What She Inherits

by Diane V. Mulligan

  “I’m not—”

  But Angela cut her off. “You are. You and Molly always do this. You two may be taller than me, but that doesn’t mean you get to talk down to me like I’m a little kid.”

  “Whoa, I don’t even—”

  “I don’t know what Randy will say if I decide to come back here, but what I can tell you for certain is that whether I come back or not, it’ll be one-hundred percent my decision, not his, and not yours or Molly’s, okay?”

  Angela couldn’t recall a time when she’d stood up for herself like that. It felt good. She felt taller.

  “Okay,” Nicole said, and then she took Angela’s arm again and they finished their walk across campus.

  An hour later, Angela went back to the dorm with her emotions swirling inside her like creatures in an aquarium. Calliope might envision her emotions as wild horses, but Angela’s emotions were sharks, whales, and dolphins. She didn’t have an equestrian pen inside her. She had an aquarium. And right now, every fish and mammal in there was swimming in a different direction.

  It was official. She was coming back to St. Kate’s in January. All she had to do was tell Randy. But not right now. She wasn’t ready yet. She’d tell him later, when the time was right.

  Tuesday afternoon, they hit the road again, east this time, toward the coast.

  “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Angela said when they crossed the state line into Maine. She didn’t want to meet CJ by sneak attack, the way Marilyn had done to her.

  “If we find her, you can always decide not to tell her who you are,” Randy said.

  They stopped for lunch in the touristy, beach town of York, where almost everything was closed for the winter, and bought salt-water taffy at a convenience store. They stood for a while on the small sandy beach watching the waves crash and the gulls circle and then they kept driving.

  When they got to Portland, they walked along the harbor, though the breeze carried hints of winter and the trees were bare of leaves. They had ferry tickets for the next day and had booked a room at the Wild Rose Inn.

  “I could live in New England,” Randy said, as they walked hand in hand along the waterfront. The moon was low on the horizon over the water in the darkening sky and boats bobbed gently on their moorings.

  “You could?” Angela asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, when I was a kid, I was fascinated with the Revolutionary War the way other little boys were about dinosaurs. I always thought it would be amazing to live in Boston.”

  “Not Philadelphia, birthplace of the nation?”

  “Paul Revere was sort of my hero.”

  Angela smiled. “Winters are cold.” Her two years in New Hampshire had been a major adjustment. It was so cold, and the snow! So much snow! She had liked it, though, once she had gotten used to it.

  “So you get a warm coat,” Randy said, and Angela realized he was being serious.

  “This is something you’ve really considered? Leaving St. Nabor?”

  “Hell yes. I mean, I love my family, but I’ve always felt like at some point I would have to leave, go out on my own in the world.”

  He had never mentioned any of this before. Angela wasn’t sure what to think. “What about work?”

  “I’ve been getting more and more into freelance app development. I can do that anywhere.”

  Angela stopped walking and tugged on his hand so he stopped, too. “Why are we talking about this right now?” she asked.

  He leaned forward and gave her a little kiss and then said, “Because I want you to know that I’m up for adventure. I know my life seems settled, but it’s not. Not really.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Also, you seemed really happy at St. Kate’s with your friends, happier than I’ve seen you since we met. I don’t want you to stay in South Carolina because of me.”

  “Randy, I—”

  “And if you wanted to move up here and be closer to your family, I totally understand that.”

  “But what about us?” Angela said. She liked to imagine her future with Randy, dream of her wedding dress and all of that, but if he was talking about relocating for her, that was terrifying.

  “I love you, Angela,” he said, and he kissed her. “I love you, which is why I want you to do what’s right for you. If we have to make due with long distance, that’s what we’ll do for a while.”

  “Long distance never works,” Angela said, fearing she would cry. She had finally gotten the crying thing under control. She did not want to start weeping now.

  “Never say never,” Randy said. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “I am going back to St. Kate’s,” Angela said. “Next semester.”

  He took both of her hands and looked her in the eye. “I know. I saw the paperwork.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t trying to keep it secret, I just—”

  “It’s okay,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her.

  ***

  In the morning, they caught the ferry. It was a gray day. It was Halloween, and a storm had swept up the coast, bringing wind, rain, and clouds, as if conjuring Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Gothic New England before their very eyes. At any moment a band of angry Puritans might have appeared and set up a gallows and Angela wouldn’t have been the least surprised. It was cold enough that they ventured out onto the deck for only a few minutes before retreating back into the warm cabin.

  At last, they disembarked on Devil’s Back Island and walked up the pier toward the little village nestled into the slope of the island. The very first building they passed was the Beach Plum Café. The smell of coffee and fresh cookies wafted out onto the lane.

  “Let’s go in right now,” Randy said, tugging Angela’s arm.

  “No! Not yet! We’ll go to the hotel first and then we’ll see.” She had to work up the nerve first. She was here, but she wasn’t ready. Not yet.

  Chapter 48

  Devil’s Back Island, Maine

  At the Inn, Angela and Randy went to the registration desk. Initially the clerk said she couldn’t find any reservation for them, and Angela thought it was a sign. They should turn around and get back on the ferry before it left. But then the clerk came back and apologized and said their room wasn’t ready yet, but that they could check their bags at the counter for now and she’d have the room ready in a few hours. She gave them a brochure detailing the Halloween festivities and, unsure what else to do, they went to sit by the fireplace in the lobby.

  “You know, these ghosts sound pretty phony,” Randy said, studying the brochure. “I’m awfully glad I didn’t haul any equipment out here.”

  He’d skipped the trip to Charleston with the paranormal investigators club for this, Angela thought, with a twinge of guilt.

  “On the upside, there’s a lot happening tonight. Apparently there are going to be bonfires on the beach and food tents and music from sundown until ten.” He held up the brochure as if Angela had asked for proof.

  “You’re awfully quiet over there,” he said.

  She shook her head. She was nervous. She had nothing to say.

  At five o’clock the front-desk clerk found them in the lobby and apologized again. The room still wasn’t ready. Angela was starting to wonder if there was a room.

  “The hotel owner sent these for you,” the clerk said, handing Angela two coupons that turned out to be vouchers for free food at the festival.

  With nothing else to do, they took the vouchers and made their way to the beach. It was still cold and breezy but the rain had stopped. Three fires were burning on the sand, and the small beach was crowded with people. A band was playing on the hotel patio under a tent. Randy and Angela walked past smaller tents where local crafts were on sale and finally arrived at the food tents.

  Angela glanced at the vouchers. “These are weird. I don’t know how to use them,” she said.

  Randy took them from her and read them. They were a little ambiguous. All they really said was free food, with no information on how
to redeem them. He handed them back to Angela.

  “I guess we can ask somebody,” she said. “As long as it's free, want to get lobster rolls?”

  Randy agreed and they went to the stall selling seafood. Before ordering, Angela showed the vendor the vouchers. He called out to another vendor, and after a moment’s confusion, a white-haired woman appeared, a dog at her heels.

  “Angela Ellis?” she asked. “I am so sorry for the confusion over your room. Go on and order anything you like. It’s on me.”

  “Who are you?” Angela asked.

  “Rosetta Washburn, proprietor of the Wild Rose Inn.”

  Angela looked at Randy, who shrugged, and they each ordered a lobster roll and fries.

  Once they’d ordered, Rosetta said, “Will you join me over there when your food is ready?” She pointed to a table on the edge of the patio.

  “Okay,” Angela said, uncertainly. After Rosetta walked away, she turned to Randy. “This is weird, right?”

  “Yep, super weird.”

  Nonetheless, they took their food to Rosetta’s table and sat down. Angela took a big bite of her sandwich, and as she chewed, she noticed that Rosetta had a stack of tarot cards on the table.

  “Are you a psychic?” Angela asked.

  “A little,” Rosetta said. “Should I tell your fortune?”

  “Oh, I don’t—”

  “Come on, it’s fun,” Randy said, nudging her.

  Rosetta shuffled the deck and studied Angela. Then she set the cards down and said, “You’re here to find someone. Is that right?”

  ***

  Casey sold out of cupcakes, cookies, and coffee by seven o’clock. Rosetta had been right earlier in the day when she said they should have made more. Then again, now that their work was done, she and Brett could relax. Well, relax might be the wrong word. All day, Casey had been waiting for someone named Angela Ellis to appear and introduce herself. Rosetta said Angela hadn’t canceled the reservation, so either she was here somewhere or she’d changed her mind without the courtesy of a phone call to say so. Casey and Brett were packing up to haul things back to the café, when Rosetta appeared at their tent.

  “Don’t tell me you told me so,” Casey said, stooping to load the last of the trays onto a cart.

  When she stood back up, Rosetta stepped aside and Casey saw the girl who was with her. The entire world stopped. As she took in the girl, little electric currents seemed to shoot through her. She resembled Ryan, and more so Ryan’s mother. The likeness was strong enough to be eerie.

  The girl stayed where she was, studying Casey, and Casey stayed behind the table in the tent, studying the girl, until at last Rosetta broke the silence.

  “Look who I found washed up on the beach.”

  ***

  In the glow of the bonfire light, Angela took in the sight of the woman she’d come all this way to meet. She looked young. Too young. How could she be anybody’s mother? She looked like some kind of biker chick or punk rocker.

  After a long moment of strained silence, Rosetta managed introductions.

  “Angela, this is my great-niece, Cara-Jayne Seaver, formerly known as CJ, known to everyone around here as Casey Jones, aka Trouble,” Rosetta said.

  Trouble. Yes. She looked like trouble.

  “And Casey, this is Angela Ellis.” Angela was glad Rosetta hadn’t said, “your daughter.” This woman may have given birth to her, but the words daughter and mother didn’t make any sense to describe their relationship.

  Casey remained mute. Her eyes were wide and she looked lost. Angela understood that feeling. This was why she hadn’t wanted to ambush Casey. But when Rosetta had insisted they go find her right that moment, there had been no way to refuse. After all, they’d come looking for her, and here was someone who knew where to find her.

  If only there were a script for this type of thing, Angela thought. For the past month, she’d had a head full of questions for Casey, but now that they were face to face, she couldn’t think of a single one.

  “When did you find out about me?” Casey asked at last.

  “About a month ago,” Angela said.

  “How?”

  Angela had anticipated this question and had rehearsed a succinct response. She didn’t feel she should go into the whole ghost story yet. She said, “My mom—Deb, I mean—passed away. I was getting the house ready to sell, and I found out.”

  “I’m sorry,” Casey said. Although she had recovered the ability to speak, she still looked and sounded dazed.

  “Thank you,” Angela said. What she mostly felt as she watched this woman who had given birth to her was not the anger she had expected to feel. She had no desire to ask indignantly why Casey had abandoned her, why she had given her up for adoption. No, what she mostly felt was sorry. She had altered the rotation of Casey’s world in the very same way that news of Casey’s existence had rocked her own, and now she saw that perhaps she had been selfish to go along with this. This woman had been only seventeen when she was born, three years younger than Angela was now. Angela certainly wasn’t ready to be a mom at the age of twenty. It was no wonder she had given Angela up, especially since she had known Angela was going to a good home. She was allowed to move forward and have a life. She didn’t deserve to be intruded upon this way.

  “No. I’m sorry,” Angela said, “We shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake.”

  She turned to walk away but Casey called after her.

  “I have thought about you every single day.”

  ***

  Casey and Angela walked together up the slope to the café while Rosetta and Bentley took Randy for a tour of the beach and Brett finished packing up the tent. Casey couldn’t believe this was happening. She couldn’t believe her baby girl was here, beside her. Since the only furniture upstairs was an air-mattress, Casey took Angela into the café and they sat at a table near the window.

  “I didn’t want to burst in on you like that,” Angela said. “I tried to call you.”

  “It’s okay.” Casey said. She wondered if she should admit that she had known Angela was coming. But if she did, Angela would want to know why Casey hadn’t tried to contact her. She bit her lip.

  “I don’t want anything from you, okay? I didn’t come here because I want something. I wanted to meet you.”

  Casey nodded.

  “I mean, my parents will always be my parents, you know, even if they are technically my grandparents, which is weird. I can’t think of them that way,” Angela said. She was toying with the zipper of her purse now, and she seemed much younger than her twenty years.

  Twenty years. Casey couldn’t believe it. Twenty years, and now here she was, a full grown, beautiful woman. “Were they good to you?” Casey asked, when Angela didn’t say anything else.

  “They were. I miss my mom a lot.”

  “I wish you didn’t have to go through all of this,” Casey said. Part of the reason she had given in to Deb’s demands and agreed to give up all custody was to prevent Angela from ever having to experience unnecessary hardship. When Deb offered to raise the baby as her own, Casey had wanted to believe that Deb was right, that the baby would be better off if she never knew. But Angela found out anyway, and maybe it was even worse for her to find out now. Instead of having incorporated information about her birth parents into her identity as a child, she had grown up believing a set of things about herself that she now knew were false. At twenty years old, instead of growing more confident in her identity, she had just had it pulled out from under her.

  “They should have told me,” Angela said.

  “We all did what we thought was best at the time.”

  “You and Ryan loved each other, didn’t you?”

  “We did.” And she would always love Ryan. He was the one person who had never hurt her, except when he died. She knew it was unfair to keep him on a pedestal. He hadn’t been perfect, nobody is, but that was the one upside of death, wasn’t it? Those who were left behind got to hold onto wha
tever parts of their loved ones they chose.

  “You were so young,” Angela said.

  So young. God, how could twenty years have passed since then? But she had wanted to be a mother. She had wanted to know the unconditional love between a mother and baby. She wanted to start a family that would be hers forever. She wanted to prove that she was nothing like her own mother. And then Ryan died.

  “Will you tell me about my birth?” Angela asked.

  “Sure,” Casey said. “You were born at 5:03 AM. I had been in labor for about twenty hours. Deb and Rich were there with me. Deb cut the cord. She held you as soon as you were born.” Casey left out the part about how she wept when she wasn’t allowed to hold her daughter.

  “When I asked my mom about my birth story, she always told me that people are too interested in the gory details these days,” Angela said.

  “They probably are.”

  The two of them shared a smile. Casey felt the pit of tension in her stomach loosening slightly.

  “My aunt said my parents didn’t like you,” Angela said, and then she apologized. “Sorry, that wasn’t very tactful.”

  “It’s okay. It’s true. They thought I was the wrong sort of girl for Ryan.”

  “Were you?”

  Casey wondered how to answer. The Ellises were solidly upper-middle-class people with a big, new suburban home, and nice new cars. They vacationed on Martha’s Vineyard and belonged to a country club. She grew up with a mentally ill mother who couldn’t hold down a steady job and a Jesus-freak stepfather. But Casey had been a good kid. She did well in school, she never got in trouble, and she loved Ryan.