“I sure could have used her last night. I tried to get her to talk to me, but she wouldn’t. Complete silence.”
“Alone with your own thoughts.”
“And look what it did for me. I haven’t had a drink in twelve years, and I blew it in an instant.”
“You’ll start again.”
“It’s not that simple,” Lisa said. “I threw away twelve years.”
“You did no such thing. You had twelve sober years that carried you here to us. That should mean a lot to you and it doesn’t mean you have to ruin the rest of your life.”
With a bitter grunt, Lisa said, “It’s never that easy.”
I shook my head. “If it were, AA would be a vacation and we’d all want to join.”
“It’s always there.”
“And it always will be. Accept it and start putting one foot in front of the other.”
Lisa closed her eyes. “I can’t face all those people at AA. And Colin. God, what will he think? We were supposed to go out tonight.”
“If there’s ever a group of people that understands where you are now, it’s the AA people. And I have a feeling Colin is made of strong stuff and isn’t so easily scared off.” I pushed to my feet. “I’ll make you some coffee, get some food into you, and then we’ll go to a meeting together. Think of me as your wingman.”
“Right.” She pressed her hand to her mouth. Her coloring remained pale and her hands trembled but her gaze was clearer. “That’s a good plan except for one thing.”“What’s that?” I asked.
She rose and leaned over the toilet again.
“Sobriety looks pretty good right now, doesn’t it, sister?”
April 15, 1783
Dearest Children,
The time is so near that the line between life and death is paper-thin and I hear the spirits calling me. Patrick rode home today and he kissed me on the cheek. He was injured, but he will survive.
I have no regrets in my life, save one. If I had the strength I would find the witch bottle I made so many years ago and call back my curse. But it is too late for that, so I am tucking all the letters inside this box so that they will survive. I want the world to know the truth—about me and that I am mother to both the Shire and McDonald lines.
Forever,
—F
Chapter Twenty-four
Rae McDonald
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1:00 P.M.
The AA meeting was not easy for Lisa. I sat beside Charlie as she stood, puffy eyed, trying to slay a tremendous hangover. Her hands shook and she fought off tears.
“My name is Lisa and I’m an alcoholic.” The group welcomed her as she paused and checked her watch. “It’s been six hours since my last drink.”
Several people leaned toward her, their eyes softening with an understanding only those in this group would understand.
“I’ve been carrying a secret for years,” she said. “It’s weighed on my heart since day one. I thought I had it safely locked away and could keep it at bay. But yesterday, I released it.”
“Can you tell us what happened?” the leader prompted.
She twisted a tissue in her hands, pulling at the edges. “I bought five bottles of wine at the grocery store and drank two of them. I can’t even tell you what kind of wine it was. Red, maybe.”
I could’ve confirmed they were red because I’d watched the burgundy liquid swirl down the kitchen drain as I ran the tap. For good measure, I’d rinsed out the bottles and on the way here dropped them in a public trash can. There was no hint of it, not even a smell, left in the house. Lisa watched me do all this, but she’d been numb from guilt and remorse. That was why we were here now. To reset. To start again.
“How did it make you feel?” the leader asked.
“The first sip was amazing. I won’t lie.”
“How long did amazing last?”
“A minute, maybe two.”
The leader sat back in his chair, his expression suggesting he already knew the answer before he asked. “What came after amazing?”
“Fear, shame, guilt. I quickly stopped tasting the wine.”
“That’s common,” he said. “It’s a knee-jerk reaction. The need overrides the pleasure of taste. How do you feel about yourself?”
Lisa twisted the tissue. “Weak. Stupid. Foolish.”
“And now that you’re here?”
“A little calmer.” She reached in her purse and pulled out her key chain. She removed the twelve-year sobriety chip. “I can’t keep this anymore. It’s a reminder of my failure.”
“It’s a token of what you once accomplished and what you’ll have again.”
“I won’t see it that way.” She traced her finger over the copper edges. “I can’t keep it.”
I held out my hand. “Give it to me. When you hit your next twelve-year mark, I’ll give it back to you.”
She looked up at me with watery eyes. “No one knows where they’ll be then.”
“I know that I’ll be giving this to you,” I said in a steady voice. “I might not be the warmest person, but we both know I won’t forget the date or the promise.”
“Thanks, I think. But are you saying I won’t remember?” Lisa asked.
“I’m confident you will.”
“There are other chips,” Lisa said.
“Give them all to me. I’ll dole them out accordingly. If memory serves, you’ll need to return here tomorrow for a twenty-four-hour token.”
She shook her head. “I never collected one of those the last time. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time.”
The leader smiled. “Do you think it’s a big deal now?”
She nodded. “It’s huge.”
The leader rose and crossed the room, opening his arms to Lisa. She slowly stepped into his embrace. The other seven people in the room approached and wrapped arms around her. She was starting again. But then again, weren’t we all?
• • •
In my car, Lisa laid her head back against the seat. Charlie sat in the center of the backseat, still keeping a watchful eye on her. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a beer truck.”
“Better to feel that than nothing.”
“I haven’t even asked you how you’re doing?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” I said. “There are moments when I feel like the steady, calm woman I was, and then I feel a rush of feelings. I want to laugh. I want to cry.”
“Sounds human.”
“I don’t mind having the feelings, but I would like to control them a bit more.”
Lisa laughed. “Don’t we all. Don’t we all.”
“I see the house is back on the market.”
“The couple buying it was engaged, but they broke up. The real estate agent wanted to hold them to the contract, but I told her to release them and their deposit. The house needs someone who wants to live in it.”
“It should have no trouble selling.”
“No, it shouldn’t. But I’ll wait until I get the bid I need to take good care of Amelia as long as possible.”
“I thought she was set financially.”
“Depends on how long she lives,” Lisa said. “She’s put a lot of money back into the house.”
I pulled into traffic, but instead of heading back toward Prince Street, I drove toward the Beltway.
“Where are we going?”
“To see Amelia.”
She twisted in her seat and faced me. “Why?”
“I found a letter in the family Bible. It’s from Fiona to Mr. Smyth.”
“What does it say?”
“After she left Alexandria, she came back several years later with a new husband, new life, and wanted to see her daughter. She reminded the Smyths of their temporary arrangement and said she now wanted her daughter back.”
> “Really?”
“The letter was opened but then resealed and marked in bold handwriting, Return to Sender.”
“The Smyths knew she wanted Amelia.”
“They knew and reminded her she had signed a legal agreement that they interpreted as nonnegotiable. She was ordered to stay away.”
“Shit.”
“Amelia needs to be told that Fiona loved her and wanted her back.”
“Agreed.” She laid her head back against the seat rest. “I forgot just how bad a hangover feels.”
“Too bad you can’t bottle that feeling and get a taste of it before you get drunk.”
Eyes closed, she said, “Spoken like a nonalcoholic. When the power of the drink is so overwhelming, none of that matters. We’re the consummate liars to the world and ourselves. ‘Don’t worry, the hangover won’t be so bad because you’ll have only one drink. Don’t worry. Just a sip.’”
“A world without logic must be maddening.”
“I have logic. I just need to hold on to it tightly and actually use it.”
“So are there any more secrets you have to share?” I asked.
A wry grin crossed her lips. “Well, there was this one time when you were fifteen and Jennifer and I short-sheeted your bed.”
“I knew that was you. I knew it.”
She shrugged.
“If that’s the worst, then you should manage.”
“Let’s hope.”
When we arrived at the nursing home, we checked in and I asked to see Amelia. The duty nurse grimaced. “Amelia’s status is degrading rapidly.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Lisa asked.
She checked her computer screen. “According to these notes, we left several messages.”
A sigh shuddered from Lisa as she fished her phone from her purse. The battery was dead. “I forgot to charge it last night.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “There was nothing you could have done. Can we see Amelia now?”
“Of course. She’s very peaceful.”
“Thanks,” Lisa said.
Amelia’s room was bathed in shadows except for a single bedside lamp giving off a faint glow. Lisa sat in the chair beside the bed and laid her hands on Amelia’s small, fragile hand. “Amelia, it’s Lisa and Rae. We came to see you.”
She didn’t respond, her breathing so slight I had to stare hard to see her chest move. The life was seeping from her body and soon would be gone. Charlie moved to the bed, sniffing her hair. Then his ears went back and he sat on the floor beside her.
I took the seat opposite Lisa and pulled the letter from my purse. “Lisa, you need to read this to Amelia.”
“Can she hear?”
“A couple of weeks ago I’d have said no, but I’m beginning to believe anything is possible. Plus, this is the answer she wanted so badly all these years.”
Lisa unfolded the letter, the yellowed pages crinkling. Placing her hand back on Amelia’s, she began to read.
“This needs to go in her baby book,” I said when she’d finished. “It’s as much a part of her history as all her other memories.”
Amelia drew in a deep breath and then slowly released it. We sat quietly in the room for well over an hour as Amelia’s breathing slowed to a rasp. The color drained from her face and a complete stillness came over her. I called the nurse just after seven, and she came and checked her vitals.
“It won’t be long now,” she said.
Lisa and I each held one of Amelia’s hands, and minutes before five o’clock she stopped breathing altogether. The doctor pronounced her dead, and after a few more minutes the care center escorted us into another room, where a counselor waited. There were papers to sign. Belongings to be gathered and boxed. In the end, Amelia had so few things with her. The quilt. The lamp on the bedside table.
There was little in this world to hold her, but she’d clung to life until Lisa had read the letter. She finally had the answer she’d sought since she was a small girl.
As we carried the box to my car, neither of us spoke. Even Charlie didn’t make a sound. From his slow gait and body posture, he knew Amelia was gone.
“Do you think she heard us?” Lisa asked.
I opened the trunk, loaded the items inside, and shut it. “I’m sure she did.”
“I was so worried about money and what I’d do if she outlived it. I had no idea how I was going to take care of her. And now she’s gone. Once the house is sold, I’ll have no more ties to Alexandria.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to leave. You can talk to Colin about keeping the house. Surely, with market prices so high, there is equity in the house that you can draw upon without selling it.”
“Maybe. But I don’t know if I want to live there.”
“Then live in the apartment Zeb is building on my land. It’ll give you all the privacy you need.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But I want to.” A half smile curved the edges of my lips. “Maybe I’ll put my matchmaking skills to the test and see if I can find you the perfect mate.”
She laughed, her bloodshot eyes flickering with genuine humor. “Are you trying to chase me away?”
I slid behind the wheel and waited until she and Charlie were inside the car. “If I promise not to set you up, will you stay?”
“Maybe.” She picked an invisible thread from her jeans. “There’s a lot I’d like to photograph here.”
“This place is pretty happening.”
She laughed. “Right.”
July 14, 1800
Dearest Daughter Faith,
On your wedding day, I am passing down a box of letters that your namesake entrusted with me. Protect it and see that no one reads it until the three witch bottles are no more.
—H
Chapter Twenty-five
Rae McDonald
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 9:00 A.M.
I was almost sorry when the construction on the garage and apartment was finished. Almost. I was getting used to seeing Zeb every day and visiting with Eric from time to time. Today when the red truck pulled up, I was sitting on the back porch, drinking morning coffee and enjoying the bright sun. I rose and walked around the side path and greeted the two of them as they headed up to the front door.
“Good morning.”
Zeb’s grin was slow and steady and sent a shiver of warmth up my body that could have melted any ice. “Good morning.”
Eric ran past his dad. “We brought you a glad-the-job-is-done present.” He held up a box.
I accepted the gift and carefully opened it. It was a bottle of sparkling cider.
Margaret had given her public lecture on the witch bottles only when Michael’s doctors and parents cleared him to travel. Pride filled me when I sat next to Michael as Margaret detailed the lives of the McDonalds, from Patience and Michael’s trip from Scotland to the Virginia Colony all the way through the generations to me, and lastly, Michael. The boy seemed pleased by his long lineage that up until now he’d known little about. I was glad not only that I’d given him life but that we shared a rich ancestry, and perhaps one day it would allow us to be close friends.
“Are you going to tell her about the stones, Dad?” Eric asked.
Zeb sighed. “I was out in Loudoun the other day, and the builder who purchased your hearthstones had extras. I took all he had.”
“You brought the hearthstones back here?”
“Only if you want them.”
“I would. Do you have enough to build anything?”
“Maybe a fire pit. It will be first class.”
“Sounds great.” These hearthstones had a new purpose. Just like me. Lisa. Addie. Even Janet.
I leaned in and kissed Zeb as naturally as if I’d known him all my life.
Zeb kissed me back. “Good.”
Eric rolled his eyes. “I want to drink some of the fake wine.”
Smiling, I straightened. “When Lisa arrives, we’ll have a toast.”
“When’s she coming?” the boy asked.
“Soon. Real soon.”
“Is Charlie coming?”
“Yes.”
With Amelia’s passing, Lisa wasn’t under a lot of pressure to sell the Prince Street house. She’d taken it off the market, knowing she’d stay in town until at least the spring. It was nice having her around. We might not have gotten along as teenagers, but as adults, we have become good friends. She and Colin had been dating for a couple of months and she looked happier than I ever remembered.
“I hear you’re having a party?” Zeb asked.
“A little gathering. Rachel is catering the desserts.”
Zeb’s head cocked. “You aren’t matchmaking, are you?”
“Mr. Talbot, I’m not a matchmaker, remember?”
He laughed. “Does Rachel know?”
“Not exactly.”
He groaned. “Who is the poor man you have in your crosshairs?”
“One in particular, but if you want to find out you’ll have to come to the party.”
His expression turned serious. “It’s not me, right?”
Slowly, I shook my head. “No. I have someone else in mind for you.”
A dark brow arched. “Like who?”
“I know this woman,” I said, smiling. “She’s local. Deep roots to the community.”
He took my hand in his and traced the underside of my palm. “I hope she has red hair.”
“It’s not exactly red. I think of it as more brown with auburn highlights.” I tipped my body closer to his, coaxing him to lean forward. He smelled like fresh air and sawdust—my new favorite combination.
“That sounds like trouble.”
“Lots of trouble.”
His smile warmed my heart. “Good.”
RECIPES
The View from Prince Street Page 31
