Susannah had always been his advocate. In an instant, she was dead. Her blood and brains had splattered everywhere in the car, even on him, lying in the backseat and bleeding himself. Once his mother was in the ground, he was forced to deal only with his father. Jack had almost relished destroying his dreams—dreams that Susannah had encouraged. He refused to send Monty to a private architectural school. His only option was to go to a state school, the University of Georgia. Was it so surprising that he hadn’t been motivated there, so of course he couldn’t succeed academically? After one semester, Jack had yanked him out of Athens and insisted that he learn the construction trade. But Monty’s talents lay elsewhere: in drawing and visualizing buildings, not in painting drywall or hammering wood.
Thank God he had gotten away from that in his twenties. Then Jack had kicked the bucket early. Monty had come into a small sum of money, but only enough to pay off his credit cards and buy a better car. Weeks had turned into months, and months into years. Now Monty was almost thirty-eight years old, and he hadn’t accomplished what he was meant to do. It was all because other people had stood in his way, undermined him, and sabotaged his plans.
If he didn’t resent them for it, if he didn’t want justice, if he didn’t want to even the score, as best he could—well, then he wouldn’t be human. He was sick and tired of being looked down on by the other person left alive, the one who had quashed his dreams and crushed his future.
Candace took a sip of water and turned her attention to her laptop on the desk in her Buckhead office. She skimmed David’s latest email and dialed his number.
“Hello, Candace. You got my message?”
“Right. Tell Geneviève that yes, the lease will have to be in my name alone, now that Helen’s unemployed. However—”
“It needs to be month-to-month,” David finished her sentence.
“Correct. Now, how soon can the workers start on the house? What’s the guy’s name again? Ben?”
“Ken. He said they can begin as early as next week. All of their belongings need to be out of the house first.”
“Then I suggest you have your assistant find a rental today. If not today, Monday.”
“She’s on it. What about the move itself?”
“What do you mean?”
“Shall I have her find a mover, get that process started?”
Candace huffed. “I suppose so. I’m sure Monty won’t move their stuff himself.”
“Geneviève will get some quotes, and we’ll go with the lowest.”
“Fine. But shoot me an email with the amount first.”
“Definitely.”
“Once Ken gets his people over there, how long will it take to get the place ready to list?”
“His estimate was six weeks. Unless they find something they don’t anticipate.”
“Surprises, you mean?”
“That, or just—well, if they find any issues.”
Candace shut her eyes for a second. “I don’t want any issues, David.”
“Of course not. I’m not saying there will be any.”
“So if all goes as it should, we’re talking about, what, late August? How’s the search for a realtor going?”
“Geneviève is researching agents. We’ll start talking to them next week.”
“The earlier, the better. I want everything in place.”
“Oh, Lord,” said David.
“What?”
“I just got an email from Monty. He didn’t copy you.”
“What does it say? Read it to me.”
“I’ll forward it—”
“No,” said Candace. “Read it now, before you do. He doesn’t have an inkling about me hiring a contractor, or having to move out, right?”
“I haven’t been in contact with him. Here’s what he says: ‘David, as you and your client have known for some time, annual property taxes and insurance fees are due on the house. Candace has ignored my repeated requests to pay these. With Helen out of work and our current situation being what it is, we are powerless to handle them. We also have the added expense of paying high COBRA health insurance premiums for the remainder of Helen’s pregnancy—’ ”
“Stop,” said Candace. “I don’t give a fuck about the COBRA. What are the tax and insurance amounts?”
“I have to look back at those, then I can tell you. They aren’t low. I want to say, over thirty thousand for the taxes and at least six for insurance.”
“This is never going to end!”
“Yes, it is, Candace. It’s getting close.”
Candace let out a deep breath. “Okay, here’s what I want you to do. Write him back, copying me, and say that I will agree to pay the taxes and insurance on July thirty-first, under this condition: that he find a job by that date, and that he be working. I need proof, and I need to know how much money he’s making.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. Obviously, tell Geneviève, the cheaper the rent, the better. Since they’re going to have to pay it themselves, once Arcadia sells.”
“Of course. But Candace—”
“I know what you’re going to say, David. That Monty will agree to my condition, just to get me to pay the fees. I know he will. However, this time we’re going to follow up. Do you know when Helen is due back from Chicago?”
“No.”
“Okay. Then copy her on your email as well, and at the end of it, ask her when she plans to be back. I’m sick of not knowing what those people are doing, and I can’t wait until the time when I won’t have any reason to care.”
Helen Carawan put her pen down next to her notebook on the seat-back tray, which was horizontal above her lap on the flight to Atlanta. Adele was in the window seat to her left, practicing writing her name on a piece of paper. Thankfully, the aisle seat to Helen’s right was empty.
Adele looked out the window, then up at her mother’s face. “Look at the clouds, Mommy!”
Helen smiled and leaned over toward the window. “Aren’t they pretty?”
“I’m going to draw pictures of them.”
“That’s a good idea, Boo. Draw lots of them.” She turned back to her own paper, at the letter she had written to her mother: a letter that she didn’t plan to send—but one that she knew was important to write.
Although Helen worked—used to work—at a computer all day (or maybe because of it), she preferred to write letters by hand. She loved the feel of her favorite pen in her hand as she transcribed her thoughts onto paper—it was so much more satisfying than tapping out keystrokes in front of a blank screen. She was also a list-maker, keeping an ongoing grocery list on a notepad, and she loved to sketch. Since her art school days, she had preferred paper over a device. It was therapeutic.
It was also safer: she could destroy a handwritten letter if she wished—there was no electronic paper trail. Later today, she would tear up this letter expressing her deepest thoughts to her mother. But first she needed to finish it and reread it. She needed to process her feelings.
As promised, Diane had called last Saturday, a week ago, at the end of Helen and Adele’s second week in Chicago. Dawn hadn’t replied to her email, leaving Diane unaware that the sisters were together until she called. When she did, Helen sat listening to Dawn’s side of the conversation, then took the phone herself when Dawn handed it over.
Diane didn’t ask any questions about Helen’s life or family—not surprising—or why she and Adele were visiting the Mitchells. Saying she didn’t want to go through the story of her split with Rich all over again, she gave Helen the abbreviated version: they had grown apart. They didn’t like the same things or have the same friends, and neither wanted to live the rest of their lives with the other. After the divorce, Rich planned to remain in California and Diane was moving to Hawaii, where she would work part-time in the travel industry and hang out with he
r vegan and breatharian friends.
Helen had never heard of breatharians. Apparently they were people who avoided not only meat and animal products, but all food and water. Diane was a vegan and fasted at least once a week, but she hadn’t made the full leap (yet) to breatharian. However, she wanted to learn more and expose herself to the breatharian community, who supposedly found an inner peace not possible to people who chose to nourish and hydrate themselves.
Helen had hung up the phone as quickly as she could. Her mother was really going off the deep end. Diane had always been overly concerned about gaining—and losing—weight. In Helen’s view, she was anorexic. She had nagged and fussed at Helen and Dawn when they were in junior and senior high school about food choices and portion sizes—being only a few pounds overweight was unacceptable. Dawn had always had a slim figure, but Helen’s teenage body had been on the pudgy side. Diane claimed Helen took after her father’s side and not after hers, as Dawn did.
Helen glanced at Adele, smiled, and rested her hand on her pregnant belly. These babies were active, kicking her often, and sometimes it hurt. Her stomach was expanding more quickly than it had with her first pregnancy, and even though she knew that was to be expected, it was getting hard on her back—and her skin. If Diane could see her now, she would disapprove of her size and demand to know how much weight she had gained. In the past, Diane had almost bragged about how little she had gained during her pregnancies, gleefully admitting that smoking and drinking had helped. Helen wondered if any of Diane’s breatharian friends were former smokers, alcoholics, or both.
In the letter she had penned, Helen described all her emotions toward her mother. She expressed what it was like to grow up feeling unworthy and unloved. Saying she received unconditional love only from her sister, she described how she had searched for it in her twenties, moving from one bad romantic relationship to another. She’d felt unacceptable physically and had willfully taken abuse of one kind or another from each of the men she had dated. She was baffled by the apparent self-confidence of other women who were clearly less attractive than she was. Her self-image was horrible, and she blamed Diane for planting the seed. No matter what problems her mother may have had, her treatment of Helen had been neglectful and inexcusable. Her carelessness had manifested itself on one fateful day, leaving a physical mark on Helen. It was a mark that grew over time and a wound that would never heal.
The last part of the letter had been the most difficult: forgiving Diane for what she had done and for how she had treated her. Helen had listened that day when Dawn brought up the power of forgiveness, and had thought about what she said. Over the next few days, Dawn had opened up about her infertility issues and miscarriages, and for the first time, she confided in Helen about what she’d gone through emotionally.
She told Helen that she’d been angry at God for not allowing her to have a baby. After years of asking, “Why me?” she had woken up one day and decided to let it go. She had forgiven God. She had accepted the reality that she wouldn’t bear a child. Once she had done that, life had gotten so much easier. Though she and Frank didn’t agree about whether to adopt, Dawn felt a sense of peace about it. In time, she knew they would come to the right decision.
Helen had realized then that she needed to stop asking why, too. She needed to stop hoping that Diane would apologize one day. She needed to let it go, to forgive Diane. She could do it first with pen and paper, and then in her heart. She finished rereading the letter just before the plane began its descent. Then she folded it up and put it in a zippered compartment of her purse.
She would tear it up tonight, after she unpacked. Monty had said he would pick her and Adele up today, but he had told her to text him when their plane was on the ground. He would drive up to the curb outside of baggage claim once he knew they were there waiting for him.
Almost an hour later, she and Adele climbed into the car. Wordlessly, Monty threw their suitcases in the trunk and got back behind the wheel, a grimace on his face.
“Daddy, why is it so hot here?”
“It’s summertime, baby. It’s always hot in the summer.”
“Not at Aunt Dawn’s.”
“Well, that’s Chicago, sweetie. They only have two seasons: winter, and the fourth of July.”
Helen looked silently out the window, her arms folded on top of her pregnant belly.
“Daddy, I want to go to Disney World!”
“Not this year,” said Monty. “You just got back from vacation.”
“Boo, we don’t have enough money to go to Disney World,” said Helen.
“Well, that’s easy!” said Adele. “Let’s go to the bank!”
Helen turned to look at her daughter, who was sitting in her car seat behind Monty. “What did you say?”
Adele smiled and cocked her head. “You know, Mommy! Let’s go to the bank! That’s where the money is!” she said slowly, as if she had to explain. “Whenever we need some, you always say that’s where we have to go. So let’s go!”
“What are you telling her?” asked Monty.
“Nothing,” said Helen. “I guess I tell her we have to stop and get money at the bank sometimes. That the bank is where we go to get cash.”
“Aunt Dawn said she would take me to Disney World,” said Adele.
Monty rolled his eyes, then exhaled. “She’s not going to take you, so forget that. You just got home. But we’re going to our new house, and you have your own room now.”
“Okay, Daddy. Don’t get mad at me!”
Monty’s hands tensed on the steering wheel. He looked over at Helen, then spoke in a low tone. “What are you telling our child about me?”
“Nothing. I don’t know why she’s saying that.”
The family traveled on in silence for the next twenty minutes. Then Monty pulled the car up to a 1950s ranch house with a one-car carport. “I’ve started unpacking, but there’s still a lot left to do.” He parked in the driveway, then got out and unbuckled Adele, who ran over to the door.
“Where’s my room?”
“Hold on,” said her father. “Let me unlock it.”
An hour later, Adele lay on her twin bed, books and stuffed animals surrounding her, and fell asleep. In the kitchen, Helen stopped unloading boxes and filled a glass with tap water.
“So, I spoke to Candace today,” Monty told her from his seat at the small kitchen table. “And I’ve got some news.”
Helen turned and regarded him. “What is it?”
“She’s changed her mind about Arcadia Lane.”
Helen’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, changed her mind?”
“Don’t get upset. It’s a good thing. She told me that after seeing this place—”
“She came here? When?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she just saw pictures of it or something. Anyway, she said she’s been thinking about us, and since we’re about to go from one to three kids, and you don’t have a job yet—and since we have to go on COBRA—she’s decided to give us the house.”
“Arcadia?”
“Right. She’s got the contractor in there, and after the work’s all done, we can have it. Move back in and live there, with no debt owed. She’s decided to be generous, for once.”
“I can’t believe it. Are you sure? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just talked to her. You were on the plane. And I didn’t want to talk about it in front of Adele.”
Helen sat down at the table, studying Monty’s face. “What got into her? Why is she suddenly willing to write off all the money she put into the place, after all these months?”
“It’s not writing off. It’s a gift. Plus, I told her that when we do sell it, someday—could be a long, long time from now—we’ll pay her back her investment. Because we wouldn’t ever sell it unless we were able to get what it’s really worth. Then paying her won’t be a problem.�
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“But why didn’t she decide to do this a long time ago?”
“I don’t know, Helen. She’s a bitch. She wanted us to suffer. She’s selfish. But she’s finally come around. Maybe she realized how hard we’re trying. We’re her only family.”
Stunned, Helen sat in her chair. She felt another kick and placed her hand on her stomach. “What about the mortgage? And the bank notes?”
“She’s paying them off. Writing a check. At the end of next month—or by September, at the latest—the house will be finished and we can move in. No house payment, no loan payment.”
“We still need money coming in, Monty—”
“Damn it, Helen! Can’t you just enjoy this good news? At least for one second?”
Helen stared at him, her face expressionless. Could it be true? After all this time, had Candace decided to drop all her efforts to get paid back? Helen’s mind flashed to the tense meeting in David’s office. Why had Candace changed her mind? “I can enjoy it. I guess we still have to pay the taxes and insurance ourselves—”
“No. She did that.”
Helen exhaled, looking up at the ceiling. There was an old water stain over to the left, near the window that overlooked the backyard. “In that email, she said she would do that only if you got a job.”
“I do have a job.”
“You do? Since when?”
“I start on Monday.”
15
Generosity
On Tuesday afternoon, while her daughter was taking a nap, Helen started writing an email to Candace.
She had spent Sunday and Monday cleaning, organizing, and unpacking, and she was almost done. Fortunately, Monty had labeled the boxes as the movers had packed them. Since they would only be living here for a month and a half, she didn’t have to get everything out. The kitchen was operational and the three-bedroom, one-bath house was livable. Though it was small, the place would be easy to manage and keep clean.
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