Squinting, Megan saw a glint of red on the other side of the parking lot. She made her way there, slowly and with few stumbles. She was proud of herself for staying upright. She wanted to get out of the cold and collect her bearings before calling a ride service. I am never drinking again. She reached into her purse for her keys but came up with nothing. She patted down her pockets and looked on the ground around her.
“Fuck. You really didn’t learn your fucking lesson about leaving your keys lying around?” she asked herself angrily. Tears welled in her eyes and she started to cry.
Brakes squelched behind Megan, startling her. She jumped and turned around.
“Second time in one day, huh? I take it you need a ride?”
Angeline’s window was all the way down, her grinning face a beacon of light. Megan huffed in relief. Relief tinged with shame.
“I don’t even know what to say to you right now. I am so embarrassed. I’m drunk and stranded and I lost my keys,” Megan said, leaning on Angeline’s car.
“Okay. Hop in. I’ll park and then I’ll run inside to see if you left them in there. Don’t cry, we’ll find them.”
But Megan couldn’t help it. She stifled a sob that was mixed with sadness and gratitude and humiliation and exhilaration. She realized, at that moment, there was no one on earth she would rather have had pull up than Angeline.
Megan walked around the front of the car and then flung herself onto the plush leather seat. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Angeline covered her hand with her own. Every time they touched, Megan felt like literal sparks were flying out of her skin. “You don’t have to thank me. But I hope you don’t do this often.”
Megan let out a strangled laugh. “I haven’t been this drunk since Janet sang at the Super Bowl. Trust me, this is an aberration.”
Angeline parked in front of the club and jumped out. She locked the doors behind her and disappeared inside. Megan watched her go, and even drunk she couldn’t help but wonder what the feelings that swirled within her stomach were about. Some of it was nausea, sure, but there was something else there. She was developing a…fondness? Or something like that toward Angeline. There was tingle inside her when she saw Angeline exit the club with Megan’s keys dangling from her index finger.
“You really do have a problem hanging on to these, don’t you?” Angeline said, handing them over. She started the engine and pulled out onto the deserted road.
“Apparently. This really is embarrassing. I’m so sorry that I summoned you or whatever I did that brought you here.” Megan chewed on her lip.
“I had a feeling your date wasn’t going to end well. When I first drove by, I saw you in the car with that woman, and thought maybe I misread something. But then a few minutes later your discomfort was unmistakable,” Angeline said, not taking her eyes off the road.
“Oh, it wasn’t a date. It wasn’t like that. My friends thought I needed a distraction from everything, and they decided I should—I don’t even know—hook up? Trust me, I am super pissed at them for this.”
Angeline smiled. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me, you know.”
That was true. So why did Megan feel the need to make sure Angeline knew that the setup, or whatever it was, wasn’t her idea? She could analyze that later, but for the moment, she just wanted to make that point clear. “I know. But I really wasn’t into it.”
They pulled up in front of Megan’s house. Megan just sat for a second, deciding how she was going to make it to the door when the world was spinning diagonally. Luckily, she didn’t need to. Angeline opened her door and took her by the arm, walking her steadily up toward her front door.
“Do you need me to walk you in?” Angeline asked.
“No, I’m okay. Wait. Yes.”
Angeline took the key from Megan’s hand and unlocked the door. She walked her into the bedroom, where Megan sat on the edge of her bed. Merlin was sprawled out on his bed and didn’t even bother to look up when they came into the room.
“Here,” Angeline said, handing Megan a pair of sweatpants hanging on the edge of her treadmill. She grabbed a T-shirt from the top of Megan’s dresser. “I don’t know if these are clean or not, but I don’t think it matters much. I’m pretty sure you’re going to want to take a shower the second you wake up.”
Megan nodded. She pulled on the hem of her sweater, but suddenly all of her strength was completely gone. “Can you help?” Mortification no longer registered on Megan’s radar. She just wanted to be comfy.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” Angeline rubbed her hands together to warm them and pulled Megan’s sweater over her head. She quickly threw the T-shirt on over her. Megan lay back on the bed and unzipped her jeans. Angeline pulled them off from the ankles and shimmied the sweats up Megan’s legs. She circled her under her arms and lifted Megan off the bed. Megan rested her head on Angeline’s shoulder.
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
Angeline cleared her throat. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just nice. I like you.”
“I don’t know why. I’m a hot mess.”
“A little, yeah.” Angeline laughed. “But who isn’t?”
“I like you too, Angeline. Tell me about the thirties,” Megan said. She sat up on her bed and threw the blanket over her feet.
“The thirties?”
“Yeah. I need to concentrate on something that isn’t my churning stomach.”
Angeline laughed lightly and sat on the edge of Megan’s bed. She squeezed her toe. “Okay. Well, I spent most of the thirties in Maryland, I think. Delaware for a little while. Art was huge at the time, and really coming into its own. Movies were also becoming more of a mainstream thing. It was spectacular watching that technology just kind of evolve. I got to meet Clark Gable. His ears really were that big, even in person.” She frowned. “You look pretty pale. Why don’t you lie down?”
She did feel a little woozy. Megan fell back on her pillow and pulled the covers up to her neck. Angeline went to the kitchen, got a glass of water, and put it on Megan’s nightstand. She brushed a piece of hair that was hanging in Megan’s face back behind her ear.
“Did I take you away from the clinic again?” Megan asked, her voice barely a whisper. Her face was smushed into her pillow. She struggled to stay awake, really wanting to talk to Angeline a little bit more.
“No, I had tonight off. You have my number, so if you want to talk about anything that’s, you know, not dire, call me. If it is dire, I’m sure I’ll know about it.”
“Can you stay? What if I get sick? I don’t want be alone and choke on my own vomit.”
“Ew. But okay. I guess I can stay. Where do you keep your blankets?”
Megan mumbled something, but sleep meant the spinning stopped, and she let herself drift away.
Some hours later, Megan stirred. The events of the evening came flooding back to her, and if she weren’t already lying down, she would have hung her head in shame. Angeline must have left once she realized Megan was sleeping. Megan lifted her brick of a head and looked around her room. There, in front of the door, on Megan’s recliner that she must have dragged into the room, slept Angeline. Merlin slept in a ball at her feet. Megan’s heart filled with appreciation. She wanted to get out of bed and go to her, hug her, thank her for everything. But her earlier nausea had been replaced with a pounder of a headache. Megan laid her head back down against her pillow and smiled, drifting off into sleep once again.
Chapter Ten
Charleston, South Carolina, 1948
The seven-inch TV screen held Angeline rapt. Irving Berlin was on the Toast of the Town with Ed Sullivan. Even though the sound was a bit muffled, his version of “God Bless America” brought tears to her eyes. She wiped them away with a laugh. Her cold exterior was such a lie.
She leaned forward in the wingback chair when she heard a noise from the kitchen. The old sugar plantation that Kathryn had converted into a home for the two of them was big and airy and overwhelming. Most of th
e décor belonged to Kathryn, from the Steinway piano that no one ever played, to her prized katana blade that she’d brought back from Japan, to the hand-painted watercolor of a maple tree in autumn. Angeline had preferred the small cabin they’d been living in deep inside Hitchcock Woods, but Kathryn wanted something more glamorous. She didn’t seem to notice that the old house they were living in was more than a little run-down, and the willows surrounding it were tilting forward more and more every day.
They’d been together for more than twenty years. Angeline had vague memories of her past life, but for the most part they’d faded into sepia-tinged images that occasionally crossed her mind. She remembered playing outside with her sister. Stella’s favorite game was marbles, but she always cheated. Somehow Angeline always went back in the house with fewer marbles than she’d gone outside with, and Stella’s pouch was just a little bit fuller. Even though Stella was just a year younger, Angeline’s parents acted like she was the baby of the family, so it wasn’t worth the fight.
She remembered her father, gentle and easygoing. He used to call her his angel. Angeline would help her father outside in the garden while Stella did housework with her mother. It was their special time to talk about the world. Angeline cherished those memories with her father because she remembered feeling like a grown-up, like her opinion mattered and he was interested in what she had to say. Also, because those were the brightest colored memories she had of him.
She remembered her mother most of all. Her mother wasn’t a meek or sweet lady by any means. She was brazen and gruff and complemented Angeline’s father perfectly. She had no problem telling her husband when she disagreed with him. While growing up, Angeline thought she was too strict and she liked to meddle a bit too much and expected more of her than anyone else. They argued and fought with each other while her father tried to be the mediator and Stella played the role of perfect daughter. But then when she had turned eighteen, her mother had said, “My daddy always told me that the only way to avoid disappointment was to expect nothing from nobody. You’re the only one I’ve found that that doesn’t apply to.” Angeline’s biggest antagonist had been, in truth, her biggest supporter and her biggest fan. Her mother had known that the sky was the limit for her elder child, so she tried to boost her up as high as she was able to. It might have included some shoves and kicks along the way, but her aim was always true. And it was her mother that Angeline missed the most.
Benjamin was little more than a phantom in the recesses of Angeline’s mind. She knew that she’d been married and that she’d been content, but even Ben’s face was just a smudge. He’d probably remarried once they’d given up the search for Angeline, and she hoped that he had. He deserved to have a happy life. She was thankful they’d never had children. Though she didn’t know firsthand, she could only imagine that leaving a child behind would have been unbearable.
It was in those moments of nostalgia that Angeline resented Kathryn the most.
“Who’s there?” Angeline asked, switching off the television. Ed Sullivan would have to wait.
“Sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
“That’s all right, George. What can I do for you?” Angeline asked. Kathryn had insisted that they employ a couple of hired hands to keep the plantation in good working order. Angeline didn’t have the heart to tell either of the men that they weren’t very good at it.
“You have a letter. From up north.” George handed her a battered envelope, dirty from handling and crumpled from the passage of time.
“Thank you, George,” Angeline said, distracted. The return address was Lowell, Massachusetts. “That’ll be all, but if you could tend to the well, I would appreciate it. The water has an unpleasant smell.”
“Of course, miss.” George nodded, and watched her for another moment, his expression inscrutable, before he headed back outside.
Angeline sat with the letter on her lap before opening it. She’d only given her address to one person, a private investigator who took his money and never asked questions. He was to contact her if anything of note happened within the Vallencourt family. No one was to know anything about it. All correspondence was handled through the post, and to date, there had only been one letter, some years back. It had announced the death of her father, given the PI’s condolences, and included a request for a certified check.
Angeline turned the letter over in her hands, fearing its contents. She hoped that it was happy news, but she couldn’t imagine what that happy news would entail. The hollow in her stomach told her that it was something she didn’t necessarily want to know.
She slit the top of the envelope open with her fingernail. Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded into thirds. She sighed and unfolded the letter.
Dear Mrs. Miles,
It has come to my attention that Lucille Vallencourt, your mother, is in failing health at Lowell General Hospital. Her case of influenza has turned into a terminal lung infection, and the doctors do not believe she will recover. My sources tell me that she is unlikely to last the week.
With sincere condolences,
Albert. F. McMahon, PI
Please send along a cashier’s check for the previously agreed upon amount.
Angeline refolded the letter and placed it back inside the envelope. The lump in her throat threatened to choke her, but she decided that she had to be rational. She knew the day would come. She knew that her family wouldn’t live forever. Even though she hadn’t seen them in over twenty years, the bond was still tighter than she’d realized.
She’d be forty-eight years old if Kathryn hadn’t turned her. Angeline looked down at her hand and wiggled her fingers. Still the hand of a young woman. She’d missed so much. This life, the freedom afforded her, was supposed to be better. Not having to abide by the human world’s imposed rules, not having to succumb to the natural order of old age and death. If she were being honest, wilting away in the confines of isolation didn’t seem all that preferable to the perils of aging naturally.
She wondered if it would have been easier to receive the news after her mother had already passed away. It would have been over with, with nothing for her to do but mourn, like she had done for her father. But knowing her mother was lying on her deathbed nearly a thousand miles away presented its own challenge. Angeline closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the chair.
Suddenly, she stood up and ran to her bedroom. She didn’t care what Kathryn would say about it. Angeline was going to say good-bye to her mother, and neither Kathryn nor any other force on earth was going to stop her.
She threw some clothes into a bag and grabbed a pile of cash from her nightstand drawer. Kathryn’s constant theft was exhausting but useful.
“Going somewhere?” Kathryn asked, appearing in Angeline’s door frame. She was filing her nails with an emery board.
“Yes,” Angeline answered, not looking up. “I’m going back to Massachusetts for a while. I have some business I need to attend to.”
Kathryn raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “You’ve been dead for twenty-two years. What business could you possibly have in Massachusetts?”
Anger was building inside her, but Angeline knew she needed to keep her cool. “It’s nothing, Kathryn. Please just allow me to do this.”
“Who’s dying? Mother? Sister? The widower?”
“I didn’t say anyone was dying.” Damn her. Kathryn could always read her like an open book.
“The only ‘business’ that would send you back to Massachusetts is death. But those people are no longer your family, Angeline. I’ve tried to tell you that time and time again. To them, you’re a distant memory. When they think of you now, maybe they get a small pang of sadness, or maybe a fleeting smile of remembrance. But they couldn’t recall your voice, or your mannerisms, or even the details of your face if they tried. Let sleeping dogs lie. There is no reason to reopen healed wounds.”
Maybe those wounds had healed for Kathryn, but for Angeline, they were stil
l raw and open. Sure, she enjoyed herself when they traveled, and when she wasn’t consumed with debilitating boredom from being cooped up in the house or walking through deserted streets alone, she usually felt okay. But the loneliness she felt was deep, and it was real. Kathryn was a companion, but Angeline didn’t love her or think of her as family. Most of the time she didn’t even really like her. She resented her and begrudged what she had done to her. But the thought of being utterly alone was terrifying. So she tolerated her.
“It’s my mother. She’s very sick, and I’m going to see her. She’ll think I’m the angel of death, or the welcoming committee into heaven, and then she’ll be able to go peacefully. I’m not staying long. Just long enough to tell her that I love her and that I’ve never forgotten her.” Angeline pulled a heavy coat out of her armoire. She had no need for it in South Carolina, but Massachusetts wasn’t as forgiving, even in early spring.
Kathryn folded her arms over her chest. “No.”
Angeline swallowed. “I didn’t ask permission, Kathryn. I’m going to see her. I’ll be back in just a few days. There is a flight service to Boston out of Lexington County, so I’ll take that to shorten the time I’ll be away.”
“And if you should get stranded in a field somewhere, waiting for help in the midday sun?”
“That’s very unlikely to happen. Airplane travel is very safe, even the television ads say so. And if it does, then I guess I’ll burn up while the rest of the passengers watch in horror. Maybe they’ll think I had a high fever.”
“Kid all you want, Angeline, but I can’t allow you to reveal our existence just so you can make yourself feel better with a kiss and a deathbed confession,” Kathryn said. She stared into Angeline’s defiant eyes.
“You would really deny me this? A simple good-bye to ease a lifetime of heartache and regret?” Tears blurred her vision, but Angeline didn’t let them fall. She wouldn’t let Kathryn see her vulnerable. She didn’t have the heart to see that she was hurting Angeline; she would only use it to her advantage if she did.
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