A pickup truck, a midnight getaway, an assumed name. Her mother’s story had all the makings of a Lifetime movie—except that until now, a pivotal scene, the big reveal, hadn’t made it into the final cut.
“I’m sorry.” Her mother’s apology broke the long silence. “I should have told you. But as time went by, that moment in our lives seemed like a bad dream. I couldn’t think of an easy way to explain the name change.”
“So instead, you allowed me to live a lie all these years.”
“It’s not a lie. This is our truth, Faith.”
“Maybe it’s your truth, but I’ve barely had ten minutes to live with it.” Faith got to her feet.
“Please don’t be mad.” Connie picked up the forgotten folder and offered it to her. “Here. It’s yours now. No more secrets.”
Faith got up and backed away, holding up her hands. “I’m not mad, exactly. Truthfully, I don’t know how I feel. And I don’t want that certificate. She . . . Audrey . . . doesn’t exist.”
“I understand you’re upset, but—”
“Do you understand, Mom? I’m not so sure.” Faith trembled as years of pent-up resentment resurfaced over her mother’s blindsiding: her contests, her men, her fake vacations, her assuming ownership of this broken-down inn.
And now this revelation. It was too much.
“I understand you did this to protect me—us—and I appreciate that. I really do. But I need some time to process it.” Faith studied her hands. “Maybe it would be better if I went back to New York.”
“But you can’t do that. The boarders are counting on you. You promised.”
“You want to talk about promises? Your moon and stars and all that? Seriously, Mom. At the moment, your word is worth about as much as that stupid locket.”
After Connie left her alone as she had requested, Faith lay on her back, shaken by the confrontation, the shock of hearing the first chapter of her life rewritten. From the time she had been small, moon and stars had been her mother’s mantra, a postscript softening every wrenching announcement: that they were moving house once again because Connie couldn’t make rent, or that she would have to eat cereal for dinner because that’s all her mother’s paycheck could cover. You’ll make lots of friends in the new town. Moon and stars. Or We’ll have steak for your next birthday. Moon and stars.
The expression became her mother’s way of saying, “Cross my heart”—her pledge to do everything in her power to make good on those promises.
As a kid, Faith had been both reassured and enchanted by this declaration, due to its association with the antique gold locket nestled against the emerald satin lining of her mother’s jewelry box. During the rare times Connie allowed her to take out the necklace, Faith would run her fingers over the diamond-encrusted crescent moon and orbit of stars on its front.
Connie would ease open the medallion with a fingernail, and Faith would make up stories about the young girl with the outsized hair bow on the left (Connie at age four), and the squinting boy on the right—Faith’s uncle, seven years old and sporting a crew cut. Faith imagined her grandmother pressing the pictures into the miniature frames to hold son and daughter close to her heart.
This fantasy persisted into Faith’s adolescence, until the day she confided her dream of wearing the locket on her wedding day, and her mother revealed the truth about the gold-plated necklace: that it had been an unwanted gift to her mother, Edna, Faith’s grandmother. Its glittering stones weren’t diamonds but cut glass, and though the images inside were of Connie and Connie’s brother Lionel, they had been placed there by Connie’s aunt, who fashioned the sentimental piece in the hopes of luring her sister, Edna, back to her husband and children.
Upon hearing that her grandmother had rejected the locket and sent it back from Las Vegas without a note, the piece lost all promise for Faith, as did the moon and stars mantra—although until now, she had tolerated the latter.
Connie hadn’t hesitated to tell Faith the truth about her grandmother that day. Why couldn’t she have found a moment to divulge this other family secret?
But she hadn’t. And now, all these years later, moon and stars left only a bitter taste in Faith’s mouth, the legend of the locket and all it stood for as phony as the names on her birth certificate.
41
She didn’t even look like an Audrey, Faith decided later, catching sight of herself in the china cabinet glass as she poured water into the dining room steam trays. An Audrey would have blond ringlets and a red bike and a father who showed up for birthdays and graduations and restaurant openings.
As Faith turned this way and that, a reproachful voice within chastised her for her heated words to her mother, reminding her that Connie’s actions stemmed from a desperate but well-intentioned place. Still, Faith couldn’t help feeling off-kilter after the revelation. Had her mother acted impetuously in whisking Faith away that night? Her parents’ fighting sounded awful, but perhaps if they had seen a marriage counselor she wouldn’t be standing here today with a different name.
Who are you? Faith demanded of her reflection. Was there a whole other life she might have lived as Audrey Hennessey?
Don’t be ridiculous. A name’s just a label, words on paper that don’t define someone, she repeated to herself as she went about on autopilot, lighting chargers and toting pans of food between kitchen and dining room.
Once the evening meal was ready to serve, she slipped out onto the front porch to escape. Faith had set two goals for the evening: survive the dinner service and avoid her mother until she felt calm enough to discuss things.
Settled in a rocker, Faith mined her subconscious for memories of the long-ago desert night Connie had just described. Her mother must have cushioned her well from her father’s misbehavior, because she recalled none of it. For better or worse, she remembered little of the man at all.
And to be swaddled and whisked away in the dead of night! Surely that adventure would have made an impression, bumping along in a pickup under the stars. She leaned her head on her hand, conjuring nothing. At least it explained the bunk beds, she thought as a tap-tapping in the dusk caused her to look up.
“Anybody home?” The tapping belonged to Grace, half of the Abbott sisters returning from their long day of volunteering. “Merrill let me out in front. Less walking.”
Faith jumped up and helped her to the porch, where Grace waved her cane at the rockers. “May I join you?”
Reluctantly, Faith agreed, forcing herself to make conversation. “How was your afternoon at the church?”
“There’s so much to do. It’s overwhelming for these poor people. They are literally shell-shocked. One minute they’re going about their business, and the next day their lives are turned upside down. Can you imagine such a thing?”
“Maybe,” Faith said softly. “You’re very kind to come here and help.”
“It’s not kindness. It’s pure selfishness. Like I told Merrill when I asked her to bring me here, I’m playing the cancer card.”
“This is your idea of a winning hand? A visit to Armageddon?” Faith’s broad wave encompassed The Mermaid’s Purse and beyond. “Why not take a dream vacation to Hawaii? Or Bali?”
Grace chuckled. “I’ve traveled plenty. I don’t begrudge anyone who celebrates the end of treatment with something like that. It’s unfair to judge; you never know what motivates people.”
“That’s for damn sure.”
“Though I do feel a bit insignificant working in the church kitchen,” Grace mused. “I’d love to be up there at the beach, shoveling sand and tearing down Sheetrock; doing something tangible to start them on their rebuilding process. But clearly I’m not ready for that.” Grace tapped her cane for emphasis.
“But they have to eat,” Faith said. “You’re fulfilling a basic human need while they cope with everything else. You’re taking that one extra thing off their plate, so to speak.”
“You’re right, Faith. I hadn’t thought of it quite like that. But of
course you would. You’re a chef.” Aiming her cane at the mailbox, Grace tapped the ebony casing that swung beneath it. “Do you know what this is?”
“A mermaid’s purse. This place is named for them, apparently.”
“An apt choice, I’d say.” Grace got to her feet and lifted the black casing from the mailbox rack, balancing it on her lap as she sat back down. “Mermaids’ purses are egg sacs. They safeguard the fertilized eggs of certain types of fish. Skate, ray, dogfish. Even some sharks.”
“Sharks?” Faith glanced up in surprise. “How in the world do you know that?”
The midwife grinned. “You’re looking at an amateur conchologist. Merrill and I grew up on the coast of Maine. Picked up a few tidbits about sea life.” Grace knocked on the mermaid’s purse. “Anyway, these hard black shells remain after the eggs safely hatch. So you can see how vital the mermaid’s purse’s contribution is, nurturing those bodies within.”
“Yes, of course.” Faith’s thoughts wandered back to the conflict with Connie.
“Not unlike what you and your mother are doing here at The Mermaid’s Purse. Providing temporary shelter to the displaced in their time of need. I’m sure you didn’t expect to find yourself in this position, but these people will remember your kindness long after they leave.” Grace carefully rehung the egg case on the mailbox, then rapped it twice. “Long after The Mermaid’s Purse is empty.”
42
Faith holed up in the kitchen for most of dinner, studiously ignoring her mother as Connie came and went with bins of dirty dishes. After the meal was over, Merrill came looking for her.
“Sorry to bother you, but we made a mountain of garlic bread at the church today, and I reek of it,” said Merrill. “Any ideas for getting this god-awful smell off my hands?”
“In my business, garlic’s practically my perfume. Rubbing a little salt and lemon juice on them will do it.” Faith found a lemon in the crisper and gave it to Merrill.
“Thank you. And great dinner, by the way. Your mother’s lucky to have you here.”
I’m not sure for how much longer. “And you’re blessed to have such a fantastic sister. I just had a chat with her outside.”
“You mean the Energizer bunny?” Merrill laughed. “I don’t know how Grace does it. I felt exhausted by four o’clock.”
“Seriously, the hours you two put in today would kill a—” Horrified at her own thoughtlessness, Faith clapped her hand to her mouth. “God, I’m so sorry. I just meant—”
Merrill waved away the apology. “No harm done. I think the work is the best medicine for Grace right now. Now as for me . . .” She glanced around the kitchen. “You wouldn’t by chance have any wine around, would you? Not many places open with the power still out, or I would have stopped.”
Although unsure the bed-and-breakfast could legally serve alcohol to guests, after her own roller coaster of a day, Faith decided the idea of unwinding with a drink was worth flouting a law or two. It provided the excuse she needed to avoid both her mother and her own thoughts.
“You’re in luck,” Faith replied. “I happen to know The Mermaid’s Purse has quite the stash.”
Maeve certainly would not deny her temporary staff a glass of wine or two, Faith thought, unearthing a dusty cabernet from beneath the cellar stairs. Glasses in hand, Faith and Merrill settled in front of the fireplace in the salon. They had the room to themselves: Fred and Mona retired right after dinner, there had been no sign of David since he left to go surfing earlier, Grace had long since said her good-nights, and Connie soon followed with a thin smile and a wave.
Only Roxanne, solo again while Gage spent another evening at his father’s, briefly considered Faith’s invitation to join them.
“Maybe another time,” she said finally. “I’m not really good company right now. Besides, I’ve got some paperwork from the insurance company. I can’t bear to look at it, but I’ve got to make myself do it.”
“Salut.” Merrill touched her glass to Faith’s as Roxanne headed up to her room.
“I’d say we’ve earned this.” Sipping her wine, Faith thought back over the last ten hours, lingering first on Mona’s disturbing attack on Fred, then on her mother’s unsettling revelation.
“Grace will be upset to learn she missed out.”
“What? Oh, well. Maybe another night.” Setting her glass down, Faith focused on her guest. “Speaking of Grace, it must be so exciting to be a midwife.”
“A lot of lost sleep, that’s for sure.” Merrill sipped her wine. “But she loves it. I’m sure she could tell you the exact number of babies she’s brought into the world.”
Reminded of Ellie, Faith proceeded to tell the story of how, when her roommate first revealed her pregnancy, she talked about wanting to experience a natural, drug-free delivery. She persuaded Faith to watch an episode of Call the Midwife with her, but switched it off in horror halfway through.
“Midwifery is quite a bit more modern these days,” Merrill laughed.
How was Ellie making out without her? Faith wondered. “Did you ever want kids yourself?”
“I did. Problem was, my husband didn’t. Thus ended that fairy-tale marriage,” she said wryly. “After that, it never seemed to be the right time. Or the right guy.” Merrill’s work as a technology consultant offered a flexible schedule, which accommodated this trip to Wave’s End, Faith learned as they chatted.
“Yes, the guy thing. Why is that part always so hard?” Faith sipped her wine. “Does Grace keep in touch with the moms after?”
“Are you kidding? They’re devoted to her. It’s like a cult. Some even name their babies for her.”
Baby names. Faith couldn’t escape the subject if she tried. Why had her mother christened her Audrey, and how had Connie come up with their new names? “What a lovely tribute.” Faith groped for another subject. “So what about the rest of your family?”
“Well, we have a brother who’s an attorney in San Francisco, and another—”
“Hold on a second.” Faith cocked her head, distracted by a thud on the front porch. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
At a subsequent thump, Merrill nodded. “What do you think it is?”
“It’s probably just David, another resident who arrived this afternoon. Maybe he’s bringing his stuff back. I’ll go see.”
“What if it’s not?” Merrill asked worriedly.
“Then I’ll scare them off. I live in New York, remember? I’ve slapped away a pickpocket or two in my time,” Faith joked.
But at another loud bump from outside, the sound of a rocker hitting the house, Faith felt a twinge of anxiety. She started toward the entrance, only to halt as the door swung open, bringing her face-to-face with the hooded figure lurching into the Mermaid’s Purse’s front hall.
43
“Jesus, Gage!” Faith sagged against the hallway wall. “What the hell are you doing? You scared me.”
“Sorry. Trying to be quiet,” Gage mumbled. The teen swayed slightly and reeked of smoke, as though he’d spent the evening around a campfire—a campfire with cocktail service, Faith judged from his heavy breath and slurred speech.
“Well, you didn’t exactly nail that. It’s okay. I know him,” Faith said as a wide-eyed Merrill joined them. “This is Gage, Roxanne’s son. You met her earlier? Gage, Merrill’s staying here with her sister. They’ve come to Wave’s End to volunteer.”
“Cool.” Blinking, Gage did his best to focus on them. When he swayed again, each woman grabbed an arm and guided the boy to sit on the couch, where he promptly flopped forward like a rag doll.
“You okay?” Faith squatted in front of the boy.
“Yes. No. Leave me alone.” Gage swatted the air.
“I’ll get your mom, then.”
Gage’s head jerked up. “No. Def do not do that. She’ll be super pissed.” In his inebriated state, super came out like shuper.
Faith agreed with the boy’s prediction, imagining the hard-talking Roxa
nne’s reaction to her son’s current condition.
Gage rubbed his face just then, his hand coming away bloody.
“What happened?” Looking closer, Faith noticed Gage’s bruised cheek. “Did you get into a fight?”
“No. It’s cool. We were just messing around.”
“That’s a pretty nasty cut for just messing around.”
“I could wake Grace to come and take a look at it,” Merrill offered.
“I think we’ll let Roxanne deal with this,” Faith responded. “But maybe you could get some ice for him while I wake her up?”
As Faith headed upstairs, a siren pierced the night. Such sounds were practically white noise in her Brooklyn neighborhood, but in the foreign landscape of Wave’s End, she couldn’t always decipher the sounds of the seaside in crisis. Like the mournful bleat of a foghorn this morning, which Fred helpfully explained had nothing to do with encroaching mist but instead alerted residents to an imminent high tide and threat of local flooding.
This siren sounded dire. As she reached the second floor on her way to Roxanne’s room, a fresh wave of alarms whined, followed by another, each louder and more insistent, layers of distress responses from surrounding towns. Faith let herself onto the balcony that ran the length of the second story and faced the Atlantic Ocean.
Outside in the fall night, the sirens grew deafening and ominous. Overhead, spotlights crisscrossed the eastern sky with metronome precision, dissecting billowing clouds of smoke like lasers. The acrid aroma of smoke saturating the crisp air stung Faith’s nostrils—the same caustic odor clinging to the inebriated thirteen-year-old snoring noisily on Maeve’s couch downstairs.
Please don’t let Gage have anything to do with this, she willed as the emergency sirens reached fever pitch east of The Mermaid’s Purse. With any luck, Gage had spent the evening at a friend’s home, absorbing the smoky essence of a backyard fire pit.
At Wave's End: A Novel Page 12