by Sarah Morgan
“Mom?” Jenna’s voice floated up the stairs.
“Up here.” Nancy cleared her throat and pulled herself together. If the girls had bad memories, then she’d find a way to put new ones there.
She heard the clatter of their feet on the stairs and they appeared in the loft room, so alike and yet so different.
Her girls.
For years she’d bracketed them with Tom. Because the three of them had spent so much time together, she’d been unable to separate them in her head. She’d allowed that feeling of being excluded to persist when they’d reached adulthood, but she saw now that if there had been a rift then, she’d been the cause of it. She’d been afraid that confessing the truth would drive them further apart, but it had brought them closer.
“You were supposed to wait so we could do this together,” Jenna said as Lauren put her bag down on the floor.
“You shouldn’t have done this on your own.” And then she noticed Alice. “Oh, you had Alice with you. That’s good.”
It was good, Nancy thought. Bringing Alice had been the right decision.
“There’s still plenty to do,” she said. “Getting this place habitable isn’t going to be easy. And that’s before we get started on The Captain’s House.” The thought of it should have exhausted her, but she felt energized. Instead of feeling defeated, she felt hopeful.
She felt like flinging open the upstairs windows and yelling, Do you see me, Tom? You didn’t crush me.
Lauren pulled out a sketchbook. “You’ve done a wonderful job of clearing out downstairs. It makes it easier to visualize everything. If three of us are going to live here we are going to need closet space, but I don’t want to overcrowd the rooms.”
“If it’s carpentry you need, then we should ask Scott.” Jenna strolled over to the canvases stacked against the wall. “He did a great job on the house.”
Lauren said nothing.
Nancy studied her daughter, noticing the shadows under her eyes.
It was still early days, of course, but they needed to do what they could to reduce those shadows. “I can’t ask Scott for any more favors.”
“You mean because Lauren told him you’re no longer selling the house?” Jenna glanced up from the paintings. “House sales fall through all the time, Mom. Fact of life. I’m sure he understood.”
“Not because of that. Because I owe him enough already.”
Lauren grabbed a bag and started clearing out the old coffee jar and other detritus that had been sitting gathering dust for years. “What exactly do you owe him, Mom?”
Nancy hesitated. She could have brushed it away. Scott wouldn’t say anything, she was sure of that, but it was as if her first confession had opened a door she couldn’t easily close.
Might as well empty the closets of all the skeletons, she thought.
Did it matter that Alice would hear?
No. It would probably be a good thing if she knew the truth.
“I owe Scott,” she said, “because he was there the night your father died. He helped me. Risked his life.”
Jenna paused with her hand on one of the canvases. “Risked his life how?”
“There was a hurricane—”
“We know. That was why the tree came down on his car.”
Nancy stared out the window, surprised by how vivid a memory could be. “The call came late afternoon. By then no one was on the water. Houses and business were boarded up. The ferry had stopped running hours before, and the airport was closed. There was no way to get to the mainland. I asked a couple of people if they’d take me, but they refused.” She remembered walking past the harbor and feeling the force of the wind tearing at her. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced. “Then I saw Scott. I knew him by sight. We’d never spoken. But everyone knew he was the best sailor around. I asked him if he’d take me to the mainland and he agreed.”
Lauren looked stunned. “In a hurricane?”
“I expected him to refuse. I wasn’t sure which of us was most crazy. I’ll never forget that crossing.”
“I remember that night.” Jenna said. “It was terrifying. When I called to check on you, you told me you were safe. I assumed that meant you were home. So Scott dropped you off and then came back to Martha’s Vineyard?”
“No. By the time we arrived, the storm was much worse. Maybe Scott thought he’d diced with death enough for one night, but I don’t think it was that. I think he didn’t want to leave me. His kindness is something I’ll never forget.” Nancy stared out over the sea. Today it was calm. It was hard to imagine it could ever be as angry as it had been that night. “Scott came with me in the cab to the hospital, and I was too pathetic and grateful for the support to send him away.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Jenna let the paintings fall back against the wall. “I hate the thought of you going through that alone. I would have been there for you, Mom. I would have gone with you.”
“And risk your life in that terrible storm? One dead family member was enough. And anyway, the police had already told me your father wasn’t alone in the car. I didn’t want you to know about that.”
She heard Alice make a small sound. Surprise? Shock?
Jenna crossed the room in two strides and wrapped her arms around her. “Mom—”
Alice sat down hard on the one chair in the room. “Oh, Nancy—”
Nancy leaned on Jenna, breathing in the soft floral scent her daughter always wore.
She was so affectionate, so warm, so like Tom.
No, not like Tom. Tom had used warmth as a snare, and affection as currency.
Jenna gave freely.
“Wait—” Lauren rubbed her fingers over her forehead. “Dad was with a woman the night he died?”
“Yes.” Nancy gave Jenna’s shoulder a squeeze and stepped away. “She worked in the hotel he often stayed in when he was off island. One in a long line of women who rode in that car with him.” She noticed that Alice’s face had lost all its color. “Are you surprised? You shouldn’t be. That was my Tom. That was who he was, although of course not many people knew that side of him. That was probably my fault.”
It had been her private shame and humiliation.
Maybe she should have hung him out to dry and let him deal with the fallout, but if she’d done that, her girls would have been hurt.
She felt Lauren’s hand on her arm. “Scott stayed with you that night?”
“Through all of it. The hurricane, the hospital, the police, arrangements to return the body to the Vineyard—We stayed in a motel and he listened to me storm and rage. He didn’t leave my side. Then he brought me home and we never mentioned it again.”
“And you never told anyone.”
“No. Tom died in the car the night of the hurricane. As far as anyone knew, he was on his own. It was considered a tragedy and half the island were at his funeral, but you know that part of course.”
She saw that Alice’s cheeks were wet.
Jenna must have seen the same thing because she rushed across with tissues. “Oh, Alice, you’re such a good friend. Mom is so lucky to have you. And Scott.” She turned to her sister. “Can you believe he did that for Mom?”
Lauren was staring into space, lost in thought. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I can.”
Nancy wished she knew what her daughter was thinking. “I wouldn’t have made it through that night without him.”
Lauren took a deep breath. “Is that why you were selling Scott the house? Because you felt you owed him?”
“I was selling because I needed the money and he was willing to pay my price. Scott never had a home of his own. I felt as if I was giving something back to him.” But in the end her feelings for the house had proved more powerful. It seemed that obligation and responsibility couldn’t be so easily overridden. She felt a twinge of guilt. Scott had been good
to her.
Family might be complicated, but not having one seemed a worse option to her.
Lauren was suddenly very quiet. It was Jenna who spoke.
“Will you be all right living here, Mom? I’m worried it will be hard for you. Not only because of the limited space, but the memories.”
It should have felt hard, but it didn’t.
Shedding secrets had lightened the load she’d been carrying. She felt ready to sprint forward with her life instead of trudging.
“It won’t be hard.” Nancy glanced down at the garden. She already had plans for it. They would need plants acclimatized to wind and salt. Instead of a lawn, she was going to have a wildflower meadow. Cosmos, poppies, daisies and lupines. She wanted to look out her window and see birds and butterflies. She’d call Ben and ask him to help. He had more knowledge about coastal planting than anyone, except perhaps herself. Together they could transform this small perfect patch of land into something as spectacular as the garden at The Captain’s House. It would be different, of course, but different was good. The thought of working side by side with him lifted her spirits. She enjoyed his company, his smile, his calm manner.
“I can’t believe the pile of stuff outside the house,” Jenna said. “I was worried we’d have a fight on our hands to persuade you to throw anything away. Did Alice do it for you?”
“No, I did it.” Nancy smiled. “It turns out it’s never too late to learn new skills.”
24
Lauren
Progress: to move forwards or onwards
towards a place or objective
The weeks passed in a blur of activity and while Lauren busied herself with clearing, sewing and painting, the island shook off the freezing cloak of winter and spring emerged. Forsythia bloomed, brightening the garden with a burst of gold, the streets grew busier and the air warmed.
On a sunny Wednesday in mid-April she was awake early and making cushions for one of the upstairs bedrooms when she heard the kitchen door open.
Jenna came in wearing shorts and running shoes. “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?” Lauren put the fabric down and rolled her shoulders to ease the ache. Her head hurt and her fingers hurt. “I’m ready for strong coffee, a hot shower or maybe even wine.”
“At six in the morning?”
“Is that the time? The hours are merging.” And she was using every one of them, partly because it helped to bury her emotions under layers of hard work, but mostly because she was enjoying thinking about something other than her own problems. “Why are you dressed in running gear?”
“Because I’m ready for our run.” Jenna picked up the fabric. “I love this color. Very beachy.”
“It’s for the master bedroom. What run?”
“The one we’re about to go on. I need to run off my stress.” She fiddled with the fabric. “Is Mom in?”
“Upstairs. Still asleep I think. Be careful with that. There are pins in it. What’s up?” She knew her sister well enough to know when something was wrong.
“I haven’t been sleeping.” Jenna handed the fabric back. “I keep thinking about Dad and all those women.”
“Me, too.” Lauren threaded a needle. “I’m trying to put it out of my mind.”
“Do you think it would have made a difference if we’d told Mom what we saw?”
Lauren shook her head. “None.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.” She stabbed the needle into the fabric. “Dad couldn’t help himself. Expecting him to ignore women would have been like putting an alcoholic in charge of a bar and asking him not to drink.”
“Did you know he had other affairs?”
Lauren focused on her sewing. “No. I didn’t know for sure. I suspected. I saw him at a couple of summer picnics, talking and laughing with women. He was a flirt.”
“I didn’t see that.”
“You were younger than me. You probably didn’t notice.”
“Has it changed the way you feel about him?”
Lauren snipped the thread. “Seeing him that night we were together changed the way I felt about him. When I wasn’t with him, I was always wary. Didn’t quite trust him. But when I was with him he always made sure we had so much fun I forgot that I didn’t trust him.”
“I was the same. And I feel guilty,” Jenna confessed. “I feel like I’m being disloyal to Mom by not hating him.”
“He was our dad. Little girls are allowed to love their dad even if he’s flawed. Mom wouldn’t want us to hate him.”
Jenna flopped down on the chair next to her. “You look exhausted. What time did you get up?”
“Five.” And she’d been upholstering a sofa until midnight. “Since when have you been a keen morning runner?”
“I will never be a keen runner at any time of the day, but that doesn’t mean I can’t run when I have to. I’ll run for cookies, I’ll run for ice cream and I’ll run for my sister.” Jenna waved her hand toward the door. “I’ll give you four minutes to get changed. I can’t be late for school.”
Lauren was touched. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I have a ton of things to do to get this place ready for the rental.”
“An hour out of your day isn’t going to make a difference. What’s all that?” Jenna frowned at the boxes stacked against the wall in the kitchen.
“That,” Lauren said, “is just some of the junk Mom cleared out yesterday.”
Jenna opened the box on top and peeped inside. “Dad’s trophies?”
“She’s taking them to the Goodwill store.”
“She opened up his man cave?”
“Not only did she open it up, she cleared it out.”
“And she didn’t seem upset?”
“She was energized. Once she started, there was no stopping her. I helped her. I think she found it cathartic.”
“A month ago, I never would have believed it possible.” Jenna closed the box back up. “So now we have a tenth bedroom.”
“I still need to clean it up and decorate, but yes. Eventually.” Would they get it all done in time? She’d been working nonstop since they’d agreed on their plan.
She’d thrown herself into the redecoration of The Captain’s House, relying more on creativity than cash. She spent her days trawling thrift stores and yard sales, and was consistently surprised by what people were prepared to throw away.
She bought wooden crates cheaply, painted them and used them as side tables in the children’s bunk room. She sewed pretty patchwork quilts for the beds in coastal colors, using scraps of fabric that had been discarded. She’d picked up an outgrown beach dress in bold blue-and-white stripe and used it to recover cushions in the garden room. She had to pay more than she’d planned for the perfect rug for the living room, but she’d found bargain lighting that had helped rebalance her books.
Every night at dinner she showed off her fabric finds to her mother and they discussed colors and textures. Her mother was painting the rooms, mostly in white to reflect the light and space. Lauren used the furnishings to add color.
She sewed late into the night and started again early in the morning. Their deadline hung over her. She knew she needed to get a few rooms finished so that they could photograph the house and advertise it, but she’d underestimated how long it would take to transform a house as big as this one. And they still had the Sail Loft to tackle.
“You’ve been busy,” Jenna said and Lauren nodded as she folded the quilt.
“It stops me thinking about Ed, and Scott. And takes my mind off worrying about Mack.”
Jenna grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table. “How is she?”
“Happier I think.” Which was a relief. Lauren wasn’t quite sure what had brought about the change and assumed it was school. She was too relieved to question it too close
ly. “We don’t talk much but she seems to have stopped treating me like the enemy.”
“That’s a start.” Jenna finished the apple. “Come on. It’s low tide. We can run along the beach.”
It had been years since she’d run along the beach.
Lauren was tempted. “A short one.”
They ran along the bike path that led between Edgartown and Oak Bluffs, and then dropped down to the beach.
The moment her feet hit the sand, Lauren found her rhythm. She wondered why she hadn’t done this before now. She’d forgotten it. Forgotten how much she loved it.
Her stride lengthened and her running shoes were virtually silent on the sand.
The fog that had shrouded her brain cleared. Her dark mood lifted.
Her mind focused on running and only running and it was a few minutes before she thought to glance over her shoulder, and realized she’d left her sister behind.
She turned and Jenna finally caught up with her.
“How can you be that fit when you’ve been sitting down for months?” She doubled over, panting. “I hate you.”
Lauren grinned. “I’ve done a lot of pacing.” She took a sip from her water bottle. “This was a great idea.”
“Glad you think so.” Jenna heaved air into her lungs. “I hate running. It’s boring.”
“Not when you run with someone.”
“Maybe not, but I wasn’t running ‘with’ you. I was in your slipstream.”
Lauren felt the wind feather her face and pull gently at her hair.
How was it almost May? It felt like yesterday that the police had knocked on the door, and yet it also felt like a lifetime ago. A different life.
The days had passed, hour by painful hour, and somehow while she’d been wrapped up in layers of wool and grief, the weather had become kinder. The wind had lost its bite and sunlight danced across the surface of the water. It was early spring, and the air was already filled with the promise of warmer months, of a lush hot summer, as if the Vineyard was stretching sleepily after a winter of hibernation.
Jenna stretched. “We should turn back or I’ll be late for school and my little monsters will be uncontrollable. I have to be ahead of the game.”
