The Dream Daughter: A Novel

by Diane Chamberlain

  “Seems like you’re making life hard on yourself,” he said, turning a corner. “Leaving the state where you’re already licensed.”

  “Well, I figure I’m young enough to start over,” I said, thinking that he had no idea exactly how hard my life was right now.

  “Where did you go to school?”

  “University of North Carolina,” I said. “Chapel Hill.”

  “Really.” He sounded surprised. “Good school.” Did he have a way of looking up alumni at UNC? He’d think I was a liar. I was a liar.

  “I loved it,” I said, for something to say. We were already at the inn, and he pulled into the driveway.

  “I’ll pick you up at five thirty Tuesday night,” he said. “You can bring the dog if you like.”

  “Oh, Poppy and I can walk over,” I said.

  “No, I’ll pick you up.”

  I knew better than to argue. “All right,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “And Caroline,” he said, as I opened the door. I looked over at him, struck by his serious tone. “Joanna means everything to us,” he said. I felt a chill run up my spine.

  “Of course she does,” I said. “She’s a wonderful girl.”

  I got out of the car, surprised to discover I was trembling as I let Poppy out of the backseat.

  “Good night,” I said to Brandon before shutting the rear door, and I felt his eyes on me as I walked toward the front steps of the inn, thinking, She means everything to me, too.

  48

  HUNTER

  Nags Head

  1970

  Carly was a no-show. Again.

  I’d been staring at the sand between the two giant dunes for the past hour and a half. Now I lay back, not caring that I was getting sand in my hair. I stared up at the early morning sky. The clouds hanging thick, gray, and low above me matched my mood.

  Two portals down; three to go.

  Was it the baby? Was Joanna so sick that she needed more time in the hospital than Carly had anticipated? Much as I wanted that baby to be healthy, I hoped that was the problem. Carly’s delay would be much more ominous if it had nothing to do with Joanna’s health. It would mean I’d screwed up by sending her back on 9/11. That was my big fear—one I hadn’t dared to share yet with Patti.

  I remembered being in my social studies class when the planes hit the towers, but I couldn’t remember the exact time, so I didn’t know how the event might have influenced Carly’s landing in New York. Our teacher had turned on the TV in the classroom and we all watched in horror. The fallout from the towers’ collapse—all that smoke and ash and debris—had blown in the opposite direction of Central Park, I was quite certain, and yet there may well have been enough of an atmospheric disturbance to throw off my calculations. I kept telling myself there wasn’t a thing I could do about it now. I could obsess about it every minute of every hour of every day and that would do nothing to help Carly and only serve to paralyze me. Already, my work was suffering and I was behind on a couple of contracts with important clients. I wasn’t used to this miserable feeling of helplessness.

  Patti’d cleared the rest of my crap out of the spare room and covered the walls with pink and white striped wallpaper. We’d put together a crib that stood ominously empty on one side of the room, and Patti was now crocheting a sweater for the baby, keeping her hands and mind occupied while we waited. I dreaded coming home from the dunes alone again this morning, manufacturing more benign reasons why Carly wasn’t with me.

  The next portal wasn’t for a month. I wasn’t a praying man, but I found myself uttering pleas to God as I drove home from the dunes. If Carly didn’t make that next portal, I wasn’t sure what I would do.

  49

  CARLY

  September 2013

  Summit, NJ

  Poppy followed me around the inn Sunday morning as I vacuumed the living room, made beds, and wiped strangers’ hair out of the showers. It made me uncomfortable, seeing personal glimpses into the lives of the guests as I cleaned their rooms. I felt intrusive and tried to turn away from things I had no business noticing. Yet there they were: the birth control pills on the dresser. The false teeth container on the nightstand. The hemorrhoid cream on the toilet tank.

  An older couple had checked into the inn on Saturday night. I hadn’t yet met them and they’d already eaten breakfast by the time I got downstairs, but Winnie told me they’d driven up from Virginia.

  “Nice couple,” she said. “They’ll be here for nearly three weeks visiting family and going to some sort of reunion with friends.”

  As I cleaned their room, I noticed a black baseball cap on the dresser, VIETNAM VETERAN embroidered above the brim. My heart stopped for a moment, seeing that hat. I touched it with tentative fingers. Our guest had served in Vietnam? When? Could he possibly have known Joe? Don’t be silly, I thought to myself. Of course he hadn’t known Joe. Joe hadn’t even been in Vietnam two weeks when he was struck down. My throat instantly tightened and my eyes burned, and I was angry at myself as I continued cleaning, this time with a vengeance. Was I going to fall apart every time I heard the word “Vietnam”?

  I bumped into Winnie in the upstairs hallway as I finished cleaning the bedrooms. She laughed when she saw Poppy glued to my side.

  “I think she’s more your dog than mine, now,” she said. She didn’t sound the least bit bothered by the thought.

  “She’s a good girl.” I tried to match Winnie’s light tone, hoping there was no trace of my small breakdown in my face. I reached over with my free hand—the hand not carrying my caddy of cleaning supplies—to rub Poppy’s head. She’d slept with me last night after we got home from Joanna’s house and I’d welcomed her on my tiny bed. She was cuddly and I’d needed something to cuddle.

  “I hear you’re going to babysit for the Van Dyke girl,” Winnie said.

  “Did Michelle call you?” I asked.

  Winnie nodded. “I told her what a big help you are to me and that she has nothing to worry about.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled. I hadn’t even known Winnie for a week and it was kind of her to give me such a sterling recommendation. I would do my best to live up to it.

  * * *

  When I finished my work for the day, I was finally free to take Poppy for a walk. I tried not to get my hopes up that I might see Joanna when I reached Rosewood Court. It was Sunday, after all, and her schedule would be different, yet I wanted to try. Just a quick wave as I passed by her house would be enough. Maybe a glimpse of her in the yard with Jobs. Anything. I would take anything.

  I walked the mile to Rosewood Court and started slowly past the Van Dykes’ house. When I was even with the side of the house, I saw all three of them—Joanna, Michelle, and Brandon—in the far corner of the yard by the tree house, probably getting it ready for Joanna’s sleepover tonight. Joanna was climbing the steps up to the first level, and she reached down to take something from Michelle’s hand. Brandon was hunched over at the base of the steps, hammering. I was ready to wave should one of them turn in my direction, but none of them did and I kept walking, the vignette of the three of them stuck firmly in my mind. The little family. The 2013 family I was no part of.

  You have to let her go, I thought to myself. She’s not yours.

  “Shut up!” I said out loud, and Poppy looked up at me as if wondering what I could possibly mean by this new command.

  * * *

  That night, Poppy lay next to me on my bed in the attic room. I wondered if I should contact Myra this week. I really should let her know that I’d need a portal back to 1970 … eventually. I’d tell her I wasn’t ready to go yet, though. I was nowhere near ready to leave, but I worried about her disappearing again. Changing her phone number. Her address. I needed to get in touch with her before she made another of her great escapes.

  Yet I was afraid to contact her. She was going to be furious about my disappearance and would want to know what I was up to. She’d insist I take the first portal she could find for me and I woul
d have to refuse. How could I leave Joanna forever? All I knew was that I was not yet ready to go and I couldn’t take her with me. How had I ever imagined that I could? It would be cruel. A ridiculous idea.

  I sank my fingers into Poppy’s coat, pulling her big body close to me, resting my chin against the soft slope of her forehead, searching for comfort. I missed Patti. I missed Hunter.

  I was losing my mind and I had no one to talk to about it.

  50

  “She needs to go to bed at nine,” Michelle told me in the kitchen Tuesday night. She wore a sleeveless, shape-hugging black dress, an artsy-looking silver necklace, and unbelievably high high heels. I was stunned to see a small tattoo on her left shoulder. From where I stood, it looked like an upside-down V. It seemed to me that nearly everyone had tattoos in 2013. “She’s still making up for getting zero sleep during that sleepover Sunday night,” Michelle added.

  “Mom!” Joanna protested as she walked in the room. “I did so get sleep!”

  “I heard you out there in the tree house,” Michelle said, her scolding voice betrayed by her smile. “You and your friends kept me awake all night long, so unless you were asleep and everyone else was awake, you had little to no sleep, and I know you didn’t get enough last night to make up for it, since you were still dragging today. So no later than nine tonight.” She looked at me, and I nodded.

  “Nine o’clock,” I assured her. She noticed me staring at her tattoo and she turned so I could get a better look at it.

  “It’s a downward dog,” she said. “You know … the yoga pose?”

  “Ah,” I said, though I’d never heard of a downward dog. I could see now that it was a tiny figure of a woman bending over, her bottom high in the air.

  “I should have gotten it bigger.” Michelle laughed. “No one can ever tell what it is.” She turned to Joanna again. “And stay off the phone,” she said. “If you haven’t noticed, Carly isn’t a phone addict, and it would be nice if you’d actually interact instead of burying your nose in the—”

  “Mom,” Joanna wailed. “All right. I get it.”

  It was a prickly side to her I hadn’t yet seen and Brandon walked in the room to put an end to it with a hug.

  “Good night, sweetheart,” he said. “Love you.”

  Brandon had driven Poppy and me to the house and he’d been cordial, if not exactly friendly, in the car. I’d asked him about his work but immediately zoned out as he tried to explain it to me. I didn’t truly understand what “software” was and his explanation went way over my head. Clearly, though, his work had influenced Joanna.

  “’Night,” Joanna said to him now as their hug ended.

  “You two have fun,” Michelle said as her husband gallantly wrapped a black cape around her shoulders. He took her hand and they headed for the door to the garage.

  “You ready to lose at jacks?” Joanna asked as soon as her parents had left. Her hair was damp and she gave off the scent of shampoo and soap. I realized the loose cotton shorts and matching tank top she was wearing were most likely her pajamas. The tank top hugged her small breasts, but her legs were still the long gangly legs of a child. She was adorable and I once again felt the urge to scoop her into my arms and cover her with kisses.

  “No,” I said instead, “but I’m ready to continue my winning streak.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up!” she said as she headed for the stairs at a trot.

  I followed her upstairs to her room, Poppy and Jobs at our heels. The throw rug was already folded out of the way and the set of jacks was on the floor. She’d been practicing.

  We played five games. I’d been tempted to let her win a couple of them until I realized that she was now better than me. She won three.

  “In October, we’re going down the shore,” she said as we wound up our final game. “I can’t wait.”

  “Does that mean the beach?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, Long Beach Island. Have you ever been?”

  I shook my head, distressed by the thought of her going away.

  “It’s so awesome in the fall,” she said. “Sometimes it’s even warm enough to go swimming, but not usually. We have, like, a mini family reunion with my cousins and everybody, and Mom and Dad and my aunt and uncle run in a race and it’s so cool. Want to see where it is?” She jumped to her feet and clambered onto her bed where she had her laptop. Poppy leaped onto the bed with her and I made her get off. I’d created a monster, letting Poppy sleep with me.

  Reclining cozily against the mound of pillows in front of her headboard, Joanna began tapping the keys on the computer. “Come look,” she said, patting the bed next to her.

  Hesitantly, I sat down next to her on the double bed, our bare arms touching. I felt intrusive, as though I was invading her personal space. This was where I belonged, I reminded myself. I deserved this intimacy. Joanna didn’t seem the least bit concerned as she zipped around the computer screen, her arm gently knocking into mine. I watched her hands, a smaller version of my own. Her nails were short and unpainted, like mine. Around her slim wrist she wore a decorative bracelet that looked as though it was made from pink and purple rubber bands.

  “I can’t wait,” she said again, as houses began appearing on the screen. She scrolled rapidly through the images. “We go to LBI every summer, too. All my cousins and everybody are there then, and my best friend Gayla goes with us. We get the same humongo house every year. It has a million bedrooms and is right on the ocean with a pool and everything.”

  I felt her damp hair against my shoulder. The sweet smell of her filled my head and I breathed it in, nearly intoxicated by the scent. “How long will you be gone in October?” I asked, my heart tightening in my chest at the thought of her being more than a mile away from me.

  “A week,” she said, “though my cousins can’t stay as long. I have a school holiday.”

  A week. I missed her already.

  “Here it is!” she said, enlarging the photograph on the screen. The house was unlike any summer home I’d seen in the Outer Banks. It was almost comically huge, with numerous decks and balconies jutting from every angle. The exterior was a soft peach color with white trim, and a broad staircase led up to the double front doors. The house looked very new to me, but then every house built after 1970 struck me as new.

  “That’s a beautiful house,” I said.

  “You can’t tell, but it’s right on the ocean. I’ll show you.” She tapped a few more keys and suddenly we were looking down at the beach from above. Satellite view. “See how close the house is to the water? It’s so cool. I can’t wait.”

  “My house is that close, too,” I said, forgetting to censor myself.

  “Your house? Don’t you live in the Sleeping Dog Inn?”

  “Right now I do, yes, but where I lived in North Carolina is right on the beach.”

  “Cool!” she said. “Show me. What’s the address?”

  “What do you mean … Oh! You mean we’ll look at it from the satellite?”

  “Yes,” she said, her fingers waiting above the keyboard.

  I hesitated and my heart gave a thud in my chest. Did I want to see what Nags Head looked like in 2013? How many storms had passed through the Outer Banks since 1970? I was so afraid my house would be gone.

  Finally, I gave her the address, and she laughed.

  “Nags Head! That’s a weird name. Like a horse?”

  “Like a horse,” I said. “The legend is that pirates hung a lantern around a horse’s neck and walked him back and forth at night to trick ships into thinking the light was from another ship. Then the duped ships would run aground and the pirates would pillage them.”

  “Is that true?” Joanna looked up at me with those big dark eyes, and I shrugged.

  “Who knows?” I said. “But that crazy name had to come from somewhere.”

  Joanna hit a few more keys and in a moment we were looking down on the roofs of the Unpainted Aristocracy. Taking the computer onto my own lap, I anxiously move
d the screen until I spotted the roof of my house. I let out my breath in relief. It was still there. I recognized the square shape of it. The dormer windows. The ocean appeared to be no closer to it than it had been in 1970. “This is it,” I said, excitement in my voice as I pointed to the roof.

  “Wow, it’s like right in the water practically,” Joanna said. “Let’s look at the street view.” She took the computer back from me.

  “Street view?” I asked.

  “Haven’t you ever used the street view?” She clicked a key and suddenly we were on the beach road, looking at cottages I recognized as my neighbors’. I felt both afraid and curious to see my own house now, forty-three years after I’d last seen it. Joanna clicked on an arrow, moving the screen along the road. There was a split-rail fence I didn’t recognize and some of the houses had changed the color of their hurricane shutters, but everything else appeared to be remarkably familiar.

  “Oh my God, there it is!” I said as my house came into view. I pointed to the screen. The image of the house was big enough that I could make out my bedroom window on the northernmost side. An unfamiliar red car was in the driveway. “That’s my nephew’s room,” I said, pointing to one of the street-side windows before clamping my mouth shut. John Paul would be in his forties by now. Who knew what room was his, if any of them? For that matter, was the house still in my family? Were we all still alive? I trembled, almost sick with nostalgia.

  “Those houses look really ancient,” Joanna said. “How come none of them are painted?”

  I imagined the modest cottages looked very plain to her compared to the whale of a house her family rented.

  I swallowed against the sick feeling that still teased me. “The houses are called the ‘Unpainted Aristocracy,’” I said. “They’re very old. They were some of the earliest cottages in the Outer Banks and people wanted to keep them just as they were. You know, preserve the history? My family has owned our cottage since the thirties.”

  “The nineteen thirties?” Joanna asked, and I knew that had to seem like ancient times to her. “Wow.”