“Meggie, for Pete’s sake, suck in your stomach and stand up straight! How do you expect this dress to look right when you slump over like a sack of potatoes?” Grandmother scowled up at her with pins puckered in her mouth. She bent her blue-tinted head downward to adjust the hem, giving no apology as a sharp point scratched Meg’s bare legs. How was it that a day spent cutting back thorny blackberry bushes around the bog was nothing compared to Grandmother’s occasional pinpricks?
Finally Grandmother finished adjusting the hem and turned Meg around to view the results in the mirror. Meg wanted to rip the dress off and dash from the shop. Instead she stood and stared at the hideous garment. It was the most revolting shade of pink, which seemed to make her freckles stand out as if she had some tropical disease. The fabric itself was a stiff polyester that scratched her armpits. The waist was too tight, and the front poufed out over her undeveloped chest. The other shop ladies peered in as if sneaking a preview of a sideshow freak.
“There now,” said Grandmother. “That will do nicely for the Cranberry Dance.” Meg figured that in that dress she might pass for a gigantic underripe cranberry. She had been twelve that summer, and it was the first time she had ever gotten up the nerve to speak back to Grandmother.
“I don’t like it,” she said quietly, almost under her breath. “It doesn’t fit right, and it’s still too long.” The pinned-up hem hit her square across the knees, making her protruding legs look like two white stumps. She fought back the tears as she folded her arms across her chest and stood firm. Grandmother’s piercing pale blue eyes widened, and Meg felt certain she saw those nostrils flare.
“Well, if it doesn’t fit right, it’s because you’re just too fat. And with those legs, I can’t imagine why you’d want it any shorter.” Grandmother turned on her heel and huffed off. Meg peeled off the dreadful garment and dumped it into an ugly pink pile. Anger replaced tears as she marched out of the shop, slamming the door behind her.
As she recalled, she’d never entered the shop again—until today.
She walked back to where the dressing rooms once had been. The partition was gone now, and the dressing rooms had vanished. Clean white walls stood in their place, providing a nice backdrop for Sunny’s collection of artifacts. The high ceiling was painted flat black and seemed to disappear, except for the bright spotlights that were aimed perfectly at paintings and artifacts. Yes, Meg had to admit that Sunny still had that special flair. Sunny, who had been completely hopeless at housekeeping—their kitchen could have been a health inspector’s nightmare—had always kept their house looking, well, interesting. The decor had consisted of a little bit of everything: dusty peacock feathers in hand-thrown pots, macramé wall hangings, beaded curtains in the doorways.
Meg glanced around the gallery. It was immaculate. Suddenly the old anger churned within Meg—why hadn’t Sunny been more of a mother back then? If she had only kept their home half this nice, maybe they would have avoided some of those ridiculous fights. But in those days, Sunny’s life had always been on the edge, and often completely out of control.
“Sigfried, I’m back,” called a woman’s voice. “Tell me again why I offered to chair the Crandale Tourism Committee. Those people are insane! They think that cranberries alone will bring the tourists to town.” She laughed.
Meg caught her breath, and her stomach constricted. Sunny’s voice sounded the same, yet it was different. It had the same dramatic, well-enunciated tones, but there was some slight change, softer perhaps. Meg froze, pretending to study a woven wall hanging from Nepal, her back to them, as Sunny continued on about the meeting of the Crandale Tourism Committee. At last she paused, and the gallery grew silent except for the small fountain bubbling in the corner and the background music, which had changed from Mozart to Vivaldi.
Heels clicked toward Meg across the polished wooden floor. She felt trapped. I’m a grown woman, she told herself, taking a slow, deep, breath. This is a public place; I have every right to be here.
“May I help you?” Sunny’s tone was warm and friendly, a voice probably reserved for strangers—potential customers. Meg slowly turned and faced her. She watched her mother’s expression with some satisfaction; it was like having the upper hand. She waited for that shocked moment of revelation when Sunny recognized her own daughter. Meg had already imagined what the reception would be—very controlled and civilized. Sunny’s head cocked to one side in obvious puzzlement, then lit with amazed recognition.
Without warning, Sunny burst into sobs, grabbing Meg and holding her tightly. To Meg’s astonishment, she followed suit. Then almost as quickly, they both stopped crying, stepped back, and with embarrassment, dabbed their eyes and noses.
“My dear Sigfried,” explained Sunny to the bewildered man at the counter, “this is my own little Meggie, my prodigal daughter come home. I haven’t seen her in—well, forever, it seems. Can you mind the shop while we go for a cup of tea?” Sigfried nodded dumbly with wide eyes, and Sunny ushered Meg out the door.
They walked silently down the street until they came to what used to be the Gull’s Nest Hotel, now transformed into what looked like a turn-of-the-century tearoom and restaurant. The sign above said Victoria’s. Meg mulled over the term prodigal daughter as they were seated. It wasn’t as if she’d run off with the family jewels; actually, she had left with nothing, and everything she had today she had earned herself.
Sunny poured a steaming cup of tea for Meg, then another for herself. She picked up the delicate china cup and slowly sipped, her gaze on Meg, a faint smile playing across her mouth. Her hair was still platinum blonde, and her eyes were the same deep green, which made Meg feel—rather uncomfortably—as if she were staring into her own eyes. Right now those eyes were focused tightly on Meg’s.
“Well, Sunny, you haven’t changed much,” Meg began, forcing herself to push away her childish reaction to her mother’s “prodigal daughter” comment. It suddenly seemed strange that she and Erin had never, not even as children, called Sunny “Mom.” It had seemed normal then, but for some reason it now struck her as odd, or dysfunctional, as her therapist would say.
Sunny set down her cup with a clink and shook her head. “Well, I sure can’t say the same for you, Meggie.” She stared openly, and Meg felt her cheeks grow hot, an irritating habit she hadn’t experienced for years. Meg suspected it might be a compliment, but one never knew for sure with Sunny.
“Well, I guess I’ve lost a few pounds since I last saw you.”
“It’s more than that, Meggie. Your hair has gotten darker. It used to be so—so red. Now it’s more auburn. And it looks softer in that shoulder-length style—much more flattering than those ponytails you used to wear.”
“Thanks,” said Meg. “I guess.”
“And you look, well, older.” Sunny laughed.
“After all, it’s been nearly twenty years.”
Sunny slowly shook her head. “Twenty years since Daddy died? Really? I remember it like yesterday. Just doesn’t seem like it… Where does the time go?” She stared absently across the room, as if looking across time. Her eyes were misty, and Meg noticed how the skin on Sunny’s neck sagged a little. She was very thin, maybe too thin, and the wrinkles around her eyes were deeper, but Meg thought Sunny looked pretty good for a woman of sixty.
“Erin wrote me about Grandmother. That’s why I’m here, Sunny. How is she? Grandmother, I mean.” Meg feared she might be too late; perhaps Grandmother was already dead and buried.
“She’s still hanging in there. That woman is amazing. She had a case of pneumonia last December, and the doctor didn’t expect her to pull through, what with her heart and all. But here it is March. Not that I want her to kick the bucket, mind you. But you know Grandmother, strong until the end.” Sunny laughed.
Meg could think of no response; she just stared woodenly as Sunny pulled out a silver cigarette case.
“Yep, I still smoke, Meggie. It’s always been my personal guarantee that I’ll never grow to be
as old as Mother. Well, that and skydiving.” She laughed again, then took a long drag and blew it over her shoulder. The ladies at the next table glared their way, and one of them cleared her throat loudly in an obvious hint.
Meg’s face burned in humiliation, just as it had when she was a kid. Sunny had always embarrassed her then. She could always say or do something totally out of the realm of what Meg considered normal. Meg fingered the linen napkin in her lap, reminding herself she was no longer a little girl. Then to her surprise, Sunny glanced at the next table and quickly snuffed out the cigarette in her saucer.
Meg stared in amazement for a moment before speaking. “I thought I might visit Grandmother, if you don’t think it’ll upset her.”
“No, you go ahead. Who knows, she might even want to see you.” Sunny laughed again. “It might do her good to see how her little duckling grew into a lovely swan after all.”
Meg looked at this strange woman—her mother—and wondered why she couldn’t simply give a sincere compliment without disguising it beyond recognition. Well, she would do better than that.
“Your gallery’s very nice, Sunny. You’ve done a fantastic job with it. Erin mentioned once that you’ve been successful.”
Sunny smiled, then frowned. “Sounds like you’ve been in touch with your sister quite a bit. What is it—some sort of conspiracy against me? Erin never speaks a word of you, even when I ask. For all I knew, you were dead, Meggie.”
Meg studied Sunny’s expression, trying to discern if she really cared or if it was just theatrics. “I made Erin promise not to mention where I was. We only exchanged cards at Christmas or an occasional birthday, and never anything personal.”
“Why, Meggie? Why in the world did you cut out like that? Not a word, nothing. And why have you suddenly come back, unannounced like this, especially after all this time?” Sunny examined Meg closely. “You don’t appear to need money… What’s going on, Meggie?”
“I go by Meg now.” She stared down at her tea, swirling the golden liquid around in her cup. Suddenly she felt tired. “I don’t really know, Sunny. Not exactly. I think it’s just time to mend some fences. I never meant to cut the ties so completely—but I was hurt.” There, that was honest. That was mature.
“You were hurt? What about me? What about your grandmother?” Sunny’s voice rose. Like a little child, Meg suddenly wanted to cover her ears and run from the room. The ladies at the other table simply stared at the spectacle Sunny created. But Sunny had never minded scenes; she always spoke her mind freely. And she’d always enjoyed being the center of attention—any kind of attention.
Suddenly Sunny came to a halt. “I’m—I’m sorry, Meggie.” She smiled faintly. “Here you are, back home after all these years, and I’m lecturing you.”
Meg could hardly believe her ears. Was this Sunny? Apologizing? She decided to pick up the conversation where she’d left off. “I was just a kid,” she explained. “A confused kid. I never wanted to hurt anyone.” Part of her wanted to shout, “I just needed someone to love me!” But those words were better left locked inside.
“Oh, let’s just forget it, Meg. See there, I called you Meg. It’s all just water under the bridge now, anyway. Why don’t we move on? And you know, honey, I really am glad you’re here.” Sunny reached across the table, smiling, and touched Meg’s arm.
Part of Meg agreed. She, too, longed to bury the past, just as she’d done for the last twenty years. But another part of her resisted. That little girl inside still cried out with the pain of old wounds. And she knew that being back in Crandale would probably rip open a whole lot more.
THREE
Grandpa’s house was a sad disappointment. The paint was peeling; the porch sagged, its roof was nearly gone; broken spindles gaped from beneath the warped handrail like missing teeth. The yard, once so full of life and color, was now filled with weeds.
Meg slowly climbed the decrepit steps, mourning the deterioration of Grandpa’s house almost as much as she’d grieved over his death. Seeing the old Victorian in such a state was a harsh reminder that he truly was gone, and had been for some time. She’d never really thought of him as gone before. In her childhood memories, he still lived in his house, painted his porch, and flipped cranberry hotcakes high into the air. Today it all seemed dead, with nothing left to remind her of those happier times. She sat down on the top step, and for the second time that day, tears came, hot and wet, streaking down her face. Why hadn’t she realized things could never stay the same?
“Hello?” called a small, dark-haired woman from behind the sagging screen door. “Excuse me, can I help you?”
Meg looked up and wiped her nose. “I suppose you must be Rosa. My mother, Sunny, told me about you.”
“Oh, yes. And can it be—you are Meggie? All grown up now? I see your picture upstairs in your grandpa’s room. You were a little girl then. But your grandma, she never talks of you.” Rosa stepped out on the porch and frowned. “Is something wrong, Meggie? Why do you look so sad?”
“It’s okay, Rosa. I’m just feeling a little emotional. It’s been so long since I’ve been back—”
“Rosa,” called a voice from inside. “Who’s out there?”
Rosa looked at Meg. “You want for me to tell her?”
“No, why don’t you let me.”
Rosa held the door open, and Meg walked in. To her surprise, it looked almost the same inside as it had when she was a child. Other than some missing pieces of furniture, it was as if she were Meggie again and Grandpa would pop around the corner with a hot loaf of his famous cranberry bread.
“Who’s there?” demanded Grandmother shrilly. Meg entered the dimly lit bedroom. It was the same room that Grandmother had slept in when Meg was a girl. Meg stood cautiously in the doorway, wondering what to say. Would Grandmother even want to speak to her? She glanced around the room. Most of the massive cherry bedroom furniture was gone, and in its place was a hospital bed and some other clinical-looking items.
“Hello, Grandmother,” she began timidly. “It’s me, Meg. I’ve come to see you.”
Grandmother blinked slowly, then stared intently with wide pale eyes. She looked so small and vulnerable in that bed, nothing like the sharp grandmother of Meg’s memory.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack, girl? Is that really you, Meggie? What do you want?” she demanded in a quavering voice.
Meg didn’t know what to say, but she drew closer to the bed, leaning over so Grandmother could see her better. This wasn’t going to be easy. “I just came to visit you, Grandmother. I saw Sunny today, and I thought I’d come see you, too. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Humph. Fine thing. You stay away all these years, then come trotting back without a single word of warning. You might have killed me with the shock.”
“I’m sorry, Grandmother.” Meg stood transfixed, studying her grandmother’s wrinkled white hands. The blue veins showed clearly through the translucent skin. In an odd way it was almost beautiful. Finally, Meg pulled a straight chair closer to the bed and sat down.
“I heard you weren’t well, Grandmother. I thought I should come while I had the chance. I hoped we could—you know, mend our fences, so to speak.”
“Well, what the devil took you so long?”
Meg shook her head, searching for words.
“You should have come back ages ago, Meggie.” Grandmother’s tone softened.
“You’re right, Grandmother. I’m sorry.”
Grandmother’s blue eyes were much lighter than Meg recalled, and now they stared at Meg as if seeing her for the first time. Then Grandmother smiled faintly.
“My, my, Meggie, you’ve blossomed into a handsome young woman. How old are you now?”
“Thirty-seven,” answered Meg quietly. They were the first words of praise she could remember Grandmother ever speaking to her. “But I’m not exactly a young woman.”
Grandmother’s laugh sounded like the squawk of an old hen. “Depends on where you’re st
anding, Meggie. I remember when I was thirty-seven. Bennie was in school, and your mother still in diapers. I waited too late to have Sunny—almost killed me, too. Having babies after thirty is no picnic, I can tell you. But I was a businesswoman—probably never should’ve had a family. It was Stewart’s idea to have children, not mine. Do you have any children, Meggie?”
“No, I’ve been too busy with my career. I’m not even married.” She scooted her chair closer. “I guess I’m a little like you.” Meg smiled. It was the first time she’d actually made this connection, but she supposed it was true.
“What, no beaus or anything?”
“Well, I just broke off an engagement.” Meg hadn’t meant to disclose this little tidbit, but for the first time in her life, she felt an odd sense of kinship with Grandmother. What would it hurt to tell the old woman?
“Tsk, tsk. Well, you know what they say—there’s lots of fish in the sea.” Grandmother leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Meg wondered if she had worn her out and started to rise.
“Don’t go, Meggie.” Grandmother’s hand reached up. “I’ve had too much time to lay here and think. I rarely get a chance to visit. Rosa just shuffles in and out with hardly a sentence out of her. Besides, there’s a few things I still need to say to you. And I believe there’s some things you may need to say to me.”
Meg figured that meant a full apology. She had never been good at apologies, but somehow, knowing that Grandmother might not be around for long made it a little easier. Maybe that’s what everyone needed—deadlines. Just enough time to get things right. Maybe people would treat each other better.
“Yes, Grandmother, I did come to tell you I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all those wicked things I said after Grandpa’s funeral. I was so upset right then. But I know I was way out of line.” She looked at Grandmother, whose lips were pressed tightly together as if waiting for Meg to finish. What more was there to say? Did Grandmother want her to beg for forgiveness? “And, Grandmother, you must admit you and Sunny said some pretty mean things to me, too.”
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