by Gail Cleare
Her mind flashing with suspicion, Nell opened the door. Sure enough, there sat the white Ford Taurus that Mom had supposedly sold a year ago. She walked around to the rear end of the car. It sported a green-and-white Vermont license plate.
Mom had apparently been a very naughty girl, running away from home and driving when she had promised not to ever get behind the wheel of a car again. Nell wondered what else her mother had been up to.
She was seeing her mother in a whole new light. No longer the perfectly open, perfectly innocent, perfectly honest woman who’d taught Nell and Bridget to always do the right thing, she had transformed in Nell’s mind into… what?
Nell frowned and shook her head, hearing the final loud gurgles of the coffeemaker as it finished its cycle. As she walked back into the kitchen, a faint scratching came from across the room. Imagining raccoons under the porch or squirrels in the walls, she froze and listened. The noise came again, accompanied by a faint whine.
She went to the back door to see a small white dog outside, staring up at her with a worried expression. He twitched when she caught his eye, and he ran over to the bushes to lift his leg, looking at her all the while. Then he ran back and sat down again. He raised his paw as if to knock and scratched the screen.
Nell unlocked the kitchen door and opened it. The dog stood up and wagged his tail, reaching out to snag the edge of the screen door with his paw. Flipping it open with a practiced gesture, he trotted into the kitchen, a distinguished senior stiffness in his gait. He headed around the end of the counter, where Nell noticed a small bowl of water sitting on the floor.
“Hey, boy, who are you?” Nell spoke to him in soothing tones as he drank, crouching to let him sniff her hand. It was a Westie, the white version of Toto from The Wizard of Oz, Mom’s favorite movie. Nell turned his collar around to catch hold of the tag, which read, “WINSTON. I belong to: M.E. Reilly, 27 Lakeshore Drive, Hartland, VT.”
“Winston?” Nell said, and he sat, looking up at her. She stroked the dog’s head, and he smiled, revealing his canines. “Looks like you’re my long-lost baby brother, eh?”
He raised one paw and offered it to her, a trick Mom had taught to all their dogs. Nell shook his paw then followed the meaningful look he sent toward a cookie jar on the counter, which turned out to contain dog biscuits. Breaking one in half, she discovered he knew how to sit up as well.
“Have you been shut outside all this time, since last night?” Nell stroked his silky head. “Poor fella. You must be starved.”
How on earth had Mom taken care of a dog? What had she done with him when she was away? Her pet-sitting bills must have been astronomical.
Nell stood up to search the cupboards for dog food, but when she found it and turned back around, the dog was gone. Calling his name and whistling, she looked into the living room and then went on down the hallway to the den. He was curled up on the couch, lying on a fleece pad. A footstool was drawn up nearby, and a pair of reading glasses sat on the lamp table. A bag with knitting needles sticking out of it was tucked next to the couch on the floor.
This must be where they snuggled. Nell sat down in her mother’s seat next to Winston and petted him. When she lifted her eyes, she discovered why there hadn’t been any photos in the other rooms. Her mother’s gallery of loved ones covered the wall behind the television. Nell stared at the images with an odd mixture of reassurance and resentment.
Framed pictures of Nell and Bridget as children, pictures of Daddy, of Grandma and Grandpa, and of Mom and Aunt Kate in matching dresses. Pictures of Nell’s kids, lots of them, at all ages. Bridget with her second husband, wearing a beret and standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. Nell’s wedding portrait, yellowing, and a shot of her with David on their tenth anniversary. Their entire family history was spread out before her.
The sight of those familiar faces shocked Nell, as though they didn’t belong in the house. Or as though she didn’t. The confusion and anxiety returned, and she felt her throat tighten.
Then she noticed two unfamiliar pictures. The first was a black-and-white photo of Mom and Dad at a bar with some of his navy buddies, circa 1960s. Mom looked great in her army nurse’s uniform, and Dad was young and handsome in his pilot’s uniform. The shot had obviously been taken when they both served with the armed forces during the Vietnam War. Everyone was holding up their glasses in a toast and smiling at the camera. A neon sign on the wall behind the bar said, Honey’s.
The second photo was more mysterious. Directly above the TV, in a central place of honor, hung a faded color photo of Mom standing on a dock by a sailboat with some people whom Nell had never seen before, a man and a woman.
The man stood in the middle with an arm around each woman, a shock of silvered dark hair above the sunglasses and full, shaggy moustache. He looked tall, strong, and handsome and had a big white smile. The other woman was about Mom’s size, with a sweet expression and curly brown hair. The unknown couple appeared to be in their fifties or so, and Mom looked slightly older. Her blond hair was already mostly white.
Who are these people? Nell got up to take the picture off the wall and examined it. She could make out the red front door of the cottage in the distance behind the entrance to the dock and noticed a furry white face peeking out from under her mother’s arm.
“It’s you, Winston, isn’t it? When you were a puppy.” She sat down again to stroke the dog. He flipped over onto his back, begging for a tummy rub.
They appeared to be at the lake across the street from Mom’s cottage. Maybe they were neighbors, friends. Maybe they still lived here and could tell her what was going on. Nell slid the cardboard backing off the picture and pulled the photo out of the frame. On the back was a time-and-date stamp. The photo had been printed fourteen years earlier.
Mom was here fourteen years ago. How could that be?
Daddy was still alive then, struggling with Alzheimer’s. He was living at home, and Mom was still caring for him by herself. She had to feed him, dress him, bathe him, and help him go to the bathroom. He was anxious all the time, and Mom was exhausted. It was a hard time for everyone. Soon afterwards, Daddy had a stroke and moved into hospice care.
She remembered bringing her family for Christmas that last holiday. He hadn’t known their names or who Nell was. Ben was on his knees scooting little cars around on the kitchen floor while she and Mom made dinner, and David was absorbed in the news on television. Daddy sat at the table, watching from the quiet end of the room.
“Hey you, girl,” he called to Nell. “You… with the pretty face.” He smiled at her lovingly, struggling to find the lost words.
“Yes, Dad. It’s me, Nell. Your daughter.” She went over to give him a hug.
He looked startled but smiled.
“Your little boy…” he whispered. “He’s just, just… great.”
“Thanks, Dad.” She patted his shoulder.
He winced as though it hurt. She pulled her hand back, upset. He looked angry for a moment, then he gazed at her blankly as though she were a total stranger.
“Don’t worry,” Mom had said from across the room, where she was peeling carrots at the sink. “He still loves us.” She was leaning against the edge of the counter as if too tired to stand without support, her hands at work under the running water. “He can’t remember what he was trying to say. It makes him grouchy. Must feel like hell.”
Nell nodded but still felt unhappy.
Thomas watched Ben play and caught Nell’s eye. Awareness flashed in his expression again for a moment.
“Pretty face…” he whispered, smiling.
Then he was gone again, and there was nobody home inside. Nobody was behind those sparkling blue eyes that used to light up whenever she entered the room. She’d been his favorite, the one who always did was she was told. The one who tried so hard to be perfect.
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br /> That was one of many times during his illness when Nell caught a glimpse of the man who’d raised her, only to lose him again moments later. A living death had snuck in and stolen his true self away, leaving behind an empty body that looked like her father. The real man popped in and out, appearing less and less often as time passed. The family had to mourn his loss over and over again.
By the time her father left his body permanently, Nell could understand why people sometimes said that death came as a blessing. In his case, the actual person had died long since, though his husk withered ever so slowly.
Thomas Reilly had been laid to rest on a cloudy day in November when a Canadian cold front filled the cemetery with swirling snow flurries that unhooked his spirit from the flesh at last, blowing it free to find the next adventure.
Nell sat on the sofa, stroking Winston, and reached for a fresh tissue in the lamp table drawer, where she knew the box would be. She tried to put everything together in her mind but couldn’t make sense of it. Should she call David? Bridget? What she really wanted was to talk to her mother, but that was impossible.
Her temples throbbed as the headache began to return. Checking her watch, she figured there was at least another hour before Mom would be awake. Maybe a shot of caffeine would help.
She poured herself a mug of coffee and poured kibble for Winston. The dog munched slowly, not ravenously as she’d expected. Going to the back door, Nell looked into the yard, thinking he might have a doghouse out there.
That was when she noticed the little path. A rose arbor adorned the back of the lawn, an archway leading out through the perennial border. A slight thinning of the grass between the arbor and the back door revealed that feet, or paws, had traveled the route many times.
Nell went out the screen door and let it swing shut behind her. As she lingered on the stoop, sipping her coffee, and peered to see what was beyond the arbor, the door slammed again. Winston trotted out from behind her and headed straight across the lawn, stopping at the arbor to look back over his shoulder as if to say, “Aren’t you coming?” Then he went through the arch and disappeared into the woods.
“Winston. Come,” Nell called, putting down her cup to run across the lawn. Having rescued him, she didn’t want him to run off even if he seemed to know where he was going.
On the other side of the rose arbor, the path led into the woods. The dog was heading along it fast, tail up and full of confidence. Nell ran after him. It was dark and gloomy under the trees, and the way was slippery with fallen pine needles. She wondered if she ought to leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind just in case. Did they have wolves or bears or coyotes in the mountains? Probably so. She called Winston again, but he hurried into the thick bushes with his white tail waving like a flag.
As she came around a big maple tree, the woods opened up into a wide clearing. A rickety old shed, a partially stacked woodpile, and the tumbledown back porch of a peeling old white farmhouse came into view.
Winston was obviously familiar with the neighbors. He ran right up onto the back porch and barked outside the door. Nell realized that was the sound she had heard earlier in the day. He’d been asking to be let in since nobody was home at Mom’s house. Apparently, nobody had been home here either.
A filthy old blue truck sat in the driveway, and the kitchen door stood open. Nell could see a red Boston Red Sox baseball cap and some bags of groceries sitting on the kitchen counter. A radio blasted music out into the yard. She walked boldly up the back steps, dodged a stinky garbage can filled with empty beer bottles and buzzing flies, and knocked on the screen door.
“Hello? Anyone home?”
Nell and Winston waited, the dog panting. She straightened her shirt and tucked her hair behind her ears.
A tall man with shaggy white hair appeared at the door. Rugged, with a barrel-chested build, he appeared to be in his sixties. He needed a shave, and the plaid flannel shirt had a torn pocket. Its ragged tails hung down over stained, greasy jeans. Despite all that, he was still handsome enough to give her a glimpse of what he’d been like as a young man.
He frowned when he saw her, and he opened the screen door to let the dog in but closed it again quickly with Nell still outside. He looked at her through the transparent wire mesh that protected them from one another. His eyes were wide and wild, like a scared animal.
“You must be Nell,” he said in a gruff voice. “Saw your picture over at Ellie’s house.”
Nell wondered who this “Ellie” was and thought she might have seen the man’s picture too. He looked like an older version of the guy standing in front of the sailboat, with a whiter moustache.
“Yes, I’m Nell Williams.” She shaded her eyes with her hand. “I don’t know your name?”
“Jake Bascomb.” He still frowned.
“Winston ran over here. I was trying to get him back.”
“He’s okay.” Jake started to turn away.
“I was just… that is, I wonder if I could ask you a few questions.”
“About what?” He looked at her with eyes flashing, like a horse about to bolt.
“I had no idea that Mom was… up here.” Nell smiled in what she hoped was a charming way. “She’s very sick, you know. I’m worried about her.”
“Yeah.” His expression softened.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
He hesitated but held the door open. “Come on in.”
Nell looked up as she passed him, intimidated by his size. At least six foot four inches tall, he towered over her. With that powerful chest and those thick, muscular arms, he could easily have tossed her across the room. She scooted into the kitchen and turned to face him.
“Who is Ellie? Another neighbor?”
“Ellie? That’s your mother, you know, Mary Ellen. That’s what we call her.”
So Mom even has a special name up here at her secret getaway spot. Nobody ever calls her Ellie. It’s always Mary, or Mary Ellen. Nell suppressed an annoyed grimace. Wasn’t Mom’s real life good enough? Why did she need to get away from it? Why did she have to change her name?
The feelings Nell had experienced earlier surged again, making her palms sweat and her chest tingle. She pushed them deeper inside.
Jake waved her over toward the kitchen table, where Winston watched from a wicker dog bed underneath. He seemed equally comfortable in Jake’s house as he had at Mom’s. His home away from home. That explained who had been caring for him when Mom was out of town. No kennels or pet sitters required. He had two lives, too, just like Ellie.
Nell clenched her jaw and heard her teeth grind.
“Got to stow these provisions.” Jake turned his back on her and reached for one of the grocery bags. “Give me a minute.”
She sat down at the table, which was littered with magazines, newspapers, piles of unopened mail, and dirty dishes. The whole room was a mess. A fly buzzed at the window, and a puddle of something brown, sticky, and disgusting had spilled on the table. Across the room, the trash can was piled high with several empty liquor bottles poking up out of the detritus. The nauseating smell of rotten vegetables, wet cigarette butts, and Scotch wafted over to her. Noticing the sharp contrast between Jake’s style of housekeeping and her mother’s immaculate cottage, Nell doubted whether Mom could possibly have spent much time over here. Not recently, anyhow.
A faintly nautical theme dominated the furnishings of the room, with a large oil painting of a sailboat hanging on the wall by the door. Jake himself looked tanned and windswept, and she guessed he must spend a lot of time out on the lake, perhaps fishing and probably drinking. She watched as he put the groceries away, turning to scrutinize her every few seconds as though she might be doing something depraved behind his back. His bloodshot blue eyes were ringed with downturned creases that looked as if he’d spent many days squinting into the sun and m
any nights crying into his beer.
Jake got two glasses out of a cupboard and filled them with cold water from the tap. He placed one in front of her and sat down across the table.
“Drink some water. Stress dehydrates you. How is she? I haven’t checked in a few hours.”
Nell did not like the look of her glass and decided she wasn’t thirsty. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and checked to make sure she hadn’t missed any calls. She set it on the table between them to keep an eye on it.
“Last I heard, she was asleep. They’re supposed to call me.”
“Sorry… this happened.” He spoke, and when their eyes connected, she noticed a flash of kinship. He might be a charismatic man when he wanted to be. She caught a glimpse of what he must have been like back in the day.
“Me too,” Nell said, her voice cracking. She tried to swallow, tears choking her.
She decided the glass didn’t look so bad after all, and they both picked up their waters and drank.
Nell cleared her throat. “Do you know how she got so sick?”
He looked down at his big hands, and so did she. His fingernails were broken and stained with dirt.
“I guess it was my fault.”
“How do you mean?”
“If it weren’t for my stupid mistakes,” Jake said, running his fingers through his hair and pushing it back with a nervous gesture, “Ellie would be sitting here right now. And I wouldn’t be responsible for almost killing both of the women I’ve loved most in the world.” He shook his head with his mouth turned down and a worried crease between his brows.
Nell stared at him in disbelief, but before she could think or react, her cell phone rang. The caller ID showed it was the hospital.
“This is the ICU at Hartland General, Mrs. Williams. We wondered if you could come back over here as soon as possible,” a voice said.
