Maybe We Will (Silver Harbor)

by Melissa Foster

  Cait went up on her knees and pointed to the child’s hair. “See the AM? There.”

  “Each of the sketches has them,” Deirdra said. “Ava Michaels, Mom’s maiden name.”

  As Abby lowered herself to the floor and looked at the other sketches, she found their mother’s initials hidden in every one of them. “I don’t understand. I thought Mom gave you up for adoption when you were born.”

  “She did, but we found these letters from Cait’s adoptive mother.” Deirdra pointed to a pile of envelopes. “It looks like once Mom and Dad tracked down Cait’s adoptive mother, she kept in touch with Mom and sent a letter giving her an update on how Cait was doing along with a picture every month like clockwork. The first letter had a bunch of pictures from the months she’d missed.”

  Cait handed Abby a stack of photographs and said, “The letters stopped when I was four, which is when my mother passed away.”

  “Oh, Cait. I didn’t know you lost your adoptive mom. I’m so sorry.” Abby hugged her. “You were so young. Do you remember her?”

  “Sometimes I think I do,” Cait said. “But I was so little, I have no idea if they’re real memories or something I dreamed up from the pictures I have.”

  Abby’s heart ached for her. “I understand what you mean. Do you think your father didn’t want to keep sending the pictures because it made him sad about losing your mom?”

  She shrugged. “He’s kind of a dick. He refused to talk about her and moved us from Rhode Island, where we were living, to Connecticut.”

  Abby sighed. “God, that sucks.” She looked at Deirdra and said, “You should apologize to Cait for what you said about her being better off not knowing Mom. She grew up without a mother, and that had to hurt to hear.”

  “I already did,” Deirdra said.

  “Good.” Abby was grateful that her sister’s disdain for their mother hadn’t marred her heart irreparably. She looked through some of the pictures of baby Cait, with her chubby little legs and big green eyes that weren’t quite as wary as they were now. “You were an adorable baby, which isn’t surprising, given how beautiful you are.”

  Cait looked down bashfully, with an appreciative smile.

  “Abby, why do you think Mom didn’t tell us that she sketched? She was good,” Deirdra said. “She probably could have made a living off her artistic talents.”

  “Maybe because it appears she only sketched Cait. And if that was the case, then I’m sure it wasn’t something she wanted to bring up with us. What would she say? Hey, girls, you have a sister out there? Remember, Shelley said Mom was forced to give up Cait. I’m sure Mom missed her every day and felt guilty about the whole situation.” She handed Cait the sketchbook and said, “That’s your proof of how much our mother loved you, right there. That and the fact that she brought us all together. Did you guys read your letters from Mom? Maybe she explains some of this.” Abby hadn’t read hers yet. As much as she wanted to, it was the one special thing that her mother had given solely to her, and once she read it, there would be no more secret messages. She wasn’t ready to be done yet.

  “No, and I won’t for a while,” Deirdra said. “Have you read yours?”

  “Not yet, but I will.”

  “Me too.” Cait ran her fingers over the sketchbook and said, “I must have gotten my ability to draw from her.”

  “That’s true! And you got her green eyes, her cheekbones, her height, and her figure. Did you design your tattoos?” Abby asked.

  “Most of them, and I tattooed the ones I could reach.” She ran her hand down her arm, then crossed it over her middle.

  “What do they represent?” Abby asked. Her tattoos were unlike anything Abby had ever seen. They were a mash-up of buildings and trees, animals, shapes, webs, and shades of color, all beautiful in their uniqueness.

  “Lots of different things. Things I’ve gone through, friends I’ve had. Do either of you have any tattoos?”

  “I do,” Deirdra said.

  “You do not,” Abby said, peering into the hope chest at the hidden pieces of her mother’s life.

  “Want to bet?” Deirdra challenged. “I got one when I was in Atlantic City with Sutton a couple of years ago.”

  “And you never told me? Let me see it.” Abby scooted closer to Deirdra. “Where is it?”

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  “God, you’re such a brat. Why bring it up? Just to torture me?” Abby asked.

  Deirdra glanced at Cait and said, “It’s fun torturing her, isn’t it?”

  Cait leaned closer to Abby and whispered, “She doesn’t really have one.”

  “Oh my gosh! Seriously? You two are already ganging up on me? Dee, you’re such a bad influence. You didn’t even give her a few days to settle in.”

  Cait bit her lower lip, and Abby gasped. “It was your idea?”

  “I’ve never had sisters to joke around with,” Cait said. “Deirdra said you wouldn’t be mad.”

  “I’m not mad. I’m pleasantly surprised, actually. I want you to feel like part of the family.”

  “She doesn’t ever get mad at anything,” Deirdra said. “Mom never told us she was sick, and that pisses me off to no end, but Abby rationalizes it all.”

  “I was more hurt than mad. I think she had her reasons,” Abby insisted. “Plus, mad is so ugly. I hate being mad as much as I dislike the word hate.”

  Deirdra proceeded to spout off a laundry list of things she thought should anger Abby and didn’t. “What gets your panties in a knot, Cait?”

  “I don’t know,” Cait said as she gathered all of the sketchbooks into a pile. “Jerks. People who judge others when they shouldn’t. I work with this girl at the tattoo shop, Aria. She’s got social anxiety, and sometimes people treat her like she’s invisible, or worse, they treat her like she’s got a disease. That really pisses me off.”

  “Mean people suck,” Deirdra said. “Do you like where you work and the people you work with?”

  “I love them.” She said it so easily, it seemed at odds with how wary she appeared. “They’re like family to me.”

  “How long have you worked there?” Abby asked.

  “Several years,” Cait said as she picked up the pile of sketchbooks to put into the hope chest.

  “You can have those sketchbooks and the letters and pictures,” Abby offered. “Right, Dee?”

  Deirdra pushed to her feet and said, “Cait can have all of Mom’s stuff as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to keep some of her sketches?” Cait asked Abby.

  “I’m sure. I never even knew she could draw, and those are pieces of your life. I’m starting to think Mom loved so hard, that every time she lost someone, she lost a piece of herself.”

  “That’s a thing,” Cait said. “My boss, Tank, lost a piece of himself when his younger sister died.”

  “That’s horrible.” Abby didn’t even want to imagine how hard it would be to lose Deirdra or Cait, even after knowing Cait for only a couple of days. “I wonder what else is hidden among Mom’s things.”

  “We didn’t find anything else interesting in the hope chest,” Deirdra said.

  Abby went to the closet, her mother’s bohemian-style clothes bringing back a mix of good and bad memories. The wide-legged pants she wore to Abby’s second-grade play, the long batik dress she wore on so many strolls through town, Abby could practically still see it swishing around her legs. The floral sundress Abby and Deirdra had nearly ripped trying to get it off their mother one night when she was drunk. She leafed through batik skirts and funky pants, dresses of varying lengths, all splashed with multiple colors, and withdrew her mother’s favorite dress, with a yellow bodice and a long, flowing patchwork skirt and held it out for her sisters to see. “Dee, remember Mom dancing in this that night down on the beach when we cooked lobster over the fire?”

  “Yes, I remember,” Deirdra said sharply. “Can we not do this right now? I know you want—and probably
need—to go through all of your mushy memories, but I’m overloaded, and I don’t have the brainpower to deal with it at the moment.”

  “Okay.” Abby put the dress back, glad Deirdra had at least spent some time going through their mother’s hope chest with Cait. “I’ve got time. I’ll get through it and will relive my good memories with Cait if she wants. Why don’t we go downstairs and hang out?”

  “Good idea. So, Cait, do you have any hobbies?” Deirdra asked as they headed downstairs.

  “I draw and I like to hike. I like the water, but I don’t get out much. I love animals, and I volunteer at Tank’s brother’s animal rescue sometimes. What about you?” Cait asked as they followed Deirdra into the kitchen.

  Deirdra set three wineglasses on the counter and began pouring. “Work and wine, that’s my life.”

  “It doesn’t worry you? The drinking?” Cait asked.

  “I’m all talk about the wine part. I almost never drink unless I’m here.” She handed Cait and Abby glasses and said, “Here’s to long-lost sisters.”

  They tapped glasses and sipped their wine.

  “I’m glad Mom brought us together,” Abby said as Deirdra took the foil off a blueberry pie. “Do you think we should have a goodbye ceremony for her now that we’re all together?”

  Deirdra shook her head. “She didn’t want one. You can do something, but count me out.”

  Abby should have expected that. “Cait?”

  “I didn’t know her, so I don’t feel like I need that closure. But if you want support, I can be there for you.”

  “I appreciate that, but I was just thinking out loud. I don’t even know if I’ll do anything.” Abby sipped her wine and said, “But I’m looking forward to learning more about you. Your pet peeves, the quirky things that make you special.”

  Cait’s brows slanted. “Did you call me quirky?”

  “I meant it in a good way. I’m quirky. I laugh when things aren’t funny, and I ramble when I’m nervous. I blurt things out when I shouldn’t,” she said, thinking of the underwear model debacle. “And Deirdra is definitely quirky. She’s got a thing about the number four.”

  “Oh my God. Really?” Deirdra shook her head.

  “What? You do. You can’t take two bites of anything. It has to be four, eight, sixteen.”

  “Why?” Cait asked. “Do you have OCD?”

  “No. It’s a good luck thing.”

  “She won’t even tell me why she does it,” Abby said. “And she’s got other quirks, too. She’s got a wicked chip on her shoulder, and she’s never afraid to go up against anyone.”

  “It’s true, but that’s a strength, not a quirk,” Deirdra said, handing them each a fork and carrying the pie to the table.

  “I haven’t even eaten dinner. I can’t eat pie.” Abby grabbed a lasagna from the fridge and put a piece in the microwave.

  “While you were licking Aiden’s cone, we polished off a chicken casserole,” Deirdra said. “It was delicious.”

  Abby leaned against the counter as her food heated up, thinking about Aiden and his cone, and suddenly she was itching to talk about him. “Not as delicious as Aiden’s kisses.”

  “I knew it! You slept with him, didn’t you?” Deirdra grinned like she’d caught Abby with her hand in the cookie jar.

  “No. We just kissed.”

  “Well, that’s still a big deal.” Deirdra ate a bit of pie and said, “This is the first guy Abby has kissed since she broke up with her quasi boyfriend right after Mom died.”

  “So? It’s not like you’ve been out there kissing guys for the last three months,” Abby said.

  “How do you know I’m not just keeping the details of my sex life to myself?” Deirdra said snarkily.

  “Unless you’re making out with Malcolm, which is gross, then I think you’re all talk because you work more than I do.” Abby carried her lasagna to the table and said, “It’s not that I wouldn’t have liked to have met someone great, but I was working sixty-plus hours a week. I had no time for anything else.” She wiggled her shoulders and gloated a little. “Besides, Aiden was worth the wait, and after all this time, I deserve to have some fun.”

  “That you do,” Deirdra said. “You deserve to have a lot of fun, Abby. You always did for Mom what I didn’t have the patience for. You’re a freaking saint in my book.”

  Deirdra handed out compliments as if she had a limited supply of them, which was why Abby felt like a kid gathering them up and pocketing them like treasures. “Thanks, Dee. Do you have a boyfriend, Cait?”

  “Nope.” Cait shook her head and dug into the pie.

  “Do you work a lot of hours?” Deirdra asked.

  “Sometimes,” Cait said.

  “Do you date a lot?” Abby asked.

  “Not really,” Cait said. “I’m not looking for a guy, but I’ve found a lot of guys are too talky for me or too into themselves.”

  “You want the strong, silent type. I like that,” Deirdra said.

  Cait scooped up another forkful of pie and said, “I don’t care if a guy is strong or not. If I’m going to get close to someone, I want them to be trustworthy and smart enough to know excuses aren’t usually worth the breath needed to make them and to choose to do the right thing ninety-five percent of the time.”

  “Why only ninety-five percent of the time?” Abby asked.

  A slow smile crept across Cait’s lips. “I’m pretty sure men are not as smart as women, and five percent is all the leeway they’re going to get.”

  Deirdra pointed her fork at Cait and said, “I like the way you think, Cait Badass Weatherby.”

  A glimmer of happiness rose in Cait’s eyes.

  They fell into easy conversation, talking about what their lives were like growing up. Cait’s father was a CEO of a manufacturing company, a well-respected pillar of the community who worked long hours and appeared to be adored by everyone . . . except Cait. Cait said she’d taken off right after graduating high school and had rarely seen him since. Abby told her stories about their mother, and she was glad that Deirdra interjected positive comments as often as she made jokes at their mother’s expense. She hoped one day Deirdra would find peace with that whole situation, but for now all Abby could do was try her best to keep reminding her that their mother wasn’t always the woman she’d been after their father died. They ate half of the pie and Abby ate her lasagna. They laughed about silly things they’d done over the years and cried about times they’d been disappointed or hurt. Hours passed like minutes, and before they knew it, it was after midnight.

  “I have a breakfast date tomorrow with my hot renovation helper. I’d better get some sleep.” Abby pushed to her feet and said, “Cait, Deirdra’s leaving in the morning. Do you want to come with me and have breakfast with Aiden?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll grab something here. It seems like Ava must have had a lot of friends. Your freezer and fridge are packed full.”

  “We can thank the Bra Brigade for that,” Deirdra said.

  “The Bra Brigade?” Cait asked.

  “Shelley’s mom, Lenore, started the group when she was a teenager. She and all her friends would pick an out-of-the-way spot and sunbathe in their bras. But as the island got built up and more populated, those secret places became few and far between. There are all sorts of stories about people stumbling upon them.” Abby laughed softly and said, “I love Lenore and Shelley, and all the ladies who take part in the Bra Brigade, but as a teenager, the idea of your mom hanging out in her bra was mortifying.”

  “Ava did it?” Cait asked.

  “A few times, believe it or not,” Deirdra said.

  Cait grinned. “Have you ever done it?”

  “No way,” Deirdra said.

  “I have,” Abby confessed. “Me and Leni and her sisters joined them a few times. It was really fun. They’re some of my fun memories with Mom.” She yawned and said, “Did Deirdra show you the apartment and get you set up with clean sheets and towels?”

  Cait push
ed to her feet and said, “Yes. It’s perfect, thanks. You said you live in New York? When do you have to go back?”

  Abby’s nerves pinged to life. She hadn’t told Deirdra that she’d quit her job, and she sucked at lying, so she pulled up her big-girl panties and said, “Well . . . I did work for a restaurant in New York City, but I recently quit.”

  “You quit?” Deirdra flew to her feet. “When?”

  “Right before I came here. It’s not a big deal. I have savings, and I knew I’d need the summer to go through Mom’s stuff. Now I have time to figure out my next move.”

  Deirdra scoffed, starting to pace. “How could you be so impetuous? You have rent and living expenses. You don’t even know if the Bistro can stay afloat.”

  “I didn’t quit for the restaurant!” Abby didn’t mean to raise her voice, but she couldn’t stop herself. She knew Deirdra was upset because she cared about her, but she’d had it with other people trying to take control of her life. Forcing a calmer tone, she said, “I’m twenty-eight years old, Dee. I don’t need permission to make a life change. I quit because I wasn’t happy. I hated going to work every day, and I was stuck in a spiral of nothingness. For God’s sake, I was seeing a guy I barely liked as a friend. That should tell you something. I’ve been miserable for a long time.”

  Deirdra crossed her arms, her jaw tight, and for a second Abby thought she saw hurt in her sister’s eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it had risen.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you quit?”

  “Because I knew this would be your reaction, and I didn’t want you to worry. I’m a big girl. I can make my own decisions. And it wasn’t impetuous. Impetuous would have been quitting a year or two ago, when I wanted to quit. But I didn’t. I made sure I had money in the bank to hold me over, and I still threw money into my retirement account right up until my last paycheck, like you told me to.”

  “That’s why you want to run the Bistro? Because you don’t have another job?” Deirdra asked. “Do you realize we can sell that shithole to that idiot investor and we’d each make a million bucks? Even after taxes, you wouldn’t have to go back to work for at least a few years.”