by Susan Wiggs
“I’m not spending our money on lawyers, Faith,” he’d told her.
“We have to. We have to fight it. We—”
“Faith.” The immeasurable sadness in his eyes broke her heart. “There’s no point. I’ll be gone before they take action against me. Let me be with my girls. You’re my reason for living.”
The final blow came when Ruby was also diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.
The world stopped being fun anymore, even for Dennis. The complications of his illness piled up even faster than the bills. He was rarely able to walk, and he quickly went from cane to walker to wheelchair.
They spent the final week of his life at Camp Kioga on Willow Lake. The historic resort belonged to the Bellamy family, yes, those Bellamys, some distant great-uncle of Mason Bellamy. They were able to have a family holiday at the lake, thanks to a charitable initiative known as Cottage Dreams. The program offered a respite week in a lakeside cottage for families dealing with a devastating illness.
Faith remembered that time with a sweet ache of sadness. It was autumn, and in the final stages of his illness, Dennis summoned enough strength to get out of his wheelchair and take a short walk around the property. The two of them sat in Adirondack chairs on the deck, watching the confetti-colored leaves of autumn sprinkling down on the placid surface of the lake. Nearby, Cara and Ruby giggled and played on a swing hung from a huge, old maple tree.
There was something utterly perfect about that moment. Even now, Faith could still envision the deep autumn blue of the afternoon sky and the glance of the sun’s rays on the leaf-strewn water. The dry sighing sound of the wind through the trees stirred a colorful shower of falling leaves.
She could still feel the touch of Dennis’s hand as he reached over and laid it atop hers. She could still hear the smile in his voice as he said, “You were the best ride I’ve ever had, Faith.”
And that was saying a lot, because he rode everything. Blades, skateboards, bikes, scooters. Motorcycles were his passion.
His fingers were ice-cold. His ears and the tip of his nose had lost all color. She knew what was happening and realized he did, too. He must have seen the panic in her eyes the moment she grasped the significance of the moment.
“Don’t,” he said. “Just, maybe tuck that blanket around me.”
She did so with tears streaming down her face; then she tugged her chair up against his and laid her head on his shoulder. They sat listening to the sound of the wind through the trees and the laughter of their daughters, the sweetest music on earth.
“Should I tell them to come over?”
“No, my love.” His voice was faint and thready. “There’s no need. I just want to close my eyes and listen to them laughing. And if I’m being honest, I shall have to admit that in the end, I want you all to myself. Is that selfish of me?”
“No. Good God, no.” It took all her strength to resist rushing to the house, calling for help. They both knew it would only turn this inevitable moment to chaos and horror. “Take a breath, Dennis,” she said. “Feel my love. Feel the sunlight on your face.”
“Yes,” he said. “I feel it. I feel you.”
“Dennis, I can’t...” She bit her lip to hold back words of despair. But how would she go on without him?
“Now listen to me, Faith, and listen with all your heart. I’m not leaving you. I said I’d never leave, and I won’t. You have to believe that. The part of me that loves you will never die. Say you believe it, because I swear it’s true.”
“Yes, all right.” She could barely get the words out. She did, though, because she loved him so much that she would not worry him with her terror and her grief. “And you have to believe it, too.”
“Of course, love. Of course.”
Everything that needed saying had already been said, again and again through the months and years of his decline. She leaned over and kissed him. His breath was extremely shallow, his features already going slack. She kissed him; his lips were warm. Oh, my God, she thought, oh, my God, this is the last time I will ever kiss this man.
She held his hand for a long time, it seemed, the fingers cold and stiff, and she never quite grasped the precise moment of his death. At some point she looked up and saw that his eyes were open, but there was no other movement. And that was the moment she knew. He’d left with the gentle grace and silence of an autumn leaf slipping from a tree and blowing away on the breeze.
When she had sat down in the Adirondack chair only moments before, she had been a young wife and mother, just twenty-eight years old and at the beginning of the best part of life.
When she got up from the chair, she’d been a widow, about to embark on the struggle of a lifetime.
* * *
“I’m sorry,” said Alice, regarding Faith with new eyes. “And you and I both know that all the I’m-sorrys in the world will never make it better.”
“That’s true. I’m sure we both heard the same clumsy and even stupid things from well-meaning people. But it’s nice to hear a caring thought.” Faith discreetly dabbed a tear from Alice’s cheek.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“I’m glad you asked. I used to break down every time I had to explain my situation, but after a while, I started to like talking about him.” In her line of work, Faith had figured out that people tended to grieve the same way they loved. For Faith, that meant deeply, intensely and with all her heart. “In the end, Dennis tried to explain to me that a person is never really gone if you still think about him. If you can close your eyes and see his face, if you can hear his voice calling your name or the sound of his laughter, it means he still lives somewhere.” She paused, studying Alice’s face.
Alice gave no sign of understanding. “And you have no other family?”
“No. I never knew the man who fathered me. When I was little, I’d ask, but all Mama said was that he was her biggest mistake and she didn’t want to talk about it.” Faith had never liked that answer, because it meant she was the result of her mother’s biggest mistake. “She told me his name, but I didn’t pursue it. I couldn’t imagine what I would say to that person.”
“And your husband’s family?”
“I never met anyone from his relatives in Scotland. They weren’t close. He became a runaway at age sixteen. No one came to see him when he got sick. After he died, I wrote to his mother and aunt a few times, and they replied, but that tapered off. I think they were worried I’d come to them, looking for a handout.”
“Ah, that’s too bad. I’m glad you have your girls. I’ve heard it said that daughters are life’s reward for all the hard work and struggle. Do you believe that?”
“Of course. Cara has her issues, but she’s smart and tough, and I adore her.”
“You’re an admirable woman, Faith. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“And I’m sorry for yours.”
Alice was quiet for a few moments. Then she said, “I never told Mason this, but Trevor was still alive. That day, on the mountain. I couldn’t move, but I could see him. He was coughing up blood. I said I was sorry. I said I loved him. But I will never know if he heard or understood. He just coughed. The blood sprayed everywhere, all over the white snow.”
Faith tried not to wince at the image. At the same time, she wondered at Alice’s self-control. “I hope as time passes, you’ll remember all the wonderful things about your life together, not just that moment.” She got the sense that the Bellamys tended to protect each other—a practice that sometimes did more harm than good, because it meant hiding things that mattered. “Tell me about your daughter, Ivy.”
“I can do better than that. She’s coming to visit on her way to Paris.”
10
Ivy Bellamy arrived during a storm. Faith and Mrs. Armentrout watched from the window of the foyer as the car entered through the
gates and came around the circular drive, where windblown petals from the blossoming trees resembled a pink blizzard.
Donno, who had collected her from the station, jumped out with an umbrella, but she waved him off and made a dash for the front door while he brought in her luggage.
She laughed as Mrs. Armentrout helped her off with her coat. “Sorry. I’ve brought the rain inside.”
“Do you want to go to your room and freshen up?”
“Later,” Ivy said, and turned to Faith, offering a bright-eyed smile. “You must be the famous Faith McCallum.”
“I’m Faith. I don’t know about the famous part.”
“Well, your reputation precedes you. According to my brother, you’re a miracle worker.”
“He said that?” Faith felt a strange, little, unearned thrill, which she immediately squelched.
“Verbatim,” Ivy said, holding up her right hand. “Swear.”
“Let’s go find your mother.” Faith wondered what kind of reports Ivy had received from her.
Alice was in the solarium, where the French doors framed a view of the deck and the lake beyond. The storm came across the lake in great wind-driven gusts that bent the trees and lashed the windows. Inside, it felt cozy and warm, with a fire crackling in the big river-rock fireplace at one end of the room. Alice’s face looked pensive and immeasurably sad in the silvery light through the windows. Faith often found her like this—too often.
“There’s my gorgeous mother,” Ivy declared, rushing across the room to embrace her.
Alice showed a rare smile, and a light danced in her eyes. The sadness vanished like a shadow chased by sunlight. “Hello, gorgeous daughter. Welcome to the wettest place on earth.”
“I don’t mind a bit,” said Ivy. “All that Santa Barbara sunshine can get boring. I say, bring on the drama.” She grinned at Faith. “I like drama.”
“Your mother mentioned that. The two of you...look like sisters,” Faith observed. They both had fair skin and honey-blond hair, cornflower blue eyes and camera-ready smiles. “I bet you get that a lot.”
“Yes, we do,” said Ivy, “but she’s shorter.”
“Not funny,” said Alice.
“Okay, I’ll go back to hand-wringing and beating my chest.”
Faith liked her already, because of the way Alice lit up for her daughter. Faith liked Ivy even more when the girls got home from school and came in to meet her. Ivy didn’t bat an eye at Cara’s latest getup—slouchy pants with way too many grommets and shoelaces and straps, a Buckethead T-shirt, her hair in a messy bun—and like most people, Ivy visibly melted when she met Ruby.
“Second grade,” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together as she gazed at Ruby. “I loved second grade. My teacher was Mrs. Mary Beth Smith, and she smelled like breath mints, and for the last twenty minutes of every day, she let us draw pictures.”
“I like to draw,” said Ruby.
“I draw and paint for my job. I’m going to Paris for a year to study and get better at it.”
“You’re an artist?”
“That’s right. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be, and I’m lucky enough to get to do it every day.”
“I drew the garden plan.” Ruby grabbed a large sheet of paper from a drawer in the study and showed it to Ivy. “Your mom said what she wanted to plant, and I drew it all in rows. See? Sunflowers, strawberries, tomatoes... It’s going to be awesome.”
“A garden,” said Ivy. “What a great idea. It’ll be a first for my mom.”
“She didn’t want to at first, but I talked her into it,” Ruby said.
“Don’t boast,” said Faith. “Not until we’re eating your fresh berries and tomatoes.”
A crash of thunder shook the house. In one swift leap, Ruby ended up in Faith’s arms.
Cara rolled her eyes. Alice turned to her and said, “Let me guess. She’s afraid of thunder.”
“And lightning,” said Cara. “Not to mention her own shadow.”
“Mom,” Ruby complained. “She’s just mad because I know she has a secret crush on Leighton Hayes.”
“Shut up, brat,” said Cara, her cheeks turning red.
“Ivy just got here,” said Faith. “No bickering. Go do your homework and chores.”
“But—”
“Now, ladies.” Faith gave them the look that needed no further explanation. They were both familiar with it, and they both knew what it meant.
After they left, Alice shook her head. “Raising a girl is challenging, isn’t it?”
“I think raising any child is challenging,” Faith admitted.
“True, but I do believe it’s easier to raise boys.”
Despite Alice’s words, her bond with Ivy seemed far less tense than her relationship with Mason. Faith wondered why that was. And then she wondered if it was any of her business. Living with a client was tricky that way. The lines tended to blur.
Despite the stormy weather, it turned out to be one of Alice’s best days. Ivy’s presence kept her brightened up and engaged. Her usual undercurrent of sadness seemed a bit more distant. Faith and the girls had dinner with Alice and Ivy, as they did most days. Alice had decided that she didn’t like eating alone. Though she was sometimes brusque with the girls, she genuinely seemed to enjoy their company. Dinner was a feast of all Ivy’s favorites—macaroni and cheese, Caesar salad, fresh-caught trout from the lake and rhubarb pie for dessert.
“I’m mad for cheese,” Ivy said, adding more Parmesan to her salad. “It’s an addiction. Two years in France will be the death of me. The summer between my junior and senior years in high school, I worked in Paris, and I subsisted on baguettes, cheese and chocolate.”
“Where’d you work?” asked Cara.
“At an NGO—a nongovernmental agency—called AIDE. That stands for Alliance Internationale pour le Développement de l’Éducation. Its main sponsor is a foundation run by our father’s company, and we all got a chance to work there as teenagers.”
“Paris has always made me nervous,” Alice said. “Mason’s internship didn’t go so well.”
“In what way?” asked Faith.
“Never mind,” Alice said hastily. “He can tell you about it sometime. These days, he’s in charge of the sponsorship.”
“Teens come from all over to work there, and the organization provides funds for education in areas where it’s most needed,” Ivy said.
While Faith pondered Alice’s cryptic statement, Cara listened with rapt attention. Watching her daughter, Faith knew she was yearning to see the world. She hoped one day there would be a way for Cara to do that. The girl was just so smart and full of dreams. She’d always loved seeing new places, but the opportunities were limited. Ah, baby, I wish I could give you the world, thought Faith. Who am I kidding? I can barely scrape together the fee for a cap and gown.
“My dad’s company has an apartment in Paris where I lived that summer. It was near Rivoli, and to this day, it’s my favorite neighborhood.” She refilled her wineglass. “Who’s living there now, Mom? If it’s empty, maybe I could—”
“No,” Alice said sharply, her voice making everyone jump. She took a sip of her wine from a straw. “It’s not available.”
“I know that,” Ivy said. “I was just wondering who’s using it.”
“I don’t recall offhand,” said Alice. “Ruby, suppose you finish reading me The Phantom Tollbooth after dinner.”
“Okay. We’ve got one chapter left.” Ruby and Alice had taken to reading together in the evenings, and Faith loved it. Both Alice and Ruby shared a serious love of reading, and the little girl was delighted to have an audience.
Ivy lifted her glass. “Cheers to that. I loved The Phantom Tollbooth.”
“We’re going to read Charlotte’s Web next,” Ruby announced.
&n
bsp; “Another classic,” Ivy said. “My mom picks out the best books, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, but she’s bossy about it.”
“Ruby,” said Faith.
“I’m not bossy,” Alice said. “Just opinionated.”
* * *
“I’m keeping you up,” Ivy said after they had bade Alice good-night, and the aide helped her to bed. “I’m still on California time and wide-awake. Sorry.”
“I don’t mind,” said Faith. “Let’s sit by the fire.”
The wind had died down, and the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. They sat on the big leather chesterfield sofa, gazing into the flames.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t wait to escape,” Ivy said. “Your days are long, and Mom has never been the world’s easiest person.”
“I like her. We get along. I think your mother and I are going to do all right. And she’s great with the girls.”
“I can’t tell you what a relief it is to hear that. It’s been quite an ordeal, finding someone who can take charge.” Ivy’s tears came just as the storm had earlier, in a sudden copious flood. “Sorry,” she gasped between sobs, “it’s just been so hard, seeing her struggle and not knowing what to do.”
Faith went and got a box of tissues and the wine bottle from dinner, along with two glasses. “Just enough left,” she said, setting the wine and tissues on the coffee table in front of them.
Ivy availed herself of both. “Mason said you had outstanding nursing skills. He was right.”
“It’s very technical,” said Faith. She uncovered the candy dish on the coffee table to reveal a selection of chocolate truffles. “Voilà. A trifecta of therapy.”
Ivy sighed, helping herself to a chocolate.
“What else did your brother say about me?” Faith asked. Then she winced at the way that sounded, as if she were some junior high school girl wanting to know if a guy liked her.
“He said you were amazing in an emergency, and you’ve got a strong enough personality to deal with Mom.”
