by Marci Nault
Heather looked at the floor and bit her lip until it swelled. In the fairy tale, “The End” never mentioned that the prince spent the rest of his life reminding Cinderella that she’d once scrubbed floors in rags. Anger fumed and she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “Oh, and I have nothing to do with that success? Who’s done the traveling, Charlie? Who’s lived out of a suitcase for the last six years? Not you. And then when I come home there isn’t even room for me in this apartment. It’s like I’m a guest here.”
“You’ve gone off the deep end. I’m sick of this.” He turned his back to her. “You want more room, then find your own place, because obviously what I’ve given you isn’t enough.”
Her voice became softer as she delivered the words that needed to be said. “That’s my plan. I was serious when I said we needed a break. I think we should take some time apart.”
The artery in his throat bulged as he turned, his face red. He came within a foot of her and loomed over with his large frame. “You leave for Europe in ten days. Make sure you have a place to live when you return, because I want you out.”
She reached to touch his arm, hoping to salvage some tenderness. “Charlie, let’s talk about this. We need to be able to work together. I don’t want animosity between us. I just need . . .”
“I don’t care what you need anymore.” He pulled away and walked out of the room. She heard the front door slam.
There should’ve been tears, a tsunami of emotions. Instead, she felt numb and couldn’t stop shaking. She grabbed her cell phone from her purse and called her friend Gina, but it went straight to voice mail. Her fingernails tapped against the metal of the phone.
She needed to talk to someone, and before she could change her mind, she dialed the number she knew better than to call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Heather, are you back from your trip?” Heather heard her mother take a deep drag from her cigarette. Heather could picture her mother at the kitchen table, smoke circling her lined face—a bad habit that came with her bartending job. Her mother had been a beautiful woman. The few memories Heather had of the lake house, she could remember her mother laughing. But years of financial struggle that caused her to work nights at the bar and days in a supermarket had taken their toll. “It must be nice to be able to travel all over the world. I don’t know how I’m gonna pay my taxes this year. No matter how hard I work, it still seems like Uncle Sam takes everything.”
The usual guilt hit her as she thought about her mother’s life compared to how she now lived. She tried to help her mother financially, but she wouldn’t accept. Instead, she just kept piling guilt onto her daughter.
Heather didn’t want to burden her mother with her problems, but she needed to talk to someone. “Mom, I ended my relationship with Charlie,” Heather said.
“You did what?”
“I told him I needed a break.”
“God, Heather, what were you thinking?”
The words were a punch to the gut that knocked the wind out of Heather. Just once, she wanted to call and feel supported. “Forget it, Mom. I’ll deal with it on my own.”
“Don’t take that tone with me. This isn’t my fault.” Her mother sighed. “I’m sorry I’m not being more supportive, but Heather, I’m just tired of it all. I’m trying to get myself through the day and pay the bills. I’m trying to keep a roof over my head and food on my table. I had one good thing happening in my life, and that was that you were gonna be taken care of. Now that’s gone.”
Heather kicked at the floor. The story never changed. “Maybe I don’t need someone to take care of me. When I was a kid, I told you that I wanted to travel the world and write, and you told me that people like us don’t get those chances. I proved you wrong. Why can’t you tell me that everything’s going to be okay?” Heather sank onto the couch.
“You think it’s easy to do it on your own? Without Prince Charming, you’d still be a waitress instead of a columnist. We’ll see what happens without him. I’ve been alone trying to take care of you since the day my mother died. I had dreams too, Heather, but my life has been shit since that day. The only thing that ever mattered was you. And now I’m gonna see you have the same life I did.”
“I can’t do this right now, Mom. Life with Charlie is far from perfect.”
“Oh, Heather, you don’t know what a bad relationship looks like. When you tell a man you’re pregnant and he walks out on you, or when a man loves his booze more than you, then you can tell me what a bad relationship feels like. But when he buys you a diamond, cares about your career, and gives you a home in the Back Bay, you make sure he’s happy so he won’t leave you.”
“I have to go,” Heather whispered.
“There aren’t many Charlies in the world. Do whatever it takes to get him back. I just want more for you than I had.”
“I know, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.” Heather hung up the phone.
CHAPTER 5
It felt like winter would never end. Every morning since Victoria had returned to Nagog, she awoke to see the blue sky out her window and thought it would finally be a sunny day. But by ten in the morning, the clouds moved in and the sky turned a depressing gray. Even on days that it didn’t snow or sleet, Arctic air from Canada froze her bones until she thought they’d crack.
Big red Xs on her calendar marked the two weeks that had passed since she’d arrived home. She’d assumed spring would awaken by late March, but Mother Nature wasn’t ready for flowers and green grass. For days, flakes almost the size of poppies fell like inverted parachutes, and then turned to white blasts of static so thick Victoria couldn’t see her front yard. Trees crashed along the road. The power had gone out twice, and yesterday the governor had declared a state of emergency. The Nagog residents stayed huddled in their homes as the snow blocked doors and drifted halfway up the windows.
Victoria’s car sat unused in her garage. No one but Molly had invited her for coffee or dinner since she’d moved home. She hadn’t spoken to anyone except for her brief encounter with Sarah and Carl Dragone. Everyone had decided to hibernate through winter’s fury. When Victoria complained, Molly told her to be patient.
“Things always brighten in the springtime,” Molly had said.
She understood why people in California seemed happier—they had sunshine. She imagined her former home in Malibu, where she could dig her toes in the warm sand while the sunset turned the white-capped waves pink. But then her psychiatrist’s words returned: “The only way out is through. You need to return to Nagog and face what you lost, without an escape route.”
Tired of being cooped up, Victoria grabbed the boots Molly had left in the breezeway and zipped up the blue Michelin Man jacket. She walked the quarter-of-a-mile street from one end to the other and back for the hundredth time. Winter made her feel old. The arthritis in her left hand ached and her muscles were stiff from lack of movement.
Annabelle flashed through her thoughts. Her granddaughter’s energy always made Victoria feel years younger than her age: shopping for the latest fashions, traveling throughout Europe, laughing through the night as they talked about dreams and life. Victoria enjoyed watching her granddaughter fall in love and pursue her career. Melissa and Annabelle had been the two greatest gifts of her life.
As she walked toward the beach, she pulled her hood over her head to protect her ears from the cold and tucked her gloved hands into her pockets. She burrowed into the coat like a turtle tucking its head into its shell and looked at her feet. What a sight I must be in this outfit. She could see the caption: “Victoria Rose, former actress, seen walking in a velvet jogging suit with big purple boots.”
Almost out of habit now, she glanced at Joseph’s house. As kids, he’d follow her around and rescue her from the other boys’ pranks, bugs in her lap or frogs in her shoes. The girls had teased her that he was in love, and it had driven Victoria crazy. She’d told him more than once that she hated his guts. Her mother scolded her, saying that a proper lady never s
aid things like that to a gentleman, but Victoria didn’t care—she hadn’t wanted his attention.
But the year she turned fifteen, everything changed. The night had been hot and sticky, and the entire neighborhood had driven to Whalom Park in the next town. People drank malts with ice cream and rode the Ferris wheel to catch a breeze. Molly and Sarah felt tired in the heat and didn’t want to stand in line and wait for the Comet roller coaster, so Victoria went by herself. As she was buckling the seat restraint, Joseph leaped into the car.
“I can’t allow a lady to ride alone,” he said.
“If you’re going to sit with me, then you have to raise your hands in the air when we go over the hills,” she said.
“I don’t think I’m that daring,” he said and winked at her.
The car bounced around the wooden track until it clicked into the chain that carried the coaster up the hill. There was a moment, a second when the car reached the top and froze, and she could see the entire park: the band playing on center stage, boys throwing baseballs at milk containers, girls riding painted ponies on the carousel. Victoria raised her hands over her head, the car tilted, and just as her stomach jumped into her heart and the coaster began to shoot down, Joseph turned her head and kissed her full on the lips.
The drop in her stomach didn’t go away when the ride ended. Victoria sat in her seat, unable to move. Joseph got out of the car and walked away, but before he left the platform, he looked back and winked. . . .
Victoria hugged her arms around the puffy blue jacket as a cold wind blew across the beach. She continued to walk, her eyes on the icy ground as she tried to push away the memories.
“Hello, Victoria.”
Victoria jumped, startled by the sound of a voice so close. She looked up and saw Joseph just a few feet in front of her.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I was out walking and it seems our paths were on course to each other.”
“I didn’t see . . . ah . . . or hear you,” she said. “I mean . . . hello, Joseph. How are you?” He looked sexier at seventy-six than Cary Grant did at thirty. In a fedora and a long wool jacket, he could’ve been a leading man from a 1950s film. She wondered if his white hair was still as thick as it was five years ago. She’d always loved the natural wave and how his cowlick made his hair stick up in the front.
“I’m feeling a bit cooped up with this weather,” he said, looking to the sky. “I thought I would go for a walk just to remind my body that it can still move. At my age, if I sit too long, I might not get out of the chair.”
“I don’t think you’re that old yet, but this weather certainly does remind one of former injuries. I can feel where I broke my hand when I was eight.” She rubbed her right wrist.
“If I recall, you broke that hand and your wrist chasing Bill and Carl through the woods.”
“Yes, I tripped over a tree root and went soaring through the air. I’m surprised I still have knees after all the times I skinned them while chasing those two for some prank they’d played.”
She let her eyes drift down his body. He’d lost weight since the last time she saw him and he seemed strong and fit. Heat flushed her cheeks. She looked away, afraid he’d notice her staring. Butterflies danced in her belly that she had no right to feel. This man belonged to someone else.
Five years ago, after Annabelle’s death, he’d tried to hold her—to have his friendship heal the seam in her soul that had ripped when Annabelle died, but she left without saying goodbye. He deserved to know why she’d left abruptly, but shame kept her from telling him the truth.
“I don’t know where the years have gone. It seems like yesterday that we were children swimming in the lake.” He turned and looked at the house directly across from the beach—Maryland’s place.
“Molly told me that Maryland had a stroke and her children moved her into a nursing home. I wish I could’ve seen her before she left.” Victoria dug her hands deeper into her pockets.
The silence stirred between them as the wind continued to shake the tree branches.
“How are your children?” Victoria asked.
“They’re good,” he said and he turned to her with a smile. “I’m a great-grandfather now. Emily is two years old.”
“Congratulations, that’s wonderful,” Victoria said.
Joseph’s eyes became sad and the familiar look of pity crossed his face. He couldn’t return the question and ask about her family. But his pity only amplified her loss, and somehow, coming from him, it cut even deeper.
“How’s Barbara? I haven’t seen her around?” Victoria asked.
Joseph looked to the lake. “We divorced a few years ago.”
“Joseph, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Molly never said anything.”
“I asked her not to,” he said without looking at her. “Well, I should be getting inside.”
“Of course.” She wanted to reach out and hug him, but she didn’t. “I think I’ll be heading in as well. My toes are getting cold standing here.”
“It’s nice to see you, Victoria.”
“You too, Joseph.”
They smiled and parted ways like acquaintances rather than two people with more than seven decades of shared history. At her driveway she turned and watched Joseph walk into his home that she realized was now empty. Emotions swirled in her body as she continued to walk toward the main road. It was sad that Joseph and Barbara had divorced and she wondered what had happened after so many years of marriage. But she couldn’t contain the glee that he was single. Could there be hope for a second chance she didn’t deserve? The memory of how she’d rejected him returned along with her guilt.
The war in Europe ended May 8, 1945. By June, Bill and Carl had already returned home and proposed to Molly and Sarah. The two women were entrenched in planning their weddings. Both asked Victoria to be their maid of honor, and neither planned to return to Wellesley College for their final year as their lives became more about planning bridal showers, picking out flowers, and shopping for dresses than schoolwork. Most of their class wouldn’t return as women gave up their education to become wives.
Victoria was expected to care about seating charts, party favors, and place settings. With each decision someone would mention Joseph’s impending return and how she would be the next to be engaged. Joseph’s letters told her that he’d be home that summer and though he hadn’t asked for her hand she knew that she’d be expected to begin her life as a wife.
But she’d seen a bigger world when she was in California. Though she pretended that her girlfriends’ life plans could be enough for her, she knew it wasn’t true. At night, while she lay in bed, she planned her escape.
In August, one month before Molly’s and Sarah’s weddings, Joseph returned home. Victoria met his ship in Boston. Soldiers made their way off the boat in a flurry of excitement. Confusion swirled through Victoria. The longing all these years to see the man she loved made every moment she searched for him intolerable, while the woman who’d planned to leave the community screamed not to be forgotten.
Tears ran down her cheeks when she saw his smile from yards away. He ran to her and before she could settle on how she felt, his arms were around her, lifting her as their lips touched. The commotion around them disappeared as her body melted into the safety of his arms.
That night, a party was thrown in Nagog. Lobsters, steaks, and champagne were served. A sixteen-piece orchestra entertained two hundred guests.
Victoria and Joseph danced on the patio under the sparkling lights. Dressed in his U.S. Navy uniform, he was more dashing than when he’d left. As the night went on, she began to forget her silly dreams of becoming an actress. As he twirled her and held her close, the idea of marrying this man seemed like the perfect life.
When the song ended, Joseph joined the men for a cigar, and Victoria walked to where the women sat discussing Molly’s and Sarah’s wedding plans. Someone brought up a recipe she’d found in a magazine. The familiar tug to leave Nagog returned.
Joseph crossed the dance floor, held out his hand to Victoria, and whispered, “Will you walk with me?”
The wind that precedes a rainstorm was blowing as they snuck away. Victoria looked to the sky and prayed for the storm to come. She imagined lightning striking the tree by the lake, its limbs crashing to the earth before Joseph could ask the question she knew would come.
In their private spot on the beach, he hugged her. She stiffened. His uniform smelled of cigars as he nuzzled his nose in her long locks.
“I missed your hair. I told the men on the ship that you smelled like fresh-picked strawberries,” he said as he pulled her closer.
Cary Grant never told women they smelled like fruit. Women were sexy goddesses to him. They weren’t housewives. They stole cars and invited handsome men to their apartments.
As Joseph knelt in the sand, he held up a hand-carved wooden box. “The light of your eyes kept me alive during the war. Your smile is all I need in life. Victoria Rose, will you marry me?”
Black velvet lined the wooden box. In its center, the diamond sparkled in the moonlight.
His blue eyes watched her. When his smile deepened the dimple in his cheek, a well of longing for him rose up inside her, and she ached to touch his face. Victoria glanced back at the party and the family she loved.
As the wind picked up and her red dress swirled wildly around her legs, she realized for the final time that she needed freedom more than Joseph’s love. “No,” she whispered. Tears dripped from her eyelashes. “I want more than Nagog and our families’ factories. I can’t marry you. I’m sorry. I don’t want this life anymore.” She ran from him, rushing along the path that had taken her to their special place. The high-heeled shoes sunk in the sand and she tore them off as she ran across the beach, past the music and laughter on the patio where everyone still celebrated.