Beautiful Fall

by Jordyn White

  Okay. I’m not imagining that. What’s going on?

  “Thank you,” she says, giving me a reassuring smile.

  Ignoring Marcia, I focus on Sarah, whom I’ve enjoyed spending time with. “I actually have good memories of that. My mom used to take my brothers and me shopping for the Christmas Angels every year.”

  Marcia knocks the handle of her spoon on the side of the pot a little harder than seems necessary, drawing my attention along with several people in the kitchen. She’s turned away toward the potatoes she’s mashing on the opposite counter though, so I don’t see the expression on her face. I don’t miss her daughter’s sharp look toward her mother, though.

  I turn to Brett just in time to see the frown he’s tossing in his mother’s direction, before he glances at me, wipes it away, and smiles. What the hell’s going on?

  “Unfortunately, I have to go,” Sarah says loudly, and I get the feeling she’s trying to change the subject somehow. I don’t know what was particularly disturbing to everyone about that subject, but I’m grateful for the diversion. I’m caught a little off guard, and feel uneasy enough that I’m having to work pretty hard to hide it.

  I return my attention to the carrots as Sarah slides off her stool and goes into the kitchen to give hugs all around. She works her way back to us, giving Brett a hug, then saying to me, “Would you walk me out?”

  I glance at Brett, who looks uncomfortable, and I follow her into the living room, confused.

  “I just wanted to tell you,” she says as she grabs her purse off the couch, “that I thought so highly of your parents.” She straightens and looks at me. “They were good people.”

  “Thank you.” I’m getting a weird vibe from her. She’s offering the same genuine smile she’s had all along, but now she’s searching my face openly. There’s something else going on here, and I don’t know what it is.

  “Did you know,” she begins kindly, “that every year your mother would call me a couple days before Christmas to see how many angels we still had left?”

  I shake my head, wondering where she’s going with this.

  She smiles, takes my hand between hers, and squeezes. “I didn’t think so. Every year, she would find out what we still needed, and donate the funds to cover it.”

  The lump that appears in my throat is instant. I blink back the few bittersweet tears that have come to my eyes, but I smile.

  “Her only request was that the donation be kept anonymous.”

  I nod my head, still smiling, and manage to say, “Yeah. That sounds like something she would do.” My mother once explained how important it is to occasionally give without receiving recognition in return. Though she was well-known as a community philanthropist, I’ve long suspected we’ll never truly know the extent of her contributions.

  Sarah nods. “I thought you might like to know.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  “I imagine you probably miss them...” Her kindness and compassion are so genuine and unexpected that tears now start to blur my vision. “...but I hope you’re proud of them, too.”

  I nod, blinking and trying to subdue my unexpected emotion.

  “They made such a great impact on this community.” She comes in a little closer, holding my eyes. “I have no doubt their children will do the same.”

  I let out a little grateful laugh, wiping an escaped tear. “Okay, stop making me cry.”

  She laughs too and gives me a warm hug.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, squeezing more firmly before letting go.

  “It was great meeting you,” she says, waving and heading for the door.

  “You too. Thank you again.”

  She gives me one last smile and leaves me standing there, my heart pounding slightly. I linger a moment, getting myself together. How kind of her, to give me the gift of those words. It was a gesture I deeply appreciate, not just because I am always grateful for people who are willing to speak to me about my parents, but because it came from a member of Brett’s family. Not his mother, true, but still. It’s his family, and that makes it mean more. Her timing couldn’t have been better, either. I feel reassured, and more ready to tackle the rest of the day.

  Once I’ve composed myself, I turn to head back to the kitchen, but before I’m halfway there, a terrible thought seizes me and I stop in my tracks.

  Chapter 33

  Lizzy

  All I can think is one thing. We didn’t know. My mother did this secret thing and we didn’t know. Oh God.

  I turn back and go deeper into the empty living room, pulling out my phone. By the time Rayce picks up, I’ve paced down the hall. “How’s it going?” he asks.

  “Fine. Hey, did you know that Mom would make last-minute cash donations to cover the unclaimed Christmas Angels every year?”

  “No,” he says softly. “Did she?” He’s clearly as touched by this revelation about our mother as I was, but I’m past that point now. I ask urgently, “Do you think Connor knew?”

  “Oh, shit,” he says, coming to the same realization I did much more quickly.

  “I know. I feel terrible.” I’ve come to a small, private library and duck into the empty room. “Brett’s aunt goes to Grace United Church and is in charge of the whole thing apparently. She told me about Mom doing that, but she was just sharing it with me, you know? Just trying to tell me something nice that Mom did. I didn’t realize until after she left what it meant.”

  “Man.”

  “I know. I’ll call her. I’ll sort it out.”

  As we’re hanging up, I decide to go to find Brett, but he walks in the door smiling at me. “There you are. You disappeared on me.” He sees the look on my face and his expression changes. “Are you okay?”

  “Do you have your aunt’s number? I need to talk to her about something. Do you have it?”

  “Sure.” He pulls his phone out. “Everything okay?”

  “I just, yes.” I don’t want to make a big deal about it, and I’m too distracted by the situation to want to explain. I need to settle things, then I can fill him in, I guess. “I just need to talk to her.”

  “All right.” He turns his phone for me so I can see the number he’s pulled up and I pull mine out to enter it in. “It’s nice to see you two have already bonded.” He winks at me and I smile weakly, putting the phone to my ear as it starts to ring.

  Brett is back to giving me a questioning look, but his aunt has picked up.

  “Sarah? It’s Lizzy.”

  “Oh Lizzy! Hi.”

  “Hey, I just. I feel terrible. I didn’t know she was doing that.”

  “No, no,” she says firmly. “You do not need to feel badly.”

  “But what about the kids last year? What did you do?”

  “We have a fund for that,” she explains calmly. “No one went without, so don’t worry.”

  I exhale in relief and sink into the nearest chair. Brett’s watching me and this time I’m able to give him a more genuine smile. “So everyone got a Christmas?”

  “Yes, your mom didn’t do that because kids weren’t going to get a Christmas. She just didn’t want us to have to dip into our general fund.”

  “Oh. Okay, well thank God.”

  She laughs.

  “Hey, um, do you know how much you had to go into your fund last year?”

  There’s a pause, then, “I don’t have that number off the top of my head, but Lizzy, I didn’t tell you because I was trying to get you to make a donation. I just really admired your mom and wanted you to know.”

  “I know. I understand.” And I do. “But she would want me to do this, and I want to, too. Will you please let me know how much it was? You have my number now.”

  “I can look it up if you really want me to, but honestly—”

  I cut her off. “I would very much appreciate that. Really. And thank you for sharing that with me. It’s always nice to hear good things about my mom.”

  When we say our goodbyes and get off the phone, I look at
Brett and exhale. “Okay, crisis averted.” I stand and he holds out his arms. I step into them willingly.

  Oh man, this is what I’ve needed since I walked in the door here.

  I’m about to fill him in on what just went down, when he says, “I knew there was a good explanation.”

  I pull back, stunned. I blink at him. “What?”

  He blinks too, his eyes widening as if he’s just realized he’s made some sort of mistake.

  “You knew about it?” His caught expression is morphing to tender regret but I’m still trying to work this out. I’m starting to replay the conversation in the kitchen. “How did you know?”

  He sighs and takes my hand, giving me an apologetic look. He squeezes my hand, but I don’t squeeze back. “One of the girls who helps with the accounting for the church mentioned something to my mom about there not being a donation made last Christmas.”

  I feel my cheeks get hot as it’s all starting to come together. My heart is pounding in indignation.

  “It wasn’t my aunt who said anything about it. She didn’t think it was a big deal.”

  “But your mother did,” I say flatly.

  He looks guilty. Apologetic.

  I don’t care.

  “Hell, Brett, what did she think? We just didn’t care enough to do it because all we care about are our diamond rings and seal handbags?” The look on his face tells me the answer. “Seriously?”

  I pull my hand out of his and spin away. “God, I hate shit like this. It’s so stupid.”

  “I agree.”

  I face him again, crossing my arms. “Is that why she thinks so little of me or are there other things I’ve supposedly done that I don’t know about?”

  “She made an unfair assumption. I’m sorry.”

  “You know what? Here’s the thing. Even if we had known, who the fuck is she to judge us for it? Why does she get to decide who we give donations to and who we don’t? I mean, it’s our money, not part of the public fucking fund.” I know I sound like a spoiled rich kid, but I can’t seem to stop. “Just... ugh.”

  “Lizzy—” he reaches for me, but I step back and put my hands to my temple. God, this is worse than stupid Rita Becker.

  “You know, I try really hard not to care what people think of me and my family. Everyone’s opinions are all over the fucking map anyway, and sometimes what people think they know about us is true and other times it’s not, and they’re going to think what they want in any case. I can’t spend my days fussing about it or I’d never be able to function. But you know, sometimes I just get fucking tired of it.”

  He’s just watching me with a sympathetic expression, and letting me vent. I’m vaguely aware that this particular piece of gossip is hitting me hard for some reason, but I’m still too upset to analyze why. I am realizing, however, that I’m more mad at the situation than I am at him, so I force myself to stop my ranting and take a deep breath.

  After a moment of this, he takes a tentative step toward me and says softly, “Lizzy, you’re right, and I’m so sorry.”

  I don’t have a chance to respond to this because Marcia herself comes into the room, eyes darting between us and brows raised in question.

  Oh no. I am not doing this with her.

  My training takes over and I plaster a first-class smile on my face. “Please excuse me.” I glance at Brett long enough to see the angry look he’s giving his mother, but I don’t stick around for more. I leave the room without another word.

  Not wanting to deal with anyone else just yet, I work my way through the house and back patio with my carefully-trained smile still on my face. I seek refuge with the little kids playing in the backyard. There’s a massive wooden playset back here. Max and his two youngest cousins are in the sandbox with their trucks and shovels. As I approach, Max looks up at me and smiles.

  I’m taken by how quickly he’s accepted me. He doesn’t know I’m Elizabeth Rivers. He only knows I’m Lizzy, the woman who kissed his daddy, and simply takes me as he finds me. It’s one more thing I already love about him.

  “Can I play?”

  He nods and digs into the big bucket full of cars. I kick off my shoes and step onto the cool, slightly damp sand, settling myself cross-legged next to him as he hands over a dirt-encrusted car. “This can be yours.”

  “Thanks.”

  There are a few half-empty water bottles lying around. Judging by the areas in the sandbox that are wetter than others, I assume this isn’t water for drinking. They’re digging trenches for the cars to drive down, so I grab a little plastic rake and start too.

  My brothers and I used to do this at the beach and in the dirt backyard at our aunt’s house. Before we outgrew the game completely, it got to the point where we would build elaborate cities for our cars. Well, they felt elaborate at the time, anyway. They were probably just misshapen mounds of sand and crooked roads like what’s in the sandbox now, but it’s good enough for me.

  I pour a bit of water onto some sand and start working it into a moist hill.

  “What are you making?” Max’s little girl cousin asks me.

  “A house for the dragon.”

  “Dragons don’t have houses,” Max says.

  “This one does. He has a house and a boat and a dog named Connor.”

  Max starts giggling at my silliness, of course not understanding the full implication of the old joke. His little laugh lightens my spirits, and I laugh too. “What are you building?” I point to the pile of dirt he’s been working on.

  He pauses then glances at me. “I’m building a dragon house, too.”

  “Does your dragon have a dog?” I ask, going back to shaping the sand.

  He shakes his head, his thick locks bouncing around. “He has a lizard.”

  I smile. “A dragon with a pet lizard. I like it.”

  “We have a lizard at preschool.”

  “Really? What’s its name?”

  “Boo Boo.”

  I laugh and we fall back to our tasks, our easy silence occasionally punctuated with some comment or another. We go on like this for several more minutes when I notice Brett and his mother coming onto the patio. She seems to be calling people inside to dinner, but keeps glancing at me with what seems like a softened expression. But who the hell knows what she’s really thinking.

  Brett heads this way and we exchange a soft look. “Max,” he calls. “Dinner time.” He calls the other kids in the box, too. “Come on, gang.”

  With a pretty minimal amount of grumbling, we get the toys picked up and the kids on their way into the house. Brett and I hang back, sliding our arms around each other’s waists and walking back slowly.

  “Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

  “Yeah. Sorry if I got a little out of control.”

  “You didn’t. I understand.”

  I sigh. “I figured out why it bothered me so much.” I turn to him and we loosely wrap our arms around each other. I look up at him, my heart melting a bit at the concern for me in those beautiful blue eyes of his.

  “This wasn’t just some random person thinking shit about me. It... wasn’t even just Marcia Carmichael anymore.” We both smile softly at the mock-dismissive way I say her name. Then I continue seriously, “She’s your mother. This is your family. So... there’s that part of me that wants to say I don’t care what she thinks. But I do care. I care a lot. Your family’s important to me.”

  He exhales softly, his hands coming up and brushing my hair back. “Have I told you what an amazing person you are?”

  I smile, holding him tighter around the middle. “Flattery.”

  “And my mom...” he lets out a tight breath. “Look, she drives her own kids crazy sometimes, so even under the best of circumstances, I doubt you’ll escape that fate.”

  I laugh.

  “She’s a strong-willed woman. Tough. She knows how to fight for what she believes is right.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “But sometimes she gets carried away. We
had a heart to heart in there and... look, she’s not exactly the apologizing type, but she does realize she’s misjudged you and made some mistakes. Would you be willing to give her another chance?”

  He’s being so earnest, how could I refuse? How could I in any case? She’s his family. “Of course.”

  “I’m sorry, Lizzy. I really wanted this to be a good day for you. Your family was so nice to me.”

  “Your family’s been nice to me too.” I smile, trying to lighten his mood. “It’s not your fault your mom and I came into this with history. It’s okay. Maybe we can build a new history.”

  “Yeah,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eye, “then you can find new reasons to be irritated with her.”

  I laugh and we turn toward the house, arm in arm. “Just like family.”

  “Exactly.”

  Brett said his mother isn’t the apologizing sort, but I’m not so sure. True, she didn’t say the words exactly, but she saved us seats near her at the table, and began a conversation with me by saying in an open and genuine way, “Brett tells me you enjoy genealogy.”

  It turns out we both do, and we ended up having a surprisingly animated discussion about it, comparing notes about good websites to use and swapping stories about old cemeteries we’ve visited.

  She was extending an olive branch, for sure, but the part that felt like an apology was when a discussion about books led us to scanning the shelves in her library. Just the two of us. We both enjoy biographies—another thing we have in common—so she pulled her copy of The Agony and the Ecstasy off the shelf and started telling me what a fantastic book it was. It’s about the life of Michelangelo, and did sound great.

  As I examined the copy she’d handed me, she paused for a moment, then said softly, “You’re welcome to borrow it, Lizzy.”

  I looked at her then, recognizing her apology for what it was.

  I nodded. “I’d like that. Thanks.” An acceptance... and apology of my own.

  Then she smiled the kind of smile I’d seen her give to others that day, patted me on the arm, and told me we’d better go back and get some pie before big Max ate it all.