In the kitchen, I found Charlotte sitting at the bleached-wood island with a forest green Corian countertop, all the rage back in 1993, her hands already sticky from the popcorn balls.
“Nice costume,” I said as I gave my dad a hug. He had black ears on, with black whiskers drawn on his face.
“I’m your mother’s familiar, as I have resigned myself to being every day,” he said with his palms in the air.
“Well, we are here for your birthday; shouldn’t you get to be in charge for once?” I said as my mother walked into the kitchen, her black robes billowing behind her.
“I know my lot in life, and it’s to let Mary Ellen lead the way.” He leaned over and kissed my mother on the cheek, whispers of green paint remaining on his lips. He whispered to me, “No telling what would happen should she get some eye of newt, anyway. Best to just go along with her plans.” He looked around and frowned. “Where’s my favorite boy?”
“Sleeping in the car. If we wake him, we’ll need more than a magic spell to fix things,” I said. I set the cheesecake down on the island and slapped my father’s hand away. “Not until we sing.” The chocolate chip cheesecake was a family recipe, passed down from my dad’s mother, who apparently didn’t believe in any shortcuts in cooking. It was a wonder she found time to do anything other than watch the oven and make frosting from scratch.
“So what’s new, Erin-go-bragh?” my dad said.
I shrugged and I felt my face grow warm. “Not much. Well, we’ve put the house on the market.” I tried to keep my voice light, but it came out like a strangled scream.
My mother’s hand stopped in midair, and she stared at me. My dad moved closer, his hand running along the green kitchen island, his wedding ring scratching along the surface.
“It’s not a big deal,” I said quickly, and took a step backward, resting my hands on the countertop behind me. “It’s time.” I heard my voice come out foreign, belonging to someone else.
“What are you talking about?” my mother said with a frown. “You love that house. You said you never want to live anywhere else.”
“Well.” I glanced down at Charlotte, who was watching me with big, round eyes. I walked over and put my arm around her shoulders. “Honey, why don’t you go and find some of those peanut butter M&M’S that Grandma always has in the TV room?” She looked up at me, and then slowly around the kitchen, before she nodded and walked away.
“Sorry,” my dad said. “We don’t want to upset you. It’s just so shocking. What’s going on?” He leaned forward, his cat whiskers pointing down on his cheeks, his eyes serious behind his glasses.
“We need money to pay for Will’s school. We really loved the private school, but as I’ve said, it’s insanely expensive. We don’t have any other way to pay for it. Can’t get blood from a stone,” I said with a thin laugh. “The only way to make it happen is to pay for it ourselves.” I looked down. “And it’s an arm and a leg.”
My parents exchanged a glance, the same worried look that I saw when I first told them we had gotten Will’s official diagnosis. I recognized it in a personal way, as Luke and I had shared it more than once in an IEP meeting or when we would meet with Will’s speech therapist to get the results of his latest assessment. It was a look of helpless despair, of knowing your child was struggling and having no way to help him. And apparently, it never faded.
“I’m so sorry,” my dad said quietly. “I can’t imagine how hard that is for you.”
My mother cleared her throat and took off her pointy hat. “Where are you going to live?” She rubbed her chin, green paint migrating to her palm.
I laughed quietly. “Always right to the point, Mom. I’m not sure. It depends on what we get for the house. We will have to rent, since we won’t really have a down payment after closing costs. After a few years, we can hopefully buy a house again.” I didn’t add that I had looked at the financials and didn’t see how even that would be possible without winning the lottery, or a sudden windfall of cash from a rich, unknown relative.
“Well, that house has a bunch of problems, anyway. You guys are always having to fix this or repair that. Better off to let it be someone else’s problem,” my mom said. She nodded firmly, as though she had thought of the plan all along and was happy we were finally listening to her. This was always her playbook for “helping” me through things: minimize the problem, no matter how big, and move on. More than half of the time, it worked.
But not this time.
“Mom, I love that house.” I released my hands from behind me and leaned back with all of my weight. My feet slid forward in my flats, until they met the edge of the kitchen island. “It’s my home.” Tears filled my eyes and threatened to spill over.
“Hey, Mom, can I go outside and see the Halloween decorations?” I heard Charlotte call from the other room.
“Of course.” I shook my head and sniffled, tucking my hair behind my ears.
My dad stood up and put a hand on my shoulder. He gave me a sympathetic look, and I managed a smile, before he followed Charlotte outside. I heard the ghoul on the side of the house—the one that had been there since I was in high school—go off in a dying, staccato way.
My mom, hands on the island in front of her, slid over until her hip was resting on mine.
“Mom, I feel like I’m drowning. I feel like I’m doing this all on my own, and that I’m failing in the worst possible way. That I’m failing him, that I’m failing myself, Luke, Charlotte. I feel like things will never get better, and I just keep waiting for the next problem to appear.” I covered my face with my hands.
“I’m sorry, hon,” she said as she lightly tapped her hip against mine. “But you have to realize all the good things you do have, and stop staring at all the bad. What you have may not be what you pictured, but if you don’t stop thinking about everything you don’t have, you’re going to miss what you do.”
I opened my eyes and inhaled a ragged breath that burned my nose. “It’s not that easy.” I looked at her, and she put an arm around my shoulders.
“Sure it is,” she said.
“Yeah, right.” I snorted and looked out the kitchen window, toward the back of the yard, by the fence where I once built a tree fort with Katie that was specifically designed to catch fairies and trolls and where, a few years later, I kissed the boy who lived next door—Johnny—before he ran off and screamed in horror. “Guess the troll traps do work after all,” Katie had said when I told her about the kiss.
Luke ran in front of the window, looking over his shoulder. Will, who had apparently woken up in the car, chased after him. His smile could have lit up the entire backyard, as he ran with his curls blowing in the wind. In his hand, he had a branch with a few stray autumn-hued leaves still attached. My first instinct was to tell him to put it down, that he could get hurt. But I just watched.
Luke stopped and spun around, his arm outstretched, waiting to be captured. Will stopped suddenly, a few feet from his father, paused, and then dropped the branch and ran toward him. He ran straight into Luke’s body, hands at his sides, accepting the embrace. Luke did a mock stumble backward and then crumpled to the ground, Will on top of him.
I heard Will’s laugh float through the kitchen window, to my left. To my right, I could hear Charlotte’s shrieks of delight from the front yard. They met just above my head and swirled together like food coloring on a plate, red and blue making purple. A beautiful, deep purple.
Look and see what you have, not what you don’t.
“Everything will be just fine. You are so lucky. You have everything you need,” my mother whispered into my ear. Her arm was still around my shoulders, and her hip touching mine.
I reflexively wanted to argue with her or at least roll my eyes at her false optimism. Instead, I closed my eyes and waited. I waited for the What If moment to hit me, to imagine we were here in their kitchen discussing a family vacation or the restaurant we ate at the night before. Not crying about selling our house, not worryin
g about risking our financial future to help Will.
It felt as though each time I had a moment of happiness the What If was waiting in the shadows, ready to snatch my ankle as I walked by. But this time, it didn’t come.
All I heard was Will’s giggles, Charlotte’s screams of delight, and Luke’s joy. I was the only one holding on to the pain.
I slowly opened my eyes and looked outside again. Luke and Will stood in the back of the yard. Luke had his finger outstretched, pointing at a woodpecker halfway up the tree. Will’s back was to me, so I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell by his body language that he was listening.
And I knew that this was what really mattered. Not the house, not the school, not anything else. Our family. And everything else could be sacrificed and changed.
In that moment, I finally understood. That there was beauty in protecting and loving a child who needed us more than anything and that maybe he wouldn’t be fine, but he would be Will. He needed me to be the mom he deserved, and maybe that was a mom who would meet him on the floor and line up trains with him, rather than encouraging him to put them on the track.
And I realized: It was us who needed to be taught, not him. This was our lesson to learn, not his.
For the first time in a long time, I felt it wash over me, ever so slightly like a gold-spun netting, spooling around and around until I couldn’t help but notice.
It was peace.
* * *
On the way home, after a dinner of lasagna and garlic bread (to scare away the vampires, of course), Luke drove us home through the darkness. For the first time in a long time, my body felt light, like I had set down a heavy backpack I didn’t know I was wearing.
The last thing my mother said to me when we left, as she hugged me good-bye, was, “Don’t you give up, kiddo. I won’t allow it.”
I looked out the windows at the cornfields that passed our car, and the exit that approached read: LAKE GENEVA. In the distance, somewhere off the highway, was the lake where everything began for Amelia and John. I traced my finger on the window and again tried to imagine Amelia leaving John while she started a new life. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I still couldn’t fully accept that she had done such a thing. It didn’t ring true in my heart; I felt it, deep inside my bones: There was no way she would have left him behind. Just as I would never leave Will.
“Don’t give up.” My mother’s words came to me again, as I searched the far horizon for any sign of the lake.
“I never did send Gerry that photo of Amelia in Ireland,” I said. The words felt foreign, like I wasn’t the one saying them.
“You didn’t? I guess I had assumed that you did. It seemed like the logical next step. I didn’t ask you about it, because of everything with the house,” Luke said carefully.
“I know. I’m sorry. I haven’t made this any easier on you. None of this is your fault,” I said.
His eyes flickered to me, and he took one hand from the steering wheel and covered mine. “Thanks.” He sighed. “So are you going to send it to him? The picture, I mean.”
I folded my fingers around his palm and squeezed. I looked out into the darkness, Lake Geneva far behind us now. “Yes. I’m going to try again. One more time.”
We rode home the rest of the way in silence, holding hands. I rested my head against the window and looked up at the brilliant spray of stars in the sky, waiting for a shooting star.
CHAPTER 33
AMELIA
Amelia looked out over the water, at the stillness of the lake. The stars reflected on the water’s surface, and it was hard to imagine that there had been an accident, or any rain or disruption at all, just a few hours before. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, showing the first streaks of yellow and orange over the heavy tree line.
She had slept on a blanket by the dock, refusing Alfred’s offer to sneak her into the servants’ quarters, in case John somehow found his way to her. Long after Eleanor said she had to return to the party to avoid suspicion and to play the part of the concerned aunt and sister, Amelia sat in the same spot, scanning the water for John.
The only thing she saw was the ripples made by turtles sticking their heads above the surface, and the only sound was the crickets and bullfrogs that guarded the night. She didn’t allow herself to cry; there was no reason. He was somewhere, with someone, and that thought kept her awake through the night, waiting for him. She whispered prayers to every saint she could think of and begged Henry to keep him safe.
As the morning sky illuminated with the sunlight, triumphing over the stars and the night, she heard a sound in the woods behind her. Sticks cracking and leaves rustling. She quickly stood, her heart pounding.
“John?” she said weakly, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her. She clenched her fists as she tried to will his tiny figure to appear from the woods, somehow. Someway.
Yet the only person who appeared was Alfred, dressed in his dark shirt and pants that he wore beneath his white service coat. His cheeks were drawn with exhaustion, but his hands waved in the air.
“They have him,” he sputtered out as he stumbled toward her, his feet catching on the thick roots that crisscrossed the ground. “John. They have him.”
A jolt of electricity ran through Amelia’s body, like she had been struck by lightning. She ran toward Alfred and grabbed onto his arms. “Where is he?” She scanned the woods behind him, searching for any sign of her son.
Alfred panted, and she wondered how he had gotten around to her side of the lake. He inhaled sharply and adjusted his glasses. “At the house, at Monarch Manor.”
She turned sharply toward the house, in the distance. She could see the Monarch Princesses docked on the water and the remnants of the party still scattered on the lawn. Soon the servants would begin to dismantle everything and the house would look as though nothing had happened.
“He somehow found his way back to the dock of the house, and your mother pulled him out. Actually, Miss Emily was the first one to see him, and alerted your mother. From what I understand, from what your sister said, your mother tried to bring him inside with little fanfare. But Mrs. Cartwright saw them, and now she knows that John is well,” he said quietly.
“Should—should I go to him?” She dropped Alfred’s arms and rubbed her face. If she returned, she could easily say that she swam to shore and survived the accident, and they, too, could go on as though nothing had happened.
Until, of course, Margaret continued with her plan to send him away.
Alfred understood her expression. “It’s up to you.” He folded his arms across his thick waist.
“I can’t imagine what he’s thinking. Has anyone told him that I’m alive, that I’m waiting for him?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know,” he said.
Amelia pressed a hand to her heart, trying to choke back the sobs as she thought of John grieving, alone, in the house. She hoped that Emily and Eleanor and her mother were with him, and held him as he slept. She couldn’t imagine how scared and shocked he must have been. It was the first night that he had ever spent away from her.
“I’m sorry, but I must return to the house. Things are going on as planned, with the breakfast this morning,” he said.
“Even though I’m missing?” Amelia turned in surprise.
Alfred nodded slightly. “Your mother knows you are here, and she is insisting everything continue, to keep the guests’ minds off what happened. The guests are being told that everything is being taken care of, and there are crews searching the lake to rescue you and John. Your father and Jane have been told not to worry, by your mother. Thankfully, they seem to be listening. She thinks it is best to close out the weekend, and have people leave quickly after.” He leaned in closely. “For everyone’s sake,” he said.
She nodded, thinking of all those people, gossiping and expressing mock horror at it all. Except for one.
“And Matthew?” she said, her voice barely above a wh
isper. “What does he believe?”
Alfred’s expression shot a pain through her heart. “He’s devastated, of course. I don’t believe he slept at all last night. He has been trying to arrange for more yachts to keep searching the water. He tried to climb aboard one on his own, to find you. I think he was ready to start swimming before your mother stopped him.”
Oh, Matthew. I’m so sorry. I never once thought of how this might hurt you. All I ever wanted for you was to be happy. The last thing I wanted was to make you worry, to involve you in this. She put her head in her hands and tried to steady her breath.
“I need to go back to the house now. I’m already late,” Alfred said. He turned to leave, and she followed.
“I’m coming with you,” she said. “I need to see John. I’ll stay hidden, and find Eleanor and my mother and figure out a plan,” she added when she saw his expression of protest.
She glanced back at the house from the distance one more time, preparing to walk back into her past.
* * *
“Nora, I have told you at least a dozen times that you must serve the guests from the left side. You cannot keep making that mistake, or I will be the one to pay for it.” Alfred’s voice wafted through the thick oak door of the butler’s pantry. Amelia crouched behind the icebox, her body aching from the sleepless night. More than once, she had to press herself against the plaster wall behind her when a maid opened the door, before Alfred could yelp in protest that no one was to enter the pantry except him.
He had brought her into the house, through the service kitchen, when he dispatched the servers to begin pouring coffee and juice for the brunch guests. He had thrown a blanket over her head, with the plan to explain that she was a guest still drunk from the wedding, embarrassed to be seen by anyone.
She waited there, the stifling heat of the pantry building as the morning went on. She didn’t dare open the small window above the shelves and let the lake air circulate and cool her skin. Her bridesmaid’s dress was torn and dirty, and her hair clung to her head like a bonnet. Finally, the commotion in the prep kitchen ended and the door creaked open.
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