Dearest Nicola,
First, I must thank you from the bottom of my heart for consenting to read this letter.
I’m aware that I have no right to your kindness or generosity, which makes your gift of both that much more meaningful to me.
To the point–At the time when Carol came to me with her idea of my being a parent in absentia, I didn’t give the idea a fraction of the thought I should have given it. Now, near the end of my life, I know it was crazy of me to think I could live without one day knowing my own flesh and blood. Carol’s daughter. My daughter. Our child. I was a fool for love, Nicola. Men have done stupider things for love, but not much stupider. And I don’t in any way blame your mother for my poor decision. You must believe that.
Below you will find a phone number that you can call if you would like to talk via FaceTime. You can text me to arrange a time.
Again, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for accepting my request that we communicate.
Your father, Alex Peters
Nicola took a deep breath.
She had a father.
She reached for her phone and immediately sent him a text. There was no time like the present.
* * *
Even given the jerking, shifting perspective that was part of the FaceTime experience, Nicola could see that Alex Peters was a handsome man. She reached out with a trembling finger and touched the screen.
“I look like you. I mean, I knew I must look like my father in the ways I didn’t look like my mother, but . . .”
Alex smiled. “Carol always told me that you had my eyes. She said that at moments she would almost feel it was me looking back at her. Something in your expression.”
“I tried once or twice to imagine your face. But I couldn’t.”
“I was luckier. I had the photos your mother sent me.” Alex cleared his throat. “So, tell me about yourself.”
“All right,” Nicola said. “I’m a junior gerontological social worker at the local nursing home. I guess my mother told you that. Recently I was thinking about going into the Peace Corps. I was hoping to serve in Ukraine.”
Alex looked puzzled. “Did your mother tell you that my family is from Ukraine?” he asked.
“No!” Nicola was stunned. “She never said a word!”
“Carol named you Nicola Kathryn after two of my grandparents, Nikolas and Kateryna. And I still have family—you still have family—in Ukraine. I’ve kept in touch with them, though I haven’t been to visit in more than ten years. I’d be so happy to bring you all together.” Alex smiled a wobbly smile. “Of course, first I’ll have to explain why I’ve never told them I have a daughter. But tell me more about yourself. Tell me five things I might not know.”
“Okay,” Nicola said. “Well, my favorite color is sky blue. I don’t really like to drive, but I’m a good driver. I read two or three mystery novels a week. My favorite pizza topping is mushroom. And my favorite old song is ‘As Time Goes By.’ Now, you tell me five things about yourself.”
Alex told her that he used to love playing tennis until he shattered his right knee in a motor scooter accident. That he spoke Spanish and French fluently. That his favorite books were biographies. That he was a pretty good cook and enjoyed giving dinner parties. “And my favorite color is also blue,” he said, “though something darker than sky blue. Cadet blue? Is that a color?”
“I think it used to be the name of a crayon!” Nicola laughed. And then, more soberly, she said, “How do you feel? I mean, are you in pain?” Nicola wasn’t sure she had the right to ask that sort of question, but if a daughter didn’t have the right to ask her father about his health, who did?
“Not yet,” he said readily, “though I probably will be. But there will be pain control. I try not to think too much about what’s to come.”
“Don’t anticipate disaster. That’s something I always try to keep in mind, though there are times when you do need to prepare . . .” Nicola shook her head. “Sorry. I’m being glum.”
Alex smiled kindly. “That’s all right.”
Nicola hesitated a moment before asking her next question. “Didn’t you have any reservations about having a child with my mother?”
Alex smiled. “No reservations. I trusted Carol and I loved her. I believed she would always do the right thing by you.”
“Why didn’t you ever break your promise to my mother and come for me?”
“I’m a man of my word,” he said simply. “I made what I came to know was a ridiculously wrong promise, but it was a promise nonetheless.”
“You didn’t ever ask her to change her mind about the arrangements? Before now, I mean. Before you got sick.”
Alex smiled faintly. “I was pretty certain I’d be rebuffed. And I was afraid that if Carol felt she could no longer trust me she would end our relations entirely and then I would lose you all over again.”
“You were afraid of her.”
“No,” Alex replied. “I had respect for her strength and determination.”
“And if she had refused to let us speak now, you would have been okay with that decision?”
Alex sighed. “I would have been unhappy, but I would have accepted it. I had no intention of forcing her hand.”
“Do you have any other children?” Nicola asked. Somehow, she knew what the answer would be.
“No, and I never married. I was never in love with anyone but your mother.”
To know that degree of devotion . . .
“Is there someone special in your life?” Alex asked when she had not spoken.
“No,” Nicola said. “There never really has been. Maybe I’m not cut out for romance.”
“Or maybe you’re just waiting to be swept off your feet by true love.”
“Like you were?”
Alex’s expression tightened.
“Sorry,” Nicola said hurriedly. “But you can see why I might not entirely believe in love and all that’s supposed to go with it.”
“And what is supposed to go with it?” Alex asked softly.
Nicola shrugged. “I don’t know. Flowers and diamond rings and cheesy songs.”
“Not friendship and appreciation and laughter? And yes, sacrifice.”
Nicola felt chastened. In some ways, she was so very innocent, even naïve. She had suspected as much but now she knew for sure.
“We can talk again,” Nicola said. “If you want.”
“I very much want to,” Alex said.
“I thought this would be weird. Painful. But it isn’t.”
“No,” Alex said. “It isn’t at all.”
Chapter 116
“I’m so very sorry, Julie. I can’t say it often enough.”
Julie reached across the small café table and took her friend Aggie’s hand. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I know you were only doing what you thought was best. But it all came as such a shock.”
“I can’t imagine. Thank you for suggesting we meet. I was starting to think you would never forgive me.”
Julie smiled. Only weeks earlier she had been thinking the same sorry thought.
“By the way,” Aggie said now, “Prescott says he saw Scott last week at the hardware store.”
Julie released her friend’s hand. “He did? Scott didn’t mention it.”
“That’s because Prescott didn’t know what to do—say hello, ignore Scott—so he just hurried out of the store!”
The thought of big, burly Prescott scurrying away from a chance encounter with her husband caused Julie to grin. “Well, you can tell Prescott that the next time he runs into Scott he should feel free to say hello.”
“So, you’ve forgiven Scott?” Aggie asked.
“No,” Julie admitted. “Not yet, but I’m getting there. Interestingly, my aunt Carol has been a help to me. I’ve spent more time with her this summer than ever before. A few things she’s said to me hit home, things about self-care and starting small.”
“But I know how your mother feels about he
r,” Aggie said. “She never made it a secret that she—sorry, but I’m going to say it—that she resented Carol. Is she upset that you two are getting close?”
“Honestly, I don’t think so. Things between them are a bit better than they had been at the start of the summer.”
“Well, that’s good to hear! What about Sophie? How is she faring in all this?”
“All right, I think,” Julie said. “At least, she doesn’t seem to loathe and despise her parents quite as much as she did earlier this summer.”
“Thank God for that!” Aggie shook her head. “I figured that Sophie had to be unhappy and I worried she might do as so many teens do when things at home are rocky. Go wild or worse.”
Julie took a sip of her coffee. It was a steadying tactic. Then she said, “I’m afraid I’ve been ignoring Sophie’s distress this summer. Not purposely, of course. Scott has been more actively worried. He’s convinced that the kids she’s been hanging out with—the other camp counselors—are a bad lot. Mostly I’ve dismissed the idea, but . . .” Julie shook her head. “I’ve never known Scott to overreact or to worry without good reason.”
“But there’s no evidence for his concern?”
“Sophie did ignore her curfew one night not long ago.” Julie smiled. “The thing is, nothing is the same as it used to be. If my instincts are off-kilter, then Scott’s might be, too.”
“Don’t anticipate disaster.” Aggie nodded. “So, you and Scott are communicating?”
“Yes,” Julie said. “Some. The other day he thanked me for talking to him. He said that anything was better than my silence.”
Aggie smiled ruefully. “Silence is painful.”
“Sorry. I’m still not feeling great, but I think the dark cloud is lifting.”
“Go at your own pace. Nobody is hurrying you.”
Looking into her friend’s open and loving face, Julie flirted with the idea of telling her about her confrontation with Laci Fox. But they had spent enough time discussing the Miller family.
“Tell me what’s been going on with you and Prescott and the children,” Julie said. “Leave nothing out. I’ve missed so much.”
Chapter 117
Bonnie had been weeding the herb and vegetable garden in the rain for about fifteen minutes before she heard a distant voice. It was her sister, shouting for Bonnie to get inside.
“You’re soaked!” Carol exclaimed, when Bonnie stood next to her on the back deck. “Why didn’t you come in earlier?”
“A little rain never hurt anyone,” Bonnie said cheerfully.
“Well, let me get you a towel and a cup of tea.”
Bonnie was touched by her sister’s solicitous concern. The sisters settled in the den, which looked oddly brighter than it had the last time Bonnie had been at Ferndean.
“That’s because I put higher-watt bulbs in the standing lamps,” Carol explained. “The gloom was getting to me.”
“It makes a nice change,” Bonnie said, nodding toward a small table on which sat a framed portrait of her and Ken on their wedding day. “Now I can actually see that photo. Boy, were we young!”
“I completely understand why you didn’t ask me to be your maid of honor,” Carol said. “It would have been very awkward for both of us, and for Ken. Still, I was a bit hurt, though I didn’t realize it until I watched you standing at the altar with Marianne Wallace at your side.” Carol shrugged. “Then again, I’d set the stage for my being the outcast.”
“You were never an outcast,” Bonnie argued. “You were . . .” She smiled. “You were an exotic and colorful bird in a nest full of ordinary brown sparrows.”
“That’s a kind way of putting it.”
“Maybe. But it doesn’t erase the fact that we sparrows admired you for your difference at the same time we were resentful of the attention you attracted. People pay a price for standing out.”
“An astute observation. Are you still friends with Marianne?” Carol asked.
“She moved away with her second husband when we were all about forty,” Bonnie told her. “I suppose we’re still friends, but we don’t communicate all that often. I guess that’s to be expected. I mean, Marianne and her first husband were Ken and my closest friends in Yorktide. Once Nat died and Marianne remarried, well, nothing was really the same.”
“I suppose you told her about Ken’s passing.”
“Of course,” Bonnie said. “She sent a sympathy card.” But there had been no personal note in addition to the printed message of condolence. That had depressed Bonnie until it hadn’t.
“Do you miss her?” Carola asked.
“Not really,” Bonnie admitted. “It used to make me sad that we grew apart. But life goes on, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Carol said. “You lose one thing and you gain another. You know, once or twice over the years I wanted to tell you the truth about Nicola’s father. I knew you probably wouldn’t approve but all the same, there were times when I wanted you to know.”
Bonnie’s heart swelled. “Because we shared so much when we were little.”
“As sisters do. And that’s important.”
“It is,” Bonnie said. “Which is why I wanted you by my side at Ken’s funeral. But that’s forgiven now.”
“Thank you,” Carol said. “It means a lot that you’re able to forgive me.”
“About what we were saying earlier,” Bonnie went on, “sparrows and colorful birds. For a long time after you left Yorktide, I missed your vitality. Life seemed so dull without you around to spice things up.”
“I always felt bored growing up,” Carol admitted. “I’m not bragging. It’s nothing to brag about. Nothing in Yorktide was ever exciting enough for me. I mean, I tried. You remember how I was involved in clubs at school and went with everyone to the community potluck suppers and sang for a time in our church’s choir. But inside I was unhappy.” Carol smiled. “You always seemed so contented. And everyone liked you.”
“Everybody liked you, too,” Bonnie said.
Carol shook her head. “No, people were impressed by me. But not many people actually liked me. I didn’t make it easy for them to. And I didn’t entirely care.”
“Dad was certainly impressed. His preference for you over me was pretty obvious.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Carol said feelingly. “But I’m sure he loved us both equally.” Carol rose from her seat. “I’m going to make more tea.”
When Carol had gone to the kitchen, Bonnie thought about their father. It had been abundantly clear that Ronald Ascher was hurt by Carol’s leaving home. And a small, not very admirable part of Bonnie had felt glad about that. Maybe now he realized that he had made a mistake lavishing the majority of his attention on the bright and shining sister, the one who proved to be shallow and unreliable, the one who proved not to care.
After about a year, when it became clear that Carol would not be making frequent visits home, Bonnie and her father started to spend more time together. They rarely spoke about Carol and when they did it was always in reference to the past. What a hit she had been in her fifth-grade play. How lovely she had looked receiving the Miss Yorktide Award in 1973. How clever she was with a needle and thread.
If Bonnie and Ronald Ascher hadn’t shared hopes and dreams, they had grown closer in a comfortable sort of way and Bonnie had appreciated this development in their relationship. And the development had only come about because Carol had gone away.
Life, Bonnie thought, worked in mysterious ways to give you what you needed.
Chapter 118
Carol gripped the counter and took a deep breath. Her knuckles were white. Her head was tingling.
And then, the moment of panic was gone. If that’s what it had been, panic.
Maybe it had been sheer emotion. After all, she and Bonnie had never spoken as honestly with each other as adults as they had been speaking in the past few days. An experience like that was enough to rattle anyone.
Even Carol Ascher.
“
Remember the summer you were in a production of Oklahoma! at the little theater out by the Shandy’s farm?” Carol asked when she had rejoined her sister with more hot tea.
“Of course, I remember. It occupied every waking moment of my life from the day I got out of school in June ’til the last performance in August.” Bonnie frowned. “I seem to remember both of us at that first open call.”
“I was there, but I could see how much being in the play meant to you and I knew you’d have a better time if I wasn’t stealing the limelight. So, I decided not to audition.”
Bonnie smiled. “I suppose I should thank you. Remember how I had a crush on one of the older boys in the play? You encouraged me to flirt. You offered to lend me those knee-high boots, the ones with the stacked heel.”
“I was trying to boost your ego as well as your height!”
“My feet were too small for them,” Bonnie said. “But it was the thought that counted.”
Carol shrugged. “Maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged you to act as someone other than who you were.”
“An awkward fourteen-year-old. The boy—what was his name?—never noticed me, of course. I wouldn’t have known what to do if he had,” Bonnie said with a wry laugh. “Girls that age don’t want a boy to reciprocate a crush, not really. Too scary.”
“I was never scared of boys,” Carol admitted. “Or of sex for that matter. I guess in a way none of it seemed important enough to be concerned about.” None of what, she asked herself? Love?
Bonnie leaned forward a bit. “Has Nicola told you anything about her conversation with her father?” she asked.
“Nothing other than she was glad they had spoken and that they plan to speak again.”
“That’s wonderful,” Bonnie said. “Ken would be so pleased.”
“I know. You two were . . . You and Ken were like guardian angels to my daughter. I can’t ever thank you enough, I can’t ever express my gratitude for—”
Carol pressed her linen napkin to her eyes.
Bonnie’s voice was soft and low. “You already have,” she said. “You already have.”
All Our Summers Page 35