Bonnie wondered. A problematic sister duo that prefigured the troubled relationship between Carol and Bonnie. The sins of the mothers being visited upon the daughters? One thing was pretty certain. The eight-year age difference between Shirley and Mary had made it unlikely they ever dated the same man while growing up.
Suddenly, Judith rose from her chair. “I’m off,” she said. “I only stopped in because I saw you two sitting here.” With a wave, she was gone.
“I should get going as well,” Carol said, rising and adjusting the chain strap of her tiny, quilted leather Chanel bag. Bonnie’s bag was a handmade patchwork affair big enough to hold a loaf of bread, a carton of milk, and a library book, along with her wallet, keys, and package of tissues.
Carol walked briskly to the door and out of the café. Bonnie brought the cups and saucers to the counter. She thought about what she had said only a moment earlier, that adult siblings should treat one another with respect. Well, even if Carol couldn’t bring herself to follow that simple rule of conduct, Bonnie could. She was the bigger person.
On her way home, she would stop off at Ferndean House and spend some time tending the vegetable garden. And whatever produce was ready to be harvested she would leave on the back deck for her sister. And if Carol didn’t appreciate her sister’s efforts, well, that was her problem.
Chapter 26
Carol was stretched out on the bed in what had been her parents’ bedroom so long ago. She had a headache that strong black tea and three ibuprofen had not been able to budge. Add to that the fact that her eczema outbreak was still going strong, and it could be said that Carol Ascher was not a happy camper.
It was not pleasant having the past, both the good and the bad of it, staring you in the face. And how could it not? She was sleeping in what had been her parents’ bedroom (though the bed had long since been replaced). Every morning she ate her breakfast in the kitchen where her mother had fed her family cold cereal in summer and hot oatmeal in winter. Every evening she saw virtually the same serene view from the back deck that her father had enjoyed observing while he smoked his daily pipe.
Earlier, Carol had been surprised to learn that Bonnie was still upset about that silly ghost story she had made up all those years ago. She had thought: One had to move on, let go of the past, get over childhood fears and resentments.
Carol put her hand to her aching head. Easy enough to say when you didn’t live in the town where you had been born. Of course, Bonnie couldn’t let go of the past. It was the very air she breathed.
Not that it was ever advisable to forget all that had gone before. Certainly, Carol had no desire to forget the wonderful early years of her daughter’s life. If she viewed those times now with all the warm fuzziness of nostalgia, so be it.
The tiny curl of dark hair at the nape of Nicola’s neck. The way her wee fists would wave when she was excited. The little sighs she would utter as she fell asleep.
Carol breastfed for six months. It wasn’t always easy or convenient, but she was glad to do it. She enjoyed bath time with her daughter, soaked clothing and all. She loved going for long walks in the city, Nicola strapped to her chest; she would point things out to her baby daughter, talk to her constantly, know that she was absorbing knowledge faster than her mother could impart it.
Men came and went in Carol’s life, but she kept them away from her daughter. She might not have been the perfect mother—she had never believed that she would be—but she had provided a stable home life. Dinner was always at six unless one of Nicola’s school activities pushed it forward or backward. There were strict bedtimes, and access to television, video games, and social media was limited and monitored. Reading was emphasized. She taught Nicola the value of a budget.
It was only when Nicola turned fourteen that things began to go wrong.
Suddenly, she was angry at the world. Her school work began to suffer; she started to get into trouble both in and out of school.
One night she was brought home by the police. She had been involved in a fight at an adult nightclub where she should not have been. In truth, she was innocent of taking part in the brawl, other than in cheering on one of the brawlers. Carol and the parents of the other kids involved were able to pull strings and keep their children from being formally charged.
Carol tightened security measures at home, but Nicola managed to work around them. She was smoking and drinking. There was a shoplifting incident.
Carol took Nicola to a therapist. It did not go well.
After being caught cheating on a test, Nicola’s exclusive private school threatened to expel her.
Carol told none of this to Alex. At times, she felt guilty about her silence. At times, she desperately wanted to turn to someone for help, anyone. But she never did.
Maybe if she hadn’t gotten sick things might have turned out differently.
But she had gotten sick. She had been experiencing severe pelvic pain and bleeding for some months before she decided to undergo an abdominal hysterectomy. The surgery was radical. It involved a large incision and a slow and painful recovery. Her doctor predicted six weeks at home before Carol would be ready to go back to work and assume normal activities such as grocery shopping and going to the gym.
But what did doctors know? The pain did not abate like it was supposed to. And before she knew what was happening, Carol found herself addicted to the opioid painkillers she had been prescribed. At the time, she hadn’t known that if you took opioids for three or four days, it was likely that a year later you would still be taking them.
After a time, Carol needed access to more drugs than she could get from her doctor. A colleague on a museum committee, a high-society wife addicted to cosmetic surgery, became her supplier.
Managing the addiction, running a competitive business, and trying to parent a wildly unpredictable teenager proved exhausting. After Nicola faked her own assault in a bid to punish her mother, Carol knew she had to take a drastic step to end the nightmare.
Nicola might be sent to live with Bonnie and Ken in Maine. Life in a stable home with her stable aunt and uncle might help straighten Nicola out. Bonnie and Ken had been good parents to their daughter, Julie. And they had taken excellent care of Shirley Ascher in her last years. It could not have been easy, tending to a sick and dying woman who refused to leave her home when she might have been better off in nursing care.
Yes, Bonnie and Ken knew what they were doing. And Carol would pay them for Nicola’s upkeep—food, clothing, education, allowance—as well as give them a sum for their pains.
Surprisingly, Bonnie and Ken agreed almost immediately. Almost. Carol wasn’t sure who was the holdout; it didn’t matter in the end.
Nicola was not happy. “Maine? I’m going to live in Maine? You’ve got to be kidding me. People wear plaid without irony. No. Way.”
But to Maine Nicola had gone. Ten long years ago.
Carol slowly rose to a sitting position, pillows propped behind her back.
Maybe if Bonnie knew the whole truth, she might feel less angry at and resentful of her sister.
Or she might grow even angrier and more resentful.
Which was why Bonnie could never know about her sister’s addiction.
Ever.
Chapter 27
“Are you sure you don’t need anything for your apartment? Maybe a paper towel dispenser? I don’t know why you don’t have one. They’re convenient and keep the towels from getting dirty before you can use them.”
Nicola was trying her best to ignore her aunt’s chatter. Her nerves felt frayed. Maybe she should have gone straight to her apartment after work. Instead, she had stopped at the cottage. In so many ways it was still her real home. But sometimes, it was best not to go back there.
“I’m going to Reny’s anyway, so really, it would be no problem to pick up whatever you need. Did you ever replace the plastic colander you melted by accident? A nice aluminum one would be better, I think. Or I could—”
“Au
nt Bonnie, stop! I said I don’t need anything.”
Bonnie looked as if she had been slapped.
Nicola shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to use that tone of voice. It’s just that my mother’s being here is really upsetting me. I feel like she’s invaded our . . . our sanctuary. It’s making me short-tempered and I don’t like it. Today at work I came close to snapping at one of the more difficult residents. I’ve never, ever done that.”
Her aunt’s expression transformed into a smile and she opened her arms for a hug. “It’s all right,” she said. “I should have seen that you weren’t in the mood to natter on about home goods.”
Nicola smiled. “We haven’t had a real argument in almost ten years, not since I first came here to Yorktide and was so miserable and resentful.”
“This is a trying time,” Bonnie said.
“But we can’t let my mother come between us.”
“We won’t,” her aunt assured her.
“I know I keep saying this, but I wish Uncle Ken was here.”
“Me too. Every moment of every day.”
“Will we ever stop missing him?”
“I don’t think so,” Bonnie said. “But what we feel will change over time.”
“Sometimes I have trouble remembering his face,” Nicola admitted, her voice trembling. “How can that be? He hasn’t even been gone a year. It frightens me. What kind of person does that make me? Uncle Ken was the best father I could have had for ten years of my life.”
Bonnie took her niece’s hand. “Grief is messy. I don’t claim to understand it and maybe that’s the point. It can’t be understood, just . . . endured.”
“I know. I mean, intellectually I know. But going through it I feel as if I know nothing. I was unprepared to feel so . . . vulnerable. Frightened. Sad. Tired. So many things and sometimes all at once.”
“We’re told to remember all the good times we had with the person who died,” Bonnie said musingly. “To embrace those memories. To talk about them freely. We’re told not to make a pariah of the dead person.”
Nicola managed a smile. “It’s a nice idea. Bonnie? Would it be awful of me to ask you to make your infamous spaghetti and meatballs for dinner tonight?”
Her aunt laughed. “Infamous? Sure thing.”
Chapter 28
Julie had woken that morning with an inexplicable feeling of generalized optimism. In spite of what she had said to Scott, she knew she had been relatively absent from Sophie’s life this summer. Why not seize the opportunity her good mood presented and suggest that they spend some quality time together? Sophie had the day off from camp. And she rarely, if ever, said no to a shopping expedition.
Still, it had taken some doing before Sophie had agreed to accompany her mother to the Reny’s in Wells. Briefly, it occurred to Julie that Sophie might be embarrassed to be seen in public with her mother. But that was an unworthy thought. Sophie loved her mother.
No, Julie decided. The embarrassment was her own. She was the one painfully aware of having been branded with a scarlet S for “scorned.” How was it, she wondered, that some wives who had been cheated on could be so powerfully angry about it, so loud in their condemnation, so eager to spread the word that their husbands were worthless bastards? And others, like Julie, drowned in quiet suffering.
Almost an hour after entering the popular discount store, Julie and Sophie emerged laden with large plastic bags stuffed with bargains.
“Thanks, Mom,” Sophie said brightly. “This turned out to be way better than hanging out with Liz. She’s been kind of obnoxious since she started seeing that guy. Like getting a boyfriend is a big deal or something. Please. Anyone can do it.”
Julie smiled. She had allowed Sophie to spend more than she should have. She knew it was a bribe of sorts; no parent was completely immune to bribing a child in return for good behavior. Or for respect.
“It was fun, wasn’t it?” Julie said. “I’m not sure how much I really need a new wallet, but I’m kind of glad I let you talk me into it.”
Sophie rolled her eyes before putting on her sunglasses. “Mom, that old thing you’ve been carrying around is disgusting. The minute we get home you’re taking everything out of it and tossing it in the trash.”
She was touched by her daughter’s concern for her mother’s—happiness? Contentment? Whatever the word, Julie was thankful.
“You know what we should do?” Sophie said as they made their way through the parking lot. “We should see the movie about Freddie Mercury. It’s playing again in South Portland.”
“Since when are you into Queen?” Julie asked. She was genuinely surprised. She had assumed her daughter was only interested in the latest pop trends.
“OMG, Mom, really? Queen is awesome.”
“I agree,” Julie told her. “I’ll check online for the showings.” Scott also loved Queen, but Julie wouldn’t ask him to come along.
“Hey,” Sophie said suddenly, “isn’t that what’s her name, Sally Alcott over there? Look, getting out of that orange bug. I haven’t seen her around in ages. I thought she moved away or something.”
Sally Alcott. Julie darted a look in the direction Sophie had indicated. Yes. It was her. Julie hadn’t heard her name spoken aloud since before Sophie was born. Scott had been briefly involved with Sally just before he and Julie started to date. Julie had often wondered if Sally was the woman with whom Scott had cheated not long before Scott and Julie got engaged. He had never said and Julie had never asked.
“Mom?”
Julie startled. “Yes. I don’t know.” She quickened her pace. What was the likelihood of her running across Sally Alcott now, after all this time? What did it mean? Julie’s good mood fled as suddenly as it had appeared. Did Sally know about Scott and Laci Fox? Did Scott still think about Sally? Did he still see her, secretly, behind his wife’s back?
“What’s the rush?” Sophie complained from behind her mother. “I can’t run in flip-flops!”
There was the car. Julie began to shift the shopping bags in her right hand to her left in order to reach into her bag for her keys. And then she stopped in her tracks.
“What’s wrong?” Sophie demanded.
What was wrong was that someone had hit Julie’s car while she and Sophie were in the store. There was a large dent in the passenger door behind the driver’s seat; the paint was badly scraped.
“Oh, my God, someone hit us!” Sophie cried indignantly. “I can’t believe he didn’t even leave a note. What a jerk!”
A hit and run. An act of disrespect. An attack even. Had the driver known the car was Julie Miller’s? Could it have been Laci Fox? Of course not. But why not?
The shopping bags dropped from Julie’s hands and she squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel her heart racing dangerously. A sob escaped her lips. She felt Sophie’s hand awkwardly patting her shoulder.
“Mom, it’s all right, it’s just a dent. We’ll get it fixed. We have insurance, right?”
But Julie barely heard her daughter’s attempt at comfort. All she heard was the sound of mocking laughter in her head.
“Mom, come on, please.” Sophie’s voice was strained. “People are looking.”
Was that true? Julie didn’t care. And she very much did care.
“I’m going to call Dad.”
Suddenly, Julie opened her eyes. “No!” she said fiercely. “Not your father. I’m fine.”
Sophie looked unsure. And afraid. “Maybe you shouldn’t be driving,” she said.
Julie picked up the bags she had dropped onto the pavement. “I said I’m fine. Get in.”
Sophie did. They drove back to the house in silence.
Julie’s grip on the steering wheel was tight. Her emotions could not be trusted. They were too precariously balanced one upon another like building blocks piled high by an unsteady toddler. The slightest breath of air could knock all to the ground, resulting in a jumbled mess.
It was only when Julie pulled the car into the dr
iveway that she finally spoke.
“Look,” she said quietly, “don’t tell your father that I . . . that I was upset. Please.”
Sophie nodded; she didn’t look at her mother. She got out of the car, grabbed her shopping bags from the back seat, and went into the house.
Only then did Julie follow.
Chapter 29
Bonnie was on her way to Ferndean. She had suggested that Julie come along for the ride; she suspected her daughter didn’t want to be alone after the trauma of the accident and she was right.
Still, Julie wasn’t keen on coming face-to-face with her aunt; she told her mother she would stay in the car.
Bonnie was bending down to leave the box of miniature garden gnomes she had purchased for the backyard just outside the front door when it opened. Bonnie stood up, almost dropping the box as she did. She had hoped to get away before Carol knew she was there.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming by,” Carol said.
“I’m just dropping off these garden gnomes,” she said, annoyed that her voice was trembling.
“Why do we need garden gnomes?” Carol asked with a frown.
“We don’t need them, exactly. I just thought they would look nice. I ordered them months ago, before you—”
“Well, you might as well come in.” Carol waved to the car, beckoning Julie to join them.
“She doesn’t want to visit,” Bonnie said. “She told me so.”
But Carol was undeterred. She continued to beckon until Julie emerged from the passenger seat. Of course, Julie had capitulated. No one could withstand Carol Ascher.
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