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 Chestnut Avenue 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.
Susannah's Garden Page 4
