Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Susannah′s Garden

Susannah's Garden
Debbie Macomber


Perfect for fans of Maeve Binchy' - CandisIt was the year that changed everything. . .When Susannah Nelson turned eighteen, she said goodbye to her boyfriend, Jake–and never saw him again. She never saw her brother, Doug, again, either. He died unexpectedly that same year. Now, at fifty, Susannah finds herself regretting the paths not taken. Long married, a mother and a teacher, she should be happy. But she feels there's something missing in her life. Not only that, she's balancing the demands of an aging mother and a temperamental twenty-year-old daughter.Her mother, Vivian, a recent widow, is having difficulty coping and living alone, so Susannah goes home to Colville, Washington. In returning to her parents' house, her girlhood friends and the garden she's always loved, she also returns to the past–and the choices she made back then. What she discovers is that things are not always as they once seemed. Some paths are dead ends. But some gardens remain beautiful. . . .












Susannah’s Garden

DEBBIE MACOMBER








For my friends all through school, as we remember the paths we took, and didn’t take.

Jane Berghoff McMahon, Judy St. George Senecal, Cindy Thoma DeBerry, Diane DeGooyer Harmon, Cheryl Keller Farr, Kathy Faith Harris, Bev Gamache Regimbal, Yvette Dwinell Lundy

and

Carol Brulotte




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Coming Next Month




CHAPTER

1


Vivian Leary stood motionless at the corner of the street, her eyes darting from side to side. She had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten lost. After all, she’d lived in Colville her entire life. She should know—did know—every square inch of this town. But the last thing she remembered was going out to collect the mail and that must have been hours ago.

The street didn’t look familiar and the houses weren’t any she recognized. The Henderson house at the corner of Chestnut and Elm had been her marker, but it was nowhere in sight. She remembered that the Hendersons had painted their place white with green shutters. Where was it? she wondered, starting to feel frantic. Where was it? George would be upset with her for taking so long. Oh no, how could she have forgotten? George was dead.

The weight of grief settled over her, heavy and oppressive. George, her beloved husband, was gone—taken from her just two months short of their sixtieth anniversary. It had all happened so fast….

Last November, her husband had gone outside to warm up the car before church, and a few minutes later he lay dead in the carport. He’d had a massive heart attack. The nice young man who’d come with the ambulance had told her George was dead before he even hit the pavement. He sounded as if this was supposed to comfort her. But nothing could have eased the shock, the horror, of that dreadful morning.

Vivian blinked hard, and despite the May warmth of eastern Washington, a chill raced up her bare arms. She tried to extinguish her growing panic. How was she going to find her way home?

Susannah would know what to do—but then she remembered that her daughter didn’t live in Colville anymore. Of course Susannah wasn’t at home. She had her own house. In Seattle, wasn’t it? Yes, in Seattle. She was married with two precious children. Susannah and Joe’s children. Good grief, why couldn’t she think of their names? Her grandchildren were her joy and her pride. She could picture their faces as clearly as if she was looking at a photograph, but she couldn’t recall their names.

Chrissie. The relief was instantaneous. Her granddaughter’s name was Chrissie. She was born first and then Brian was born three years later. Or was it four years? It didn’t matter, Vivian decided. She had their names now.

What she needed to do was concentrate on where she was—and where she should go from here. It was already starting to get dark and she didn’t want to wander aimlessly from street to street. But she couldn’t figure out what to do next.

If there’d been any other pedestrians around, she could’ve stopped and asked for directions to Woods Road.

No…Woods Road had been her childhood address. She hadn’t lived there since she was a schoolgirl, and that was before the war. For heaven’s sake, she should be able to remember her own address! What was wrong with her?

The place she was looking for was the house she and George had bought almost forty-five years ago, when the children were still at home. She felt a mixture of fear…and shame. A woman of eighty should know where she lived. George would be so frustrated and impatient if he ever found out about this…. Only he’d never know. That didn’t make her feel any better, though. She needed him, and he wasn’t there to help her, and that filled her with anxiety so intense, she wrung her hands.

Vivian started walking again, although she wasn’t sure where she was headed. Maybe if she kept moving, if she concentrated hard enough, the memory would eventually return to her.

Her legs tired quickly, and she sighed with relief when she saw a bench by the side of the road. Vivian couldn’t understand why the city would place a nice wooden bench there—not even near a bus stop. It was a waste of taxpayers’ money. If George knew about this, he’d be fuming. He’d been a public servant all those years, a superior court judge. A fine one, too, a man of principle and character. How proud Vivian was of him.

Still, she was so grateful for somewhere to sit, she wasn’t about to complain. George had freely voiced his opinions about matters of civic responsibility and what he called city hall’s squandering of resources. While she listened to her husband’s views, she didn’t always share them. She had her own thoughts when it came to politics and things like that, but she usually didn’t discuss them with George. That was something she’d learned early in her marriage. George always wanted to convince everyone of the superiority of his ideas and he’d argue until he wore people down. So when her views differed from his, she kept them to herself.

Sitting on the hard bench, she glanced about, hoping to find a landmark. Oh my, this was a busy street. Cars whizzed past, their lights blinding her until she felt dizzy. She wasn’t nearly as tired now that she was sitting. That was good, because she needed to think. Thinking was important. She hated forgetting basic facts, like her address, her phone number, people’s names. This happened more and more often now that George had died, and it frightened her.

Perhaps if she closed her eyes for a moment, that would help. She’d try to relax, clear her mind, since all this worry only made her memory less reliable.

It was chilly now that the sun had gone down. She should’ve brought a sweater but she’d been working in the garden earlier and it had been hot. Her irises were lovely this spring, even though her garden was in sad shape. For years, it had been a source of pride and she hated the way it looked these days. She did as much as she could, but so much else needed to be done. Weeding, pruning, planting annuals…After dinner she’d decided to do some watering and remembered that she hadn’t collected the mail. That was when she’d gone out, planning to walk to the neighborhood mailbox. And now here she was, lost and confused and afraid.

That was when Vivian sensed someone’s presence and opened her eyes. Joy coursed through her veins as she stared, wondering if her mind had betrayed her.

“George?”

Her husband of fifty-nine years stood beside her, shadowed under the nearby streetlight. His smile warmed her and she straightened, eyes wide open, terrified he’d disappear. George had come to help her, come to save her.

“That is you, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer but stood there plain as could be. He’d always been such a handsome man, she thought, admiring his broad shoulders and his confident posture.

They’d been high school sweethearts and known each other their entire lives. Vivian felt she was the luckiest girl in the world when George Leary asked her to marry him. They’d been apart for nearly three years while he was fighting in Europe. Then he’d gone to college to get his law degree on the G.I. Bill. That time of struggle had paid off, though, and after a few years of private practice, he’d been invited to join the bench. George had been the one and only love of her life and she missed him terribly. How like him to come to her now, in her hour of need.

Vivian reached out to him, but George backed away. She dropped her hand abruptly, biting her lower lip. No, of course—she should’ve realized she couldn’t touch him. One couldn’t touch the dead.

“I’m lost,” she whispered. “Don’t be angry with me, but I can’t find my way home.”

He smiled again and she was so relieved he wasn’t upset with her. She’d forgotten things before he died, too, and sometimes he got frustrated, although he tried to hide it. She’d even stopped cooking but that was because she’d forgotten so many of her recipes. The ones in cookbooks were too hard to read, too confusing. But George never complained and often heated soup for both of them.

Vivian felt she should explain what had happened. “I went to get the mail and I must’ve decided to go for a walk, because when I looked up I wasn’t anywhere close to the house.”

He stretched out his hand and she got to her feet.

“Can you take me home?” she asked, hating how plaintive and helpless she sounded.

He didn’t answer. Then she realized that dead men couldn’t talk, either. That was all right; she didn’t care as long as George stayed with her. Six months it had been since he’d died and every one of those months had seemed an eternity.

“I’m so glad you came,” she whispered, trying to hide the way her voice cracked with emotion. “Oh, George, I miss you.” She told him about the garden, even though she knew she was rambling. He’d never liked it when she talked too much, but she was afraid he’d have to leave soon, and there was so much to tell him. “George, I’m sure Martha is stealing. I just don’t know what to do. I watch her like a hawk when she comes to clean, but still I find things missing. I can’t let her rob me blind, and yet I hate to fire her after all these years. What should I do?” She hadn’t really expected him to answer, and he didn’t.

Then, suddenly, she saw the house. They were on Chestnut Avenue, where they’d lived since 1961. She walked laboriously to the front door, holding on to the railing and taking the steps one at a time. When she looked up to thank George for helping her, her beloved husband had vanished.

“Oh, George,” she sobbed. “Come back to me…please. Please come back.”




CHAPTER

2


Susannah Nelson dumped the leftover broccoli salad into a plastic container and shoved it inside the refrigerator, closing the door with unnecessary force. Brian, her seventeen-year-old, had mysteriously disappeared after dinner, leaving her with the dishes. She shouldn’t be surprised. He had a convenient excuse every night to get out of doing his assigned chores.

“Is something bothering you?” her husband asked from his perch in the family room. Joe lowered the newspaper and all Susannah could see were his dark brows and his eyes behind the steel-rimmed reading glasses.

She shrugged. “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed, but this is the third night in a row that Brian hasn’t done the dishes,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended.

“I’ll do them,” he offered.

“You shouldn’t have to do that,” Susannah told him. “Nor should I.”

Joe set the newspaper aside. “This isn’t about Brian, is it? You’re upset about something else.”

“Well, I am annoyed about the way he’s been skipping out on chores, but you’re right, that isn’t everything.” What concerned her most was her inability to identify a specific reason. She’d been on edge for weeks, feeling vaguely dejected.

It didn’t help that she’d dreamed of Jake again last night. Her high school boyfriend had been making nightly appearances, and that unsettled her as much as anything. Susannah was happily married and despite the abrupt ending to her teenage romance, there was no good reason for her to dwell on Jake. Her marriage had survived the crises that any successful marriage does. Her children were nearly grown; her daughter was in college, ready to start her own life. Brian had summer employment, working for a construction company, and would earn enough to pay his own car insurance. The school break would officially begin in a day’s time, and she’d be free for nearly seven weeks. Why, after more than three decades, was she dreaming of Jake? It made no sense whatsoever. There he was, big as life, filling her head with memories of a long-lost love.

“School’s almost out,” Joe reminded her. “That should cheer you up.”

He was right; it should. Today was the last day of classes and her fifth-grade students had been overjoyed at the prospect of summer vacation. Susannah was equally ready for a break. Maybe for more than a break—a change. What kind of change, she didn’t know. She supposed she could think about it over the summer—after tomorrow, anyway, when she’d be finishing her paperwork.

“You’ve been restless since your father died,” Joe commented in a mild voice. He glanced at her across the family room. “Maybe you should talk to someone.”

“You’re saying I should talk to a counselor?” She hated to think it had come to this. Yes, her father’s death had been a shock, but at the time her grief had seemed…formal. Almost abstract. As though she’d mourned the idea of losing a father more than the man himself. She’d never gotten along with him. They’d tolerated each other, at best. As far as Susannah was concerned, her father was dictatorial, overbearing and arrogant. The moment she turned eighteen, she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

“He was your father, Susannah,” Joe reminded her gently. “I know the two of you weren’t close, but he was still your father.” He removed his glasses. “In fact, maybe that’s why you’re feeling like this. Now that he’s dead, there’s no opportunity to settle your differences—to work things out.”

Susannah shook her head, dismissing the suggestion. Her relationship with her father had been difficult. Complicated. But she’d accepted that reality years ago. “This has nothing to do with him.”

Joe looked as if he wanted to argue, but she didn’t let him. “Yes, his death was unexpected, but he was eighty-three and no one lives forever.” The truth of the matter was that while they weren’t completely estranged, they rarely spoke. That didn’t seem to bother him any. Over the years, Susannah had made occasional efforts to bridge the gap between them, but her father seemed incapable of deepening their relationship.

Whenever she’d phoned or visited, Susannah talked to her mother. George Leary was a decent grandfather; she’d say that for him. Both Chrissie and Brian thought the world of her father. As for her—well, it was better to not think about the way he’d interfered with her life, especially during her teenage years. Yes, she was sorry he’d died, especially so suddenly, but she discounted the possibility that his death was the cause of this discontent she felt. If she was going to blame anyone, it would be Jake. But it wasn’t as though she could mention this to Joe, her husband, her wonderful husband. Hey, honey, I’ve been thinking about another man lately. That wouldn’t go over too well, no matter how understanding Joe was.

Her husband continued to study her. “Even though you don’t agree,” he said slowly, “I suspect your father’s death had a strong impact on you. Don’t you remember what it was like when my parents died?”

She did remember and was embarrassed to admit that she’d grieved for her father-in-law more than she had her own dad. When Joe’s mother died ten months later, they’d both been devastated. It had been a rough time for them as a family. Susannah had envied Joe’s close relationship with his parents when her own, particularly with her father, was so distant.

“Of course it was a shock to lose my dad,” Susannah went on, “but I don’t think this mood—”

“Depression,” Joe inserted. “Low-grade, garden variety depression.”

“I am not depressed.” Even while she denied it, she knew Joe was right.

Her husband raised his eyebrows. “If you aren’t depressed, then what is it?”

Joe was a solid, strong, self-assured man. Honorable. After twenty-four years together they’d grown accustomed to each other, so alike that they often ordered the same thing from a menu, read the same books, voted for the same candidates. She didn’t understand how she could lie beside him in the same bed night after night and dream about another man. This wasn’t like her. Not once in her entire marriage had she even considered looking at another man.

She’d be crazy to risk her marriage by searching for a high school fling. The episode with Jake was long over. She hadn’t seen or talked to him since she was seventeen, and that was…oh, more than thirty-three years ago now.

Joe replaced his glasses after polishing the lenses on his shirt. “You’ve had a lot going on in the last six months. Your father’s death, your fiftieth birthday, a demanding year at work and everything else.”

He wasn’t telling Susannah anything she didn’t know. Perhaps those were the reasons for this discontent, this need to find out about Jake, but she doubted it. Even gardening, her passion, didn’t soothe her—or distract her. While she was quick to deny that anything was wrong, Susannah felt certain it all went back to her high school boyfriend and the way their relationship had ended. What she needed was closure—that irritating, overused word. And yet nothing else quite explained it. Jake was an unfinished part of her life, a thread left hanging, a path not taken.

In that sense, her father’s death had triggered her unease, her recurring memories of Jake, since George was the one responsible for breaking them up. As always, he’d been so sure he knew best. The problem was that he sat on his high and mighty judgment seat in court during the day and didn’t step down from it when he came home to his family at night.

Susannah refused to dwell on thoughts of her father, refused to let herself nurture these negative feelings toward him. But tonight, for reasons she didn’t understand, her memories of Jake wouldn’t leave her alone.

“It might be a good idea for you to spend a few weeks with your mother this summer. Perhaps then you’ll find some resolution concerning your father.”

“Maybe,” Susannah agreed, although she didn’t really believe it. They’d already decided she should visit Vivian once the summer holidays started, to check up on her and assess the situation.

The phone pealed in the distance, but neither Joe nor Susannah hurried to answer it. With a teenager in the house, there was no need.

Brian stuck his head out his bedroom door and shouted her name at an ear-splitting decibel. “Mom!”

Susannah wanted to ask him who it was, but he’d retreated into his bedroom so fast she didn’t have a chance. Walking over to the kitchen phone, she lifted the receiver and waited for him to hang up.

“Hello.”

“Susannah, is that you?”

The female voice was familiar, but she couldn’t immediately place it.

“It’s Martha West. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Susannah tensed. Martha had been the family housekeeper for years. The only reason she’d be calling was to tell her something had happened to her mother. “Is everything all right with Mom?” The last time Martha phoned had been with the news that Susannah’s father had dropped dead of a heart attack.

“She’s just fine,” Martha assured her. “I did want to talk to you, though, before you drove here. Vivian mentioned that you planned to visit soon and, well…” She hesitated. “There’s no easy way to say this.” Again she paused. “Susannah, your mother seems to think I’m…taking her things. I hope you know I’d never do anything like that. I swear I had nothing to do with those missing teaspoons.”

“Teaspoons?”

“Your mother accused me of taking four of her matching teaspoons when I was there to clean this afternoon.”

“Martha, I know you’d never do anything like that.” The woman was completely trustworthy.

“I would hope not,” she blurted. “And let me tell you that if I was going to steal, it wouldn’t be teaspoons.”

“Makes sense.”

“Then she said I hid her purse. I searched for an hour and found it tucked behind the sofa cushions. When I showed it to her, she said I was the one who’d put it there.”

Susannah groaned. “Oh, Martha, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” the housekeeper said, sounding exasperated. “Nothing’s been the same since your father died. One day she’s her normal self and the next, well, I hardly know her anymore. She asked me why I’d take her things. I would never! You know that. Teaspoons? She believes I walked away with her teaspoons and God help me, even though I looked everywhere, I couldn’t find them. But I didn’t take them!”

“I’m sure you didn’t. I’ll talk to her,” Susannah promised.

“So she hasn’t said anything to you about me supposedly stealing her things?” Martha asked.

“No.” This was a half truth. In their last conversation, her mother had said she wanted to have a talk about Martha once Susannah arrived. Susannah had assumed that the housekeeper was planning to retire. As it was, Martha cleaned the house only twice a week now. She was getting on in years, too.

“I’ll talk to her,” Susannah said a second time—although she had no idea what she’d say.

“Please do, and if you can’t convince her that I’m an honest and loyal employee then…then maybe I should look for work elsewhere.”

“Don’t do that,” Susannah pleaded. “Give me a chance to get to the bottom of this.”

“Good.” Martha seemed somewhat appeased.

“I’ll be in touch when I get there,” Susannah said.

After a few words of farewell, Martha ended the conversation and Susannah replaced the phone.

“What was that all about?” Joe asked as he refolded the evening paper.

Susannah sighed deeply and told him.

“You did say your mother seems awfully forgetful these days.”

Susannah nodded. “I talk to her almost daily, but there’s only so much information I can get over the phone.” She sighed again. “Mom keeps telling me the same things over and over, but I thought that was simply old age. Maybe it’s more than that.” Many of her friends faced similar concerns with their aging parents.

“What about asking one of her friends?” Joe came into the kitchen and stood beside her. Gazing down at her, he clasped her shoulders, his eyes serious.

She looked up at him with a resigned smile. “I’ll give Mrs. Henderson a call. She’s been Mom’s neighbor for years.”

After finding the Hendersons’ phone number, Susannah reached for the phone again. When the initial greetings were dispensed with, she was quick to get to the reason for her call. “I’m worried about my mother, Mrs. Henderson. Have you talked to her lately?”

“Oh, yes,” Rachel Henderson told her, “she’s often out puttering in her garden—not that she gets much done.”

“How is she…mentally?” Susannah asked next.

“Well, to be honest, she just hasn’t been herself since she lost George,” the neighbor said thoughtfully. “I can’t say exactly what’s going on…but I’m afraid something isn’t right with Vivian.”

“How do you mean?” Susannah asked. Joe walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a mug while watching her.

She knew. Deep down, Susannah had known for weeks that her mother was having problems. She’d sensed changes in Vivian even before her father’s death.

“I realize you talk to your mother a lot and I don’t mean to be putting my nose in where it doesn’t belong. Al said I should mind my own business, but then this evening…”

“What happened this evening?” Susannah asked, suddenly nervous.

“I’m sure you’re aware that Vivian hasn’t adjusted well to losing your father.”

“I know.” Her mother was often weepy and sad, talking endlessly about George and how desperately she missed him. Susannah had driven across the mountains to visit over spring break but had only been able to stay four days. Vivian had clung to her, pleaded with her to remain in Colville longer, but Susannah couldn’t. Driving there and back meant the better part of two days, and that left only one day to prepare for school.

Susannah had tried to talk her mother into moving to Seattle, but Vivian had stubbornly refused to consider it. She didn’t want to leave Colville, where she’d been born and raised. Her surviving friends all lived in the small town sixty-three miles north of Spokane.

“Something happened this evening?” Susannah repeated, wanting Rachel to get to the point.

“I know this may shock you, but your mother asked me to help her find George.”

“What?” Susannah’s eyes shot to Joe. “She thinks my dad’s alive?”

“She claims she saw him.”

“Oh, no,” Susannah muttered.

“She was wandering down the street, looking confused. I got worried, so I went after her. Then she started talking all this nonsense about George—how he brought her home and then disappeared. When was the last time you saw her?”

“March.” Susannah knew she needed to visit Colville more often, but she hadn’t been able to make it during the last few months. Between Brian’s sports, other commitments, including a teaching workshop, and social engagements, there hadn’t been a single free weekend. Guilt felt like a lead weight dragging her down. “I planned to drive over this weekend. School’s out for the summer and I’m going to spend a couple of weeks with Mom.”

“That’s wise,” Mrs. Henderson said. “She’s lost weight, you know.”

Her mother was barely a hundred and ten pounds when Susannah had seen her in March.

“I don’t think she cooks anymore,” her neighbor went on.

During her visit, Vivian had asked her to make dinner every night. Susannah hadn’t minded and the shelves certainly seemed to be well stocked. Although Susannah had noticed a number of gourmet items her mother had never purchased before. Like fancy mustards. And sun-dried tomatoes in pesto, which Susannah had used in a pasta sauce.

“You mean she isn’t eating?” Susannah clarified.

“Not much, as far as I can tell. I keep inviting her over for dinner, but she refuses every time. I’m not the only one she’s refused, either. She seems to be holed up in the house and barely comes out, except to work in her garden.”

“But…why?” Her mother had always been social, enjoying the company of others, hosting parties for George and their friends.

“You’ll have to ask her that.”

“But on the phone she talks as if she sees you quite a bit,” Susannah said. It wasn’t like her mother to lie.

“Oh, yes, we chat over the fence, but I swear…” Mrs. Henderson paused. “Sometimes I’m not sure your mother knows who I am.”

“Oh, dear.” This was what Susannah feared most. Her mother was losing her memory, and it seemed due to more than the erosion of old age.

“Another thing,” Mrs. Henderson said, hesitating again.

“Go on,” Susannah urged.

“The other day when I went to check on her, I found her sitting in the dark. Turns out she forgot to pay the electric bill. She felt embarrassed about it, and I don’t think she’d like me saying anything to you, but I felt you should know.”

Susannah groaned inwardly. These were the very things she’d worried about. Bills unpaid, the stove left on, meals and appointments forgotten.

“Not to worry,” Mrs. Henderson rushed to add. “I helped her get it straightened out and her lights are back on. Like I said, she told me you’d be visiting soon and I thought I’d talk to you then, but this business with her seeing George—now, that’s got me worried.”

It worried Susannah, too. She wished Mrs. Henderson had contacted her earlier. “I tried to talk to Mom about moving into assisted living when I was there in the spring.”

“Yes, she told me. It upset her something fierce that you were going to kick her out of her own house.”

“She said that?” Susannah’s stomach tightened. She was hurt that her mother would even think such a thing, let alone voice it to a neighbor.

“Yes, but quite honestly, Susannah, I don’t feel she should be on her own any longer.”

Susannah should’ve insisted back in March, but she hadn’t felt she could take her mother out of her home so soon after a major loss. She’d had enough upheaval in her life. Evidently it’d been a mistake not to act sooner.

Susannah ran one hand through the soft curls that had fallen onto her forehead.

“It might be best if you came right away,” Mrs. Henderson suggested. “I would’ve phoned you myself, but Al said I should keep out of it. Seeing that you phoned me, well, I figured I’d better tell you what’s going on with your mother. I hope that’s okay?” she asked anxiously.

“I’m grateful you told me,” Susannah said. “I’ll drive over as soon as I can make arrangements.”

After a brief farewell, Susannah replaced the receiver. Joe leaned against the counter, still watching her, coffee mug in hand.

“I’m afraid it’s worse than I thought,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “Apparently she’s wandering around the neighborhood looking for my father.”

Joe released a low whistle. “You’re going over right away, then?” Originally Susannah had intended to wait for the weekend.

“I guess that would be for the best.” Then, thinking out loud, she added, “I don’t have any choice but to put her in an assisted-living facility.”

“I agree.”

Susannah pinched the bridge of her nose, dreading the approaching confrontation. Her mother would fight her on this. She didn’t doubt that for a minute.

“Do you want me to go with you? Perhaps the two of us will be able to talk some sense into her.”

Susannah shook her head.

“You’re sure?” He frowned as though disappointed. “You were wonderful when my parents died, Suze. I want to be there for you.”

For a moment Susannah was afraid she’d cry. “No…I need to do this on my own. I’ve decided,” she said, the idea taking shape in her mind as she spoke, “that I’ll stay in Colville for a while.” Although it was crazy to even consider the idea, she might be able to find out where Jake was living. She had to talk to him, had to find out what had happened and why. Susannah knew her father had something to do with the breakup; she just didn’t know the details. Maybe, once she learned the truth, she could put an end to this fantasizing about Jake.

“Okay.” Joe sighed heavily. “But after you convince her to move, you’ll have to make a decision about the house.”

Susannah hadn’t even thought of that. All at once the task seemed overwhelming.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Joe asked.

She didn’t meet his eyes while she contemplated spending time in Colville. “Three weeks should do it, I imagine. Possibly a month.”

“That long?”

“It isn’t going to be easy to talk my mother into leaving her home,” she said. “And there’s the matter of arranging assisted-living accommodation for her. And cleaning the house. Whether I decide to rent it or put it on the market, either way it’ll need to be cleared out.”

“I could help. Brian, too.”

“No, I can manage.” She appreciated the offer, but she wanted to spend time with her mother—just the two of them. Not only that, she had a private agenda concerning Jake, an agenda she couldn’t confide to her husband. She had to resolve that problem on her own. If Joe and Brian were there, she’d be torn between her present and her past. “Perhaps on the weekends, if you want.” As a dentist, Joe couldn’t change his appointment schedule at the last minute.

“Brian and I have our fishing trip scheduled for next weekend, but we can cancel that.”

“No, don’t,” she protested. It was hard enough for the two of them to find time together.

Joe nodded. “Then we’ll try to come one weekend after that.” He put down his coffee mug and glanced at her, a half smile on his face. “I have a feeling you’re going to learn a lot more than you expected from all of this.”

Susannah suspected he was right.




CHAPTER

3


Chrissie Nelson shoved the last of her clothes into her suitcase and looked anxiously out her dorm room window. Jason was late. He’d promised to be here by ten to take her to the airport. School was over and the dorm was mostly deserted. She’d be flying out of Eugene, where she attended the University of Oregon, to Seattle for the summer. The end of the school year didn’t thrill her, mostly because she’d be leaving Jason behind. She wasn’t like some of her friends, eager to return home. In fact, Chrissie dreaded the emptiness that lay ahead.

Pushing her long straight blond hair over her shoulder, she suppressed a deep sigh. Her roommate, Katie Robertson, had left the night before, and so had several of her other friends. Jason had driven Katie to the airport, but Chrissie’s flight wasn’t until today. He’d stopped by the dorm after he’d dropped Katie off; he and Chrissie had gone out for a farewell drink and he’d promised to meet her in plenty of time for her 11:30 flight. When he’d picked Katie up, he’d arrived with two hours to spare—and he’d waited with her at the airport. Chrissie had a niggling sensation that he’d been more solicitous than necessary….

That made it sound as if she was jealous and she wasn’t. Jason had never given Chrissie the slightest reason to doubt his devotion. He was simply thoughtful. Latching her suitcase closed, she grunted as she lifted it off the mattress with both hands and set it on the floor.

The problem with going home for the summer was that she didn’t have a job. And at this late date, the prospects of decent employment were slim to none.

She was almost twenty and still tied to her parents. Chrissie hated that. The idea of being at home for the next eight or ten weeks—and dependent on her parents for spending money—depressed her. She preferred to stay in Eugene, but her part-time job on campus had ended with the semester. Next year everything would be different; Chrissie intended to make sure of that. This would be her last summer in Seattle. She was an adult, and she wanted to live her own life.

As soon as she got home, she planned to tell her parents that she was moving out of the dorm. Two other girls had invited her to live off-campus with them in a small house. They’d divide the rent, and it would be much cheaper than living at the university for a third year. It would be a good experience, she’d tell her parents, plus it would save them money. She was perfectly capable of managing on her own. Her father would listen to reason, but she wasn’t sure she could count on her mother.

Jason’s Honda Civic pulled up to the curb. Chrissie leaned out the window and waved. He climbed out of his car, glanced up and smiled, then waved back. “I’ll be right there,” he called.

That was typical of Jason—always considerate. She felt fortunate to be with him. They’d met on a blind date and he’d impressed her the moment they began to talk. They had a lot in common, but that didn’t mean they were alike. Far from it. Jason, a law student specializing in accounting law, was about as conservative as they came. His grades were high and his work habits disciplined and methodical. Chrissie, on the other hand, was carefree and fun-loving, and something of a procrastinator. The problem, she’d decided, was that she worked best under pressure. Term papers were written the night before they were due. What other people failed to understand, she often explained righteously, was that she’d been thinking about the subject for weeks, gathering the needed data. Starting it early wouldn’t have improved the end product.

Jason never left anything to the last minute and her delay tactics exasperated him. Still, they were crazy about each other. He did occasionally try to change her ways—and vice versa. At least he didn’t constantly complain about her study habits like her parents did. Her grades weren’t any worse in college than they’d been in high school. Okay, they weren’t great but she never got less than a C. The major reason she’d decided on college was because all her friends were going. Everyone just expected her to continue her education, and she hadn’t come up with anything she’d rather do.

She stayed more because of the social life than the academics—the parties and the boys. Jason, with his wide muscular shoulders, could have been a football player, but sports were of little interest to him. He dressed for class as if he were going into an office, wearing sweaters and slacks in the winter and short-sleeve shirts and Dockers in the summer. His hair was conservatively cut, above the ear. Basically, he was every mother’s dream. Her dream, too, although she would never have expected to fall for a guy like him.

On that first date with Jason, she’d tried to find the beast within, striving to break through his proprieties, with limited success. She was convinced there was a bad boy inside him waiting to emerge and Chrissie wanted to find him. Jason certainly didn’t object, and while they were different they were also good together. He appreciated her spontaneity and lightheartedness. She liked the fact that he was reliable and thoughtful. And although they might argue about everything from politics to movies, they had an enjoyable time making up afterward.

Needless to say, her parents were thrilled with him, and who wouldn’t be? He was as close to perfect a boyfriend for their daughter as they could hope for. She and Jason hadn’t talked about marriage yet, but it wouldn’t surprise her if he gave her an engagement ring at Christmas.

Jason came into her room and heaved the heavy suitcase into his arms. Grunting and panting, he maneuvered it down the stairs—no elevator in her building—while she carried her backpack and purse.

When they reached the bottom, Chrissie cast him a woebegone look. “I wish I didn’t have to leave.”

“It’ll be fine,” he said without meeting her eyes. But that could’ve been because he was busy hoisting the suitcase into his trunk.

Still, his offhand remark startled her. “It will?” She found that hard to believe.

“I’ll miss you like crazy, but before we know it you’ll be back.”

His cavalier attitude was completely unexpected. She wanted him to feel as bereft as she did; obviously he didn’t. Eyeing him closely, she wondered if she was reading more into his comment than warranted. She didn’t want to sound like a whiny ten-year-old, but she was taken aback by his response.

She decided not to overreact. “You’re right, of course. Besides, I can come and visit you over the Fourth of July.”

“You can?”

“Sure, why not?” she asked.

“Don’t you want to save your money for school?”

She shrugged, as if financial concerns were of little significance. She’d assumed he’d leap at the suggestion. Apparently not. A moment later, Jason took Chrissie by the shoulders and astonished her by kissing her long and hard. Normally, he frowned on public displays of affection, but today nothing about him was the same. She reveled in his moist lips molding to hers as he held her close. “Next summer…” she whispered.

“Next summer?”

“I’ll find a way to stay in Oregon.”

“Good.” With that, he placed her backpack carefully beside the heavy bag and shut the trunk.

“First things first,” she said as Jason opened the passenger door.

He hesitated, looking puzzled.

“I have to convince my mother to let me move out of the dorm before I talk to her about staying in Eugene next summer,” she elaborated.

“You really have a thing about your mother, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Chrissie flared.

“You always seem worried about what she’s going to say.”

His observation irritated her. “That’s not true.” She didn’t want to argue, but he’d totally missed the point.

“You just said you had to get your mother to agree that you can rent with Joan and Katie,” he murmured. “For the last week, ever since final exams, you’ve been complaining about going home and having to deal with her. Not once did you mention your dad.”

“My father is the more reasonable of the two.” She was furious that Jason would even suggest she had a problem with her mother.

“From what I understand, it’s fairly common, you know? Mother-daughter conflict, I mean.”

“Really?” Chrissie said coldly as she climbed into the passenger seat and without waiting closed the door. She fastened the seat belt while Jason walked around to the other side of the vehicle.

“You and your mother seem to have these underlying issues,” he said when he got into the car. He inserted the key into the ignition.

She stared at him, annoyed that he was pursuing the subject. “Are you trying to start a fight?” she asked, refusing to be drawn into one.

Jason turned to her, then gradually smiled. “Not really. Are you?”

“No.”

“Good.” He pulled away from the curb.

“You don’t act as if you’re going to miss me all that much,” she said, and immediately wanted to swallow her words. They made her seem insecure and she wasn’t.

“What makes you say that?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head.

“Is it because I didn’t encourage you to fly down for the Fourth of July? If so, the reason—aside from not wanting you to spend the airfare—is that I already have plans.”

“You do?”

“My parents asked me to visit them and I said I would.”

It didn’t escape Chrissie’s notice that he didn’t invite her to join him and his family.

“Are you glad I’m leaving Eugene?” she asked. She knew he’d be staying; he was fortunate enough to have a full-time summer job with a big law firm. His family lived in Grants Pass, a couple of hours away.

Jason sighed as if she were behaving like a difficult child. “Forget I asked,” she snapped. “It was a stupid question.”

“Yes, it was,” Jason said. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Why are you being so sensitive?”

He was right; she was overreacting, even though she’d vowed not to. “Maybe I don’t want to go back to Seattle for the summer. Maybe I’d rather be here with you instead of trapped in a house with my mother for the next ten weeks.” The moment she mentioned her mother, Chrissie realized she’d said the wrong thing.

“Why don’t you talk to her, then?”

“About what? My relationship with her? My mother’s so caught up in her own world that she can’t be bothered with me.”

Jason stopped at a traffic signal. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“How would you know? You only met her once.” Chrissie had brought Jason home at Easter and he’d spent three days with her family. The visit had been a success on all counts.

As they’d pulled out of the family driveway, Chrissie had basked in her parents’ approval. Both of them had liked Jason immensely.

“You have wonderful parents, Chrissie,” he said now.

“Yes—but my mother’s going to make my life hell this summer. She’s upset with me for not having a job, although she’d never come right out and say so. Instead, she’ll find a hundred different things to criticize.”

“I thought you were going to look for a job over spring break,” Jason reminded her.

“I was, but I got busy—the time just slipped away. Don’t you start on me, too.”

“Chrissie…”

“You have no idea what this summer’s going to be like.”

“Oh, come on, Chrissie. It’s not—”

“Let me give you an example,” she broke in, “and this is based on experience. Mom will ask me to clean the bathroom and I will. Then she’ll come in after me and scrub the sink all over again. This is her way of letting me know that I didn’t meet her high standards.” The summer stretched before Chrissie like one long exercise in tolerance and patience. “If she didn’t like how I cleaned the sink, you’d think she’d just say so, but oh, no, not my mother.”

Jason muttered something noncommittal.

“Brian has a job,” she continued. “Mom’s already mentioned that fact about fifty times. He’s working for a construction company.”

“You’re making too much of this.”

“I don’t think so,” Chrissie muttered. “What she’s really saying is that if I’d looked for a job like she wanted me to over spring break, I’d have one waiting for me now.” She could imagine the constant barrage of digs that lay in store for her. Her mother couldn’t bear the thought of Chrissie being idle all summer, so she’d threaten to line up babysitting jobs for her. Babysitting at almost twenty? In Chrissie’s opinion, that was cruel and unusual punishment.

“She seems to believe that finding temporary employment is easy. I suppose I could get a job at a fast-food place, but even those aren’t as available as they used to be. Besides, I don’t want to spend my summer asking someone if they want fries with that.”

“Well…” He clearly wasn’t interested in arguing with her.

“As a last resort, my dad will leap to the rescue and offer me a pity job.”

“A what?”

“He’ll bring me to his office and I’ll be reduced to doing menial tasks, for which he’ll pay me minimum wage.” She sighed. “It’s going to be a dreadful summer. I can tell.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jason countered absently.

Chrissie doubted he’d even heard her. His mind certainly wasn’t on her; that much was apparent. She looked at him and frowned, unsure what to think. Something had changed between them. She could feel it—had felt it from the moment he arrived. Jason had never been late before.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, then added, “Between us, I mean.”

He glanced at her and shrugged. “Sure. Why shouldn’t it be?”

Instinct said otherwise. “You drove Katie to the airport last night, didn’t you?”

“You know I did.”

Chrissie noticed that his hand tightened around the steering wheel. What had happened between him and Katie the night before? She didn’t mention how long he’d spent at the airport. Originally she was supposed to tag along, but Katie had a lot of stuff and it would’ve been a tight fit in a small car, so she’d stayed behind. That, apparently, had been a mistake.

Nothing had happened, she told herself. Chrissie couldn’t believe Jason would do that to her. Besides, Katie was one of her best friends. They planned on renting a house together in a few months. The last thing Katie would do was steal Jason away from her.

No, neither of them would betray her, Chrissie thought firmly.

The rest of the drive was completed in an uncomfortable silence.

Jason drove up to the curb at the airport and Chrissie climbed out as soon as he came to a stop. Without a word, Jason jumped out and opened the trunk, heaving her suitcase onto the ground.

“The summer will go fast,” he said with false cheerfulness. “You’ll be back here in no time.”

“Right,” she agreed with the same fake exuberance. “No time at all.”

Jason nodded. “I’ll call you soon.”

She nodded, too, and dragged her bag onto the sidewalk. “I guess I’d better get inside.”

“Have a great summer.”

She tried to smile. “You, too.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, but it fell short of just about every other kiss they’d exchanged. She was afraid she was losing Jason and it broke her heart.




CHAPTER

4


Susannah wasn’t looking forward to this trip back to Colville. The eastern Washington community was like small towns all over the country. Her eyes went immediately to the town clock, which featured a statue of a frontiersman, as she drove through the city center. Colville with its JCPenney store on Main Street was the big city to many of the smaller communities surrounding it. There was a traffic roundabout now, but while she was growing up, Colville had the only traffic light in Stevens County.

It was small-town America at its best.

And its worst.

The drive took seven hours with a brief lunch break. As Susannah rolled into the outskirts of town, her tension grew. She turned the music up louder, trying to lose herself in the insistent beat of the Rolling Stones. The first building she passed was the Burger King restaurant, which had closed its doors. It was probably the only franchise in the entire chain to go out of business. The bowling alley came next. The sign out front listed the special of the day as a breakfast of two eggs, toast and coffee for $2.99—up from the $1.99 of her childhood. That had been the special for as long as Susannah could remember.

She drove past Colville Mortuary, which had once been owned by her uncle Henry, who was long dead now. Susannah had grown up with hordes of cousins, none of whom had settled in the area. They, too, had no reason to stay in Colville.

As she continued down Main Street, she felt a growing sense of dread. Getting her mother into an assisted-living complex wasn’t a prospect she relished. This anxiety, however, resulted from more than the difficult task that awaited her. When Susannah left Colville for college, she’d never looked back. Oh, she’d returned any number of times over the years, but whenever she did, the familiar depression returned, too. Part of that had to do with her brother’s death; he was killed in a car accident the year she turned eighteen. She was in a French boarding school at the time, and her father’s phone call had come in the middle of the day. A call from America was sure to be bad news. And it was. It’d been the worst news of her life. Her brother, older by three years, had died in a crash on a notoriously bad curve just outside Colville.

Susannah’s world changed forever that day. If her brother’s death wasn’t devastating enough, her father had refused to fly her home for the funeral. She never forgave him for that. He’d been the one who insisted on shipping her off to France in the first place. Then, while she was so far from home, her whole life had collapsed. Susannah was never the same afterward. Her parents had never recovered, either.

It seemed to her that whatever happiness her parents had shared vanished after Doug died. Joy fled from their lives, leaving their marriage stark and empty. That was Susannah’s perception, although her mother had a different version of events, a version Susannah considered a case of denial. But then, how could Vivian have stayed with her husband if she’d been honest about her unhappiness—and his role in it?

When Susannah had returned from her year away, she could barely tolerate living in the same house. After she left for college, she didn’t even consider moving back.

Doug’s death wasn’t the only reminder she brought with her. She couldn’t come here and not think about Jake Presley—especially now that he’d invaded her dreams on a nightly basis. Any number of times over the years she’d wondered about him, but never more than in the last few months. The sweet tenderness of her first love had been ruined by her father, too.

Susannah wanted to believe that Jake was happy, a husband and father, and successful in whatever field he’d chosen. It’d taken her a long time to get over him—but she had. Or so she’d thought.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, Susannah slowed her car to the reduced thirty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit. She passed Benny’s Motel and the Safeway store where her mother had shopped for fifty years. The four-block-square City Park was behind the motel. Farther down the street was Ole King Cole’s restaurant. Every year on Mother’s Day, that was where her father took her mother for dinner. Either there or Acorn’s.

Refusing to be ambushed by the past, Susannah forced herself to stare straight ahead. When she reached the end of Main, she ventured up the hill toward ChestnutAvenue and her childhood home.

The light was on, although it was barely five o’clock in the afternoon and summer-bright. Susannah pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. The screen door opened instantly, as if her mother had been standing on the other side waiting for her arrival.

The house, built in 1960, was constructed of brick. At the time it had been one of the new ranch-style homes, among the most elaborate in town. It had four bedrooms, one of which her mother used for crafts, plus a finished basement with rec room and laundry.

And the garden. Her mother’s beautiful garden. Vivian liked to sit there in the cool of the evening and read or knit. Her father had installed lighting on the back deck for that very reason.

“Susannah.” Vivian held out her arms as Susannah climbed from the car.

Bounding up the front steps, she was shocked to see how frail her mother had become, especially in such a short time. She appeared to have aged ten years since Susannah’s visit in March. Mrs. Henderson was right; Vivian had lost weight, so much that her clothes hung on her. The belted housedress bagged at the waist and her stockings were wrinkled and loose. Susannah wrapped her arms gently around her mother and felt immersed in guilt. She should’ve come sooner, should have realized how poorly her mother was doing.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Vivian said.

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” Susannah told her. Joe would be fine without her for a few weeks. The children, too. But Susannah’s mother needed her.

“Come inside,” Vivian urged. “I made iced tea.”

Susannah slipped her arm around her mother’s narrow waist and together they walked inside. She was surprised to see a few newspapers scattered on the steps, still in their protective plastic sleeves. This was unlike her meticulous mother.

The house was much as she remembered it from her last visit. The chair where her father had watched television every night sat empty. The crocheted doily pinned against the back was still in place.

Even in his retirement, the television wasn’t allowed on before the five o’clock news. The judge had decreed it and no one dared question his decisions, least of all her mother. Susannah wondered if Vivian watched daytime programs now that her husband was gone. She suspected not. Old habits die hard.

The kitchen table was set with dishes and silverware. “You didn’t make dinner, did you?” Susannah asked.

Her mother turned from the refrigerator and frowned. “You told me not to.”

“I was planning to take you out to eat, anyplace you want.”

“Oh, good. I was afraid I did something wrong.”

“No, Mom, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her smile seemed so fragile, so tentative. After all these years of marriage she was lost without George. Her dependence on him had been absolute, Susannah thought. She blamed her father for that more than she did her mother.

“Sit down and tell me about the children,” her mother said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table for Susannah. The round oak table was an antique now and the chairs along with it.

Stepping over to the counter, her mother filled tall glasses and brought them to the table. Then she sat down, looking expectantly at Susannah.

Susannah sipped her tea. “Brian has a summer job in construction. He’s thrilled and the money is excellent.”

Her mother smiled with approval. “And Christine?”

“Joe’s picking her up from the airport this afternoon.”

Her mother’s smile faded. “She was away?”

“At school, Mom. Chrissie’s coming home from college for the summer.”

“Oh, of course. Chrissie’s away at school now, isn’t she?”

“That’s right. She’s about to enter her junior year.”

“She has a summer job, too?”

Susannah should have anticipated the question. “No. Not yet, but I’m sure she’ll find one.” This was wishful thinking on her part.

Her mother nodded. “Yes, she will. She’s such a beautiful young girl.” Susannah’s gaze drifted into the dining room, where Vivian kept family photos on the buffet. Chrissie’s high school graduation picture stared back at her. Her daughter’s long blond hair, parted in the middle, flowed down over her shoulders as she smiled into the camera. Susannah’s own high school graduation photograph, taken after her return from France, was positioned next to that of her daughter. Her hair had been long and blond then, too, but curlier than Chrissie’s. It had darkened over the years and was now a light shade of brown. These days she kept it short and styled. In her graduation picture, Susannah wore a cap and gown and held her diploma, tilted at an angle as if it were a cherished scroll. It was all for show.

“Chrissie’s so much like you at that age.”

Susannah’s gaze flew back to the photographs. Frankly she didn’t see the resemblance. Her daughter was nothing like her in temperament or in looks. At almost twenty, Chrissie still had a lot of growing up to do.

“It’s in the eyes,” her mother continued.

Susannah looked again, partly, she supposed, in the hope that her mother was right. For the last year or so, Susannah and Chrissie had been at odds. Not for any particular reason, but over a succession of little things. Susannah felt that her daughter didn’t take life seriously enough. She didn’t put much effort into school and tended to waste time lounging in front of the TV, indulging in long conversations with her friends and sleeping in until noon. Chrissie should have summer employment, but instead of going on a job search, she’d frittered away her spring break, convinced she could charm herself into employment when it suited her.

“Your hair was that blond when you were young,” her mother said wistfully.

Susannah didn’t want to disillusion her mother, but Chrissie’s pure blond color came courtesy of an expensive salon.

“The minute Joe’s mother set eyes on the baby, she told us Chrissie looked exactly like her aunt Louise,” Susannah commented. Joe had rolled his eyes, but Susannah did see a resemblance. Not then, of course, but more recently.

“She’s still at school?”

“No, Mom, Chrissie’s flying home. Joe’s going to the airport to pick her up.”

“Oh, yes, you said that, didn’t you? I forget sometimes.”

“That’s all right, Mom, we all do.” She gave her mother’s hand a reassuring pat, then stood. “I’d better bring in my suitcase.”

“You’ll stay more than a day or two this time, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mom, I’ll stay.”

A smile brightened her mother’s dull eyes. “Good. I hoped you would. I’ve been so lost without your father. And now Martha’s left me, too!” She slipped her hand into the pocket of her dress and removed a tissue to dab her eyes.

Martha had quit! Susannah groaned inwardly as she walked out of the house and opened the trunk of her car. She brought in a large suitcase; assuming she’d be in town for a few weeks, she’d packed more than her usual overnight bag.

Susannah carried her suitcase down the hallway to her childhood bedroom, which remained exactly as it had when she’d lived at home. Her desk was still there; her chair, too. The heavy blue drapes were the same, although faded, and the lighter blue shag carpeting looked terribly dated now. She couldn’t imagine why her parents had never updated their home after she’d graduated from college. It was as if they’d been stuck in a time warp for the last thirty years. There’d certainly been money to make changes.

“I saw a friend of yours last week,” her mother said, coming to stand in the bedroom doorway, watching Susannah as she unpacked.

“Who?” Susannah had few friends in town. She’d attended her ten-year reunion, but had felt awkward and out of place. She’d been married to Joe for three years then, and the two of them had stayed at each other’s side. Susannah hadn’t returned for subsequent reunions. She didn’t know these people anymore. Because she’d been away for the last year of school, she hadn’t even graduated with them, not officially.

“Just a minute,” her mother said and closed her eyes, forehead creased in thought. “Carolyn!” she said triumphantly. “You remember Carolyn. Carolyn Bronson.” Her mother paused. “She said you should phone her sometime.”

“Carolyn Bronson?” Susannah couldn’t believe it. Carolyn had been her best friend and the richest girl in Colville. They’d gone to France together. Her father owned the mill that employed nearly forty percent of the town—or had at one time. With the changes in the lumber industry, Susannah didn’t know how the yard had fared.

“You were good friends with her, right?”

Susannah nodded. “But I haven’t seen Carolyn in years.” Carolyn had been the one friend from Colville she’d stayed in touch with for a while. Then they’d grown apart and their correspondence had dwindled down to an annual Christmas card. About twenty-five years ago, Susannah’s card had come back stamped: MOVED—NO FORWARDING ADDRESS. She hadn’t heard from Carolyn since. Her mother had read in the paper—she regularly studied the obituaries—that Carolyn’s parents were both gone. Susannah hadn’t realized Carolyn was back in Colville.

“Carolyn was so excited when I told her you were coming to town. She said she’d love to see you.”

“Did she happen to mention if she was married?”

Vivian shook her head. “She didn’t say, but I think she would have if she was, don’t you?”

Carolyn had married shortly after college; it had lasted barely a year. To the best of her knowledge, Carolyn had never remarried. Susannah wondered if the experience of that divorce had left her friend cynical about marriage.

“I remember her mother,” Vivian murmured, pinching her lips. “She always acted as if she was better than the rest of us.” Carolyn’s mother had been a war bride from Paris, and in retrospect Susannah thought she’d never really adjusted to life in a small American town. Carolyn had been an only child, and her mother had insisted her daughter attend high school in France. She and Susannah were friends all through grade school and junior high, and then Carolyn had left for a boarding school just outside Paris. They’d written for a while, but their letters became infrequent as they each made new friends.

Later Susannah’s father had sent her to the same school. Carolyn had been her salvation.

It was Carolyn who’d cried with her when she learned of Doug’s death. Susannah had been inconsolable and desperate to get home. But that wasn’t to be. She was convinced she wouldn’t have survived the rest of that horrible year without her best friend.

Back in the United States, they’d attended separate colleges but stayed in touch. That special bond had lasted through Carolyn’s failed marriage. Then Susannah met Joe and they’d married and the friendship had slowly come to an end.

“I’ll call her after dinner.”

“Oh, she gave me her number. It’s unlisted.” Her mother seemed flustered for a moment and then relieved. “I remember now, I put it in my purse so I wouldn’t lose it.”

“When did Carolyn move back to Colville?”

Her mother blinked several times, as though this was something she should know and didn’t. “I don’t…remember. I don’t recall if she told me.” Changing the subject, her mother motioned toward the chest of drawers. “Should I clean out the drawers so you’ll have some place to unpack your things? Your father put stuff in there.”

“No, Mom, don’t worry about it.”

Vivian nodded, then shuffled away, presumably to change clothes.

Susannah finished her unpacking. Then, taking the cell phone from her purse, she sat on the edge of the bed and punched the number that would dial her Seattle home.

Her son answered on the second ring.

“Hello, Brian.”

“Hey, Mom. How’s Grandma?”

“She’s fine. Is your father home yet?”

“Yeah. Chrissie’s here, too. We’ve already had a fight over who got to use the phone.” He lowered his voice and it sounded as if he’d cupped his hand around the mouthpiece. “Apparently she’s on the outs with Jason and she’s in one bitch of a mood.”

“Static,” Susannah said automatically. That was the term she used whenever her children or her students spoke in an unacceptable way. She’d picked up the habit as a fifth-grade teacher. Her kids might consider her old-fashioned, but she didn’t allow them to use foul language, insulting labels or bad grammar, and that wasn’t a rule she planned to change. She said the word static in order to give the child an opportunity to correct his or her mistake.

“One hell—heck of a mood,” Brian amended, “but she’s been a real you-know-what since she walked in the door.”

Susannah sighed. “Let me talk to your father.”

“All right.” She heard Brian shout in a voice loud enough to shatter glass. “Dad! It’s Mom.”

“Mom.” Chrissie was on the phone first. “I thought you’d be here.”

“I’m sorry, Chrissie. Grandma needs me right now.”

“Well, I need you, too. You should’ve let me know.”

“I’m sorry you’re disappointed….”

“Dad isn’t any help.”

“Did you and Jason have a falling out?”

A half-second pause. “Brian told you?”

“Yes.” Susannah could imagine her daughter sending her brother a dirty look.

“How dare he!”

“Chrissie…”

“I wanted to talk to you. I don’t know what’s wrong, and I think—oh, I don’t know, but I’m afraid Jason’s interested in someone else.”

“Did you ask him?”

Chrissie hesitated. “Not directly. I probably should have. He hasn’t phoned yet and he said he would.”

“Chrissie, you just got home. Give him a chance.”

There was a lengthy silence and Susannah sighed again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I guess all you can do is wait and see.”

“You liked Jason, didn’t you?”

“Very much.” God willing, her daughter would one day marry a man like Jason. Not anytime soon, of course. “You’re upset now, but sleep on it and everything will look better in the morning.”

“I wish you were here,” Chrissie whined. “Why didn’t you take me with you? I love Grandma and I’d like to spend time with her, too.”

“I needed to get to Colville as quickly as possible.” Leave it to Chrissie to make her feel even guiltier. She was tired. School had drained her and nothing about her life felt right.

“Dad said I had to cook dinner,” Chrissie muttered. “He said that without you here, I’m supposed to take over meals.”

“I’m sure Dad would find that helpful.” And since her daughter wasn’t working, she could do something around the house, Susannah thought but didn’t say.

“He wants me to be his galley slave.”

“One meal a day, Chrissie, is hardly slave labor.”

“I had plans for tonight.”

Susannah didn’t want to get into an argument with her daughter. “Let me talk to your father.”

“All right, but tell him he’s being totally unreasonable.”

Susannah rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, grateful to have escaped her daughter’s theatrics. Half a minute later, Joe got on the phone.

“Hi,” he said. “How was the drive?”

“Great. I listened to music the entire way.”

“Did it help?”

His real question was whether she was still depressed. “I think it did,” she said without a lot of enthusiasm, “I’ll be okay in a week or so.” She prayed that was true.

For a moment it seemed as if he hadn’t heard her. “Do you intend to visit your father’s grave?”

“Why should I?”

“Susannah, don’t get all bent out of shape. It was just a question.”

“You know how I feel about him.”

“All right, fine.” He paused. “I still think you might find some answers in Colville.”

She bit her lip. “I might.” But the answers she needed weren’t to the questions he assumed.

“I hope you do, Suze.”

Susannah didn’t know how to respond to that. Telling Joe her mother was waiting, she ended the conversation and turned off her cell phone. When she glanced up, Vivian stood in the doorway, wearing her church hat and winter coat. “I found Carolyn’s phone number,” she said proudly, holding a small slip of paper.

“Mom, you don’t need your coat. It’s almost eighty degrees outside.” The temperature had flashed from the Colville State Bank as she’d driven through town.

“I don’t?”

“No. Where would you like to go for dinner?” Susannah asked, assisting her mother out of the heavy coat. She hadn’t changed her dress, and Susannah found her a light sweater to wear instead of the coat.

“Wherever you want, dear.”

“No, you decide, Mom.”

Her mother’s face fell. She seemed uncertain and a bit confused. “There’s always Benny’s Café, I suppose.”

“Would you rather go to Acorns?” she asked, knowing that was the place her father would have chosen.

Her mother’s smile was instantaneous. “I’ve always loved their oysters. No one in town does them better.”

“All right, Mom, that’s where we’ll go.”

“And when we get back, you’ll phone Carolyn.”

“Yes, Mom, I’ll phone Carolyn tonight.”




CHAPTER

5


Carolyn Bronson was thrilled to hear from Susannah Leary—no, Susannah Nelson. Naturally, she’d hoped Susannah would phone, but for reasons that were hard to explain, she hadn’t expected her to. It’d been years since they’d last talked, twenty-five years at least. Decades. Now as she drove into town to meet her, she peered through the windshield looking for the tavern the men from the mill frequented most. Less than a mile down the road from Bronson Mill, it was the only place she could think to suggest.

When Susannah called an hour ago, they’d had so much to say that it took nearly thirty minutes to get off the phone once they’d agreed on a place to meet. They had a lot of years to catch up on, and neither of them wanted to break the connection.

The tavern was on the road that led to Colville, where the old A & W drive-in had been when they were growing up. It’d been converted into a pub and it seemed as good a meeting place as any.

Carolyn thought it was a shame that she’d been back in Colville for over five years and this would be the first time she’d stepped foot in the most popular watering hole for miles around. Even driving below the speed limit, she nearly went past it. She smiled at the name of the tavern. He’s Not Here. That was actually pretty clever.

Although Carolyn had visited her parents often, she hadn’t looked up old friends. Her high school years had been spent in a boarding school in France, at her mother’s insistence. Carolyn feared she’d been a bitter disappointment to her delicate French mother. Brigitte had tried hard to teach her grace and charm and what she called the art of being a woman. But, while she’d scored top grades academically, Carolyn had failed to meet her mother’s expectations in all other respects, and took after her father’s side of the family. The lumberjack side.

She’d always been astonished that her parents had gotten together at all. They’d met in Europe during World War II and her mother had become a war bride. More than once Carolyn had wondered if her mother had ever regretted her choice of a husband, whether she’d resented being forced to live in Colville. Brigitte was like an exotic orchid stuck in a row of sturdy sunflowers.

There were plenty of spaces in the parking lot at the tavern. The light inside was dim and she wasn’t sure she’d recognize Susannah. Her own hair, still chestnut but streaked with gray, was even longer now than it had been when they were teenagers. She wore it pulled away from her face in a thick braid that fell haphazardly over one shoulder. She had on black jeans and a light summer jacket, which was what she generally wore to the mill. When necessary, she donned more feminine attire, but that wasn’t often.

She found a booth and slid onto the polished wooden bench to wait. Only a minute or two after she’d arrived, Susannah came through the door, saw her and immediately headed in her direction. Carolyn would have known her anywhere. Susannah hadn’t changed a bit. Oh, perhaps she was a few pounds heavier, but not many, and she wore her hair shorter these days. It was a shade or two darker, as well. She had on white linen pants and a teal sweater with large white flowers on the front.

Her childhood friend sat down across from her in the booth, facing the door. “My goodness, when did they get a Wal-Mart in Colville?”

Carolyn couldn’t remember. There’d been news of it coming for a year or two before the store was actually built. “I came back five years ago, and it was already here.”

“That long? Really? Funny, neither Mom or Dad said anything about it.” She dragged in a deep breath. “You look fabulous. It’s great to see you.”

“You, too.” Carolyn meant it. She’d always regretted that they’d lost contact. “How’s your mother?”

Susannah set her purse on the bench beside her. “I’m afraid she’s worse than I realized.”

“I’m sorry,” Carolyn said sympathetically.

Susannah leaned back against the hard wooden booth and sighed. “I took her to dinner, and half the time she thought I was my aunt Jean, who’s been dead for fifteen years.”

“Oh, no.”

Susannah laughed softly. “I didn’t mean to start talking about Mom. She’s a sweetheart, but ever since my dad died she’s been confused and—” As if catching herself doing it again, Susannah shook her head. “First, I want to know how we missed seeing each other all these years.”

Carolyn shrugged, unwilling to tread through time and examine the might-have-beens, especially those of the last few years. “I don’t know. I was so caught up in what was happening to my family, it was all I could do to deal with that. I moved back just before my father died. He’d been sick for quite a while, and the business had gone downhill.”

“I wondered about that.”

“When I took over, the mill was on the brink of going under. It’s taken every minute of every day to get back on track, so I haven’t done much socializing.”

“In other words, you’ve had no life.”

Carolyn nodded. “That pretty much sums it up.”

“How’s the mill doing these days?” Susannah straightened, a smile on her face. “I have to tell you I’m very impressed that you’re running such an important business. I had no idea.”

“We’re solvent and growing.” Carolyn didn’t mean to brag, but the mill was thriving at a time when many others were shutting down. Investing wisely, making the most of foreign trade opportunities and her management skills had brought Bronson Mills from the verge of closing its doors to becoming a major player in the state.

“What about you?” Carolyn asked. “Were you in town a lot?”

Before her friend could answer, the waitress came for their order and they each asked for a Diet Coke.

Susannah waited until she’d left before answering. “I didn’t come to town very often—two or three times in the last five years. Until recently, Mom and Dad drove over to the coast to visit me. Dad died last November.”

Although Susannah mentioned her father’s passing without apparent emotion, Carolyn detected a small quaver in her friend’s voice. Her own father had been dead several years now, but she continued to feel his loss each and every day.

“You lost your mom, too, didn’t you?” Susannah asked.

“Mom died of cancer about two years ago,” Carolyn said, and while her death was equally painful, Carolyn felt that her mother was ready and, in fact, had welcomed death. Her life had been nothing like she’d dreamed, filled with disappointments and disillusionment. And without her husband, she lost whatever contentment she’d managed to find. Brigitte had not succeeded in making many friends or developing interests of her own; that was something Carolyn didn’t like to think about.

“Dad died of congestive heart failure,” she added. It was a horrible way to die. Carolyn was grateful she’d been with him those last months. They’d always been close, but they’d drawn even closer as the end of his life approached.

When Carolyn first returned to Colville, she’d assumed she’d be selling off the mill, but during the last months of her father’s life, she realized she couldn’t let go of her heritage. The mill had been in the family for three generations, and now it was hers. Owning Bronson Mills, she’d discovered, was even more of a responsibility than it was a privilege.

“I’m sorry,” Susannah murmured.

“Losing my dad was hard,” Carolyn admitted. “The two of us were tight. After I’d been here awhile, I began to feel that no matter where I lived, this town, this place, was my home.”

“Do you like it—running the mill, I mean?”

Carolyn smiled, embarrassed to admit the depth of her feelings about the family business. “I love it. I didn’t think I would. The only reason I got my MBA was to please Dad, but I promptly took a job in Oregon working with Techtronics. I enjoyed it and advanced to a management position. I’d just been offered another promotion when I got the call from Dad.”

“The call?”

Carolyn would never forget that phone conversation. “His whole life, Dad never asked a single thing of me.” Unlike her mother, who seemed to be consumed by demands, most of which Carolyn was incapable of fulfilling. “He asked me to come home. He needed me. I put in my notice the next day, packed up and headed for Colville.”

The waitress returned with their drinks and for a moment they were silent.

“I wish I knew how to help Mom,” Susannah said thoughtfully. “I know I’ll have to move her, but convincing her of that’s going to be hard.”

Carolyn didn’t envy her friend the task. “What are you planning to do with the house?”

“Once I know Mom’s comfortable, I’ll probably put it up for sale. Assisted living is expensive. I was shocked when I made a few phone calls and found out exactly how much it costs. Dad provided for Mom, but their largest asset is the equity they have in the house. There’s no question that I’ll have to sell it, and the sooner the better so I can invest the money.”

“What about taking her to Seattle, to a facility near you?” That seemed more logical to Carolyn.

“I wish I could get her to budge, but she refuses. Her friends are here—even though she hardly ever sees them—and things are familiar to her. Plus, the housing fees are more reasonable on this side of the mountains than in Seattle.”

“At least you still have your mother,” Carolyn reminded her. “When mine died, I had this gut-wrenching revelation that I was an orphan. All alone in the world. I was almost fifty years old and I kept thinking I wasn’t ready to be an adult. Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Susannah said. “I feel the same way. I hate having to make decisions about my mother without Doug to talk to.” She swallowed visibly. “It’s not fair. My brother should be helping me with this. Doug should be here.”

Carolyn bent her head to hide her reaction to hearing his name. A twinge of pain passed through her. His death had hit her hard.

Susannah stared into the distance. “I miss him. My brother died thirty-two years ago, and I still miss him.” She lowered her eyes to her drink and swirled the straw around, clinking the ice cubes against the glass. “Doug and I should be dealing with this together.”

Carolyn didn’t want to talk about Doug. “You’re still married, aren’t you?” she asked. “That’s what your mother said when I ran into her.”

“Oh, yes…Joe and I have been together for almost twenty-five years. We have two kids, both nearly grown. Joe’s a dentist and I teach fifth grade.”

“I always thought you’d marry Jake.” As Carolyn recalled, her friend had pined for him the entire nine months she’d spent in France. She’d waited endlessly for his letters. In the beginning he’d written, but he’d stopped after the first few months. Then Doug had been killed and Susannah had gone into a deep depression.

A faraway look came over her friend. “I always believed I’d marry him, too….” She ended with a shrug. “He’d moved by the time I returned from France. I tried to find him but I never could. I wonder what happened to him—why he left and why he didn’t come back.”

Carolyn was furious with him for abandoning Susannah when she’d needed him most. She remembered how Susannah had asked around for him after their return. But he was gone; his family, too.

“My last time with Jake was horrible,” her friend continued, seemingly lost in her thoughts. “I sneaked out of the house, and we met in my mother’s garden. We sat on that stone bench, behind the trellis. It was always so romantic there, and it smelled so lovely.” She raised her eyes to meet Carolyn’s. “Jake wanted me to run away with him and I didn’t have the courage to do it. I was only seventeen. I said no. In the morning my parents drove me to Spokane to catch a flight to France.”

“And you never heard from him again?”

“Other than those few letters after I left, nothing.”

Carolyn leaned closer. “You did the right thing. Can you imagine how you’d feel if your daughter eloped at that age?”

Susannah smiled. “That certainly puts things into perspective, doesn’t it? My daughter is as headstrong as I was and more than a handful. She’s almost twenty and insists she’s an adult, but she acts more like a teenager.”

Susannah brought out pictures of her children and showed them to Carolyn. Chrissie and Brian were very attractive, and so was Joe, Susannah’s husband, in a solid, appealing way. Although she’d never met him, Carolyn had a positive feeling about Joe—about all of Susannah’s family. She rarely admitted it, but she would’ve liked a husband and children of her own. It hadn’t happened. The divorce had devastated her, and she’d buried herself in her work in an effort to forget. Before she knew it, she was forty and then her father got ill.

Still, most of the time she didn’t mind being alone. Better that than marriage to a man like her ex-husband, whose repeated infidelity had undermined the little confidence she’d had. In fact, she was shy and always had been. She’d learned to overcompensate in other areas and was an effective manager. Few would guess how difficult it was for her to communicate with a man socially.

Susannah slipped the photos back inside her purse. When she glanced up, she seemed to study Carolyn, then said, “You look happy.”

Her friend’s assessment surprised Carolyn. But Susannah was right. Only recently she’d found herself singing as she dressed for work. The sound of her own voice had caught her off guard and she’d stopped abruptly, wondering what there was to be so excited about. She’d realized then that it wasn’t anything in particular. She was content and had become secure in herself. Yes, every now and then she entertained regrets, but she suspected everyone did. The business was running at a profit and that would have pleased her father beyond any of her other accomplishments. The mill was once again Colville’s main employer and as the mill went, so did the town. She had reason to be proud. The family business had given her a sense of purpose; it was in salvaging Bronson Mills that she’d truly forged her identity.

“What about you?” Carolyn asked, wondering about her friend’s marriage. “Are you happy?”

“Of course,” Susannah answered quickly, perhaps too quickly. She reached for her Coke. After a moment, she said, “The truth is, I’ve been depressed and out of sorts for the last few months. Joe says this all goes back to losing my father, but I disagree.” She glanced up. “I…” She hesitated, looking mildly embarrassed. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Jake.”

“Really?” Carolyn watched her friend closely.

“It started a little over three months ago. I haven’t told anyone—I can’t. Not even Joe…Out of the blue, Jake came to me in this…this stupid dream. I can’t even tell you what it was about. From that moment on, he’s been on my mind almost constantly, and now he shows up in my dreams practically every night.”

Carolyn didn’t know what to say. “He’s probably married, don’t you think?”

Susannah nodded. “It’s flirting with danger, but I want to find him.”

“And do what?”

Susannah frowned. “I don’t know yet. Ask him, I guess, why he never wrote me after Doug died. Ask him why he moved and didn’t tell me where he’d gone. I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if I’d run away with him that night.”

Nothing good was Carolyn’s guess, but presumably Susannah knew that.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard if he’s living in the area?” Susannah asked, her eyes alight with hope.

Carolyn didn’t. “No, but then I don’t know everyone in town.”

Susannah pushed the hair away from her forehead. “Like I said, I haven’t told Joe about this. I feel so guilty, as though I’ve been unfaithful, but I haven’t done anything. I wouldn’t risk my marriage over this. I’m just curious, you know?” She looked nervously at Carolyn.

“And you want to find out what happened to Jake.”

Susannah slowly nodded. “Yes. I want him to be happy and to let him know that I am, too. I’m not interested in starting an affair.” She smiled. “As Erma Bombeck once said, I don’t have the underwear for it.”

Carolyn laughed.

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I have to tell you it feels good to discuss this crazy idea.” She paused, staring into the distance. “All I want is five minutes with Jake. Even a phone conversation would satisfy my curiosity. Is that so terrible?”

“No.” Carolyn understood, but although she didn’t say it, she agreed with Joe. Susannah’s discontent—apparent in this sudden urge to find her high school boyfriend—was somehow connected to her father, to his death. She knew that the relationship between Susannah and her father had been a difficult one; this was a huge loss in Susannah’s life, whether she accepted that or not.

Once more her friend made a circular motion with her straw setting her ice cubes clinking. “You were always the kind of friend I could talk to. I would never have made it through those last five months in France without you.”

“We were good friends,” Carolyn said simply, thinking Maybe we can be again.

The waitress came by and they ordered fresh drinks. “I should head back to Mom,” Susannah said reluctantly, “but I don’t want to leave. Talking to you has really helped. I don’t feel nearly as guilty or alone as I did earlier. Thank you for that.”

“Do you know how long you’ll be in town?” Carolyn asked. Her friends were few, and she had little life outside of the mill. She gardened, fed the deer that ventured on to her property, did a bit of needlepoint and worked fifty-or sixty-hour weeks. That was the sum total of her activities.

“I’ll be here for two or three weeks,” Susannah told her. “It all depends on how things go with Mom.”

The waitress returned with their Diet Cokes.

Carolyn picked up her drink. “If you get a chance, stop by the mill and I’ll give you the grand tour.” It would be fun to show her friend the improvements she’d made, even if Susannah didn’t understand their importance.

They talked for another fifteen minutes, and Susannah tested her French, which after all these years was surprisingly good. Carolyn remained fluently bilingual. Toward the end, Carolyn’s mother had spoken exclusively in her mother tongue.

“I remember that my conversational French improved according to how much wine I drank,” Susannah said, laughing.

Carolyn grinned. “Mom made me learn French as a child. I grew up speaking both languages.” She rarely used it now, but she certainly didn’t regret having the ability.

“Have you gone back to Paris since high school?” Susannah asked.

“A few times. My grandparents died in the war and I only had one aunt, who never married. My mother didn’t want me to lose my heritage and I’m grateful for the time I had there, but my life is in Colville.” Carolyn knew why her mother had insisted she study in France. She’d been hoping her daughter would meet a nice French boy and fall in love with him. Unfortunately, Brigitte hadn’t realized how closely the nuns watched over their charges at the boarding school. Any chance of meeting boys inside—or outside—those convent walls had been virtually nonexistent.

Susannah checked the time. “It’s nine o’clock. I’d better go. Mom’s probably waiting up for me.” She took a deep breath, then said, “I’ve made arrangements to take her to visit a couple of assisted-living facilities tomorrow.”

“She doesn’t know yet?”

Susannah shook her head. “I thought I’d broach the subject over dinner, but I couldn’t do it. Mom was so pleased to have me with her and so excited about going out to a restaurant, I didn’t have the heart to upset her.”

“She misses your father, doesn’t she?”

“Dreadfully. Which is understandable—they knew each other their entire lives. Mom’s completely at loose ends without him, but that’s not the worst of it.” Susannah shook her head. “As we were driving back to the house, Mom got very quiet. She said she had something important to tell me. She claimed that my father had come to her earlier this week.” Susannah closed her eyes for a few seconds. “Her neighbor had already told me about this. But to hear Mom describe it…”

“She’s missing him so much that her mind must be conjuring him up,” Carolyn suggested.

“That was my reaction at first, too, but then Mom told me he walked her home. This wasn’t some momentary visit, some trick of the mind. Her hand nearly left bruises on my arm, she was so adamant. My mother says she spent at least half an hour with my father.”

Shocked, Carolyn couldn’t come up with anything to say. Except that Mrs. Leary was obviously in bad shape, and Susannah already knew that.




CHAPTER

6


The next morning, Susannah walked through her mother’s garden, seeking a moment of peace. It was something she often did at home during the summer, wandering through her own garden, assessing the state of her flowers, inhaling their fragrance, making plans for the day. She noticed that Vivian’s plants and flowerbeds were in reasonably good condition—better than she’d expected.

Afterward, she returned to the house for coffee, hoping there’d be some milk or cream. She opened her mother’s refrigerator and was appalled at what she found. The cheese had grown moldy. A tomato had shriveled up and shrunk to half its original size. Containers filled with leftovers crammed the shelves, most of them several days, if not weeks, old. Along with that, Susannah saw a number of small tinfoil packages; she assumed these were bits of meat. She had no intention of finding out. Almost everything should’ve been discarded long ago.

The coffee perked in the old-fashioned pot behind her. Of course she hadn’t discovered the carton of milk she’d wanted but the door of the fridge held many small bottles and jars, some of them unopened. Just how many types of mustard could one woman accumulate? Susannah counted twelve different varieties—at least eight more than she’d seen during her visit in March.

“I didn’t hear you get up,” Vivian said, coming into the kitchen. She tied the sash of her housecoat around her waist. Susannah noticed that her mother had taken to shuffling her feet, as if her slippers were too heavy for her. She took tiny steps and looked so much older than she had even a few months ago.

“Good morning, Mom,” Susannah said cheerfully.

Her mother brought down a cup and saucer from the cupboard and set them next to the coffeepot. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well.”

Her mother nodded. “Do you need something?”

Susannah glanced back inside the refrigerator and remembered her father shouting at her as a kid to close the refrigerator door. “I was looking for milk,” she said.

“I have lots of milk.” Vivian seemed surprised that Susannah hadn’t found it. “I’m positive I got some just the other day.”

Susannah moved a number of plastic containers onto the counter and sure enough, an unopened milk carton rested at the back of the top shelf. Bringing it out, she placed it on the table and reached for her cup. The smell alerted her the moment she opened the milk. When she saw that the expiry date was over a month ago, she dumped the thick, lumpy liquid down the drain, running water to lessen the foul odor.

“What’s wrong with it?” Vivian asked.

“It’s gone bad.”

Her mother’s face twisted with displeasure. The narrowed eyes and pinched mouth was an expression Susannah remembered well from her childhood. It was the same frown she got when she’d misbehaved.

“I think we should take that carton back to Safeway and demand a refund. They sold me spoiled milk.”

“Now, Mom…”

“It’s just like those big chain stores to take advantage of a widow. Well, I won’t stand for it.”

“Mom, it’s too early in the morning to get upset. Drink your coffee and we’ll talk about it later.” Susannah figured it was pointless to explain that Vivian had bought the milk six or seven weeks ago and then forgotten all about it.

As her mother poured coffee from the sterling silver coffeepot, her hand trembled. Susannah had to bite her lip to keep from stepping forward and taking over. When Vivian finished, she sat down at the kitchen table, seeming rather pleased with herself. Susannah could only suppose it was because she’d managed without spilling a drop.

“I had a nice visit with Carolyn Bronson,” Susannah commented, as she joined her mother at the table.

“Who, dear?”

“Carolyn Bronson. Remember, you saw her recently and she gave you her phone number? We met last night at the pub where the old A & W used to be.”

“Oh, yes, of course. How are her parents?”

Susannah found this sporadic forgetfulness frustrating—and sad. But if she reminded Vivian that both Mr. and Mrs. Bronson had died, she might upset her. In any event, she had more pressing subjects to discuss. She decided to be intentionally vague. “I’m not sure, Mom.”

“Mrs. Bronson is a funny one.” She leaned closer to Susannah and lowered her voice. “She’s always putting on airs because she’s French.”

“Carolyn was one of my best friends all through school,” Susannah said mildly.

“I tried to be friendly,” her mother continued, ignoring her remark. “Went out of my way, in fact, but apparently I wasn’t good enough for the likes of Brigitte Bronson.”

“Carolyn sent you her best.”

“She was a sweet girl.” Vivian sipped her coffee and again Susannah noticed how her mother’s hand trembled as she lifted the cup. “Unlike her mother…”

Susannah didn’t want to get involved in a mean-spirited conversation about Brigitte, but she knew what Vivian meant. Although nothing was ever said, Susannah had always had the impression that Carolyn’s mother didn’t approve of their friendship. As an adult, she was able to analyze those feelings, understanding that Mrs. Bronson was a woman whose unhappiness made her cold and resentful.

Susannah waited until her mother had finished her first cup of coffee before she brought up the subject of assisted living. “You must be rambling around this house all by yourself,” she began casually.

Her mother stared at her. “Not at all.”

“Are you lonely?”

A soft smile turned up the edges of Vivian’s mouth. “I was until your father came back to see me.”

“Mom—” Susannah bit off words of protest. She was afraid that her mother had lost her grip on reality and grown comfortable in her fantasy world.

Vivian studied her as though waiting for Susannah to comment on her father’s visits.

“Actually, Mom,” Susannah said, gathering her resolve. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

“What is it?” her mother asked.

“Mom,” Susannah said, praying for the right words. “I’m concerned about you being here all alone, especially now that Martha’s quit.”

“Don’t be,” she said, calmly dismissing Susannah’s apprehensions. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Would you consider moving to Seattle?” That would solve so many problems, but even as Susannah asked she knew it was futile.

“And leave Colville?” Her mother appeared to mull it over, then shook her head. “I can’t. Much as I’d love to be closer to you and the grandchildren, I won’t leave my home.”

Susannah knew that change of any kind terrified Vivian.

“Doug and your father are buried here,” her mother went on.

“Mom—”

“My friends are close by.”

Most of whom were dead or dying, but Susannah couldn’t bring herself to mention it. “I’d be able to visit far more often,” she offered as enticement, hoping against hope that her mother would see the advantages of moving.

Vivian sipped her coffee and allowed the cup to linger at her lips a moment longer than usual, as if she was considering the prospect again. Slowly she shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear, but this is my home. Seattle is way too big a city for me. I’d be lost there.”

Susannah reached across the table and took her mother’s fragile hand. “That’s something else we need to discuss. Mom, I’m afraid this house is too much for you.”

“What do you mean?” An edge sharpened her voice.

“I worry about you here all alone, trying to cope with maintenance and—”

“Nonsense.”

“Who’ll shovel the sidewalk when it snows?”

“I’ll hire a neighborhood boy.”

“What would you do if a water pipe broke?”

“The pipes aren’t going to break, Susannah. Now stop being difficult.”

Susannah didn’t feel she was the one who was being difficult. The more she thought about the problems faced by an elderly person living alone—especially an elderly person losing her memory—the more worried she became.

“I don’t know why you’d want to come all the way from Seattle to talk such nonsense to me,” Vivian said in a querulous voice.

Susannah remembered what Mrs. Henderson had said about her attempt to discuss assisted living back in March. That had probably influenced today’s response—if Vivian even remembered the earlier conversation. Regardless, Susannah had hoped that by pointing out a number of practical issues, she could get Vivian to realize on her own the advantages of moving into an assisted-living complex. Clearly that approach wasn’t going to work.

“Mom, I think we need to sell the house.”

“What?” Vivian banged her cup against the saucer, her eyes wide. “For the last time, Susannah, I am not leaving my home. I am stunned that you would even suggest such a thing.”

“Mother—”

Without another word, Vivian stood, deposited her cup and saucer in the sink and disappeared down the hallway to her bedroom, muttering as she left.

Susannah planted her elbows on the table, and cupped her ears with her hands. She closed her eyes, silently praying for wisdom. She hadn’t expected this to be easy, but so far she was getting absolutely nowhere.

After Vivian had dressed, she came back into the kitchen. Ignoring Susannah, she collected a straw basket and clippers. The garden was in full bloom; irises and roses were two of Susannah’s favorites and they were in abundant display along the white picket fence. The lilacs were pruned and shapely, and their heady scent drifted through the open window.

Given her mother’s limited endurance, Susannah had been surprised to discover that the garden looked quite good, although the fence was a disaster. The paint had faded and one entire section tilted precariously. Her father would never have allowed that to go unfixed for more than a day. He was a stickler for order, at home and in the courtroom.

“I thought I’d clean out the refrigerator,” Susannah said, making a peace offering.

Vivian kept her shoulders stiff as she pulled on her gloves. “If that’s what you want to do, go right ahead.”

“Mom.” Susannah walked toward her. “We still need to talk.”

“Not about me moving. That subject is closed.”

“I need to make sure you’re safe and well.”

“I don’t know why you’re so concerned all of a sudden. Besides, I’m getting stronger every day.” The back screen door slammed as Vivian walked out of the house.

Susannah sighed heavily. She didn’t want this to dissolve into a battle of wills between her and her mother.

It took her forty minutes to clean out the refrigerator. She discarded all the containers; the contents of some were impossible to determine. Among the identifiable remains, she found old tuna fish, green-tinged cottage cheese, rotting fruit and vegetables. Her mother saved every scrap and bit. Rather than leave this garbage to smell up the kitchen, she wrapped everything in plastic and carried it outside to the receptacle by the garage.

As she returned to the house, Susannah noticed that the shelves on the back porch were filled with dozens of senseless items. Her mother must’ve kept every plastic container she’d bought in the last six months. Piles of aluminum trays were neatly stacked, not for recycling, but for some future use. As a daughter of the Depression era, her mother tended to save everything, but it had never been this bad. Even empty toilet paper rolls were carefully piled up.

“Mom, what do you intend to do with all this stuff?” Susannah asked.

Her mother looked over from where she stood in her garden, a hose in one hand, and shrugged. “I’m saving it.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know yet.” She paused. “I never snooped around your house.”

“I’m not snooping. Everything’s out in plain sight.”

“Do I question what you save and don’t save?”

Susannah had to agree that she didn’t. She went back to the kitchen and wiped the counters. This wasn’t how she wanted the visit to go, but she couldn’t delay the inevitable, either.

“Would you like to ride down to the grocery store with me, Mom?” she asked when Vivian entered the house.

Vivian put one long-stem red rose in a vase and set it in the center of the table. “My lettuce is coming up nicely,” she said with satisfaction. “So are my herbs. Rosemary’s my favorite, you know.”

Susannah nodded. “Maybe we could take a drive around town when we’re finished our shopping.” She strived to make this sound like an enjoyable outing.

Vivian hesitated, as if she wasn’t quite ready to forgive her for their earlier argument. “That would be nice,” she finally agreed.

Together they drove to the Safeway. Vivian slipped her arm through Susannah’s as they crossed the parking lot and Susannah had the distinct feeling it was because she needed help maintaining her balance. This was also a silent message to let her know all was forgiven now.

They loaded the cart with food Susannah hoped would tempt her mother’s appetite. She bought macaroons, her mother’s favorite cookie. Asparagus, Ritz crackers and other treats Susannah knew her mother wouldn’t purchase for herself. She quietly put back a jar of Russian mustard Vivian had placed in the cart, but kept the olives.

They left the air-conditioned comfort of the store. The sun was out in full force and at ten o’clock it was nearly seventy-five degrees.

“It’s going to be a hot one today,” Susannah said as they transferred their groceries to the trunk of her car.

Her mother responded with a half smile. “I’m sorry, Susannah, but I wouldn’t do well in Seattle. I know you’re disappointed, but I can’t leave Colville. This is my home.”

A lump momentarily filled Susannah’s throat. “I know, Mom. I don’t want to take away your home. Please understand that I only want what’s best for you.”

“I’m the one who knows what’s best for me.”

“Of course you are. Assisted living doesn’t mean you’ll lose your independence. I—”

“Assisted living? Why bring that up?” Cutting her off, Vivian climbed inside the car and locked the door.

“Well, I guess that’s that,” Susannah said under her breath. She finished unloading the groceries, closed her trunk and parked the cart.

Opening the driver’s side door, she slid into her vehicle. “It wouldn’t hurt to take a look, would it?”

Her mother refused to answer.

“Mom, please don’t be so stubborn.”

Vivian turned her head away and gazed out the passenger window. In all her life Susannah had never seen her mother behave quite like this. Susannah had always viewed her mother as a subservient and obedient wife, the passive partner in that marriage. She couldn’t remember her mother going against her father’s dictates even once. Her father, the judge, ruled the home and his family. What he said was law.

Thinking about it now, Susannah marveled at the fact that, despite her father’s authoritarian ways, Vivian often managed to get what she wanted. The methods she employed were never direct. Vivian was a master manipulator, and that was clearer in retrospect than it had been at the time.

Now Susannah was compelled to be equally indirect. “I thought we’d go for a short drive,” she said pleasantly. She turned on the ignition and the air-conditioning kicked in, flooding the car with an influx of hot air until it gradually cooled.

Vivian remained quiet.

“You didn’t tell me there was a Wal-Mart in town,” Susannah said in conversational tones. “Want to go?” Her mother had always loved shopping.

“Oh.” Vivian smiled then and the tension eased from between Susannah’s shoulder blades.

Instead of going back to the house to drop off the groceries, Susannah detoured and drove past the first of the assisted-living facilities she’d contacted. It was a modern complex that resembled a nice hotel, with balconies and a fountain in front of the circular driveway.

Susannah didn’t say anything, but slowed as they drove past.

“You apparently don’t know your way home anymore,” her mother said, ice dripping from every word.

“Oh, I know where Chestnut Avenue is,” Susannah murmured. She shook her head. Vivian had never been to the assisted-living facility, but she knew exactly where it was located.

“I don’t want that milk to spoil.”

“It won’t.” Susannah turned and drove toward the house.

In less than five minutes, Susannah was unloading the car. She put the refrigerator items away and left the rest of the bags on the kitchen counter, afraid that if she delayed too long her mother might change her mind.

“You ready?” she asked.

“For what?” Her mother blinked as if confused.

“We’re going to Wal-Mart, remember?”

Vivian studied her, apparently not sure this was something that interested her.

Yeah, right, Susannah thought. She had trouble hiding a smile as the two of them went back to the car. The Wal-Mart parking lot was nearly full. This time her mother didn’t slide her arm through Susannah’s, but after a few steps she clasped Susannah’s elbow.

“I don’t think I’ve seen this many people since the Fourth of July parade,” Vivian said as the blue-vested store greeter steered a cart toward them.

“Payday at the mill,” the woman said, commenting on Vivian’s remark.

Carolyn was doing well this season, Susannah mused as she allowed her mother to push the cart. Having something to hold on to helped Vivian keep her balance.

They’d started down the first aisle when Susannah heard someone call her name. She turned to find a tall, slightly overweight woman watching her. It took a moment to realize who this was.

“Sandy? Sandy Thomas?”

“Susannah Leary?”

They broke out laughing at the same time. “My goodness, it’s years since I saw you.” Sandy’s eyes sparkled with unabashed delight.

Sandy had been a good friend, the kind of person who always saw things in a positive light. They’d kept in touch after graduation, and Susannah had served as a bridesmaid in Sandy’s wedding when she’d married Russell Giddings, the local pharmacist’s son.

“I didn’t know you lived in Colville,” Susannah said.

“Russ and I have been back for ages.”

Susannah smiled at Vivian. “You remember my mother, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. Hello, Mrs. Leary.”

“Hello, dear. You were Susannah’s friend, right?”

Sandy nodded.

“My daughter’s trying to move me out of my home,” Vivian announced, loudly enough for several heads to turn in their direction.

“Mother!”

“Well, it’s true.” Vivian leaned against the cart. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“My mother’s living over at Altamira,” Sandy said. “And she loves it. She told me she was sorry she waited so long to move.”

Susannah smiled her gratitude.

Vivian crossed her arms in defiance. “I’m not leaving my home, and that’s all there is to it.”

Sandy shared a sympathetic look with Susannah. “Let’s get together soon,” she suggested.

Susannah shrugged, unsure what to tell her. Getting Vivian settled was her top priority. “I’d like to,” she began, “but…”

“I’m in the phone book, so call me.” Sandy squeezed her elbow, letting Susannah know she understood.

She would have welcomed the opportunity to visit with Sandy. They’d become friends after Carolyn was shipped off to boarding school. Sandy had been with her the night Jake had first asked her to dance.

A tingle of happiness went through her at the memory. They’d gone to a school function after the football game—a dance in the high school gym. Jake had been at the game, too, with Sharon, another girl from their class. He’d been talking to the players on the sidelines. Susannah had just started her junior year and Jake was a recent graduate. He worked at the mill and had stopped by the dance—without Sharon. Several of the senior girls flirted outrageously in hopes of getting his attention. Susannah thought he was the cutest boy in the universe, but she was convinced she didn’t have a chance with him. She was only sixteen; he was nineteen.

When Jake had crossed the gym floor and held out his hand to her, she’d nearly keeled over in a dead faint. He didn’t say a word as he drew her into his arms for a slow dance.

When the music faded, he’d looked into her eyes, smiled softly and touched her cheek with his index finger. Then, again without speaking, he walked away. If Sandy hadn’t come and collected her from the dance floor, Susannah figured she would’ve stood there like a statue with everyone dancing around her.

Oh, yes, Susannah definitely wanted to get together with Sandy. And not just because she’d have a chance to talk freely about Jake.

“This is a good price for—”

Her mother’s voice cut into Susannah’s musings. “It is,” she agreed automatically, although she didn’t have a clue what Vivian was talking about. Suddenly—impulsively—she faced her mother. Jake’s name hadn’t been mentioned in over thirty years and it was time for answers.

“Mom,” Susannah said. “Do you know whatever happened to Jake Presley?”

“Who?”

“Jake Presley, my boyfriend in high school.”

“He wasn’t that singer, was he?”

“No, Mom,” Susannah said. “That was Elvis.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

She nodded. “I’m asking about Jake Presley. He used to live in Colville, remember?”

Her mother considered the question. “What did his father do?”

“He worked at the mill.” Susannah strained her memory, but she couldn’t recall his first name. Jake had been an only child. His mother had run off when he was four or five and he lived with his father.

After a moment, Vivian shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t remember any Jake Presley.”

“That’s all right,” Susannah said and struggled to hide her disappointment.

“I’m sorry.” Her mother seemed genuinely apologetic.

“It’s all right, Mom,” she said again.

Only it wasn’t.




CHAPTER

7


Vivian had turned on the Food Channel, pen and pad on her lap as she wrote down recipe after recipe. Puzzled, Susannah watched her mother. As best as she could figure, Vivian hadn’t cooked a meal in months.

Susannah hadn’t brought up the subject of assisted living since this morning, but she was biding her time. Getting her mother to be reasonable would require some inventiveness.

“Mom, I’m going to call Joe and the kids,” she said, getting up from the sofa.

“Okay.” Her mother’s eyes didn’t waver from the television screen.

Susannah walked into the kitchen and picked up her cell phone, which she’d left on the table. She sat down and hit the first button on her speed-dial. Pressing the phone to her ear she waited. Three rings passed before Chrissie answered.

“Hi,” her daughter said, sounding more cheerful than she had in their last conversation.

“It’s Mom.”

“Oh.” Her voice flattened. “How’s Grandma?”

“Okay. What about you?”

“All right, I guess.”

“Don’t act so enthusiastic.”

“Dad’s making me cook dinner again,” Chrissie muttered. “He said I couldn’t make anything that came from a box.”

“Your father and I are trying to avoid processed foods as much as possible.”

“He wants me to create a menu for his approval. Can you believe it? I spent two hours in the kitchen this afternoon. This is my vacation, too, and now I’m stuck at home and bored out of my mind.”

Susannah didn’t remind Chrissie that if she had a job, none of this would be happening; she knew her words wouldn’t be appreciated any more than her advice would.

“I haven’t heard from Jason.” Her daughter’s depression and frustration were evident even over the phone.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“No wonder he was so eager for me to go home. It’s just that—oh, never mind, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Are you sure you’ve read the situation correctly? Why not just wait and see?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she fumed. Her daughter made a scoffing sound. “I knew something was wrong the minute he came to take me to the airport. A woman knows, Mom. Something happened between him and Katie, and I think it’s been going on for a while. I didn’t pick up on it until that day, and now I’m furious with him and Katie.”

Susannah had no idea what to say, so she added another lame, “Wait and see. It might not be as bad as you think.”

“Oh, yes, it is.” Chrissie groaned in derision. “The situation here isn’t helping, either.”

“What do you mean?” Susannah asked.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Chrissie repeated. “You’re with Grandma and I’m stuck here. Thanks a lot, Mom. Thanks a lot.” Having said that, she slammed down the phone and screamed for Joe.

A minute later her husband picked up the receiver. “Hi, Suze,” he said. “How’s Colville?”

“Growing. There are so many changes I can hardly keep track. I took Mom shopping and she practically bought out the shoe department at Wal-Mart.”

She heard his gentle amusement. “I wondered where you got your penchant for shoes.” Shoes had always been Susannah’s weakness.

“How’s it going with your mother?” he asked.

“Not good.” She described how her mother had embarrassed her in front of Sandy.

“She feels threatened,” Joe said. “You would, too, in similar circumstances.”

“Maybe, but…”

After spending an entire day with her mother and witnessing how easily she tired, Susannah was more concerned than ever. They’d had to stop frequently for breaks; once Vivian had even taken a brief nap on a pull-out sofa in the furniture department, with Susannah standing anxiously by.

“I don’t know how to handle this. The minute I bring up the subject of assisted living, she gets defensive and angry.”

“Did you mention the phone call from her neighbor?”

Susannah straightened. “No. But maybe if Mrs. Henderson and I both talked to her, Mom might listen.”

“She might think you’re ganging up on her, too.”

Her husband had a good point. “You’re right, she probably will. I’ll tell her about the phone call first and if I have to, I’ll bring in Mrs. Henderson.”

“Did you take her to tour any of the facilities?”

Susannah sighed in discouragement. She hadn’t even gotten close. “I drove past one, and Mom made some sarcastic remark about not knowing the way home.”

Joe chuckled. “She’s got quite a stubborn streak.”

“I don’t remember her being like this. My mother was the soul of tact and graciousness, and all of a sudden she’s—” Susannah didn’t finish. She noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned to look. To her horror, she found her mother in the hallway, listening in on her conversation. Lowering the phone, she whirled around. “Mom?”

With a sheepish look, her mother walked into the kitchen. Susannah didn’t know how long she’d been standing there, but suspected it had been quite a while.

“Joe,” Susannah breathed, shocked that her mother would stoop to eavesdropping. “My mother was standing in the hallway, listening to our conversation.”

“I’m not leaving my home,” Vivian said loudly, “and you can’t make me.”

“Susannah?” Joe’s voice rang in her ear.

“I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.” She heard the drone of the disconnected line from her cell phone before she clicked it off.

“Mom, I think we should talk,” Susannah said, gesturing for Vivian to join her.

“Not if you’re going to say what I think you are.” Her mother started to back out of the kitchen.

“Aren’t you curious about why I drove over here earlier than I’d originally planned?”

Her mother hesitated. “A little.”

“Sit down, Mom.” Again Susannah motioned toward the other end of the table.

“I’ll miss my show.”

“The Food Channel runs the same episode in the morning, and before you say anything, it’s perfectly all right to watch television in the middle of the day.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, and her expression seemed to say she wasn’t sure she should trust her daughter. This wasn’t the way Susannah wanted to begin such a crucial conversation. Instead of arguing further, she leaped into it. “Martha phoned me in Seattle, and I talked to Mrs. Henderson, too.”

Her mother sat down on the chair, her posture straight, her eyes filled with defiance. “All right, tell me what Rachel’s saying behind my back. As for that Martha, she’s not to be trusted.”

“Mother, Mrs. Henderson is your friend.” She’d intercede for Martha later.

“She’s jealous of my garden. She always has been.” Her mother crossed her arms defensively. “Her gladioli and irises never do as well as mine. Her roses, either.”

Susannah intended to avoid that issue, in case it turned into another War of the Roses. “Mrs. Henderson called because she was worried about you. So is Martha. Your friends are concerned.”

A sheepish look came over Vivian. “You’d be lost and confused, too, if you lost your husband of fifty-nine years.”

Susannah said nothing.

“I will die in this house, Susannah. It’s my home. It’s where I belong. I am not moving.”

The situation was impossible. “Mother, please listen because I need you to hear me.”

“I am listening. I just don’t like what I’m hearing.”

“I talked to Dr. Bethel a few days ago, and he agrees it’s time for you to make the transition to a facility.” Susannah had called him the morning of her departure, wanting not only his assessment but any ammunition he could provide.

Her mother gasped, as if her longtime physician had betrayed her. “I don’t believe it!”

“Please don’t make this any more difficult than it already is. I’ve made appointments to tour Altamira and Whispering Willows tomorrow.”

“Then you’ll go by yourself, because I refuse to be part of it.”



A crescent-shaped moon was tucked in a corner of the sky as Vivian sat in her garden, a wad of tissue in her hand. She couldn’t sleep. The wind-up clock George had used for years had ticked relentlessly at her bedside as she counted off the hours. Soon it would be daylight and she had yet to fall asleep. It felt as if everyone she knew and trusted had turned against her, including her own daughter. She’d once considered Rachel Henderson a friend, but no longer. Even Dr. Bethel and Martha. She wished she could talk to George; he’d know what was best. But he’d only come to her that one time.

So Vivian had decided to sit outside. Whenever she shut her eyes, all she could think about was the fact that she was going to lose her home. Susannah wanted to move her in with strangers. She couldn’t leave Chestnut Avenue.

She was old and had lost so much already. She’d buried her husband and her only son. All she had left was her daughter, her house, her things. A lifetime of everything that was most important surrounded her in this home. All her pictures. Her furniture. The crystal vase that had belonged to her grandmother, whose mother had brought it from Poland. Vivian treasured it. Her flowers had never looked more beautiful than in that vase….

Perhaps worst of all, Susannah was asking her to give up her garden. This was almost more than she could bear. There was comfort in her garden, in its beautiful colors, its scents….

Tears welled in her eyes and she rested her head against the back of the garden chair and swallowed a wail of grief. Susannah would do it. She’d seen that glint in her daughter’s eye. She’d seen the determined set of Susannah’s mouth. Even as a child, Susannah had been stubborn, often to the extent of foolishness, defying George at every turn. Her only living child would haul her off to an asylum, all the while declaring that it was for Vivian’s own good.

Exhausted, she finally closed her eyes and slowly rocked, letting the gentle movement lull her into a state of relaxation.

“Vivian.”

Someone was calling her. A quiet voice far off in the distance. Was it in her mind? Or was it real? Vivian strained to hear. It was her George; she knew that much. George struggling to come to her, struggling to cross the great divide.

Vivian’s heart rate accelerated as she opened her eyes. “Yes, George, I’m here—I need your help.” She hurried to tell him everything. “Susannah wants to move me into an assisted-living facility. What should I do…Tell me, what should I do?” She waited but no one answered.

“George, please! I need you to tell me what to do.”

Her cry was met with silence. She peered into the shadowed corners of the garden but saw no sign of him.

Sobbing openly now, Vivian began to rock back and forth but found little solace. She closed her eyes again, and it was then that she heard a single word float past her, soft as a whisper.

One word that would change her world. One word that told her what she had to do. One word from George. She’d asked and he’d answered.

George told her to go.




CHAPTER

8


Chrissie Nelson stared at the silent telephone and cursed it for the umpteenth time that day. No one had phoned, not even her best friends. Everyone was either vacationing or working, and she was trapped at home and she hated it.

Getting a job, any job now, was pointless and nearly impossible. She couldn’t even work at her father’s dental office, not that she really wanted to. She’d done that the previous summer and it hadn’t gone well. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t as reliable as he thought she should be; apparently he was still annoyed about the days she’d disappeared after lunch, because he hadn’t offered her a part-time position this summer—not even as a last resort. Her job, he said, was cooking and cleaning, and he was supposedly paying her. He didn’t have enough money in his account to give her what she felt this was worth.

Chrissie would much rather be with her grandmother. She’d always been close to her Grandma Vivian, and she hadn’t seen her since the funeral and everything had been so upsetting then. Grandma had been so brave when the family left. Chrissie remembered seeing tears running down her grandmother’s face as the family car pulled out of the driveway and then she’d started crying, too. It’d been so hard to leave her behind. Chrissie’s heart ached for her—and all at once she knew what she had to do. She had to go to her Grandma Vivian. That was where she wanted to be, where she needed to be. Somehow she’d find a way.

Determined now, Chrissie reached for the phone and dialed her grandmother’s number in Colville. After four rings she assumed no one was home, but just as she began to hang up, her mother answered.

“Hi, Mom, it’s Chrissie.” She forced a bright cheerful note into her voice.

“Chrissie. You’re lucky to catch me. I was outside watering Grandma’s garden.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, wondering how to lead into the subject of joining her mother.

Her mother seemed preoccupied. “Grandma and I just got back from visiting assisted-living places.”

“Grandma went willingly?” So progress had been made.

“Your grandmother was willing to listen to reason this morning.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Very good. This is difficult for her. I don’t know what made her change her mind but whatever it was, I’m grateful.”

“Where’s Grandma now?” Chrissie asked.

“She’s lying down at the moment, thinking everything over.”

In other words, she was taking a nap.

“I had a great idea I wanted to talk to you about, okay?” Chrissie hated sounding like a little kid afraid of being refused, but she sensed that her mother wasn’t going to like this idea.

“Sure. What is it?”

“Dad mentioned that you were planning to rent Grandma’s house or maybe sell it right away.”

“Yes.” Her mother seemed reluctant. “It’s one of the nicer homes in town and I’m not sure it would be wise to bring in renters, especially since we won’t be able to keep an eye on the place.” She seemed to be thinking out loud, weighing her options.




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