesn’t bode well for me.
“I want answers,” Brooke says, and I recognize her mutinous expression. It’s one I’ve seen countless times as a kid. What Brooke wants she gets.
“Leave it alone, Brooke. What’s the point of looking back when you’re finally home and it’s time to move forward?”
I hope she’ll agree with me but I know better.
Brooke won’t let this go.
Twenty-Seven
Alice
THEN
I fall in love with Martino Bay and the house perched upon a cliff at first sight.
Falling in love with my girls is harder.
Raising three girls on my own is a far cry from doing it with their father in the picture and I struggle on a daily basis. The tasks are endless: changing diapers, heating up formula, puréeing organic vegetables, mothering a bewildered Lizzie who’s had more upheaval in her short life than any toddler should have to deal with. The girls are clingy, which is understandable considering they’ve lost their parents, but I never get a moment to myself. Going to the toilet is a feat, usually punctuated with the door opening unexpectedly or a loud wail demanding attention. As for showering, I skip it most days, when I used to love a long, leisurely shower first thing in the morning and another at night.
Showering every third or fourth day means my skin’s pasty, my hair’s lank, and I haven’t slept properly since Di and Cam’s deaths, so when I almost run over a woman at the park with my overflowing stroller, she takes one look at my stricken face and introduces herself as Marie, a forty-something mom who had twins in her early twenties and is looking to earn some extra money. I hire her on the spot to help out. She’s a godsend. She cooks healthy meals for Brooke and Lizzie, prepares formula for Freya, bathes them and generally calms them down when I’m so frazzled I could scream.
She also allows me to have some semblance of a life. I don’t realize how ostracized I’ve been until I’ve been in town six months and I get to do a grocery shop at the supermarket on my own. I’m so giddy at not having kids hanging off me I literally bump into a guy with my cart.
“Hey, watch it…” The chastisement dies on my lips as I stare at the tall, blond guy. With his lanky frame and big blue eyes, he reminds me of Cam and I press a hand to my chest to stem the hurt.
“Are you okay?” He stares at my hand, one eyebrow rising. “Or have I had such a profound effect on you that you’re in danger of having a heart attack?”
An unexpected laugh bursts from my lips and I lower my hand, holding it out toward him instead. “I’m Alice.”
“Toby.”
He shakes my hand; his fingers are long and warm and comforting as they wrap around mine. When he releases it, he gestures at my trolley. “Are you a big eater, Alice?”
He’s teasing; I love the twinkle in his eyes. Cam used to tease me sometimes—usually about being too straitlaced, unfortunately—and he’d get that same look in his eyes, as if I amused him and he liked it.
As I glance at my cart I see what Toby sees: six cartons of milk, several loaves of bread, bags of fruit and veg, two boxes of cereal. Lucky I did a diaper run yesterday; the sight of those would’ve sent him running instantly.
“I have kids to feed,” I say, but rather than his expression closing off as I expect he appears genuinely interested, so I continue. “My sister and her husband died in a car accident so I’m guardian for their two girls, and I have one of my own.”
His eyes widen in surprise. “But you’re what, twenty?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Good for you,” he says, eyeing me with respect. “I’m assuming you don’t get out much?”
“This is about as wild as it gets for me.” I gesture at the supermarket. “I’m living the dream.”
My droll response earns another laugh. “I take it you have someone looking after the kids now?”
“Yeah. It’s my first time shopping without them and I’m going a little crazy with the freedom.”
“My sisters are the same. They have three kids each too, and escaping the house for half an hour is a luxury.”
“I can relate,” I say, slightly breathless as he stares at me with blatant interest. I’m not used to the attention and it makes me lightheaded, like I used to feel in the early days when I first fell for Cam. How many sleepless nights had I wished Cam would look at me like this? Too many, and with Toby’s vague resemblance to the love of my life, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed and excited at the same time.
He leans in close and lowers his voice. “How about we do something really radical like ditch our carts and go for a coffee?”
I shouldn’t. Nothing can come of this. I don’t have the time to date, let alone allow a guy I don’t know near the girls. But Marie instructed me to take my time with the shopping, had even encouraged me to stop for a coffee on the way, so why can’t I share that coffee with Toby?
Besides, it’s the first time in my sheltered life a man has ever looked at me this way and I want to whoop with joy. Is this how Diana felt when guys fawned over her, proud and desired and beautiful? One coffee with Toby can’t hurt and for this short interlude, I want to savor this experience and not think about responsibilities or kids or how mundane my life has become. I want to feel like a woman capable of having a handsome guy interested in her. And for the next thirty minutes or so, I can pretend it is Cam I’m having coffee with, Cam who’s staring at me like I’m the most gorgeous girl in the world.
I find myself nodding. “I’ll pay for my groceries, and meet you out front?”
“I like the sound of that.”
He touches my shoulder, the briefest glance of his fingertips, yet it sends a shiver of longing through me the likes of which I’ve never had from any guy but Cam. “See you soon, Alice.”
I watch him lope toward the checkout, long, easy strides that channel Cam perfectly.
This is silly, because no man will ever replace the love of my life, but what harm can having one coffee do?
Twenty-Eight
Brooke
I reach Verdant around eleven-thirty on Saturday morning, after leaving at seven. It takes me longer than expected because I got halfway and had a mini panic attack. Not literally, but I did pull over at a roadhouse and imbibe two strong coffees while second-guessing the wisdom of this trip before hitting the highway again.
Lizzie had to stay behind to watch Aunt Alice. We lied to Freya; I said I had to travel to San Fran for a wedding surprise so she couldn’t ask me anything else. She believed me. Thankfully, Freya only has weekends off and she’d already promised to take Hope dress shopping so she didn’t badger me. I don’t like lying to my sister, not when we’re re-establishing a bond, but she’d been so edgy when I’d questioned her about our parents and Aunt Alice’s care at home that I don’t want to rock the boat. If I discover anything relevant I’ll come clean and share it with her. Besides, a small part of me is hurt she didn’t think to include me in her outing with Hope. I would’ve loved to go dress shopping for the wedding with my sweet niece, but Freya made a point of telling me it was just the two of them, so in a fit of pique I’d lied about my plans for today.
As for Riker, he spends more time holed away in his workshop than he does with his bride-to-be and I still can’t figure them out. They are the
least lovey-dovey couple I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve spent a lot of time with couples. I avoided them over the years because they always try to fix up the single person in their friendship group and I didn’t want that. Not that I have friends either. Friendship breeds confidences and I don’t want to tell anyone my story. I’m a loner and prefer it that way. As for my track record with guys, I’m no expert. For all I know Freya and Riker could be cool in public, passionate behind closed doors.
An unexpected pang at the thought of them together surprises me and I push it down deep where it belongs, before pulling into the first gas station I see and refueling. Once I meet with Amy and hopefully get some answers, I don’t want to dilly-dally. Besides, if I get the right responses it might give me some clues on how to crack Alice’s diary and I’ll want to get back to the coast in a hurry.
Whoever named this town Verdant had a good sense of humor because the dry, barren town is anything but. There’s no greenery but lots of dust, with desert as far as the eye can see in all directions. Vegas is about two hours away and I wonder if Aunt Alice and my mom ever took trips there for girly weekends. Then again, considering they both had kids in their teens, that was highly doubtful.
Amy has invited me to her home to meet and while I would’ve preferred the informality of a café I agreed because she may have photos of my parents in albums somewhere. Even after filling my car I’m still fifteen minutes early but I follow directions on the navigational display regardless and am parked out the front of her house a few minutes later.
She must be looking out for me because the front door opens and she steps out, elegant in beige capris and a turquoise silk T-shirt, her blonde bob sleek. She waves and I get out of the car, feeling like an intruder on a fool’s errand.
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