by Karen Booth
“Mr. Fuller.” Eamon held out his hand for my dad.
“Dad, this is Eamon. And his daughter, Fiona.” I watched as my dad shook Eamon's hand, overcome with a feeling that was hard to describe—a mix of pride and surprise and happiness. How do you feel when you see something you thought would never happen?
Dad bent at the waist to greet Fiona face-to-face. I knew in that moment that my dad needed to be a grandparent, STAT. I'd have to talk to Amy about that. “Hello, my dear. You've come a long way. You must be hungry.”
“Starving. There was nothing to eat on the train.”
“Fiona, you never said a thing about being hungry.” Eamon sounded more than a bit annoyed. He did pride himself on being an attentive dad.
“I didn't really realize it until just now when Mr. Fuller asked me.”
“Maybe we should go inside and fix that,” I said. “It's freezing.”
“Luke and I will get the bags,” Eamon said. Luke was already unloading suitcases from the back of the minivan.
Amy, Fiona, and I followed Dad and Julia inside. Why certain places always smelled the same was beyond me, but that was certainly true of our childhood home. It never changed. It was spent firewood and a bit of a dusty, old smell, like dried flowers or the yellowed pages of a book. We stomped the snow from our shoes out on the three-season porch and I showed Fiona where to leave them, in the old tin tray right next to the door. In her stocking feet, she tore off into the house with my dad.
I held the front door open as Luke and Eamon came up the front stairs toting our luggage.
“Thank you for doing that. Taking care of the bags,” I said to Eamon as he took off his boots. Amy and Luke had already stepped inside.
“Of course.” His eyebrows drew together. “I like your dad. What I met of him. Hoping I get some time with him over the next few days. It might help me decipher the puzzle of Katherine Fuller.”
“There's no puzzle. I'm an open book. It just happens to be a very dull book.”
He pulled me into a hug and kissed the top of my head. “Nice try. I don't believe that for a second.”
“I’m serious.” What I really wanted to say is that he shouldn't try to decipher me. Whatever he'd already figured out about me was more than enough. He made me happy and I appeared to do the same for him. Why did we need anything more than that? I really didn't think we did.
“Let's go inside. I want to warm up.”
“Of course.”
The fire was in full roar. The TV was off, which had never been the case when Amy and I were young. Dad was always watching TV, even if it was just in the background while he did a crossword puzzle or was reading the newspaper. From the living room, with its wide-plank wood floors and braided rag rugs, I could hear Dad and Fiona laughing. All I could think was that sound—my dad and a child, laughing—had been missing from these walls for too long.
I took Eamon's hand and we stepped into the kitchen. Everything was as it had always been. In the far corner was the same retro kitchen table that Dad had bought for Mom from a yard sale, the only thing Grandma Price didn’t bother to take. Dad had three or four packages of cookies spread out on it, and he and Fiona were discussing the pros and cons of each kind. The copper teakettle rattled on the stovetop, not quite at a full boil.
“Are you a tea drinker, Eamon?” Julia asked, getting up from the table. She had a young face with very few wrinkles, but her hair was gray and pulled back in a high ponytail.
“From time to time, but I'd take something stronger if you have it.”
My shoulders stiffened. There was no telling how dad would react. For his many struggles with alcohol, he'd never gone to Alcoholics Anonymous. He'd never admitted he had a problem. We'd only had varying degrees of success with getting him to stop self-medicating.
“I’ve got some beer,” Dad answered. “I don't have much else in the house, but we can always make a run to the liquor store in the morning.”
“Beer is perfect. Katherine? You want one?” Eamon asked.
“Definitely.”
With Julia's help, Eamon got us our drinks and we leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Dad explored the joys of a sugar high with Fiona. The dogs were curled up under the table. Eamon put his arm around me and kissed my temple. “I’m glad to be here. Thank you for sharing this with me.”
I looked up into his handsome face, his cheeks a bit ruddy from the cold. “I’m glad you came. I'm not sure I could've done this without you.”
“Really? Your dad seems wonderful.”
Dad laughed, throwing his head back. “He is,” I said. That was part of what always made it so hard. Not that any of us deserved what had happened, but he certainly hadn't.
“Luke asked me to be a groomsman while we were unloading the luggage.” Eamon offered this tidbit as if he were commenting that it might rain tomorrow.
“He did?”
He took another drink of his beer, keeping his eyes on me and nodding. “He did. I practically feel like part of the family.” His eyebrows jumped and he smiled.
“That's awesome. And I'm glad I'll have someone else to help me deal with the craziness of that day. As much as those two claim to want something low-key, something tells me it's going to end up being a nightmare.”
“It'll be fun. Don't worry so much. Personally, I love weddings.”
“You do?”
“What's not to love? Free food and liquor, dancing if it's a good one. Everyone's happy and feeling romantic.”
“Let's hope for that next month.”
Eamon surveyed the kitchen. “I’m trying to envision your childhood in this house.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Come on. Show me around and you can explain to me what the hell that means.”
I started the tour with the living room. “This is where Dad spent most of our childhood, sitting in this chair, watching TV or doing the crossword puzzle.”
“Same chair?”
“Same exact chair. Amy and I bought him a new one for Christmas a few years ago, but he refused delivery. He wanted no part of it. He says that this one knows his butt.”
“An important quality in a chair.”
“Or so I'm told.” We walked past the couch and the fireplace, flanked by built-in bookcases filled to the brim with books my dad had mostly bought at the thrift store.
“Has the house changed much since you were a kid?”
“Not really. There's mostly just more junk. Dad likes to collect things. He's incapable of turning down a good deal. Even if it's something he doesn't need.”
Eamon pointed to the dozens of fishing lures adorning the wall near the bottom of the stairs. “Is he a big fisherman?”
“Unless something has changed in the last few years, nope. I actually don't know if he's ever been fishing. He just likes the way they look, I think.”
On the other side of the staircase, still on the front of the house, was the alcove where Dad kept his desk and piles of old magazines and newspaper clippings. He'd been talking for years about getting it organized or turning it into a hobby room, but that never quite happened. He was always getting distracted by new ideas, new projects, new things to collect and acquire.
Eamon wandered ahead, looking at pictures Dad had of Amy and me on the wall—high school graduation, college graduation, a Christmas from when we were teenagers, me with a mouth full of metal.
“Nice braces,” Eamon said.
“Thanks. My dad's room is through there.” I pointed to the closed door on the far side of the office. “The rest of the bedrooms are upstairs. We can take our stuff up and get settled if you want.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Eamon grabbed our suitcase and Fiona's duffel from the bottom of the stairs and lugged it up while I followed.
“First door on the right.” He stepped inside and I flipped on the light. Dad had already set up the air mattress for Fiona and made up her bed. How very domesticated of him.
“So this is where
the magic happened,” Eamon said, half laughing.
“You already made that joke about my office. And not quite, but you're funny.”
“You and Amy really shared this room?”
“Yep. From right after our mom passed away. We were sad and I think it helped us to be together.” Dad had moved Amy's bed back into her room about six years ago, when she'd brought several college friends up for a long weekend. The other furniture, like her old bookcase, was either living at my house or at Luke's.
“I noticed there aren't any pictures of your mom up in the house. Is that just because your dad moved on eventually?”
This was the danger of bringing Eamon here—questions about my mom. They were inevitable. And I had to answer them. I wouldn't keep anything from him anymore. At least not intentionally. “My grandmother took all of them when she died. She was really traumatized and I think she kind of freaked out. But she never gave them back, either.”
“Bloody awful.”
On a long list of awful things, that one wasn't actually at the top of the list. “It was.”
“How did she die? If your grandmother was traumatized. I mean, if you don't mind me asking?”
“A car accident. I was ten. Amy was eight. And we were in the car.” I waited to feel better after sharing these details I hadn't yet told him, but I knew very well that this was the sanitized version of what had happened. Not even a fraction of the real events.
Eamon pulled me into a hug and stroked my back. “That's so terrible, love. I'm very sorry.”
“Yeah. It's sad.”
“I don't know how you can live without any pictures of her. That must feel so strange.”
I couldn't have held back my sigh if I'd wanted to. I sank deeper into his embrace. “I don't need a picture, Eamon. I see my mother every time I look in the mirror.”
“What?” He grasped my shoulders and looked me square in the eye.
“My mother. Aside from not quite getting her amazing cheekbones, I look exactly like her. Exactly.”
Chapter Sixteen
I didn't sleep well that first night back in the house. There were too many memories around me, the kind you not only can't avoid if you shut your eyes, the kind that get worse when you do. I kept hearing my mother's voice in snippets from real life conversations more than twenty years ago—talk of flowers and weddings, true love and fate. How could she have ever betrayed our sweet, adorable dad? Or had she been in love with Gordon and I was simply too young and stupid to understand? Was their romance meant to be? Or was it a case of cruel timing?
I woke in the morning feeling on edge, although a kiss from Eamon on my forehead before he went downstairs to fetch coffee, and a smile from Fiona as she scrambled to go play with Julia's dogs, Tilly and Sadie, helped me shake it off. The nights had always been the worst in this house. I don't know why I'd expected that to be different.
My phone beeped with a notification—a returned message from Aunt Lucy.
Katherine,
If you want something from my mother, I can't be of much help. She stopped speaking to me when I put her in the home. I doubt she'll want to hear from you, but she might be willing to do something for Amy. She always liked Amy. She's at Shady Pines in Haddam, Room 204, if you want to try.
Lucy
A grumble rose from my throat and I fought the desire to chuck my phone out the window, but I didn't want to go dig through the snow for it, so I tossed it onto the air mattress Fiona had slept on. It bounced twice and hit the floor.
“Everything okay?” Eamon strolled into the room, looking like heaven in a gray, cabled sweater. He handed me a cup of coffee.
“I wanted to contact my grandmother about getting a necklace that belonged to my mom for Amy to wear at her wedding.”
He sat next to me on the bed and put his arm around my waist. “And?”
“And I had to contact my Aunt Lucy first because she's a good intermediary, but she said she can't help me.”
Eamon leaned away from me and a crease formed between his eyes. “Why would you need an intermediary to speak to your own grandmother? Just because of the pictures?”
“It’s a long story."
“I’m starting to feel like that's your answer any time I ask about your family.”
I drew in a deep breath through my nose. I needed to be more open with him about these things. I knew that. “My grandmother took more than my mother’s photos after she died. She took everything that belonged to her. Jewelry. Clothes. Everything. She also stopped speaking to us. Every now and then we'd get a card for a birthday, but that was it.”
“Losing a child has to be horrible. I can't begin to think of it. But I hate that she took it out on you. Was it because you were too much a reminder of her daughter?”
“I guess.”
“What are you going to do about the necklace?”
“I really want Amy to have it. She's given me so little responsibility for the wedding, This is the one thing I should be able to do.”
“Worth a phone call, isn’t it? I can’t believe a woman would say no to her own granddaughters, especially when one is getting married.”
“You haven't met my grandmother.”
Fiona stumbled into the room, nearly out of breath. Eamon caught her in his arms. “Slow down there, love. You're going to hurt yourself.”
“Dad, Amy and Luke are going into town to the grocery store. Can I go?”
“Well, sure.” He smoothed back Fiona's untamed curls then glanced over at me. “Would you like me to clear out? So you can make your phone call?”
No time like the present, right? “Actually, that would be great. Then I can just get it over with and I don't need to think about it anymore.”
“It's settled then. I'm going to the grocery, too.”
“But Dad…”
“What?”
“Luke said he would buy me candy. Are you going to ruin that? Because if you are, you are not invited.”
Eamon cracked the adoring grin he reserved just for his daughter. “We're on holiday. You can have your candy.”
Fiona jumped up and down, making the old wood floors creak. “Grand!”
Eamon patted my knee and kissed my temple. “Be back in a bit. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” I loved him, but he had no idea how much luck I was going to need. I stood a better chance of finding a pot of gold than convincing my grandmother to do anything.
A moment later, the glass in the front door rattled and their voices came from outside, followed by the slams of car doors. I shuffled across the room to get my phone, and pulled up the web browser to search for the nursing home. The Shady Pines website came right up. From the looks of it, it was quite nice. Leave it to Grandma to blow everything out of proportion.
I sat down on the bed again and scooted back up against the wall. My call was quickly answered by an automated system instructing me to dial nine and the resident’s room number, and also to have a blessed day. I dialed for 204. The phone rang and rang. And rang. I was about to hang up when an unfamiliar woman's voice came over the line.
“Ms. Price's room. This is Beverly speaking.” She spoke with a kind and patient manner, almost as if she was living on a different speed than the modern world.
“Hello. My name is Katherine Fuller. I'm Ms. Price's granddaughter. I was hoping to speak to her.”
“Oh. I see. She's just finishing up in the bathroom. Shouldn't be more than a few minutes.” It sounded as though she placed the receiver on a hard surface and I could hear muffled voices and a fair bit of arguing, most of it coming from my grandmother.
“Hello.” Her greeting showed zero affection. It was merely the way a person answers the phone.
“Grandma. Hi. It's Katherine.” Just like that, I was ten years old again. My voice was small. I was tiny. Insignificant. Being in my childhood room was only making the feeling more powerful. All around me were reminders of what I used to be, of what had happened.
“So you waite
d until I was nearly dead to call me.”
“What? No. Not at all.”
“There is no inheritance. Everything is going to the Fraternal Order of Police. They're the only people who gave a crap when your grandfather died.”
Amy and I would've given a crap if she’d actually informed us that he'd passed. We'd found out about it from our dad, who read it in the newspaper. The obituary ran the day after the funeral. “I’m not calling about money.” I kneaded my forehead. I didn't want to come out and just ask for the necklace. We had a lot of catching up to do. “How are you? I looked at the website for the place you're staying. It looks nice.”
“It's not home. I'd rather be living with your aunt. Apparently I'm too much of a pain in the ass for that to happen.”
“But you're doing okay?”
“What's the reason for the social call, Katherine? We haven't talked in twenty years and you up and decide to find my phone number? I know you want something, so just tell me.” Her voice sliced right through me. There would be no reconciliation with Grandma Price. That was pretty clear now. It wasn't that I’d believed it could happen, but I’d been holding out a sliver of hope. If only for my sister.
“I’m calling because Amy is getting married.”
“Good for her.”
It was a good thing we weren't meeting face-to-face. She was really starting to push my buttons. “And I think she should be able to wear something of our mother's for her wedding. You have everything.” You stole everything.
“Like what?”
I froze for a moment. That was an actual clear and rational answer from her. “The pearl necklace our mom wore on her wedding day.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it's mine and I don't have to part with it if I don't want to.”
“But your granddaughter is getting married and she has nothing of her own mother's for her wedding day because you took everything.”
“I had to preserve the memory of my own daughter. I wasn't about to trust any of you to do it. Knowing you all, you'd probably just sell everything.”