But I don’t have time to mourn Brooke’s absence because a day later, I’m beside Freya when her baby is placed in her arms.
“What are you going to call her?”
Freya stares at the tiny squishy face and her smile is beatific. Freya can do this. She can be a mom. I had my doubts, but watching the love bloom on her face makes me sag with relief. I just wish Brooke could’ve experienced this same joy her sister is, but life is cruel and I hate that one niece is ecstatic, while the other is devastated. The death of a boy, the birth of a girl. Yin and yang. Two halves of a whole.
“I thought I’d loved Eli,” Freya whispers, not tearing her gaze from the baby. “But I was wrong. This is love. This tiny, beautiful, perfect baby girl gives me hope for the future.”
Freya slowly raises her gaze. “I’m going to call her Hope.”
“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” I brush a fingertip across the baby’s forehead, my eyes misty. “I’m so proud of you.”
“It’s been a long nine months,” she says, unable to tear her gaze from her baby’s face. “So much sadness and now this tiny miracle.” She blinks several times but it doesn’t stop a tear from gently plopping onto Hope’s forehead. “I wish Eli were here to share this joy with me.”
Me of all people know it’s futile wishing for things that can never be. “You need to focus on your beautiful girl now.”
“I know,” Freya murmurs, kissing Hope’s forehead. “But remembering Eli at a time like this is fitting, don’t you think?”
Freya doesn’t want to hear what I think. She should never have coveted her sister’s boyfriend and it’s time to set the past to rest. Brooke can never know. It would break her heart even more.
“I think you’re going to be a great mom and I’ll help you as much as I can.”
She smiles at me, radiant in a way I’ve never seen her before. “Thanks, Aunt Alice. For everything.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes but I can’t cry. Because if I start I may not be able to stop. I’m happy for Freya, I truly am, but I can’t stop thinking about Brooke’s loss and how she’d react if she knew about her sister’s joy.
“How are you feeling?” I press a hand to Freya’s forehead like I’ve done many times in the past. When she was a teething toddler, when she had croup, when she picked up a nasty flu in her last year of grade school.
I’ve had my worries with Freya over the years but seeing her take to motherhood is a challenge I’m looking forward to.
Nothing can erase the past. I can’t change what I’ve done, but I know Diana and Cam would be proud of their daughter and the love she’ll lavish on their granddaughter.
“I’m feeling fine, Aunt Alice, stop fussing.”
I’ve never seen Freya so focused, all her attention on Hope as she cradles her gently. “I’m a mom.” She sounds wondrous as she raises the baby closer to her face and breathes in. “I’ll protect Hope with everything I have. My baby… my precious girl…”
The tears I’m battling spill over. I’m so happy for Freya, yet I can’t help but wish things could’ve been different for Brooke.
Sixty-Six
Brooke
I know Aunt Alice still has a cocktail of medication rattling around inside her even without taking her pills this morning, but if what Dr. Hesham said is true and those meds can cause her dementia symptoms I know I’ve only got tonight to try and delve deeper.
Freya will be back to administering the pills tomorrow morning and tonight is the most lucid Aunt Alice has been since I came home. Lizzie had been amazed at how Aunt Alice made the odd observation on the ride back from LA and when she’d recognized home as we turned in the drive, Lizzie had been floored.
It makes us both consider the meds are playing a part in our aunt’s deterioration and we need to discuss it with Freya. She’ll hate our underhanded tactics in getting Aunt Alice independently assessed but she can’t refute medical evidence and I know that ultimately, she loves our aunt as much as we do.
“Do you need me?” Lizzie asks, once Aunt Alice has eaten. Even her appetite seems to have improved tonight as she manages a small fillet of steamed fish and roast vegetables.
“I’ll be fine.” I cast a glance at the closed door. “If you could keep Freya busy, that’d be great.”
Lizzie’s somber as she nods. “She’s with Riker at the moment but I’ll be on the lookout in case she wants to come check on Alice.”
“Thanks, I’ll let you know how I get on.”
“Good luck.” Lizzie pats my shoulder and then she’s gone, leaving me alone with my aunt.
I want to see if her ramblings have meaning tonight, if she says anything specific and if so, use it to access her diary. I want answers to so many questions.
When Lizzie closes the door, Aunt Alice’s eyes open and she fixes them on me.
“Brooke,” she says, with a faint smile, and I’m buoyed by her recognition. “Good girl.”
She always used to call me this and I’m encouraged.
“Hey, Aunt Alice, how are you?”
She scrunches up her face and I laugh. “That good, huh?”
She taps her temple. “Too foggy up here.”
“We all have those days.”
I can’t believe we’re actually conversing. It may not be rocket science but she’s responding coherently, which is more than she’s done before.
She stares at me until a frown appears. “Why are you here? You’re supposed to be gone.”
“Freya’s getting married—”
“No. No, no, no.” She shakes her head side to side and I start to worry when she thumps her temple with her fist. “What about the baby?”
“Hope’s okay.”
She stops her head thumping and stares at me again. “Hope. Yes.”
She snaps her fingers. “A baby to unite the family.”
Considering I didn’t know about Hope’s existence until I returned home I have no idea how Hope is meant to unite us all.
“Do you feel like writing in your diary today?”
It’s underhanded, but if I can watch her enter the password I can replicate it later.
“No. Too many bad memories.” She presses her fingers to her lips, a wary glint in her eyes. “Diana got what she deserved but my poor darling Cam… then there’s you and Freya… so many secrets…”
She’s gazing at some point over my shoulder and I glance at where she’s looking only to see a blank wall.
I assume Lizzie’s maternity is one of the secrets she’s referring to between her and my mom, but I’m shocked to hear her say Diana deserved to die in that car accident.
“Did you hate Diana because she gave Lizzie away?”
Aunt Alice doesn’t answer and I’m about to repeat the question when she nods. “I hated her for many things. Jealousy is bad.” She points to her heart. “It eats away at this until you’re left with nothing but memories and the sins committed.”
“What sins?”
I feel bad interrogating her but who knows when I’ll next get the opportunity?
“You don’t want to know.” Her eyes fill with tears and I feel worse. “Car brakes fail every day… no one suspected… I didn’t do it… not really… but maybe I did…”
She turns away to stare out the window as I assimilate what she’s admitted.
Had my sweet, docile aunt tampered with the brakes on my mom’s car? Her laptop password BRAKEMYHEARTCS3 suddenly makes a lot more sense. But to actually kill her sister? It’s outlandish, but the more I ponder the more I think this could be the secret that haunts her.
I need to access that diary.
Though what will it prove? I would never cause my aunt pain, not in the condition she’s in. So what if I discover she killed my parents? It happened twenty-eight years ago. I’m not going to tell anyone.
However, I can’t help but think if she’s hiding one secret there could be more.
Sixty-Seven
Alice
THEN
We return to Martino Bay: Freya, me, and baby Hope.
She knows about Brooke losing her baby. I had to tell her the truth. She grieved for her sister but it was brief, because she had her own bundle of joy to care for. Freya has always been self-centered and I knew once she had Hope she wouldn’t care about anything.
Freya’s an attentive mother and she enrolls at a nearby college and completes a nursing degree while I care for Hope.
The years pass. Brooke sends the occasional email from various Internet cafés around the country: Denver, Memphis, New Orleans, Miami. She’s subdued, broken, and I know her life is a shadow of the gilded life she once led. She says she has no intention of returning to Martino Bay and I don’t push it.
Lizzie finishes college but does nothing with her art degree. She comes home and moves back into the main house. I love having her home. She’s a sweet girl and treats me like a queen, always has. I contemplate telling her the truth about her parents adopting her out and how she came to be mine but I don’t want to mess with our relationship, not when it’s so good.
Everything is fine, until the postcard arrives.
Hope picks up the mail from our roadside box every day after school and she runs into the kitchen, brandishing the rectangular piece of cardboard.
“Who’s Brooke?”
I’m dicing onions on a chopping board near the sink while Freya’s changing out of her work clothes. She’s been working full-time at the local nursing home since Hope started school two years ago and she loves it as much as the patients and co-workers love her.
It never ceases to amaze me she chose nursing as a profession. She was the least nurturing kid I know growing up. But whatever her motivations I’m glad she’s happy and stable and far removed from the girl prone to moods.
“She’s your aunt.” I place the knife on the board and turn to face Hope. “She travels a lot and that’s why you’ve never met her.”
Hope glances at the postcard and her nose crinkles. “Does she know about me? Because this is addressed to you, Mom and Aunt Lizzie.”
What can I say? That I’ve deliberately kept Hope a secret so not to rub salt into Brooke’s wound? That Freya has a child when she doesn’t?
I settle for, “We don’t correspond much. She’s sent me the occasional email, and this is the first time she’s sent a postcard.”
Thankfully, Hope accepts my answer. “I’ve never seen a postcard written on before. It’s so old-fashioned.”
“Then you should keep it as a souvenir.” I hold out my hand for it. “After I’ve read it, that is.”
Hope shrugs and hands it over. “She doesn’t say much.”
Hope’s right. I read Brooke’s brief missive.
JOINED A VOLUNTEER AGENCY.
OFF TO STH AMERICA, PARAGUAY.
WILL BE OUT OF TOUCH FOR A WHILE.
LOVE TO ALL.
BROOKE XXX
A kiss for each of us, but not Hope. As I stare at my great-niece helping herself to milk from the fridge, her tongue poking out between her lips as she concentrates on not spilling a drop as she pours, I experience a rare moment of being conflicted.
Have I done the right thing in keeping Hope away from her aunt? I’ve always valued family and this feels wrong. Maybe getting to know Hope would help ease Brooke’s pain? But then Hope glances up at me and grins, the sparkle in her eyes so like her mom’s, and I know I’m right. Knowing Freya’s daughter, seeing her sister’s happiness, would only accentuate Brooke’s loss.
Then later that morning, an email arrives from Brooke and I’m conflicted all over again.
Hi Aunt Alice,
I thought the postcard would be enough before I’m out of contact for goodness knows how long. But it’s not. I’ve got so much to say and no one to say it to but you. You’ve always been there for me and I love you for it.
I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, but just to offload. So here goes.
I’m lost.
Not literally, but emotionally. I’m sitting on a grubby plastic chair at Dallas/Fort Worth Airport watching people depart. There’s a lot of foot traffic today and it looks like everyone’s in a hurry to get where they want to be. Not me.
I’m drifting as I have been the last five years, since I saw the blue squished face of my baby being whisked away. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t blame myself for the death of my precious baby boy. I should’ve never fallen pregnant in the first place, but knew I had to carry to term as punishment for what I’d done. Eli died because of me and no matter how many times you’ve tried to reassure me, everyone’s right. I deserved the blame.
Volunteering abroad is an impulsive decision but one I can live with. I want to escape, to be surrounded by people who need me as much as I need them. I want to do good, to make a difference. It’s my penance and I hope you understand.
I do miss you, Freya and Lizzie but I still can’t face returning. Too many memories, too much pain. Thanks for the last update. I’m surprised Freya is a nurse. Do you remember that’s what I wanted to be in junior high? It feels like she’s living my life while I’m a fugitive on the run, moving from town to town, doing menial jobs, avoiding relationships, totally and utterly lost.
I wish I could call you. But a part of me doesn’t want you to hear the longing in my voice and how much I miss my old life in Martino Bay, but I guess I gave that up the moment I made the wrong choice. It defines me.
Thanks for the money you regularly put in my bank account. I rarely access it. I chose this life; I need to live it. But communication will be limited where I’m heading, a tiny remote jungle village near the Amazon, so if you want to talk, it’s now or never. I tried calling earlier but got voice mail. Hearing your voice brought back a host of memories, all of them good. I love you.
There’s a mom with a beautiful baby boy here and I can’t look away. I want to tell her I had one of my own and though I wouldn’t have kept him, I would’ve liked to know he was healthy and happy somewhere with parents who love him. But he died and my life is nothing how I imagined. And I have nobody to blame but myself.
I know I’ve offloaded a lot here but I felt like I had to. If you call me back within the next ninety minutes, we’ll get to chat. Otherwise, I’ll see you when I see you. Say hi to Freya and Lizzie for me.
Take care. Xx
My cheeks are damp with tears and I jump when a hand lands on my shoulder.
“Don’t call her back,” Freya says, sadness in her voice.
“What harm can a call do? She sounds awful.”
Freya blinks rapidly, like she’s battling tears. “I miss her too, but how will calling her back help?” She shrugs. “You heard her, she’s heading to South America and she’ll be gone for years. Why make it harder on her by hearing your voice?”
“Don’t be so callous,” I snap and Freya rears back. I never talk to her like that.
“I’m not being callous, I’m a realist.” She presses a hand to her chest. “A phone call will change nothing. She’s leaving, why not let things be?”
I pick up my cell, flipping it over and over, weighing my decision. I have my reasons for not wanting to call Brooke back. Our lives are perfect just the way they are. But I’m a softie. Hearing Brooke’s voice, conversing with her, is a far cry from the occasional emails we’ve exchanged over the years and it will undo me completely. I’ll beg her to come home and it’s unfair to put that kind of pressure on her; it’s not my decision to make.
“Don’t you miss her at all?”
To my surprise, Freya bursts into tears, noisy sobs that startle me. I’ve never seen her cry like this; she’s too reserved usually. It’s disconcerting.
“That was a stupid question and I’m sorry.” I wrap my arms around her.
She clings to me, her tears soaking my shoulder, as I smooth her back. When her sobs subside, she pulls away, my pragmatic niece once again.
“I guess we’re alike, you and me.”
“How so?�
��
“We’ve had to learn to cope without our dazzling, beautiful sisters at some point in our lives,” she says, using her fingertips to dab at the moisture under her eyes. “We love them but along the way we also wish they were never born.”
Her candor surprises me and I nod, curious to hear what else she’ll say in this oddly vulnerable moment.
“Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve done, defines us.” She shakes her head, sorrow darkening her eyes. “So many times growing up, I wished Brooke wasn’t around, and now that she isn’t… I never expected to feel this lost without her.”
Emotion clogs my throat. I’ve never seen Freya so vulnerable. “I understand. And I wish things could’ve turned out differently, but I want you to know how proud I am of you, how you’ve matured into a strong, independent woman capable of love.”
Tears shimmer in Freya’s eyes. “Thanks, Aunt Alice. Hope is my world but it would be nice to have my sister in it too.”
“I know, and some time in the future, she’ll be back.”
Until then, I have to hope I’m doing the right thing.
Sixty-Eight
Brooke
The next morning, Freya administers Aunt Alice’s meds again and an hour later she’s back to being drowsy and disoriented. It’s proof of what I suspect and what Dr. Hesham inferred. The medication is making my aunt worse.
I’m not putting up with it any longer.
I bide my time all day by sitting by my aunt, trying to crack her diary password. It’s one of those stupid online sites that when you click the “forgot password” links and they email you, you need to enter the old password to create a new one. Crazy, considering you wouldn’t need to use that link if you remembered it in the first place. An IT expert could probably get around it and I’m considering taking the laptop into town to do just that, when Aunt Alice sits bolt upright in bed and yells out, “Birthday girls. My girls. Happy birthday.”
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