Barefoot in the Sand

by Holly Chamberlin

“Where were you when I was young and entirely on my own,” she said with a bitter laugh, “frightened and desperate? Why couldn’t you have helped me back then?”

  Herbert cleared his throat. “Please, take my help now. I hear you have your own business. An independent bookstore. It can’t be easy in this day and age.”

  Arden thought she heard a note of pride in her father’s voice—his daughter, a successful businessperson—but maybe that was wishful thinking. The money wouldn’t make up for all Arden had suffered, but it could help now in a practical way. And she would sell the big old house in Port George as soon as her father was gone. That, too, would provide financial security for herself and her daughter.

  Arden looked at the man who, along with her mother, had given her life, and in that moment she felt genuine pity for him. All that money and power and what was he left with at the end of his life?

  Not much.

  “Thank you. I will accept this check. As for the estate, that, too, I will accept.” It was, Arden thought, her due.

  Herbert nodded. “Thank you. Mr. O’Connell will handle everything for you. He’s a good man.” Herbert smiled. “The first honest lawyer I’ve ever hired.”

  Arden couldn’t return her father’s smile. She doubted he was a thoroughly changed man. Still, any effort toward honesty and transparency was a good thing.

  “I suppose it’s pointless to ask to meet my granddaughter?”

  “Laura has made it clear that she has no interest in knowing you.” For a moment, Arden considered adding, I’m sorry. But she didn’t.

  “That’s all right. To be honest I’m not sure I could bear to look her in the eye and see . . . Did you hate your mother and me so much you had to change your name to distance yourself from us?”

  “I didn’t hate you,” Arden said honestly. “I don’t hate you. But I was scared of you, Father. I wanted to leave it all behind. I knew I would never forget what had happened to me, but I thought that if I could start over in new surroundings, I might be able to live each day without—reminders.”

  Herbert nodded. “I understand,” he said quietly.

  Arden wondered if he did. Did it matter at this point? Not to her.

  “I’m sorry the boy died,” Herbert said suddenly. “Very sorry. But I’m not sorry I kept your mother’s name out of it all.”

  Arden shook her head sadly. “You didn’t do her any favors in the end. You didn’t help her to get well by keeping her crime a secret.”

  “It was too late by then for her to change.”

  “That wasn’t your decision to make,” Arden said, her voice rising in anger.

  For a brief moment, the bright blue eyes that Arden remembered so well seemed to spark to powerful life again. “Wasn’t it?” her father said forcefully. “I knew her better than anyone did, better even than she knew herself. I knew what she was and was not capable of enduring. And I did what I had to do to keep her reasonably content. I loved your mother. No one can say otherwise.”

  “I believe you,” Arden said after a moment. “Father? Do you believe she drove into that tree deliberately after confessing her crime to me?”

  Suddenly, the life that had sparked in Herbert Aldridge’s eyes went out. Arden almost regretted she had asked the question; she was not here to torture her father. She remembered the conversations she had had with Laura about the nature of Herbert and Florence’s relationship. It had been a loving relationship. Had it also been a codependent one? Abusive? Had it been all three? And what did any of it matter to anyone but Florence and Herbert?

  “In the beginning,” Arden’s father went on, ignoring her last question, “I convinced your mother that we shouldn’t go after you. I convinced her that you had probably gone on to Blake College and would be just fine. It wasn’t difficult. You mother loved you, but she was so ready to believe a bright and shiny story, rather than have to deal with the ugly reality. It wasn’t long before she began to paint elaborate scenarios of your life outside of Port George.” Herbert Aldridge swallowed hard. “Thankfully, she spoke of them only to me. From the day you left home, her life outside this house virtually ceased.”

  Arden sat perfectly still, though that uncomfortable feeling of guilt regarding her conduct toward her mother was once again making itself known. Perhaps neither Herbert nor Victoria Aldridge had done the right thing by Florence. But what was done was done, no matter how unfair it had been to all of them.

  “After a few years, I was tempted to look for you,” Herbert went on after clearing his throat. “But I didn’t. To be honest, I had no idea what I might say to you if I found you. How could I explain what I’d done? What your mother had done?”

  Again, Arden received this information in silence. Strangely, she believed that her father had been tempted to locate her, maybe even to ask her to come home. But she was not surprised to learn that he had conquered that temptation.

  “Before you go, I have one more thing to give you.” Herbert again reached into the drawer from which he had taken the check. “All of your mother’s jewelry belongs to you now and will be delivered as soon as probate is done. But I know this piece was always your favorite. I wanted to give it to you myself.”

  Arden immediately recognized the worn red leather box in which her mother had kept the Victorian snake bracelet that had come down through the Montgomery family. She wondered how her father knew the bracelet was her favorite piece. Had her mother told him? How much had Herbert Aldridge known about his child in the years she had lived under his roof? Maybe more than Arden had assumed. Maybe less. She would never know.

  “Thank you,” she said, accepting the heirloom.

  “Your mother told me once that snakes were a symbol of eternal love. Florence was a romantic woman.” His tone was fond, without a trace of criticism or mockery.

  Arden rose from her chair. It was time for her to leave. Again.

  “Goodbye, Father.”

  Herbert Aldridge nodded. “Goodbye, Victoria.”

  Arden didn’t bother to correct him.

  The check and the heirloom in her bag, Arden carefully closed the door of the study behind her.

  It was over.

  She knew that she would never see her father alive again.

  That was all right.

  * * *

  When Arden got back to the bed-and-breakfast, and finding Laura out for a walk (she had left a note explaining her absence), Arden collapsed onto her bed and slept deeply for almost two hours. When she awoke, she felt remarkably refreshed and unburdened.

  “You scared me.” Laura was perched on the edge of her own bed, her face drawn. “I came in from my walk to find you dead to the world.”

  “I’m sorry.” Arden smiled fondly, stretching her arms over her head. “I think I kind of was. I don’t remember dreaming at all. I don’t even remember falling asleep. But I’m awake now and I want to show you something.”

  Arden got up from the bed and retrieved her bag from the top of the dresser. First, she withdrew the case that contained the Victorian bracelet.

  “This is the piece I told you about, the one that belonged to my maternal grandmother.” Arden handed the case to Laura. “Before that, it belonged to her mother and grandmother. My father gave it to me earlier. He said he knew that it was my favorite piece of Florence’s.”

  Laura gazed down at the bracelet. “It’s beautiful. But isn’t it tainted for you, knowing how cruel your grandmother was to your mother about Joseph?”

  “Oddly, no.” Arden took the leather case from Laura. “It seems I’ve been very successful after all in removing myself from much of the negative emotions surrounding my family.”

  “So, the meeting with your father went well? Clearly, it didn’t leave you traumatized.”

  Arden smiled and sat next to her daughter on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know where to begin, but I can say with all honesty that I’m glad I agreed to meet him.”

  “Even in that big old house?”

  “Intere
stingly, once I was inside, I ceased to feel intimidated.”

  “And he was polite? He wasn’t abusive in any way?”

  “He was polite. Formal as always, but there were a few emotional moments.” Arden paused before going on. “It could have been far worse than it was, but I’m glad it’s done with.”

  Laura smiled. “Me, too. I was really worried that you’d be left feeling emotionally battered.”

  “There’s something else.” Arden now took her father’s check from her bag and held it out to Laura. “This is for you.”

  Laura took the check. Arden couldn’t read her daughter’s expression as she stared down at it.

  Finally, Laura softly said, “This is an enormous amount of money. But it’s made out to you. I don’t understand.”

  “I’m giving it to you.”

  “What about the roof of the shop? You haven’t signed the loan papers yet. You could take this check and be done with the repairs and have money left over.”

  “The roof is my concern,” Arden said firmly. “This money is for you. And there’s one more thing.”

  Laura shook her head. “I don’t know how much more I can take!”

  “My father is leaving the estate to me. He never changed his will. I’ve remained his heir all along.”

  “Sheesh,” Laura cried, “what a turnup! Ah, so that will certainly take care of a new roof!”

  “When my father dies, of course.” Arden frowned. “I don’t want to start talking glibly about his death.”

  “I told you there have been rumors about his poor health for some time.”

  Arden nodded. “You know, on my way back here I remembered a conversation you and I had not too long ago, about accepting money that might not have been earned honestly. We said, half-jokingly, that a conscience was a burden. Now, I have absolutely no proof that my father earned at least part of his fortune through underhanded means, though I know it’s generally suspected. Maybe this makes me an unethical person, but I don’t feel bad about inheriting the Aldridge estate. I’ll put it to good use. It won’t be wasted nor will it ever be used to harm anyone. The estate is the least my father could give me considering all he took away.”

  “I agree. Don’t spend a moment more worrying about the ethics of accepting.”

  Arden paused. “Before I left, my father told me that he was once tempted to look for me. But he didn’t because he had no idea of what he would say to me if he did find me.”

  “No idea what he would say?” Laura exclaimed. “How about an apology for one? I think his saying that was just a low-down bid for sympathy from a man who knows he doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Maybe it was a bid for sympathy, but what’s wrong with that? Maybe it is the thought that counts after all.”

  “Thoughts don’t always count. Actions always count. Actions speak louder than words.”

  “Let’s agree to disagree about what measure of forgiveness my father deserves or doesn’t deserve.”

  Laura nodded. “Fair enough. Hey, I’m starved. It’s a bit early for dinner, but we could go someplace and have a cocktail and some nibbles first.”

  “Go out in Port George? All eyes will be upon us.”

  Laura smiled. “Let them be.”

  “If this is going to be a celebratory evening, then I’m wearing my bracelet.”

  “And dinner at Enio’s”—Laura waved her grandfather’s check—“is on Herbert.”

  Chapter 84

  Laura let out of whoosh of air. It was a pleasant afternoon, the air warm but not sticky, but Laura was having difficulty breathing normally.

  “Are you as nervous as I am?” Arden asked.

  Laura managed a smile. “If you’re ready to turn tail and run, then yes. I am. But here goes.”

  She knocked on the door to the small house.

  A moment later, it was opened by Frannie Armitage. “Come in.” Her smile, Laura thought, was genuine, if brief. “My sisters couldn’t be here, but they hope to meet you both soon.”

  Laura and Arden followed Frannie inside. Laura was terribly conscious of how difficult this meeting would be for her mother. Laura would do whatever she could to make it bearable; if they were met with the slightest degree of anger or animosity, she would take Arden’s arm and leave. A reunion with the Smiths could happen in stages or it could fail to happen at all. This was a choice.

  “My mother, Geraldine,” Frannie was saying, as she helped her mother from a chair.

  Laura swallowed hard. This was the woman she had seen with Frannie earlier in the summer. Her grandmother.

  “Hello,” Laura said awkwardly, stepping forward but unsure if she should extend her hand or embrace the woman. “It’s . . . It’s incredible to meet you.”

  Geraldine smiled. “It most certainly is. Now, let’s have a hug.”

  When Laura was released, she stepped aside to allow Arden to greet Geraldine.

  “Victoria. After all these years.”

  “Mrs. Smith,” Arden said warmly. “It’s so good to see you again, it really is.”

  Frannie then turned to her father. “And this is my father, Rob senior.”

  Laura struggled to contain a sob. Her grandfather was sitting in an armchair, a crocheted blanket over his legs. The father who had so cruelly lost his only son. She thought she could see a strong resemblance between the two, if the few photographs she had seen of her father were a good indication of what he had been like.

  Mr. Smith didn’t rise from his chair but he reached for Laura’s hands. “My first grandchild,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. Then he turned to Arden. “Vicky Aldridge. You were all Rob could talk about that summer.”

  Arden silently embraced the elderly man.

  “Please,” Frannie said. “Everyone have a seat.”

  Laura sat next to Arden on the couch. The cushions were almost flat with use, but clean.

  “The old woodstove,” Arden said. “I remember it so well.”

  An awkward moment of silence followed, until Frannie said to Laura, “I liked you immediately when we met at the café, but I didn’t recognize you as my flesh and blood. I stopped hoping long ago that one day Rob’s child might show up and claim her heritage.”

  Laura smiled. “I liked you, too, and I thought you had suspicions about my identity. The way you looked at me at one point. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I hoped you’d recognize me right away so there would be no need to go on lying.”

  “Why, exactly, did you keep your identity a secret for so long?” Frannie asked.

  “I truly am sorry for that,” Laura said feelingly. “I hoped to be able to give you some definitive news about what happened to my father the summer of 1984 before coming out as Rob Smith’s daughter. And I worried that if it was known that I was the child of Victoria and Rob—and that Victoria was alive and well—someone would try to stop the investigation again.”

  “Someone being my father,” Arden added softly. “And to be honest, I was afraid that real harm might come to Laura if she dug too deep. Claiming to be an impartial researcher seemed safer.”

  Frannie nodded. “I understand. We all do.”

  “And I apologize for not having told you about the baby.” Arden looked from one member of the Smith family to another. “My parents were—very forceful. And with Rob suddenly gone, I felt I had no one to whom I could turn. I went along with the adoption not because I wanted to give up my baby, but because I felt I had no other choice.”

  “You were a child,” Geraldine Smith said soothingly.

  Frannie nodded. “I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time when you came back to Port George that next summer. But I was just so angry. I knew something bad had happened to my brother and I needed to punish someone for it. You were there and you were vulnerable.”

  “I understand,” Arden replied. “I really do. And you were right all along. About the baby and about my family’s involvement in Rob’s disappearance. But I swear to you I knew nothing about that at the time.”
Arden paused and looked to Laura. “I had a feeling, but nothing more.”

  Laura took Arden’s hand and gently squeezed it.

  Mr. Smith spoke to his daughter. “Show these two young ladies the album.”

  Frannie reached for a photo album that sat on the low, round coffee table and handed it to Laura. “Pictures of Rob as a baby and as a little boy. There are more albums, too. You can have a copy of whatever photo you want.”

  Laura realized her hand was trembling ever so slightly as she opened to the first page to find a faded photo of Geraldine holding a baby, a toddler by her side. The baby had to be Rob. The toddler, Frannie.

  Quickly she closed the album and laughed nervously. “I guess I’ll have to take this slowly. I feel . . . overwhelmed. But I want to know everything there is to know about my father. Every detail, his hopes and dreams, his favorite foods and television shows, what music he liked best. What he didn’t like, too. What he found funny and what left him cold. What made him angriest and what made him happiest.”

  Frannie smiled. “That will take some time.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Not now that I’ve found my family.”

  Mrs. Smith rose from her chair with the aid of her cane. “Frannie, would you serve coffee? I want to show Arden something upstairs.”

  Frannie went off to the kitchen as Mrs. Smith and Arden left the living room.

  Mr. Smith pulled a cell phone from the breast pocket of his short-sleeved shirt. “Let me take a picture of you,” he said to Laura. “How about this new phone Frannie got me? Takes pictures as good as a camera!”

  “Then let’s take one of you and me together,” Laura suggested. “Grandpa.”

  Chapter 85

  Arden had never been in Rob’s bedroom. Mrs. Smith hadn’t allowed girls in her son’s room or boys in her daughters’ rooms.

  “We’ve kept the room pretty much as it was,” Geraldine explained. “One of the younger girls could have moved into it, but neither could bear the thought.”

  Arden glanced around the simple room, noting with tenderness all that was left of a young man. Books. Posters of bands thumbtacked to the wall. A baseball mitt and bat. Records. A closet full of clothes. No, she thought. Not all that was left. The woman who had pledged to be his wife was alive, as was his daughter.