The Season of Silver Linings

by Christine Nolfi

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Mrs. Earhardt.” A couple walked past, and he lowered his voice. “She canceled the remainder of her reservation. I’ve checked with the staff, and no one is sure why. Did something happen to upset her?”

  “Yes, actually.” Jada’s stomach lurched. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  She started toward the south wing’s stairwell with no idea how to remedy the situation. Apologize to Millicent? For a fleeting second, she considered running afoul of Philip’s decision and telling the historian everything. Scatter the truth at Millicent’s feet like priceless jewels she craved. Jada would admit she’d lied. Find the courage to explain about Bodi’s death. Then she’d salvage Millicent’s broken heart by explaining about the child Bodi had left behind.

  “Jada, hold on.”

  As she pivoted to regard him, Mr. Uchida lifted his palms with regret. “You’re too late,” he said. “She’s already checked out.”

  Chapter 17

  “Who’s ready for a refill?” Silvia raised a pitcher of her famous mojitos.

  Along with fourteen other members of the Sweet Lake Sirens, she’d converged upon Frances’s beautifully appointed colonial to wrap gifts for the bridal shower. From the kitchen, spurts of giddy conversation drifted in as several of the women riffled through wrapping paper and ribbons at the kitchen table. In the large, rectangular living room, a small group sat at a card table at the opposite end of the wet bar, surrounded by yet more ribbons and bows and decorative rolls of paper.

  Under normal circumstances, Jada would question the timing for the shower—one short week before the wedding. In this case, she concluded the Sirens had used brilliant timing in convincing Linnie to allow them to host the shower on the Saturday before her wedding day. With only seven days between the events, the bride-to-be was kept busy with last-minute preparations. There was no time left over to nurse her usual second thoughts.

  Although they weren’t Sirens, Jada and Cat were both pleased to attend the impromptu party.

  Cat slid her glass toward her mother. “Mami, I’ll take a refill.” With misgiving, she appraised Jada seated on the barstool beside hers. “Drink up. You look like you need it.”

  Feeling out of sorts, Jada swiveled the barstool from side to side. “I’m not in the mood to drink.”

  Over the last days, most of the time she’d felt like crying. For Linnie’s sake, she’d donned a mask of cheer as they worked out the last-minute details for the ceremony and Linnie waxed rhapsodic about her imminent marriage. Despite all her fears and worries, she was looking forward to her new life with Daniel.

  Cat asked, “Are you still dodging Philip?”

  “It’s more accurate to say I’m keeping my distance.”

  “Meaning you’re no longer enjoying cozy evenings with him and Fancy?”

  “No cozy dinners. I have been seeing Fancy, mostly when she’s done with school for the day.”

  “Is it a good strategy to avoid Philip?” A hint of censure came across in the remark.

  Several of the Sirens approached the bar, and Jada leaned close for privacy. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. “I understand his position, but I’m angry—at him, but mostly at myself. During her stay at the Wayfair, Millicent showed me nothing but kindness. I rewarded her by lying.”

  Following her cue, Cat dropped her voice to a whisper. “Stop beating yourself up. It wasn’t your call. What were you supposed to do?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know,” she replied acidly. “Tell the truth? Millicent checked out of the Wayfair without even saying goodbye. Imagine how she felt. All her hopes dashed, after years of searching for Bodi. Her heart broken because I didn’t have the guts to play the honesty card.”

  “You didn’t have a choice.”

  “We always have a choice about how we treat people.”

  “Jada, be fair. Philip doesn’t want anyone from Bodi’s family involved with Fancy. Plain and simple. Do you blame him?”

  Sorrow tightened Jada’s throat. “I don’t blame him,” she replied, “but he’s wrong.”

  “Don’t judge him too harshly. He’s doing what he believes is best to protect Fancy.” Cat pushed the mojito toward her. She flicked the tight curls spilling across Jada’s forehead. “You’ve been blue for days, and we should be celebrating. We’ll enjoy watching Linnie open all her shower gifts on Saturday, and we’re totally obligated to send out nothing but happy vibes during her wedding week.”

  “Happy vibes. Got it.” Jada gave the thumbs-up, even though she felt absolutely dismal.

  Cat gave her a quick hug, then said, “I feel bad too, you know. Millicent seemed like a nice lady. She would’ve made a wonderful addition to Fancy’s life. But you have to respect Philip’s wishes.”

  Murmuring in agreement, Jada took a sip of the lime-infused rum. In the five days since Millicent’s departure, she’d tried to square Philip’s decision with her own beliefs. An impossibility. It wasn’t fair to dismiss one side of the family under any circumstances. An active, extended family gave a child a rich soil in which to flourish. Remove some of those relatives and you sheared off the roots a child needed to thrive. Yet despite her conviction, Jada still wondered: If put in Philip’s shoes, would she have reacted differently to Millicent’s arrival? Claiming the moral high ground was easy when she didn’t have a child to protect.

  Even now, she doubted there was a simple way to heal the breach with Philip. If they couldn’t agree on a fundamental issue like family, what chance did their relationship have long-term?

  After Silvia refilled glasses, she produced a second pitcher of mojitos from the small refrigerator beneath the bar. Setting it down, she cast an attentive glance toward her daughter.

  “What are you girls whispering about?” she asked Cat.

  “Jada’s problems with Philip,” Cat swiftly supplied. Jada whacked her on the arm, although she wasn’t sure why she bothered. Cat shared just about everything with her mother.

  When curiosity brought Silvia nearer, Jada held up her hand. “Silvia, please. I don’t want to go into it.”

  “And why not? My daughter isn’t your only friend here.”

  “I still don’t want to talk about it.”

  “There’s no gain in brooding.”

  “There’s no loss either. My life, my problems.” Jada shot a desperate glance at the card table, still crowded with Sirens. “Are they nearly finished? I have to wrap my shower gifts.” Bent on escape, she got off the barstool.

  Surprise froze her like a burglar caught in the act.

  Three of the Sirens were standing behind her. Frances, Penelope, and Ruth formed a wall of matronly concern.

  At least Frances and Penelope looked soft-eyed and sympathetic—they’d evidently listened in on a private conversation. Ruth, who’d moved up from mojitos to straight whiskey, simmered with ill-concealed impatience. She tossed back her shot of Jack Daniel’s.

  “I’ve had enough.” Her white braids danced as she whirled around. She planted her fiery regard on Frances, then Silvia. “You’re the co-leaders of our merry bunch. Call a vote immediately.”

  Frances pressed a palm to her brow. “This has gone too far.”

  “Get a grip, Frances. I’m within my rights to call for a vote.”

  “Ruth, please. The night is young. Let’s discuss this after Jada and Cat depart.”

  Cat raised her glass. “We’re not going anywhere.” There wasn’t much she enjoyed more than the random altercation between the Sirens. With glee, she elbowed Jada. “We’re staying, right?”

  In a jumpy arc, Jada bounced her attention across the room. “Should we leave?” A strange tension bloomed in the air. Heading for the hills didn’t strike her as a bad idea.

  Ruth stomped her foot. “Jada, don’t move a muscle. Can’t you see I’m rescuing you from a fine pickle? You can thank me later.”

  “Thank you—for what?”

  Jada’s query sank beneath the toxic
atmosphere.

  Squaring her shoulders, Ruth turned to the room at large. “Is everyone listening?” She looked pointedly at Tilda, slurping her third mojito at the card table. “If you’re already drunk, I expect you to listen anyway.” She paused dramatically, her wrinkles collapsing in an expression of determination. “I hereby invoke the Virtues of Kindness clause.”

  Gasps rose across the room. Tilda drained her glass, and Penelope whimpered. Silvia pounded the wet bar’s counter. She looked ready to take the granite tiles outside and give them a good thrashing.

  Cat’s eyes widened.

  Leaning toward her, Jada asked, “What’s Ruth talking about?”

  At the question, Silvia thumped the counter again.

  Then she shook off her ire long enough to pat her daughter’s hand. “Close your mouth, or you’ll catch flies.”

  Cat’s jaw snapped shut. “Yes, Mami.”

  Silvia placed her steely regard on Jada. “Cat doesn’t know much about the clause or the contract,” she said. “And don’t ask for the details—I can’t reveal our secrets. The Siren code is kept under wraps, known only to our comrades. Every woman signs the contract when she’s inducted into the group. She’s then sworn to secrecy.” With emphasis, she added, “I will say The Virtues of Kindness proviso is an important section of our contract. It is only invoked in dire circumstances.”

  “And I’m invoking it,” Ruth growled. Swinging around the side of the bar, she took down the bottle of whiskey. “I’m all for keeping our meddling to a minimum. It’s best to let events take their natural course, but this here is a dire situation. I’m not spending another decade watching Philip pine away for Little Miss Ethical because the rest of you fools don’t know when it’s time to take action.”

  Nervously, Jada plucked at her head. “Wait. You’re talking about me?”

  Ruth bared her false teeth. “What? You’re going to stand there and deny you’re Miss Goody Two-shoes?”

  “Hey!”

  “Girl, if you ever get out of your own way and get hitched, don’t make Philip crazy with your ethics. Who wants to crawl into bed with King Solomon every night? And stop playing with your ’fro. Keep fussing with your curls, and I’ll be calling you Jimi Hendrix until hell freezes. I swear I won’t let up either.”

  Jada dropped her twitchy fingers to her side.

  Satisfied, Ruth turned to the others. She raised an angry fist. “Let’s vote!”

  The hearty call to action brought women streaming in from the kitchen. On the couch, Norah and several others shifted nervously. Jada was still trying to make sense of the proceedings when she realized all eyes were on Penelope, quivering silently beside Frances and wringing her hands. And Penelope?

  Her attention was stuck like glue on Jada.

  Their gazes volleyed back and forth, one confused and one contrite, as the room quieted. The only sound was the clink of the whiskey bottle as it met the rim of Ruth’s shot glass.

  As the silence lengthened, the skin on Penelope’s cheeks grew splotchy. She made a valiant attempt to form words. The helpless contorting of her lips was heartbreaking to behold. She appeared beyond speech, too upset for logical thought. Her bosom quivering, she took unsteady steps toward Jada.

  “I should’ve told you right away.” She pushed her eyeglasses up her perspiring nose. “I know that now. I didn’t know at the time. I thought it was better to let events unfold on their own.”

  Ruth threw back her shot. Then she belched. “Hells bells, Penelope. Stop beating around the bush. Tell her. If you don’t, then we are voting.”

  A sensation of vertigo caught Jada unawares. Grappling with the sensation, she tried to steady herself. Whatever injury Penelope believed she’d caused, it was major. A bizarre conclusion, all things considered. She went to extreme lengths never to cause harm.

  “It’s okay, Penelope,” Jada murmured in the soothing tone she used whenever Fancy was hurt or frightened. A mother’s tone, replete with love and forgiveness. She drew Penelope into a reassuring hug. They clung together for a moment, rocking. When the Siren appeared calmer, Jada asked, “What do you need to tell me?”

  From where she’d pressed her face to Jada’s shoulder, the Siren muffled, “Millicent’s necklace, the one with the image of rosemary etched into the pendant? The minute she showed it to me, I knew.”

  “She mentioned you liked the necklace during one of our baking lessons.”

  Withdrawing from the embrace, Penelope found an inner reserve of strength. “Jada, you don’t understand,” she said slowly. “When Millicent showed me the necklace, I knew. I made the connection.”

  “What connection?”

  “Remember when Bodi first came to Sweet Lake, and moved into my house? She had a necklace just like Millicent’s.”

  Jada stared at her, wide-eyed. “You’re sure?” She searched her memory in vain. She couldn’t recall Bodi having jewelry remotely like Millicent’s valuable gold necklace.

  Clearing up the mystery, Penelope said, “Not long after Bodi moved into my spare bedroom, she threw the necklace away. I was changing the sheets in the room and found it in the garbage. Pure gold, with such a lovely pendant. I couldn’t imagine why she threw away something so beautiful.”

  “Did she explain?”

  “She wouldn’t talk about it.” Penelope worked her hands with nervous movements. “After she married Philip, I tried to give it back. She told me to throw the necklace away because she’d decided she hated rosemary.”

  Adrift, Jada said, “Millicent loves rosemary.”

  “I know. She told me the day we had tea on the veranda.”

  Hesitating, Penelope scanned the women behind her. From the Sirens crowding near, someone handed over her purple leather purse. Murmuring thanks, Penelope clicked open the bag. She withdrew a long golden chain. The thick pendant swung gently as she deposited the necklace in Jada’s outstretched hand.

  “Look on the back of the pendant,” she instructed.

  Hesitating, Jada thumbed the cool metal. Turning the pendant over, she read the inscription.

  To Bodi. With love, M

  Her breath caught in her throat. The inscription was personal, heartfelt—more proof Millicent had been central to Bodi’s life. She’d cared enough to give the teenager a necklace worth thousands.

  Penelope continued, “That first weekend, when the Sirens invited Millicent to join us for tea? Once I saw the necklace, I remembered everything I’d forgotten. Bodi, locking herself in my guest bedroom and talking on the phone. Later, all the calls she wouldn’t pick up. And the name of the woman calling her—Millicent. I wish I’d remembered the name sooner.” She shook her head, clearly annoyed by her faulty memory. “That’s when I remembered Millicent was friends with Bodi.”

  “A friend or a relative?” Jada asked her. “Please try to remember. It’s important.”

  “Aren’t friends also relatives?” Penelope replied in her typically enigmatic way. She regarded the other women, listening avidly to the exchange. “Everyone here is part of my family.”

  Jada sank back onto her barstool. “Why didn’t you explain right away? You could’ve saved me weeks of digging around in the dark. Do you have any idea how much time I’ve spent trying to sort out Millicent’s relationship to Bodi?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t intervene. You needed to discover the truth for yourself.”

  The comment brought to mind a benevolent witch and ruby slippers. “I wish you’d clued me in right from the start,” Jada said. “If I’d handled things differently with Philip, gone to him with solid proof . . . I don’t know. Perhaps he wouldn’t have reacted negatively. All I gave him were theories and supposition.”

  Distress shivered across Penelope’s double chins. Beside her, Frances bent her silvered head to whisper in her ear. The words seemed a tonic. Penelope released a sigh of relief.

  When she withdrew to the couch, Frances took up the gauntlet. “Now I have a question for you.” She rested a gentle hand on J
ada’s shoulder. “Why have you never spoken of Bodi’s death? You’ve kept the experience bottled up for too long. Those last minutes, when you followed her out in the snowstorm—”

  Nausea and sudden anger pulled Jada back to her feet. “Frances, I’m not rehashing the worst mistake of my life.”

  “Mistake? How can you draw such a wrongheaded conclusion?”

  The effort to disagree took more energy than Jada possessed. Naturally, Frances would exonerate her of any wrongdoing. They all did. Self-reproach put bile in Jada’s throat.

  They were wrong.

  Frances lowered her hand, her expression soft. “Child, you must share Bodi’s last minutes with us. Don’t you understand? You guard the memory jealously. The past won’t stop tormenting you until you release the pain into our safekeeping.”

  A shard of grief pierced Jada. Quick, and without mercy. “You’re asking too much of me. I can’t share those last minutes. Frances, I can’t.” The memory threatened to overtake her—the wind howling, and her bellowing, frantic voice reduced to tatters. In a habit long perfected, she willed the memory away.

  Cat, the daughter of a Siren, seemed to understand what Jada failed to grasp. Taking Jada’s hands, she gently squeezed her fingers. Glancing at Penelope seated on the couch, she said, “You wanted Jada to become friends with Millicent, so they could heal together?”

  Penelope nodded. “They both loved Bodi in their own way. I thought once Jada discovered why Millicent was in Sweet Lake, she’d tell her everything. She’d talk about Bodi’s death . . . and give Millicent comfort, once she told her about Fancy.”

  Jada withdrew her icy fingers from Cat’s grasp. “I never got the chance,” she admitted. “Philip nixed the idea of telling Millicent anything.”

  Penelope sighed. “You told him too soon. Before events unfolded properly.”

  Frances’s eyes grew sharp. “Is she Bodi’s grandmother? There’s been some debate regarding their relationship.”

  “I’m not sure, Frances. I never gave Millicent the opportunity to explain.”

  Penelope said, “It doesn’t matter. Millicent cared about Bodi. Nothing else is important.”