The Summer Seekers

by Sarah Morgan

  “That’s good.” Although she wasn’t sure she should be anyone’s inspiration. She felt uncomfortable for letting Angie believe she had a perfect marriage.

  Angie slipped her feet back into her sandals. “After everything that has happened, I should be bitter and twisted and hate all men, but honestly I don’t feel that way. Life is too short and precious to waste a moment of it being bitter, isn’t it? And it’s not that I need to be with someone—I’m financially independent, I have a house—small, but it’s mine. I have friends, a job and hobbies. I can be single. But I’d rather share my life with someone who cares about me, and who I care about. I want someone who is going to be interested in me, and care about what happened in my day.”

  Liza swallowed. She wanted that too.

  She thought about Finn, and how it had felt to be listened to. Connecting was so important for intimacy and somewhere along the way she and Sean had ceased to connect on all but the most superficial level.

  “I’m sure you’ll find that.”

  “Maybe.” Angie glanced at Liza. “Don’t look so worried. My disastrous romantic life isn’t catching. You and Sean are a forever couple if ever I saw one.”

  Liza stood up quickly. “It’s hot and we’re both burning. Let’s go back to the house.”

  Angie stood up too. “Why don’t I cook us both dinner on Friday?”

  On Friday she was cooking dinner for Finn. Something else she didn’t plan to share with Angie, and not only because it would be an invasion of Finn’s privacy.

  “I can’t do Friday. How about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow works.” Angie slung her bag over her shoulder and they walked across the sand and back to the path that led across the fields to Oakwood Cottage. “Did you know that Finn Cool lives around here?”

  “Mmm?” She wasn’t used to being evasive. How did her mother do it?

  “Poppy almost went wild when she found out. I keep hoping I’ll bump into him in the supermarket, although I expect he has staff and doesn’t relate to normal humans.”

  Liza thought about how friendly he’d been. And how he’d helped her mother. “It must be difficult trying to lead a normal life when you are high profile.”

  They arrived back at the house and Angie dug in her bag for her car keys.

  “You’re probably right. But if you happen to see him make sure you tell him I’m available.” Laughing, she unlocked her car and threw her bag on the passenger seat. “Thanks for the picnic. This was fun.”

  Liza waved her off and then headed straight to the summerhouse, desperate to get back to her painting.

  The afternoon passed without her noticing and it was hunger that eventually drove her back to the house.

  Her hair was stiff from her swim in the sea earlier and she intended to take a shower, but first she wanted to watch some episodes of The Summer Seekers.

  She made a quick snack, found the key in her mother’s bedroom and unlocked the study.

  Every available space in the room was taken. Bookshelves rose from floor to ceiling against two of the walls. The other walls were covered with maps. Two large windows let in the light and showed every speck of dust. And there was plenty of it. The desk in the corner was piled high with more maps, guidebooks and stacks of papers.

  And there, in prime position, was her art award.

  Her mother had moved it from Liza’s old bedroom into the study where she could see it.

  Liza felt a pressure in her chest. She’d had no idea. She never came into this room.

  She touched the award, remembering that day she’d seen her mother clapping loudly in the audience.

  She’d wanted so badly for her mother to be more demonstrative, but sometimes it wasn’t about what you said, it was about what you did. She wouldn’t have kept the award if she wasn’t proud, would she?

  Liza forced herself to focus on the shelves. She found the guidebooks, but there was no sign of the DVDs.

  Searching randomly, she pulled open the large drawer in the desk and there were the DVDs.

  “Aha!” She pulled them out and was about to close the drawer when something glinted. She reached into the drawer to investigate and found a ring. The stone was huge. It couldn’t be a real diamond. Could it?

  She lifted it out carefully. It had to be fake.

  Was it fake?

  She turned it over in her hand.

  Who had given it to her mother? This wasn’t her engagement ring. Her mother’s engagement ring was an emerald and it was always on her finger.

  This ring had been tucked loose under a piece of string holding a bunch of papers.

  She checked the drawer and discovered that what she’d thought were papers were letters. The postmark was California, and they’d been mailed at regular intervals dating back to the early sixties. Her mother would have been in her early twenties.

  Why hadn’t she opened them? Was there a reason the letters and the ring were together, or was that coincidence?

  Her phone rang and she almost dropped the letters.

  She slid the ring onto her finger for the time being, returned the letters to the drawer and locked the study door. Only when she’d done that did she answer her phone.

  It was Sean.

  “I’ve been calling you all day. Where were you?”

  “I’ve been out. I forgot my phone.”

  “You never forget your phone.”

  These days she was doing a lot of things she didn’t normally do.

  “I was busy.” She sat down on the edge of her mother’s bed. The ring felt heavy on her finger. Did that mean it was real? If it was real, then it must be valuable. Surely not even her mother would leave a valuable ring loose in a drawer.

  “Busy doing what?” Sean sounded tired. “Caitlin is going crazy because she washed her white shirt, which is apparently precious, and I’d left a red cleaning cloth in the machine.”

  Liza watched a woodpecker land on the apple tree. “I did tell her to check the machine is empty before she put anything in it.”

  “Well, apparently it’s my fault, because I should have noticed. Girls are exhausting. Alice’s hair straighteners broke, and I’m told this is a tragedy. I tried to point out that this does not come under the heading of a crisis, but before I had the door slammed in my face for that remark I was told that I couldn’t possibly understand. The bathroom smells so badly of hairspray and perfume I’m having breathing issues. When are you coming back? How much attention does Popeye need?”

  “I’m not staying for Popeye, I’m staying for me. I need a break.” It was the closest she’d come to admitting that something was wrong.

  “A break? Knowing you, you’ve probably worked nonstop since you arrived.”

  Did he know her? Or had he assumed she was the same Liza she always had been? No one stayed the same throughout life, did they? Things happened. Life happened. And each event and experience sculpted you into a slightly different shape. Maybe when you’d been with someone for a long time you saw the old, not the new. It was important to keep communicating. Keep listening.

  But she hadn’t done that with her mother.

  She’d assumed the house was too much for her, and that moving would be the best thing. She hadn’t said, What is it you’d like? She hadn’t listened. Instead she’d motored forward with a plan that seemed sensible to her without consulting the person who mattered most.

  She assumed she knew her mother, and the unopened letters in the drawer and the ring had reminded her that there was plenty she didn’t know. And she hadn’t asked. She was just one part of her mother’s rich and varied life.

  Liza had thought she had all the answers, but now she realized she hadn’t asked the right questions.

  Feeling guilty, she stood up and walked to the window.

  “I haven’t done much around the house.” Apa
rt from finding something she was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to have found.

  “We’ll probably need to get professionals in to have a clear out when she finally decides to sell.”

  Liza stared across the garden, at the blur of bright color that tumbled from the pots on the patio. The place was idyllic. The thought of never standing in this room again, never running across the fields to the sea, never feeling the air cool on her skin in the evenings, left her bereft. “I don’t think she should sell it.”

  “Really? Why have you changed your mind?”

  “I’ve had the time to think.” About many things.

  “Good. Your life is a mad rush. Fortunately, we’re going to France in a few weeks. You’ll be able to relax.”

  Would she?

  “France is a lot of work for me, Sean.”

  “What are you talking about? It’s a brilliant family holiday that we’ve done for years. You love it. We always have a relaxed time.”

  It was time to tell at least part of the truth. “You all have a relaxed time, because I do all the organization. For me, it’s relaxing for about two hours a day when you’re all enjoying watersports. Here I have time to myself and it’s not limited. I’m staying a little longer.” It was the first time she’d given thought to what was going to happen next. “I have things to sort out.”

  There was a pause. “Is everything all right, sweetheart?”

  A breath caught in her chest. The kindness and warmth in his voice sounded like the old Sean. This was her chance to tell him the truth. To be open about all the things she’d been feeling. But was that really a conversation to have on the phone?

  No. It had to be face-to-face. She’d do it, but not yet.

  “I’m tired, that’s all.”

  “After spending this week with the twins with no help, I can understand that.” There was humor in his tone. “I’m going to need a month to recover. What about you? If you haven’t been clearing the house, what have you been doing?”

  She thought about Finn. About her shopping trip. About her painting.

  For some reason she didn’t understand, she wasn’t ready to tell Sean about it yet.

  She looked at the DVDs. “I’ve been trying to find out a little more about my mother. I don’t think I’ve paid enough attention to who she is or what she wants. I’m about to watch her old shows.” She didn’t say anything about the letters she’d found. Nor did she say anything about her painting. “I bumped into Angie.”

  “Your old friend Angie? From our wedding? What’s she doing there?”

  “She and John divorced, so she moved back here. We had a picnic on the beach together today.” She didn’t mention that Angie was using them as the model for a perfect relationship.

  “Sounds fun. I should go—I promised Caitlin I’d try and rescue the white shirt.”

  They were doing it again. Talking about life and the children. Never about themselves.

  But he’d asked her if she was all right. He’d cared enough to ask her.

  She thought about what Angie had said about their wedding day and felt a rush of anxiety. They’d been so happy. Tears stung her eyes. “Sean—”

  “Have fun. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

  Resisting the temptation to call him back, she returned the ring to the drawer in the study, picked up the DVDs and headed downstairs to the living room.

  She made herself a tea with fresh peppermint from the garden, slotted in the DVD and curled up on the sofa.

  She started right at the beginning, with her mother’s first show.

  The Summer Seekers had been one of the earliest travel shows, and its immediate popularity had surprised even its creators. It had run for almost two decades, with Kathleen the face of the show.

  As she watched, she saw her mother as others probably saw her—a vibrant enthusiast, hungry to explore all that the world offered and share it with a wider audience.

  The show was dated, of course, and in different circumstances she might have been amused by the outfits, the use of language and the places they’d chosen to stay, but even now there was an energy to the show that made its record audience ratings easy to understand. It had been aspirational, and yet somehow still accessible. Her mother drew the audience to her, until you felt as if you were there by her side, traveling with her, laughing with her.

  In many ways Kathleen hadn’t changed much. Yes, she had more wrinkles and her hair was shorter now, but she still had the same fierce expression in her blue eyes, and the same buoyant approach to life.

  How could she ever have thought her mother would be content in a residential home?

  Liza watched several episodes, and then walked across to the shelves where the photo albums were kept. She carried them back across the room, piled them on the floor next to the sofa and started to go through them one by one.

  The photographs charted her mother’s life history, from her childhood through to college and the early days of her twenties. Liza was interested in those early days.

  When she reached the photo of Ruth, she paused.

  Ruth and her mother had obviously been close. Why had they lost touch?

  She and Angie hadn’t fallen out. It was more that life had pried them apart and they hadn’t tried hard enough to bring themselves back together. The most likely explanation was that the same thing had happened between her mother and Ruth.

  The letters had been mailed in California. So did that mean they were from Ruth?

  She put the album down, thinking about herself and Sean.

  Not all relationships ended in an abrupt way. For some it was a slow easing apart. In some way that was more dangerous because it could go unnoticed amidst the pressure of life.

  She felt guilty for not asking him to come and join her. And guiltier still when she was forced to admit she didn’t want him to join her.

  She was a family person. Her family was everything.

  And yet here she was, happier than she could remember being for a long time.

  Alone.

  So what did it all mean?

  16

  KATHLEEN

  OKLAHOMA~AMARILLO, TEXAS

  Kathleen sat in the back seat, dark glasses covering her eyes. It was a hot day and Martha had insisted on keeping the roof closed and the air-conditioning on so the car was deliciously cool.

  Kathleen stared out the window, taking in the landscape.

  What would Route 66 have looked like in its heyday? She wondered what experience those earliest people to travel the road would have had. Nothing like the comfort of this, that was certain.

  “Are you all right back there, Kathleen?” Martha glanced in the mirror and Kathleen produced her most reassuring smile.

  “Never better.”

  She’d been a great deal better, but Martha was already anxious enough and to admit how she felt would stimulate a flow of follow-up questions that she wasn’t able to answer. She’d never been a person who shared each and every feeling. And how could she share something she didn’t understand herself?

  Her dizzy spell had shaken her up. What if that had been it? She would have died not knowing what was in those letters. And perhaps that would have been a good thing. What if the contents upset her? The events of that summer had shaped her. She’d made the hardest decision of her life and she’d believed, truly, that she’d done the right thing.

  But what if those letters told her otherwise? Without opening them, she had no way of knowing.

  She should have destroyed them. If something happened to her on this trip, someone else would open them.

  She thought about it. Hands tearing through sealed envelopes. Curiosity. Shock, maybe. Revelations. Those hands would probably belong to Liza, who would never dream of disposing of letters without first reading them in case they contained something important. It w
ouldn’t sit well with her sense of responsibility.

  The secrets of Kathleen’s past would be exposed in a way she couldn’t control. They would reveal a picture she couldn’t yet see. And she knew that no matter what they said, those letters would only be part of the story.

  Kathleen knew the beginning of the story, but not the end. There could have been any number of outcomes and the only way to find out was to open those letters.

  The thought made her physically uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat.

  Brian was the only person who knew the truth. He was the only person she’d shared everything with, and even then it had taken time and gentle coaxing.

  Her chest ached. How she missed him. His wry sense of humor. His quiet way, and his wise counsel. He’d been gone for five years and yet she still found herself turning to talk to him in the night.

  She’d never fully shared herself with anyone except Brian. Not even with Liza. She’d protected herself for so long it had proved an impossible habit to break.

  Until now.

  She felt a twinge of guilt that she’d shared more of her past with Martha than she had with her own daughter.

  In front of her Martha and Josh were engaged in conversation about where they should stop for lunch and what they should eat.

  “Catfish and crispy tater tots,” Josh said and Martha pulled a face.

  “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “It’s good old Oklahoma food. Cover the fish in cornmeal, fry it. Delicious.”

  Martha shook her head. “Not convinced. Not a big fish lover to be honest. And a kitty-fish doesn’t tempt me to change my mind.”

  “How about onion burger? They used onions to bulk out the meat during the Great Depression and their attempts at economizing led to the most delicious burger.”

  “That sounds better than catfish.”

  “I’ll order catfish and you can try it. You should try everything once.”

  “That’s what I thought about marriage and look how that turned out.”

  “You’re also driving Route 66 for the first time and that’s turning out okay, isn’t it?”