by Sarah Morgan
“I’m sure you’re right that it was easier to make a clean break.”
“I worried about Ruth terribly. I was angry of course—I’m not a saint, but I did worry. I was afraid Adam would leave her alone with that baby. Maybe she lost the baby. I don’t know. I didn’t want to know. But now—I suppose I’m about to find out—”
Liza heard her mother’s voice wobble and tightened her grip on the phone. “We’re about to find out.” She was part of this story now. She wanted to know how it ended.
“I’m afraid reading them might be something I regret. What if I did the wrong thing, Liza?”
Her mother, who never asked or even seemed to value her opinion on anything, was asking her opinion and looking for reassurance.
Liza considered her answer carefully. “Whatever is in these letters doesn’t change the decision you made. Regret achieves nothing, and it isn’t even valid because looking back with distance, isn’t the same as looking forward when you’re close up.” It was advice she intended to take herself. There was no point looking back and wishing she’d been a different type of mother. There was no point in wishing she’d spoken to Sean sooner. She’d done what felt right at the time. “You did what was right for you and we’re going to remember that as we finish reading these letters.”
“Yes. You’re right of course. Thank you. You’ve always been sensible. You’re like your father, and that’s a good thing.”
Liza had never heard her mother like this. After her father had died, she’d been sad but practical. After the intruder she’d been feisty. But now, facing her past, she was showing a side of herself that Liza had never seen before. A vulnerable side.
“Maybe we should take this slowly.” She looked at the little stack, and wondered what other shocks and revelations lurked in those folded pieces of paper. “We could do a few a day. Or I could read them all and summarize them for you.”
“Oh Liza—” Her mother’s voice wobbled. “I don’t know what I did to deserve a daughter like you.”
The words unlocked the emotion Liza had been trying to keep under control. “You should have had an adventurous daughter, someone who wanted to travel the world. I wanted you to stay home and read to me.”
“You deserve a mother who doesn’t give you constant anxiety attacks.”
Liza managed a smile. “I’m working on that. Given time I might even become what Caitlin would describe as ‘chilled’.”
“Don’t change too much. I admire the way you are. I know I was absent a great deal when you were young. The reasons for that are complicated. Yes, I loved my career, but it was so much more than that. Part of me has never stopped being afraid of loving deeply. Of course that doesn’t mean I don’t love deeply—I do. But I was always afraid to give that love too big a place in my life. Like being afraid of heights, and not looking down when you’re standing on a cliff edge.”
She’d always thought she was to blame for the fact that she wasn’t close to her mother, but she could see now it wasn’t anything to do with her.
Now, finally, she understood.
Her mother’s character had been formed long before Liza had arrived on the scene. Beliefs and behavior arose from unseen events. Something that had happened to her mother sixty years before had continued to send aftershocks through her life. Her mother had been hurt, so she’d distanced, and that feeling of distance had made Liza determined to be closer to her own children, except that she’d got it wrong and now she needed to unravel that.
If Adam had married her mother then Kathleen might have been a different type of mother, which was a ridiculous thought because if Kathleen had married Adam then Liza wouldn’t have existed. But it was a reminder that everything was shaped by events and her own children would be shaped by events too. Perhaps they’d forever be cautious in relationships because they’d remember finding an article entitled “Eight Signs That Your Marriage Might Be in Trouble.” Perhaps they’d decide not to get married or perhaps they’d get married and watch for every one of those eight signs and be happier in their relationships because of it.
“You lived the life you needed to live,” she said. “I respect that. It’s inspiring, and I’m planning on doing more of that myself from now on.”
“You are? Tell me more.”
“Later.” There was time enough for that. “Let’s focus on these letters. What do you want to do?”
“Read them. All of them. Now we’ve started I don’t think I can bear the suspense of not knowing. Do you have the time?”
Liza glanced up as Sean walked into the room bearing a large glass of wine and a cheese platter.
He put it down quietly on the table next to the bed, raised his eyebrows when he saw Popeye curled into her lap and handed her a piece of paper that said “I love you.”
She smiled at him and then turned her attention back to her mother.
“I have all the time in the world. Let’s do this.”
20
KATHLEEN
ALBUQUERQUE~WINSLOW, ARIZONA
Our baby was born today. A little girl. We named her Hannah Elizabeth Kathleen. Perhaps you’ll think that foolish, or even thoughtless, but it’s important to me. Adam resisted. I suppose he didn’t want to be reminded, but I will always think of you as my true and best friend, even though I no longer have the right to call you that.
Kathleen stared out the window as they headed through the deserts of northern Arizona and took a scenic detour through the Petrified Forest National Park.
They’d set out early so that Martha and Josh could do a short hike, which their research had told them was best done early in the day. The hour was irrelevant to Kathleen, who hadn’t slept at all.
Somehow the rhythm of the car and the blur of the landscape was more relaxing than a still, silent hotel room filled with nothing but her thoughts.
They drove to the trailhead for the Blue Mesa Trail that wound its way to the valley floor.
“It’s not far, so we shouldn’t be long, Kathleen. Is that okay?” Even though it was early, Martha pulled on her sun hat and smothered her arms in sunscreen.
“Take your time. Enjoy.” She was looking forward to being alone so that she could spend time with her thoughts and memories.
She waved Martha and Josh off, delighted to see that Josh took Martha’s hand, and stepped closer as he pointed out something on the horizon.
The view was spectacular, but Kathleen stared at it for only a few seconds before closing her eyes.
Hannah Elizabeth.
Ruth had become a mother at twenty-one years of age, and Adam a father.
What a challenge that must have been for him, and yet it seemed he’d risen to that challenge.
She’d lain awake all night thinking about the letters Liza had carefully read aloud. Her memory was unreliable and frustrating much of the time, but for some reason she’d been able to recall every word and she’d reexamined the contents line by line.
She’d been able to picture Ruth clearly. She’d heard her friend’s voice in the words on the page, measured and thoughtful. There was an assurance by the end that had been missing in those early letters.
Kathleen had absorbed every one of the facts, delivered in chronological order. Each letter had been an update on Ruth’s life, another piece of the picture revealed.
She knew now that Hannah had been born with a heart defect that had required surgery when she was a few months old. That had fed Ruth’s maternal anxiety, even though the child had been strong and healthy since. It had been Hannah’s condition that had driven Adam’s choice to be a heart surgeon. Cardiothoracic, Kathleen thought, imagining him masked and gowned, with another person’s life in his hands.
In those early days, Ruth had doubted Adam’s love for her, but had never doubted his love for their daughter. She credited Hannah with being the reason he hadn’t left. Adam
adored his daughter.
Hannah had been smart and creative, a talented violinist, with a love of sport that had brought her close to her father. In the winter they’d skied at Lake Tahoe, and in the summer they’d hired a boat and sailed down the Pacific Coast.
There had been photographs with that letter, which Liza had described and offered to send to Martha’s phone.
Kathleen had refused. Hearing it was one thing. Seeing was another. She could absorb only so much of the past at one time.
Adam’s career had taken them to Australia for a year, and then to Boston, before they returned to California and settled there.
The letters were filled with updates on Hannah and Adam, Ruth’s pride in her family as obvious as her love. She described a contented life, cemented in place by family.
Kathleen felt a sense of relief. She’d done the right thing. By stepping away, she’d given them a chance to make it work and they had done that.
She was pleased. Also sad that she’d missed so many of those years.
If she’d stayed in touch maybe she could have been a support to Ruth when she’d had that brush with cancer, or when Adam died suddenly ten years before.
But Ruth had other sources of support now, of course.
She had Hannah, who lived close by and worked as a pediatrician. She’d followed her father into medicine.
Kathleen imagined a woman who was part Ruth, part Adam, and wished now that she’d asked Liza to send the photos.
Ruth was proud of Hannah, just as Kathleen was proud of Liza.
Had she told her daughter she was proud?
She felt a moment of panic. Did she know?
The car door opened suddenly and Kathleen jumped and opened her eyes.
“Sorry. Were you dozing?” Martha was smiling down at her, her face pink from the sun. “That was amazing! Although I’m glad we came so early—no way would I want to slog back up that hill in the heat of the day.”
It took Kathleen a moment to compose herself.
“The word amazing conveys nothing. I can’t picture your experience from that sparse description.” She felt unsettled and raw. She wished for a moment that Liza was here. Liza would understand.
Reading those letters couldn’t have been easy, but her daughter had been compassionate and sensitive. She’d checked how her mother was feeling, without in any way smothering her or forcing her to reveal the emotions that were swirling inside her. Liza had asked few questions, even though she must have had hundreds.
Kathleen’s eyes stung. Her biggest regret wasn’t the years she hadn’t been close to Ruth, but the years she’d wasted when she could have been closer to Liza. That bothered her more than the lost relationship with Ruth. She’d held herself back from the people who were most important to her.
She tried to focus as Martha slid into the car next to her. “You enjoyed yourselves?”
“It’s magnificent. There are multiple layers of rock, all different colors. Blues, and purples—wait—” Martha pulled out her phone and showed Kathleen the photographs. “This will give you a better idea than my totally inadequate words. Do you see the petrified wood?”
Kathleen was touched by Martha’s insistence on including her in the parts of the trip that were beyond her capabilities.
“It’s the result of extensive erosion.” Josh leaned forward from the passenger seat, every bit as enthusiastic as Martha. “You’re looking at layers of exposed sandstone and bentonite clay. The mineral deposits are a few hundred million years old. It was formed in the late Triassic period.”
“Your brother would accuse you of being a nerd at this point,” Martha said and Josh gave her a smile.
“He would. And I’d point out that it wasn’t politically correct to call someone a nerd.”
“At which point he would roll his eyes and open another beer.”
From Josh’s laughter Kathleen thought it safe to assume that Martha’s guess had been correct. They’d obviously been talking about his brother on their walk.
The dead never left, she knew that. They walked alongside you.
What would Brian have said, if he could be with her now?
You read the letters? Good. It will make your mind feel tidier to have that chapter complete.
Kathleen smiled. She’d never been the tidiest of people.
“A few hundred million years.” She studied the rocks in the photographs Martha was showing her, because that seemed safer than studying her feelings. “I feel young by comparison. The colors are striking. Like an artist’s palette.” She thought how much Liza would love it and felt herself wobble. “You must send those to Liza. She’s been painting again. She uses a lot of blue. She likes blue. She’s always loved to paint the ocean.” She was engulfed by a smothering cloud of homesickness. Oh how she wished she was back in Oakwood Cottage, feeling the afternoon sun on her face and smelling the sea in the air. Everything here was arid, baked dry by the scorching sun. At home the garden would be lush and green, and her favorite rose would be flowering in scented profusion. Popeye would be lying on the patio, basking in a pool of sunshine. “You will send them to Liza?”
“I’ll do it as soon as I have a strong signal.” Martha was no longer smiling. “Is everything all right, Kathleen? Are you drinking plenty?”
“If only she said that when I had a gin in my hand.” But Kathleen took the water Martha handed her and took a sip as she glanced at the view. “Are you going to upload the photos to our social media?”
“Listen to you—upload—” Martha nudged her “—we’ll make a technology lover of you, yet.”
Kathleen shuddered, but more because it was expected of her than because she felt a particular aversion. It was technology that was allowing her to talk to Liza.
“I thought maybe I’d call Liza when we stop for lunch.”
“You can call her anytime. Josh and I can go for a walk to give you some privacy if that would help.”
Kathleen pulled herself together. “Lunchtime will be fine. She’ll probably be at the beach with Sean at the moment and the signal isn’t good there.”
“Sean is at the cottage? I thought Liza was there on her own?”
“He joined her, so they’re spending a few days together.”
“That’s good.”
It was good. Was Liza happy? All Kathleen wanted was for her daughter to be happy. She’d always wanted that, of course, but now that the barriers between them had been removed it was as if their happiness was somehow connected.
“Shall we record a piece to camera?”
It would be an excuse to send something to Liza without appearing needy.
With Martha’s assistance, Kathleen maneuvered her aching, uncooperative limbs out of the car and shaded her eyes.
“It’s already hot.”
“We’ll do this quickly.” Martha found the right angle, gave Kathleen a cue to start talking, and recorded a piece. “Such a pro. You never fumble or stumble.”
“Where next?”
“We’re heading to Winslow, Arizona.” Martha started to sing and Kathleen lifted a hand.
“We had an agreement—I suffer your excruciating playlist, providing you don’t sing along with it.”
“It’s not excruciating—I’ve chosen each song specifically for its relevance to where we’re going. And after Winslow, we’re headed to the Grand Canyon, via the Meteor Crater which is fifty thousand years old which is definitely older than you, Kathleen. We’ve booked an extra day at the Grand Canyon. Woohoo! And Josh has got us rooms with a view so you can sit on your balcony and watch the sunrise and sunset.”
She’d talk to Liza, Kathleen thought. She’d find a way to share the view with her daughter.
“Sounds like a perfect day,” Josh said and Martha shook her head.
“You won’t be sitting anywhere. You’ll be
river rafting.”
“I will not be river rafting.”
“It’s all booked. I’ve blown the last of my savings, so it would be churlish of you to back out now.”
“Martha!” Josh looked exasperated. “I hate water. You know I hate water.”
“Red would have wanted you to do this.”
“I would have refused.”
“And he would have found a way to persuade you.” Martha stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “It’s amazing what you can enjoy when you push yourself out of your comfort zone.”
That was true, Kathleen thought, delighted to see that they’d reached the kissing stage. Although technically Josh hadn’t kissed Martha. It had been the other way round. And Martha was a naturally tactile and demonstrative person of course, but still...
Would she have asked Liza to read those letters if it hadn’t been for Martha?
Probably not. She was eternally grateful to her, and wished her nothing but good things.
Photographs and filming finished, they climbed back into the car and headed onward on their journey through Arizona.
Kathleen suggested sampling the playlist, much to the delight of her much younger companions.
Martha’s head bobbed in time with the music and occasionally she started singing and then remembered that she wasn’t supposed to be singing and clamped her mouth shut.
Kathleen smiled. Even in a short time they’d found a comfortable routine and there was something soothing in that.
The crushing homesickness had passed, fortunately, and she felt excited about the day ahead. She’d see Arizona and California, as she’d always wanted to. Oakwood Cottage would be waiting for her when she’d finished her trip, and she’d appreciate it all the more for her absence.
In the meantime it was a comfort to know that Liza was there, walking on the beach that she thought of as her own, pottering round her garden, tending her plants.
In Winslow, Martha found their hotel easily and they parked and checked in.
It was built in the style of a hacienda, with both a Spanish and Mexican feel.