“I was just listening to you guys inside, teasing each other, thinking how much he would’ve loved this,” she said.
Macy’s own eyes filled with sudden tears. All these years and his presence was still just a thought away, filling up the space at a moment’s notice. “Yes,” she managed. “He would’ve for sure.”
“Do you think this was a good idea?” Brenda’s voice sounded as small and uncertain as Emma’s did when she’d had a bad dream. She turned to look out at the yard once more.
Macy could smell the ocean, teeming with life and depth, now so close to her. This is where life happens, her dad had once told her. So much life contained here, he’d said. Macy could use some life in her life.
She wrapped her arm tightly around Brenda’s thin shoulders. “No doubt about it. It was the perfect thing to do.”
“Do you really think that, or are you just trying to make me feel better?” Brenda asked, her blue eyes glassy from unshed tears.
Macy thought about the hope that had filled her in the car, the giddiness that kept welling up inside of her. No matter how fleeting it had been, it was there. “I really think that.” She held Brenda’s gaze and nodded. “I do.”
She took the moment they had and asked the question that had been bugging her since the day her mom had announced this trip. “Why are taking down the pictures of Dad?”
Brenda’s expression changed, and she turned around and went back inside. Macy followed her.
“I thought at first you were just cleaning in there,” Macy continued, as she slid the glass door shut behind them, the outside temperature remarkably different from the climate inside, “but you haven’t put them back up.”
Brenda started pulling things out of a box of food items in the kitchen, her back to Macy. For a moment she said nothing while Macy waited, the unidentified bag still clutched in her fist. Finally Brenda turned to face her daughter.
“To be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t ask sooner.” She fell silent, choosing her next words with care. “I guess I’m just taking small steps toward … changing some things. We’ve had the shrine for long enough.” She held up her hand when Macy started to argue over her mother’s use of her private joke with Max. “I’m not deaf, Mace. I’ve known for quite some time what you guys call it.” Her smile faded and her voice got quiet. “And it’s time to let it go. A little bit at a time.”
Macy’s eyes widened at her mother’s revelation. Coming back here. Taking down the shrine. Things were changing.
“Well,” she managed, “I think that’s good. A step in the right direction.”
She gave her mother her bravest smile. She wanted to say the right thing, to give Brenda the support she needed. But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that the change scared her. She may not have liked the shrine or Brenda’s lasting grief, but it was what she knew. The familiarity of it gave her a sense of security. She thought of Avis’s caution to not always go for what was comfortable, safe, known. It was true of Chase … and this. She had to give the people she loved the freedom to venture down their own paths, even if their path was unknown and uncomfortable for Macy.
But she couldn’t address any of that yet. With a smile she waved the strange food bag at Brenda. “Now, if you could just explain to me what this is.”
“They’re prunes,” Brenda said, and giggled. “You know how much Emma likes stewed prunes for breakfast. I just tossed them in the box.”
Macy started to laugh as she shook her head at her mother. “Only you, Mom. Only you would pack prunes for a beach trip.”
“Well, regularity is important no matter where you are,” Brenda quipped.
“TMI, Mom. TMI!” Macy said, as she left her mom in the kitchen with a smile on her face.
She found Emma sitting in the den, talking on Macy’s cell phone. And just like that, Macy’s smile faded.
“It’s Daddy!” Emma said, handing Macy the phone before she could argue or make an excuse not to talk to Chase. She thought of her mother’s words about how Emma was Chase’s access point to her heart. Her mom was right. She hadn’t planned to talk to Chase for the next two weeks.
She closed her eyes and uttered a hello.
“She sure sounds happy,” he said, his voice finding the raw part of Macy’s heart and settling there.
“Yes,” Macy managed. She didn’t say that she, too, had sounded happy just moments ago when she’d been laughing with her mom about the prunes.
“I was just making sure you made it down there safely,” Chase said. Max walked into the den and leaned against a wall with his arms crossed, studying her.
“She’s talking to Daddy,” Emma volunteered before racing to the kitchen.
Who said teaching children to talk was a good idea? Macy vaguely wondered. Especially this one, who talks like a miniature adult.
“Okay, well, we did,” she replied out loud. She looked at Max and Emma, who were both staring at her. “Can you hold on a minute?” she asked, looking pointedly at Max before fleeing the room and the unwelcome staring.
She headed to the bedroom she’d claimed as her own every year they stayed at Time in a Bottle, thinking that if someone would’ve told her a few years ago that she’d turn Chase down when he offered to join them at the beach, she would’ve never believed it. A few years ago she would’ve liked nothing better than for him to come to play on the beach with her and Emma, to take walks and eat seafood and find shells.
She sat down on the bed, the springs creaking in protest. She was willing to bet it was the same mattress she used to sleep on all those years ago.
“Look, Chase, I appreciate you checking up on us, but I just need time, like I said. To think … about all that’s happened.”
She thought about the way Chase used to corner her when they were dating, pushing his body against hers and staring into her eyes for so long she had to look away first.
She thought about Max teasing her when they were kids. “You flinched,” he would say before jabbing her with his knuckle.
She never wanted to be the one who flinched. Those who flinched got hurt.
She inhaled deeply. It was so quiet on the other end she wondered if they had lost the connection. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I just don’t know what to say. I feel like I’m losing you, and you’re just not telling me. I thought maybe if I called I’d … feel better or something.”
A slow burn of anger rose up in Macy. Chase always found a way to make everything about him. He always depended on her to make him feel better. “Look, I’ve got to finish unpacking. How about we just say good-bye for now. And use this time as a chance to think things through.”
“I’ve already thought things through, Mace. That’s why I came back.”
“Well, you had five years to come to that decision. I guess you can give me two weeks.” She ended the call and smiled at the thought of not flinching, of taking back the power she’d handed Chase so willingly in the past. She had to find her strength.
As she looked around the familiar room, she was comforted by the sight of it in all its retro glory. She was glad the owners hadn’t changed a thing. She needed the comfort of the past. She would find the good memories that lurked here and draw strength from them. And somehow, she’d stop flinching.
Macy tipped her head back as she stood against the roof-deck rail, trying not to think of how high up they were and how close to the edge Emma was standing. Max claimed to be a wild and crazy uncle, but Macy noticed how he stood protectively behind Emma. In spite of his wild ways, Max was a good uncle. When he was with Emma, it gave Macy a glimpse of the potential that lurked inside him, just under his party-boy exterior. Emma seemed to bring out the best in him and gave Macy hope about the man her brother could become.
Calmed by his watchful presence, she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the beach — the distant surf, the seagulls’ cries, cars driving slowly past, and the laughter of tourists peddling by on bicycles. She opened her eyes and too
k in the rosy sky as the sun let go of its hold on the day, slipping lower and lower on the horizon. As the name implied, Sunset Beach was known for its sunsets, but Macy had forgotten just how beautiful they were. She took a sip of cranberry spritzer, a drink her mother had made in honor of their first night back at Sunset Beach. Cold and refreshing, Macy hoped Brenda would make it again before the trip ended.
“I say we make this a … What do you call it when you do something the same way every year, Mommy?” Emma asked.
“A tradition,” Macy answered.
“Yeah, that’s it. I say we make this a tradition!” Emma clung to traditions like barnacles to pier pilings. It was as if the child knew her family was fractured and sought ways to hold them together.
“I know another tradition I’d like to make,” Max said, ruffling his niece’s hair. He caught Macy’s eye and made a motion of raising a drink to his lips, reminding Macy that Max still had a ways to go. She thought of the recent bar fight he’d been in and hoped he’d exercise better judgment on this trip. But she knew he would probably slip away as soon as he could, seeking the comfort he always seemed to find in libations. She ventured dangerously close to judging him before she checked herself, remembering that she had her own habit to kick and his name was Chase.
“Want to go with me?” he asked. “Mom’ll stay with the munchkin here. She should be back soon.”
Brenda had volunteered to go the grocery store alone. She’d insisted it was so Macy could show Emma the beach, but Macy suspected Brenda was already craving some time alone by herself.
She shook her head. “It’s been a long day. I’m tired. Aren’t you?”
“Wimp.”
“I don’t want Mommy to leave,” Emma whined, her voice giving away her exhaustion.
Macy put her arms around Emma. “I’m not leaving. Don’t you worry, baby.”
She eyed Max, and he shook his head, knowing his cause was lost. She wished it were enough to keep him home but knew it wouldn’t be. He would leave when it was dark, return when it was nearly light, and rise when the sun was high in the sky later tomorrow. If pressed, he would argue that he was on vacation and Macy had no right to question him. She closed her eyes again so she didn’t have to see him. She wanted to help her brother stop drinking, help her mom find happiness, help her daughter be okay with Chase’s uncertain presence, and help herself break free from Chase. A tall order for one beach trip.
She thought about what her dad had always said: “Why don’t we pray about it, Mace?”
She could see his form kneeling down beside her bed, the place where she’d always confessed her deepest fears and hurts to him. In her memory, his face was not as detailed as she could once recall, but she could still feel the assurance that came from him being by her side as vividly as she did at five years old. How she longed to feel as safe in her current situation as she had when her daddy was physically by her side. Memories didn’t stand up to reality very well.
At the thought of past memories, her heart picked up its pace. She thought of the exchange that had thrilled and excited her ever since she was just a little girl. She looked around. She was at the house she had been hoping to return to since she left it for the last time when she was sixteen years old. She was this close to that long-ago promise and had been for hours. And yet she hadn’t gone to see if he had fulfilled her last request, in spite of what she had done. Now she was here, and in the rush of unpacking and the demands of her family, she had forgotten to look.
She stretched and looked over at Max and Emma, who were searching the ocean’s edge for glimpses of the submarines Max claimed were out there.
“See?” he was saying. “See that ripple way out there? That’s a sub!”
Emma giggled and rolled her eyes at Macy as if to say, “Uncle Max is crazy.”
“Hey, I’m going down. You guys want to stay up here a bit longer?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Sure,” Max said, putting a protective arm around Emma. “I’ve got the munchkin secured.”
Macy brushed her hand along the tops of both of their heads before walking back down the exterior stairs that led to the roof deck. She loved the view from the roof deck but hated the height.
Once inside, she slipped into her room and shut the door behind her. She looked around, her heart beating wildly as if she were doing something wrong. Then she took a deep breath and opened the closet door, pulling the cord that hung from the bare bulb to turn on the light. She remembered frantically scribbling the note she’d left for him the last time she’d been here:
You can hide the guest book under the loose floorboard in the closet of the room I’ve come to think of as mine …
She used to hide her favorite shells there, leaving a piece of herself behind in the house, assurance of her return. When she’d left that last time, she’d hoped somehow it wouldn’t be the last time she’d ever hear from him and yet … she’d never even known his name.
Kneeling down on the floor she felt around for the raised corner of a board that only needed to be tugged lightly to come up. What if it had been fixed? What if someone had found the guest book? What if he’d ignored her request, and she pulled up the board to find some old dirty shells and … nothing else?
She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, thinking of how this part of her past was a touchstone of sorts. This habit of trading pictures with a stranger who had somehow known the most intimate part of her was the beginning of so many things: her desire to be an artist, her strong attachment to this place, her longing to be loved and be known. Her fingers found the raised board and she began to tug. As she felt the board give way, she whispered aloud into the silence, “The moment of truth.”
She reached into the dark hole, hoping what she was reaching for would be there.
nine
Macy heard Max leave for the night, slipping out the front door after one last attempt to get her to join him. Wincing when she heard Brenda’s car start up, she wondered if Brenda heard it too. She sat in front of her open window, watching the stars and wishing on them all. She looked down at the open guest book in her lap. Her wish was big enough she couldn’t just wish on one star. She tucked her hair behind an ear and searched the sky for the answer to all her unspoken questions. Opening the guest book after all these years was like opening Pandora’s box. With it came so many things that were currently buried beneath layers of life experience and disappointment. And yet, beneath all the layers, there was a tiny hope sprouting. Even after all that had happened in the past ten years, she still recognized it, like an old friend she’d lost touch with.
She ran her hand over the picture he’d left her, grateful that he hadn’t held her decision against her. She had tried to accept that he might not have done as she asked. She wouldn’t have blamed him. She hugged the book to her chest and closed her eyes, envisioning his hand sketching out the drawing, this one done in charcoal with no color added. The absence of color was perfect for communicating what they both felt. A sense of loss pervaded the page.
She was transported to the last picture she had drawn, the feeling as she sketched that she was losing not just her father, but the artist too. She couldn’t have foretold this future then, but she’d known something was slipping away from her. Her only hope back then was that it would not be forever; that somehow he would come back to her. Or she would come back to him.
Though Macy was not prone to believing in miracles, this one, she realized as she stared at the picture, was one she’d always believed in. She’d just forgotten in the ensuing years.
He’d drawn a picture of the two of them sitting on the swing that sat on the back porch of the house. In the picture he had his arm around her, pulling her close as she buried her head in his shoulder, comforting her. From the drawing, it was obvious he cared for her a great deal and she cared for him. Somehow he had managed to communicate their shared history in such a way it jumped off the page at her, the image coming to life. Anyone could see jus
t by looking at the picture that these two people shared something profound. How could Macy have diminished that in her mind? How could she have believed herself when she’d told herself that it was nothing—a foolish tradition shared between mere children?
With the tip of her index finger she traced his profile with her finger. He’d only drawn himself in profile—giving her just a glimpse of who he might be but not enough to know who he was.
“What is it with you?” she said aloud in the quiet room. “Why would you never tell me who you were? Why was your identity such a secret?”
She shook her head and closed her eyes, trying to picture what he might look like now, to piece together the great mystery of her life. More than whether she and Chase would ever work things out, more than whether Max would stop drinking, more than whether her mother would really move past her grief, Macy wanted to know who this man was.
Suddenly, knowing was not just important, it was the reason her life wasn’t together, the meaning she’d been searching for. This boy who’d drawn her pictures somehow held a key to her life’s purpose. She closed the book and laid it beside her on the bed. She had to know.
She stood up and walked out of the room, pausing at her mother’s doorway.
“I think I’m going to go for a walk,” she said, leaning against the doorframe as she studied her mom, who was clad in a granny gown, covers pulled to her chin. “Guess you’re going to sleep?”
Brenda answered, nodding, “I’ll probably only manage to read three pages of this before I fall asleep.” She waved the novel in her hand. “I’m exhausted.”
“I’m pretty tired too, but I just feel like getting out.” Macy tried to look nonchalant. The last thing she wanted was for Brenda to use her special mother powers to discern what was going on. At some point, she’d remind her about the guest book, confide in her about the last picture he’d left for her. But not yet, not tonight. Tonight she wasn’t ready to share this feeling with anyone. By holding onto it, it felt like hers … hers and his, wherever he was, whoever he was.
The Guest Book Page 6
