by Kate Hewitt
‘Well.’ It’s hard to pretend otherwise. ‘Yeah.’
‘The same lady who owned it when I was a kid owns it now. She only rents to a couple of people. It’s a treasure. A hidden gem.’ She laughs, the sound raspy. ‘I’m glad she hasn’t changed it. It helps me remember.’ She opens her eyes and looks around at the faded furniture, the dusty seashells on the bookshelf, the local hardware’s calendar from 2015 that is still tacked up on the kitchen wall. ‘I love this place,’ she says softly. ‘I’ve always loved it. When I was a child, it was the only place I felt safe. Where death couldn’t touch me.’ She glances at me, her expression wry. ‘Do you suppose that’s true now?’
‘What do you mean by that?’ I ask. ‘That death couldn’t touch you?’
‘Because when my dad and I came here, we felt safe. Cocooned. My mother came too, for those first few years, but she felt different here. It was almost like it was magic.’ She pauses, her gaze faraway. ‘I think I’ve told you about my mom, how she was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was seven, and then died when I was fourteen. It overshadowed my whole childhood. My whole life, really.’ She sighs and leans her head back against the chair. ‘And here it is, playing out again, except Isaac is so much worse off than I was.’ Her voice chokes and she takes a shuddery breath. ‘He doesn’t have my dad.’
There’s so much love and grief in her voice that I feel compelled to say, ‘Tell me about him.’
‘Oh, Heather.’ She sighs, the sound still shuddery. ‘He was such an amazing man, so funny and gentle and kind. I know it’s easy to memorialize people after they’re dead, although God knows who will do that for me.’ She shakes her head. ‘But in his case it’s all true. He took care of me when my mom was sick, and he was my rock after she was gone. We did everything together.’
Her gaze turns distant, thoughtful. ‘Sometimes I wonder if he did too much for me. I depended on him so much. And I missed him so much. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a huge influence in my life, I would have had more friends. More boyfriends. A husband, even.’ She shrugs. ‘But who knows? Maybe I wouldn’t have, because I’ve known what it’s like to lose someone, and it hurts.’ She draws a quick breath. ‘I hate that Isaac is going to know that too, and worse than I ever did.’ Her expression closes down then, and I wish I could comfort her.
‘But he’s known love, Grace,’ I offer hesitantly. ‘Such wonderful and generous love, from you. He won’t forget that. It will mark him forever, in a good way, to have known that.’
She looks at me, her eyes bright. ‘Thank you.’
‘I mean it, you know.’ I feel the need to convince her.
‘I know you do.’ She nods toward the back door that leads to the yard and the beach beyond. ‘You should go out there. Check on him. Play with him.’
It feels as if she is bestowing some sort of blessing, and yet right now I am strangely reluctant to accept. ‘What about you? You could come out, as well…’
Grace shakes her head. ‘I think I’ll take a nap.’
‘Then let me help you to bed.’
She nods, and I put my hand under her elbow, feeling how sharp and bony it is, as I guide her toward the bedroom, and then turn back the covers. She slips between them, looking pale and slight against the worn sheets. She’s lost even more weight than I’ve realized, since I last saw her. I can see the shape of her skull beneath her skin.
‘Go to him,’ she says softly, and she closes her eyes.
Outside a breeze is blowing up and the sun is starting its glorious descent to the ocean. Everything shimmers. Isaac is kneeling on the beach, intent on building what looks like an entire city of upended-bucket sandcastles, connected by canals he’s dug out and attempted to fill with water, although it keeps seeping back into the sand.
‘Wow.’ I sit down beside him, stretching my legs out, my hands braced behind me, as I study his creation. ‘This looks pretty amazing.’
He gives me one quick, searching glance before looking down, focused on his work, his little hands scooping and patting the sand. ‘Where’s my mom?’
‘Sleeping.’
‘She sleeps a lot.’
‘Yes.’ I know Grace hasn’t told Isaac she’s dying. I know she is going to have to tell him soon.
Neither of us speak. Isaac continues his work, his expression so intent as he methodically builds his canals and castles. I simply sit and enjoy the sun, the breeze, the beauty of the pristine stretch of beach, the sparkling ocean. It’s a far cry from Atlantic City, with its dirty sand and seamy, overbuilt boardwalk, casinos and strip clubs next to arcades and stalls that sell cotton candy and funnel cake. And sitting there in the sunshine, I enjoy my son.
After a while Isaac looks up. His gaze is startlingly direct. ‘Will you help me fill the canal?’
‘Of course, Isaac.’ Even though I know we will never be able to fill it with water. That doesn’t matter.
A fun but fruitless hour later, after running back and forth between the water and the beach, the dug-out canals have absorbed all the water, and Isaac’s cheeks are reddened by both wind and sun as we walk inside.
The cottage feels dark and quiet after the wide brightness of the beach. Isaac investigates a stash of Archie comics that look like they’re from the 1970s while I check on Grace, who is still sleeping, and then on dinner.
Grace wakes and comes out of the bedroom as I am putting the lasagna on the tiny table in the kitchen that can realistically only seat two.
‘I’ll eat on the sofa,’ she says as she stretches out. ‘More comfortable.’ I doubt she’ll eat anything, but I make up a plate and bring it to her. She smiles her thanks.
‘We’ll have to have a bonfire one night,’ she says as Isaac and I sit down at the table. She picks up her fork but just toys with her food. ‘And roast marshmallows. Remember how we did that last year, Isaac?’ He nods. ‘And maybe go fishing. We rented a boat one year…’ She trails off, as if realizing that might not be possible this year. ‘It’s always so much fun here,’ she murmurs. When I look at her again, she has fallen asleep, the plate dangling from her fingertips, the untouched piece of lasagna nearly sliding onto the floor.
I rescue it, and I catch Isaac’s gaze as I put the plate on the counter.
‘My mom is really sick, isn’t she?’ he says, his voice trembling a little.
‘She is sick, Isaac.’ My heart feels as if it is, quite literally, breaking. Splintering into shattered pieces. I return to the table, trying to smile. ‘She’ll talk to you about it if you want. Answer any questions…’
‘When will she feel better?’ I stare at him helplessly, and he must see something in my face, feel it in the air, because he shakes his head quickly. ‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter.’ Yet nothing matters more.
Grace rouses herself a little while later to play a game of Connect Four with Isaac while I wash the dinner dishes. I watch them, a warm feeling blooming inside me, along with the ever-present ache. For the first time perhaps in my whole life, I am enjoying the sight of Grace and Isaac together, the pleasure untainted by any envy or dissatisfaction on my part. I watch the quiet, easy interplay between the two of them: Grace’s loving smile, Isaac’s quick grins. It almost feels as if I’m intruding, and yet I feel like I could watch them forever, mother and son, a team of two.
The night has turned chilly, and Isaac asks if we can have a fire in the little wood stove. When I gather the wood from the little lean-to outside, I tilt my head up to the sky, amazed at how many stars I can see. The sky is spangled with them, endless clusters and constellations, like clouds of diamonds, distant and sparkling. Isaac comes outside, and I beckon to him.
‘Like your bedroom ceiling,’ I say, and point upwards. He tilts his head up too, and we stand there together, gazing at the galaxies, silent and amazed. After a second he slips his cold little hand in mine, and as I stare up at the stars, I squeeze my eyes shut, overwhelmed by this tiny gesture, borne, I know, out of fear as well as affection or even love.
When we go back inside, Grace has fallen asleep again.
The days pass, endlessly slow in some ways and yet slipping by far too fast. Grace’s health limits what we do, and although she tries to shoo Isaac and me off to go for a walk or a swim by ourselves, I am reluctant to leave her alone. She fades a little more every day, even as I shake out the pills and make sure she’s getting all the different medications she needs just to stay alive a little bit longer, a little more with us.
I find myself encouraging Isaac to be with her, not me, because I know he will keep these memories forever, and I want to make sure they make them together. So I bring a chair out for Grace to sit on the beach, and I put out all the shovels and pails and sit a little bit apart as she, painstakingly, makes a castle with him. I set up Connect Four on the table by the fire and when she is too tired even to lift the pieces and slot them in, I do it for her, letting her instruct me where they go.
At first, Isaac seems a bit uncertain about these arrangements, glancing between me and Grace as if he is not sure whom to look to, or even how to feel. But then he starts to accept it – the three of us, a unit, a team, working in sweet, silent harmony. At last.
Four days into the trip, Grace finally talks to me. Isaac has gone to bed, and she beckons me outside, even though the night is turning chilly. She has a blanket draped around her painfully thin shoulders and she curls up in an Adirondack chair, gazing out into the starry night.
‘I wanted to tell you,’ she says slowly, choosing each word with care, ‘that I think you should have Isaac when I’m gone.’
I knew it was coming; of course I did. And yet it still surprises me, leaves me with an ache of longing, a well of sorrow. I’ve thought of little else for days, weeks, and yet I’m still not ready for this moment.
‘I think,’ I reply, just as slowly, just as carefully, ‘that I thought I should have had Isaac for the last seven years.’
Grace turns to give me a sharp look. She doesn’t say anything, just waits.
‘But I shouldn’t have,’ I continue, each word lancing through me. ‘I shouldn’t have had him. I shouldn’t have even thought it. He’s yours, Grace. He’s always been yours. And you’re a great mom.’ My chest tightens as I think of all she will lose. All Isaac will lose. And yes, all I will lose. ‘Such a great mom.’
She gives a sad little laugh and leans her head back against the chair. ‘How I’ve always wanted to hear you say that.’ This surprises me; I didn’t think she wanted or needed anything from me, except maybe to back off. ‘Whenever I came to visit,’ she continues, ‘I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing. Like I’d never know what I was doing as a mother, and you always did.’
I flinch with guilt. ‘I’m sorry.’ I’d been meaning to make her feel that way, at least a little bit; I just never thought I’d succeeded.
‘It was as much my insecurity as anything else,’ she says, straightening a little. ‘Everything was so new and strange. When I held him as a baby I felt like I was holding a very precious yet also rather inconvenient parcel, and yet I would die if I broke it.’ I laugh a little, recognizing the mother’s truth of those words. A newborn takes over your life, your identity. You feel like you’re drowning, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
‘I felt the same with Emma. It was as if someone had handed me a grenade.’
‘Exactly.’ She shakes her head. ‘It was so hard at first, and yet so wonderful. And now… now I can’t imagine life without him. And of course I won’t have to.’ Her voice wavers and then grows stronger. ‘But he’ll have to imagine life without me.’ She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. ‘So. I need to prepare him for that.’ Her look is direct and unflinching. ‘You can have him, Heather. You can finally have him back.’ There’s no bitterness in her tone, only a dignified sorrow.
I stare out into the night, the ocean no more than a soft, whooshing sound in the darkness. I haven’t even let myself dream of this moment, not truly, not fully, and yet now it is here. There is so much swirling around in my mind – so much longing and sadness and fear. And joy, too, that we’ve arrived at this moment at all. That Isaac could be mine again, that Grace wants me to take care of him. That we’ve managed to reach this bittersweet yet wonderful point of friendship and understanding. And that makes what I know I have to do next feel harder than ever.
‘Heather?’ Grace’s voice sharpens. ‘Say something.’
‘You know I love Isaac,’ I say slowly.
‘Yes,’ Grace answers. ‘I know that.’
I drag a heavy breath into my lungs. I know what I have to say, but it doesn’t make it any easier to say it. ‘The truth is, Grace, I’m… I’m not sure it’s best for Isaac to be with me. With us. Best for him, I mean.’ Tears crowd my throat and eyes. This is even harder than I thought. Grace is silent, staring, waiting, yet I’m not sure I can say anything more.
‘I can’t believe you’re saying that,’ she says at last.
Another breath. ‘Surely you can see it’s true?’
‘I have my doubts and concerns, certainly, but it doesn’t seem right or fair to let those be the deciding factor.’ She pauses, seeming to draw upon some hidden strength. ‘You’re his mother, Heather.’
I close my eyes, take a deep breath. ‘No, Grace,’ I say. ‘You are.’
She shakes her head, impatient now as well as tearful. ‘This is a wonderful Hallmark moment, but let’s get serious here, Heather. You want Isaac to be with you. You’ve always wanted that—’
‘I have, but it’s been a selfish want.’ It hurts to admit it, but also good in a strange and healing way. ‘And now I want to do what’s best for Isaac. Having him yanked away from everything he knows, everyone he knows… living in a completely different kind of community… that would be so hard for him. And the truth is, he doesn’t know me like a mother. He never has. We can’t manufacture that relationship out of a lifetime of Saturday afternoons.’ Saying it so starkly is another wound. Then, just in case she thinks I’m being a complete martyr, I add, ‘and I want to do what’s best for my family. Because Amy is off the rails and Lucy has some learning difficulties and Emma just gets lost in the shuffle. I don’t want to shortchange any of them, or Isaac. And I know if he came to live with us, I’d spend all my energy making sure he was okay, seeing him through this, and I’d neglect my girls more than I already have.’
‘You haven’t neglected—’
‘I think I have,’ I admit painfully. That hurts as much as anything else. ‘I really think I have.’
We are both silent, absorbing it all, thinking about the repercussions that spread out like endless ripples in water. ‘Is there someone else…?’ I ask tentatively, half-wanting there not to be, even now.
Grace is silent for a long moment. ‘Yes, I think so.’
‘If there wasn’t… then of course we’d step up. Of course we would, no question.’
‘Thank you.’
We’re both quiet, listening to the sound of the tide coming and going, coming and going. ‘Then…?’ I finally ask.
Grace lets out a huff of sound that is something close to a laugh. ‘I never imagined this happening.’
‘I know.’
‘I thought you’d jump on it, to be honest. I was so sure you would. I’d already looked into how my lawyer would manage Isaac’s trust fund, and I was thinking about whether he should continue at school or not, commuting from New Jersey…’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I know this is unexpected. And truthfully, I was picturing how it could work. I had this image in my head, but it never seemed to fit, for anyone. I just wanted it to.’ I sniff, trying to hold back the dam of emotion. ‘Of course I’d always want to be there for Isaac. If he ever wanted to see me, or visit, anything…’ I can hardly believe I’m saying the words. No more monthly visits. No more precious Saturdays.
‘Of course,’ Grace says. She still sounds disbelieving, and no wonder. After all these years.
‘This is killing me,’ I a
dmit with a ragged laugh that’s halfway to a sob. Then I realize what I’ve said. ‘Oh no, Grace. I’m sorry…’
She laughs, and it sounds like tears too. ‘Trust me, I know what you mean.’
I stare out into the darkness, and part of me, a huge, painful part, wants to take it all back. I want to say, forget everything, I’ve changed my mind, I want him. I want him, I want him, I want him. The words work their way up my throat, crowd my mouth, bursting to get out. I have to bite my lips to keep from saying something I know I’ll regret.
Because no matter how much it hurts now, no matter how wrong it feels, I know I’m doing the right thing. The hardest thing. Just like before.
Twenty-Nine
GRACE
After all that. After all that, Heather doesn’t want him. Except I know she does, terribly, and that’s what makes what she said, what she’s choosing, all the more unbelievable – and admirable. In a different way, she’s giving him to me all over again, and I am humbled by her offer. Her sacrifice.
That night I lie in bed, my mind hazy and already starting to drift from the heavy meds I’m on, thinking about what Heather said. What she’s willing to give up. When she asked if there was someone else, my mind leapt to Stella. Stella, who had already half-offered, whose son was Isaac’s best friend. It made so much sense, and yet I hadn’t let myself think of it because of Heather. Because of what I felt I owed her, after all these years.
I picture Isaac living there, with his best friend and his family, amidst the happy, privileged chaos of their lives. I think he’ll be happy. At least, I hope he will, that he could be, with time.
But is Stella willing to take him on? I know what she offered before, but it was in the spur of an emotional moment. I can’t take it for granted. And the real question that burrows right down into my soul is should Heather still have him?
She’s his mother. She’s connected to him by blood and bone and deep, instinctual love. Her three girls are his sisters, not step or half or anything other than total and complete. The six of them could be a family again, the family I know she’s always wanted to have. And they could be comfortable financially, thanks to my life insurance. I’d have to put some checks and balances in place, yes, fine, but they would definitely be better off than they are now. Why isn’t she jumping all over that? Should I have made it more clear, what I was willing to provide? To give not just to Isaac, but to Heather and her family? Isaac’s family. I fall asleep before I can think about it any more, much less come up with any answers.
