Until you die, Bella added silently. Everyone dies. “Will you go to my grandfather’s funeral?” she asked. “I mean, whenever he dies.”
Her grandmother put her glass down abruptly and wiped at the water that had spilled on her chin. “Bella, what a question.”
“Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. It’s just . . . The question took me by surprise and, honestly, I don’t have an answer for it.”
Bella toyed with the rest of the chicken breast on her plate and managed to eat a few more snap peas before putting down her fork. “I remember the last time Dad and I went camping,” she said, staring down at the table. “It was a month before he died. It was still pretty cold, but we didn’t mind, even when it snowed for a while one day. It was an adventure. One night for dinner we had black beans with Monterey Jack cheese melted on top. It was the best. I remember Dad telling me about the Boy Scout camp he had gone to for a few weeks one summer, how this one leader had actually baked bread in a hole in the ground. He told me how he used to sneak out of his tent in the middle of the night and lie on his back so he could look up at the stars.”
“I guess he wasn’t afraid of bears and nighttime creepy-crawlies.”
Bella looked up from her plate. “I asked him that. He said he never even thought about the dangers because the sky was so pretty it filled him with a sense of awe. Those were his exact words. ‘A sense of awe.’ He said when he looked at the night sky he could almost believe in God.” Suddenly Bella pushed her chair away from the table and stood. She needed to be alone. She thought she would start screaming if she couldn’t be alone. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, and half ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the room she had shared with Ariel.
And there she cried hot, bitter tears for her father.
Chapter 35
Ruby had spent a good part of the morning thinking about that startling question Bella had asked the previous night at dinner. Bella was no longer a child, but she wasn’t yet an adult. Like all teenagers, even the most emotionally astute, she lacked a full understanding of how asking a certain question of a certain person might hit a nerve—in this case, asking Ruby Hitchens if she would attend her ex-husband’s funeral.
She had thought about Steve’s death before, of course, and had wondered how she would learn of his passing. If the phone calls stopped coming was she to assume that he was dead? There could be other reasons for Steve to cease communication, but with no access to him how would Ruby know the truth? The fact that he had denied her the opportunity—the privilege—of contacting him when she wanted or needed to had driven her to distraction in the early years. But over time Ruby had come to accept Steve’s oddities and the strange structure of their relationship, if not always to like it.
Now, Ruby thought, pouring herself a second cup of coffee, with Steve’s being in touch with Frieda, with his asking after his remaining grandchild, maybe she and Frieda and Bella would be allowed to share in his end. Only time would tell.
Ruby heard a car pull into the driveway. A few moments later her daughter joined her in the kitchen.
“Hey, Mom,” she said, placing a large leather tote on the table.
“Hey. I’ve hardly had a glimpse of you today.”
“I went to the library in York. This bag is stuffed with books, not my computer.”
Ruby smiled. “Your secret is safe with me. So, how was your evening with Jack? I’m sorry I didn’t get to ask you before now.”
Frieda sank into a chair at the table. “It was really nice,” she said. “It was . . . lovely, actually.”
“Do you want something romantic to happen between you two?” Ruby asked. “Sorry if that was blunt.”
“Honestly, Mom, I don’t know. He took my hand at the fair the other day—just to help me get up from where we were sitting under a tree—and it felt . . .” Frieda shook her head. “I just don’t know.”
“All right. So, what did you two talk about last night?” Ruby asked.
Frieda laughed. “What didn’t we talk about? We talked about memories of our childhood. We talked about Veronica’s final days. We talked about dating again. We seem to be able to talk about everything. There’s never an awkward break in the conversation.”
Ruby felt a stab of conscience. She and George hadn’t had a conversation that didn’t revolve around Frieda or Bella in what seemed like an age. And whose fault is that? she thought. Mine.
“How was your evening with Bella?” Frieda asked. “I didn’t see her when I got home last night and this morning she was gone before I came down for breakfast.”
“For one,” Ruby told her, “Bella wanted to know why her grandfather was reaching out to you now. I told her what little I know.”
Freda sighed. “And what you know isn’t much more than what I know. Dad apologized again for not having been more of a presence when Aaron and Ariel died. And then he said something strange. He said that even though he doesn’t deserve it he’d like if I acknowledged that he existed for me. He said he wasn’t asking to hear me say that I loved him, just that I acknowledged him.” Frieda shook her head. “I don’t really know what he means.”
“I can’t pretend to know, either,” Ruby told her. “Maybe over time the message will become clear.”
“Maybe. So, what else did you and Bella talk about?”
“We talked about Jack,” Ruby told her. “Bella wanted to know why you haven’t introduced her to him. It’s a valid question, Frieda. Is there a particular reason why you haven’t?”
Frieda toyed with one of the handles of her tote. “No,” she said. “Not really. There hasn’t seemed a good time.”
“Frieda,” Ruby said firmly, “no time is a good time to introduce a possible romantic interest to your child, especially in a situation like yours. If you think you might want them to get to know each other at some point you’re just going to have to bite the bullet and make the introduction. You don’t have to make a big deal of it. ‘Bella, this is my old friend Jack. Jack, this is my daughter, Bella.’”
“Do you think Bella wants to meet Jack?” Frieda asked.
Ruby hesitated. “It doesn’t matter what Bella wants,” she said carefully. “She’s the kid. You’re the adult. You’re the one in charge.”
“It’s different being in charge when it’s only you. It’s so hard. When Aaron was alive . . .” Frieda shook her head. “But he’s not alive.”
No, Ruby thought. He’s not. And that’s something we’re all still getting used to. “There was one other interesting note to the evening,” Ruby told her daughter. “Bella talked about the last time she and Aaron went camping. It was a lovely memory, but I think her telling me made her too sad for company. She left the kitchen abruptly. She had barely eaten half of her dinner.”
“Oh.” Frieda rubbed her forehead. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gone out last night.”
“I hope you’re not going to start wallowing in guilt again for attempting to move on.”
Frieda smiled wanly. “Start wallowing in guilt? I wasn’t aware I had ever stopped wallowing.”
“Bella’s memory of that last camping trip with her father has nothing to do with you or with me,” Ruby pointed out. “You’re not responsible for her remembering or forgetting.”
“But I am responsible for her otherwise.” Frieda sighed, rose, and hefted her leather tote. “Well, I’d better get to work. The sooner I’m done for the day the sooner I can get to these books.”
Life, Ruby thought when Frieda had left the kitchen, never stopped throwing you curveballs. When she had invited Frieda and Bella to spend the summer with her in Yorktide she hadn’t anticipated the reemergence of Steve Hitchens or the possibly romantic attentions of Jack Tennant. The men were complicating the lives of her daughter and granddaughter. Ruby could only hope that what seemed to be complications now would prove in the end to be benefits.
She could only hope.
Chapter 36
“Oh my God,” Clara said with a dr
amatic moan. “Do you hear that? I hate when she talks on her phone in the backyard. She’s so loud! All of my housemates are stupid, but Leah’s the stupidest.”
Bella, who could barely hear the voice that seemed to be annoying Clara, realized that she felt slightly claustrophobic in Clara’s crowded bedroom. She had never felt claustrophobic before, not even when she was seven and had gotten locked in that icky old outhouse at a school picnic, but something about the small room with its tiny windows, a room stuffed with relics of a dead relationship, made her want to run.
Before Bella could suggest they go somewhere, Clara suddenly got up from the bed and went to the dresser. There was a small metal box sitting there; Bella hadn’t noticed it before. Clara removed the lid and took out what looked like a fattish cigarette. Bella’s eyes widened. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that the fattish cigarette was a joint.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Clara asked, turning to Bella.
Bella shrugged, but she was taken by surprise. She had never actually been in the presence of someone smoking pot. Sure, she could recognize the smell; Kerri had pointed it out to her once when they were at an open-air festival along the Charles River in Boston, but that wasn’t the same as being face-to-face with someone smoking. Someone you considered a friend.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Bella said, watching as Clara lit a match and held it to the joint between her lips.
“I haven’t been smoking for long,” Clara said, waving at the smoke spiraling before her face. “It helps me feel better. Less, I don’t know, unhappy and anxious. Want a hit?”
“It’s not for me,” Bella said, putting up her hand. “But thanks.”
“I mean, why?” Clara blurted.
“Why what? Why don’t I smoke pot?”
“No, why won’t Marc talk to me? I was so good to him. I never argued with him. I did everything he wanted. I gave him gifts all the time. I baked cookies for him every Saturday.” Clara laughed bitterly. “He wouldn’t come near me at graduation. And when I tried to talk to him after the ceremony his parents and sister practically carried him away. He wouldn’t even look at me!”
“That must have been awful,” Bella said with sympathy.
“It was humiliating,” Clara declared. “I’m the laughingstock of my hometown. Too bad I didn’t have a pot source back in Whimsey Corner. I mean, I knew it was around; I just didn’t know how to get it.”
“By the way,” Bella asked, “where did you get it?”
Clara laughed. “It’s all over the place here! Marc would be furious with me if he knew I was smoking dope. He’s totally anti–drugs and alcohol. He doesn’t even drink beer.” Clara took another hit, held in the smoke for a bit, then swallowed. “I just don’t know why he had to humiliate me at graduation!”
An odd thought occurred to Bella. Could it be that Clara wasn’t telling the whole truth? Why hadn’t anyone rallied around her? Usually it was the person who was left people felt sorry for after a breakup, so why did Clara think she was a laughingstock? And why exactly had Marc ended the relationship? Clara hadn’t been clear on that. Maybe Marc had found out that Clara had cheated on him. If that was the case then Clara was lying about being madly in love with her boyfriend. Or had someone (who?) with a motive (what?) told Marc a lie about Clara? Or . . .
“Bella, are you listening to me?” Clara’s tone was demanding.
Bella coughed. The smoke from the joint was acrid. “What?” she said. “Oh yeah. I’m listening.”
“Good, because I was saying I wish you had a car.”
“Oh. I mean, why?”
“Duh, because then you could drive us around sometimes. Do you know how expensive gas is?”
“But we haven’t been anywhere together,” Bella said, confused and a little taken aback.
“I went to get gas yesterday after my shift and I could only afford a few gallons. It’s not fair.”
Maybe, Bella thought, if you hadn’t spent your money on pot you’d have had money for more gas. But she said nothing.
“And why do you wear that stupid bike helmet?” Clara suddenly asked with a harsh laugh. “It makes your head look huge. You look like a bug or something. You’d better watch out that someone doesn’t try to squash you.”
Bella felt slightly sick. She had no reply. Could you even reply to an insult?
Clara put the rest of the joint back into the little metal box, picked up her iPhone, and began to tap away with her thumbs.
“I guess I should go now,” Bella said, aware that her hands were shaking a bit.
Clara looked up from her phone for about a nanosecond. “What?” she said. “Okay.”
Bella left the cottage and fought back tears as she rode to her grandmother’s house. It wasn’t as if she were seriously bothered by Clara’s smoking. It was just . . . It was just that odd remark Clara had made about Bella’s not having a car. She had told Clara why she didn’t drive. Why she couldn’t drive. Had Clara forgotten? And why had Clara made that hurtful remark about her wearing a bike helmet? And it was just that things about Clara’s past didn’t seem to add up the way Bella thought they should. But who said that what she thought should be clear about Clara’s past actually would be clear? No one’s life made sense, not really.
Still, as Bella pedaled in the direction of Kinders Lane she couldn’t shake off a funny feeling that something, somewhere, just wasn’t right. Maybe it was the secondhand smoke.
Chapter 37
“Jack, that’s too funny!” Frieda laughed. “He really called you a whippersnapper? And a scoundrel?”
As Jack continued to regale her with the tale of his good intentions gone wrong with relation to an ancient and cantankerous man he had tried to assist at the grocery store, Frieda heard the front door open. A moment later Bella came into the kitchen. Her expression was hard to read, but it certainly wasn’t happy.
“I’ve got to go,” Frieda said hurriedly. “Fine. Bye.”
“That was Jack, wasn’t it?” Bella asked.
“Yes.” Frieda stuck the cell phone into her pocket. “As a matter of fact it was. Where were you just now?”
“Out. With Clara. You’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”
Bella’s accusatory tone was not lost on Frieda and she answered carefully. “Have I? I wouldn’t say it’s been a lot of time.”
Bella walked over to the table and gripped the back of one of the chairs. “You know you have,” she said.
“Well,” Frieda admitted, “maybe it has been a lot of time. We’re old schoolmates, Bella. Jack lost his wife and I lost my husband. We have a lot in common.”
“Not more than you had in common with Dad.”
“Maybe not,” Frieda said honestly. “I can’t answer that yet.”
“Yet?” Bella laughed and shook her head. “So you plan on seeing even more of him? I can’t believe I’m hearing this!”
“Maybe I’ll see more of him. I can’t say for sure.”
“You don’t tell me anything about what you two do together or what you talk about. Why have you kept him from me?”
Frieda recalled her mother asking her the same question and her own inadequate response. “I haven’t kept him from you,” she began. “It’s just that . . .” Why was this such a difficult question to answer? Was it that introducing Jack to Bella would make things more real than she wanted them to be at the moment? Was she just too frightened of taking a measurable step toward a new life?
“I know what’s going to happen,” Bella suddenly cried. “You’re going to get married to this guy and have another baby to make up for losing Ariel. Isn’t that what people do when they lose a kid, have another one to replace it? And where will that leave me?”
Frieda’s stomach clenched. She took a step forward, but Bella unleashed her grip on the chair and retreated closer to the door. “Bella,” she said, “stop it. You’re being totally unfair. I’m not going to have another baby for any reason, and certainly not to
replace Ariel. Nobody can replace your father or your sister. We both know that.”
“But what about getting married again?” Bella demanded. “Are you going to run off with Jack? For God’s sake, Mom, Dad’s only been gone a year!”
“I don’t know what exactly I’m going to do in the future, Bella, but I can guarantee I’m not going to run off anywhere or with anyone. I would never leave you; you have to believe that.” Again Frieda moved forward and again Bella backed away.
“How can I believe that when . . .” Bella shook her head. “If you keep seeing that guy I’ll . . .”
Frieda’s heart leaped with fear. “You’ll what, Bella?”
“I don’t know what I’ll do,” Bella said, her tone now strangely calm, “but it won’t be pretty, and believe me, you’ll regret it.”
“Bella, wait!” Frieda cried, but her daughter had already turned and stalked from the kitchen.
Frieda sank into a chair at the table. Her breath was coming fast. She was frightened. Kids committed suicide for far less than a mother moving on after the death of her husband. It hadn’t been smart keeping Jack from meeting Bella. If she had just introduced them as her mother had advised, plain and simple, none of this might be happening.
Why did Aaron have to die? Frieda thought, putting her hand to her forehead. Why did he have to leave me to live life all alone, making such stupid mistakes—
Suddenly her mother was in the doorway.
“I saw Bella just now in the upstairs hall,” Ruby said. “Her face looked like the proverbial storm cloud. Did something happen between you two?”
“It was nothing,” Frieda lied. She knew her mother didn’t believe her; she could only hope her mother wouldn’t press for a more honest answer.
Ruby went to the fridge and opened it. “I thought I’d make pasta with vegetables for dinner,” she said, removing a carton of assorted mushrooms.
“Okay,” Frieda said. “Mom? When I last talked to Dad he told me his mother was short on maternal feeling. Did he ever talk about his childhood with you?”
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