That said, Arden wondered if she had ever really appreciated her parents before her pregnancy had torn her apart from them. Had she been truly grateful that they had provided a comfortable home, good food, sturdy clothing, and a decent education? She honestly couldn’t remember. She hoped that she had been appreciative; she certainly had been dutiful, until, that is, she had met Rob Smith.
Whatever harm her parents had done to her, the good they had performed before the harm had to count for something. To be ungrateful for what care she had received would make her less than a decent person. Arden remembered what Laura had said about a conscience being inconvenient. But they were both in possession of one and—
Arden’s phone alerted her to a call from Gordon. They chatted for a few minutes—about the recent event at Arden Forest, about the shop’s leaky roof, about the rumor around town that Harry Lohsen, the principal of the grammar school, might be retiring after the coming school year—before Gordon related his big news. He had been approached by the owner of a gallery in Alcott, a fairly large town an hour to the west, about including a few of his pieces in a show opening at the end of September.
“That’s fantastic, Gordon! I’m so happy for you.”
“I wanted you to be the first to know. You’ve always been so supportive of my efforts.”
“But I didn’t know you were interested in showing your work. You never said a word.”
“Every artist is interested in making his work available to others. I just didn’t want to make a big deal out of my efforts to gain attention in the likelihood I met with rejection. Which I have, several times. But for some crazy reason, the owner of the Fry Gallery likes my work.”
“Not for a crazy reason. He likes your work because it’s good. And you can count on me to be there on opening night.”
They talked on for a bit more, and when the call had ended, Arden finally focused on her notes from the night before. Gordon, she thought, was such an important, even a necessary, person in her life, steadying her when she felt wobbly, making her laugh when she felt sad, helping her in practical ways that could often mean so much. She knew that rejecting his offer of a loan for the repair of the shop’s roof had been the right thing to do. Nothing must be allowed to damage their friendship.
As Arden put pen to paper, a strange thought came to her and she scribbled it down. “Gordon and I,” she read when she had lifted her pen, “are not star-crossed lovers.”
Then what, Arden wondered, were they?
Chapter 60
“Port George has changed a lot since I was a kid,” Kathy Murdoch said as she and Laura emerged from a shop that couldn’t seem to decide what it was, exactly, a crafts venue or a tourist trap. They had spent the better part of the morning window-shopping along Main Street, and though Laura had virtually no expendable income, she had enjoyed the outing.
“We never had an art gallery,” Kathy continued, “before Burt Ransom opened his framing shop fifteen years ago and started to show the work of local artists. And there was no such thing as a gelato shop, either! I never knew ice cream could taste so good. Still, in some ways I liked Port George better the way it was back then. Simpler. Less fancy.” Kathy laughed. “Maybe that’s because I’ve never been a big fan of change.”
Laura nodded. “Nostalgia is comforting, but it can be dangerous.”
“Don’t I know it! Like what I said about liking Port George better in the old days. To be honest, things weren’t always all that great. There was a lot of bullying in school when I was in the lower grades, tough kids pushing around the younger kids, girls being what today we’d call sexually harassed, their skirts flipped up, being grabbed. No one ever reported anything, though I’m sure the teachers knew what was going on. How could they not know?”
“Turning a blind eye is way too popular an option. Sometimes I think that will never change.”
“You might be right. I remember there were some really awful guys a few years older than me, like a gang, though as far as I knew they used their fists instead of knives or guns. They were real thugs. I can’t remember their names—I never wanted anything to do with any of them!—but I do remember that at least two of them died pretty young, not long after I got out of high school.”
“Didn’t anyone stand up to them? If not the police, then, well, I don’t know, other guys?”
“No, not that there weren’t a lot of good guys in town, but they were smart enough to stay away from the creepy ones. Rob Smith, now he was one of the good guys, right from the start. He was super-popular but always totally nice to everyone, especially the shy, nerdy kids. I remember once in second grade I fell and cut myself up pretty badly. I had these big bandages over my knees and shins and the palms of my hands. My mother wouldn’t let me stay home more than a day, so back to school I went. I remember being only about a block away from my house when suddenly Rob Smith came running up to me and offered to carry my books. He even helped me get up the stairs when we reached the school. I felt like a princess or something. I mean, who does that sort of thing but someone really special, right?”
Before Laura could respond, Kathy grabbed her arm. “Look, there goes the Aldridges’ car!”
The car was long, sleek, and black. Even to Laura, who wasn’t at all interested in cars, it was recognizable as a Cadillac, and an old one at that, dating from the years when cars were the size of small boats.
Laura watched as the car moved slowly through the intersection. It had the air of a hearse about it, she thought. Somber. Unhappy.
“I wonder who it is who drives them around?” Kathy said. “They used to have a chauffeur, the kind who wore a fancy uniform and a cap and all that, but I don’t think they need one now. They hardly leave the house. They’re like recluses.” Kathy shuddered. “I bet the house is all dirty and dusty, piles of old newspapers in every corner, empty soup cans rattling around the hallways, rats running wild up and down the stairs. Ugh.”
Laura recoiled from the macabre image Kathy had painted. Whether Laura liked it or not, Herbert and Florence Aldridge were her grandparents, her flesh and blood. The thought of them living in an atmosphere of deterioration and decrepitude was depressing.
Suddenly Kathy looked at her phone. “Yikes, I’m going to be late for my shift if I don’t dash now.”
“Thanks for showing me around. It was fun.”
Kathy waved and hurried off in the direction of the North Star Diner. Laura continued to stroll along Main Street. Without Kathy’s companionship, though, window-shopping in Port George rapidly lost its appeal. Just as she was considering turning toward the Lilac Inn, two women just getting out of a car up ahead caught her attention.
The younger one was Frannie Armitage. Frannie was holding the arm of the older woman. The older woman was using a cane but otherwise looked hale and hardy. Her hair was a bright shade of silver. From where Laura stood she couldn’t tell if there was a resemblance between the two women. Still, it struck her that she might well be looking at her grandmother Geraldine Smith. Laura was overwhelmed by a sense of love and affection. It was a genuine struggle not to approach the women, not to blurt out the truth, that she was their flesh and blood. This family that she had never known were now close enough to touch, to hold in an embrace, to . . .
Laura watched as Frannie and the older woman went into the post office. Immediately, Laura turned and walked quickly in the direction of the Lilac Inn. One supposed grandmother in the post office. The other possibly in the back seat of that creepy old Cadillac. She was surrounded by a past that both did and did not belong to her. She both was and was not a child of Port George, an outsider and an insider. She thought of her father’s kindness and realized that she deeply missed a man she had never known. Laura felt almost sick with emotion and was glad for the relative privacy her sunglasses provided.
When she reached the Lilac Inn, she hurried up to the sanctuary of her rented room and curled up on the bed. She had intended to spend a few days in Port George, but would in
stead return to Eliot’s Corner the next morning. She could leave now and be home in time for a late dinner, but she felt too emotionally agitated to get behind the wheel of a car. She would sleep if she could and for as long as she could.
Tomorrow would be a new day.
Chapter 61
It sometimes amused and sometimes annoyed Arden how many people who visited Arden Forest didn’t feel the need to put the books they had considered back on the proper shelves. She routinely found paperback mysteries in the science section and ponderous biographies of people long dead on display tables featuring current novels about topics such as climate change and trans lives.
At the moment, Arden was taking back to its proper place a large book of photographs she had found in the children’s section. A few people in Eliot’s Corner used Arden Forest rather like a library, most notably a genteel older woman who spent at least an hour each week going through this very volume, an expensively produced coffee-table book featuring elegant New England homes. If the book ever sold, Arden knew she would feel compelled to replace it for Edna Rogers. Rumor had it that Edna had grown up in an elegant home in Lexington, Massachusetts, and that this hefty tome served as a bittersweet reminder of a lifestyle she had lost.
Before replacing the book with its fellows, something compelled Arden to open it at random. She found herself looking at a photograph of a meticulously preserved wood-burning stove.
And suddenly it was the summer of 1984, and she, Victoria, was preparing for her first visit to Rob’s family home. She had been so terribly nervous, but Rob had assured her there was nothing to fear.
“But what if one of your family tells someone I was at your house and it gets back to my parents?”
Rob had promised her he had sworn his family to secrecy. “I explained that your parents are very strict. Don’t worry so much.”
So, the date for the visit was settled. She would meet Rob at his home on Fern Pond Road, after taking a lengthy, circuitous route. She had never felt more anxious. She had been so eager to make a good impression on Rob’s family.
Rob had opened the door and led Victoria inside. She remembered being struck by the vast differences between his home and her own. The living room, for example, with its wood-burning stove, the faded embroidered samplers on the wall, the couch and plushy chairs draped with colorful crocheted blankets—all this was the antithesis of the living room in the grand house at the summit of Old Orchard Hill. That room was cold and forbidding, a showplace, not a room in which to relax. This room felt eminently warm, cozy, and welcoming.
Mrs. Smith had been particularly gracious, if a bit formal on that first visit. Mr. Smith had seemed slightly ill at ease but polite. Rob’s younger sisters hadn’t said much but stared at Victoria in awe, as if she were an exotic creature, something never before seen in Port George. Their attention made Victoria nervous until Maureen had blurted, “You’re so pretty!” Her exclamation broke the ice, and both Maureen and Abby chatted nonstop from then on.
The only person in the family who had not warmed to Victoria was Rob’s older sister, Frannie, but that, Victoria had thought, was understandable. Older siblings were often protective of their younger siblings. Victoria had liked that about Frannie.
When it came time for Victoria to leave, she had trouble holding back tears. “I love your family,” she said to Rob the moment they stepped out the front door. “They’re so nice and they made me feel so welcome and . . .”
Rob had smiled. “I told you it would be okay. I really wish you’d let me drive you home.”
“I’m sorry.” She had placed her hands on his broad chest. “I’m so sorry.”
Rob had drawn her close. “Stop apologizing,” he whispered. “One day it will be how we want it to be.”
Well, Arden thought now, sliding the book of photographs onto the shelf, trying to shake off the strength of that poignant memory, Rob’s hopeful prediction hadn’t come to pass, at least not for the two lovers. But a united family might still be possible, if not for Arden then for Laura. The Smiths were Laura’s flesh and blood, and she deserved the gift of family. And the Smiths deserved their granddaughter.
The tinkling of the bell over the door to the shop caused Arden to turn to offer assistance to her customers, but Vincent and Kevin knew exactly what they were after and made a beeline for the graphic novels. There was a good chance they wouldn’t buy anything today—they were only about eleven and probably had little money of their own to spend—but if history was anything to go by, they would be back within a week with a parent in tow.
“This is the most awesome place in town,” Kevin suddenly exclaimed to his friend.
“I know,” Vincent replied solemnly.
Arden wasn’t sure she had been meant to hear the praise, but it brought a smile to her face.
Chapter 62
Laura had asked Deborah to join her for a drink at Martindale’s. Arden would be home late that evening; there was a staff meeting at the bookshop, and Laura didn’t feel like being on her own. Martindale’s was a splurge, but after the emotional impact of her most recent experiences in Port George, Laura felt she deserved a treat. Well, maybe she didn’t actually deserve a treat but she wanted one.
“It’s pretty swanky in here,” Laura noted when they were seated at a table for two. “How long has this place been in business?”
“For about three years now. It’s the only upscale restaurant in Eliot’s Corner, so it’s the go-to stop for special occasions, anniversaries, and engagements, that sort of thing. By the way, what’s the occasion tonight?”
Laura shrugged. “Nothing. Just a change of pace.”
The waiter took their drink order, a vodka tonic with a slice of lime for Laura, and for Deborah, a cosmo.
“What do you think they mean by a Roli Poli?” Deborah asked, studying the list of appetizers available that evening.
“I have no idea, but it’s got cheese, so how bad can it be?”
When the waiter returned with their drinks, Laura gave their food order. “Cheers.” She raised her glass to Deborah’s. “Here’s to summer. Don’t mention this to Arden, okay?” Laura said after a moment. “But I got another threatening note from the anonymous sender.”
Deborah frowned. “That doesn’t sound good. What did it say?”
“The message was similar to the first one, only slightly reworded; the threat wasn’t any stronger and it wasn’t any more specific. To tell you the truth, I got the feeling that the writer of this second note—and, presumably, also of the first—might actually be trying to protect me from someone or something.”
“I suppose that’s possible. But why keep the note from Arden?”
“Well, when I told her I’d seen the Aldridges’ car in Port George the other day, she got really frightened and wondered if her parents had somehow found out my real identity and were following me themselves. I tried to assure her that their car driving down Main Street meant nothing, that whoever was in the back seat—if anyone—was probably just out for an airing.”
“But she wasn’t reassured.”
‘’No. And after seeing how she reacted to my sighting of her family’s ancient Cadillac, I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her about seeing Frannie and the older woman I told you about, or about the second note. Do you think I’m wrong keeping these things to myself?”
Deborah shook her head. “You’re being kind. Sometimes a person doesn’t need to know every detail of a situation to understand its overall nature.”
“Thank you,” Laura said feelingly. “But enough about me. I know so little about you. I do know that you were married twice. Arden told me. Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
Deborah shrugged. “Not at all. Both marriages were mistakes. I was only twenty-one the first time. He’d been my boyfriend all through college, and we got married the summer after graduation. It was just like in a magazine—lots of guests, tons of flowers, ridiculously expensive bridesmaid dresses, enough food to feed a small
nation.” Deborah cringed. “Which, I suppose, made the end of the short-lived marriage all the more upsetting for my parents, who had paid for every canapé and bottle of champagne.”
“Ouch. What do you mean by ‘short-lived’?”
“Two years, barely enough time for my parents to pay off the bills. It was such a cliché, really. He cheated on me. Worse than that, he actually fell in love with the woman and couldn’t wait to get away from me. Seems he’d rushed into our relationship before he’d had time to sow his wild oats.”
“Ah. So, it came down to sex, as it so often does.”
Deborah nodded. “He married the woman—her name was Tricia—and five years later, they were divorced. I wasn’t in touch with him, but we still had a few mutual friends from college. They told me.”
“Poor Tricia. What’s this stellar specimen of manhood up to these days?”
“I have no idea. I lost contact with the old college gang years ago. If I had to guess, I’d say Alan—that was his name—is making some other woman miserable.”
“And the second time around for you?”
Deborah paused for a moment. “That was a very different story. In fact, how about I tell that tale another time? We could make getting together a regular thing. If you’re interested?”
Laura smiled and raised her glass. “I’m very interested.” At least, for as long as she was a resident of Eliot’s Corner. And from what she could tell so far, being a resident of Eliot’s Corner was not a bad thing at all.
“Ah, here come our appetizers!” Deborah announced.
“Heaven. I’m starved. Oh, and look at the Roli Polis! They’re oozing cheese!”
Barefoot in the Sand Page 22
