by Jean Stone
Brian, Jo remembered, had not liked his sister-in-law.
Pulling her eyes from Sondra, Jo surveyed the fellowship hall—the small clusters of white-haired heads of mostly ladies, a few gentlemen, good people who had lived and worked together for a lifetime, who’d watched one another’s children be born and raised, who had laughed and cried with one another and now were there as one of their own was buried. She wondered if they were sharing memories of Eleanor or if their conversation had moved on to the weather, to the coming high-school graduation, to the hoped-for influx of tourists, to the July 4th parade and picnic on the town green and whether they should allow the crafts vendors this year or not.
Standing beside Jo, Elaine chatted with Jo’s mother and Ted. Jo held her teacup and small square napkin and knew she should join their conversation, but she really was too tired. Too adrenaline-depleted, she supposed, from worrying that Brian would show up today, a fear that had kept her rigid throughout the service, with her peripheral vision focused on the door.
She wondered if the real reason Andrew hadn’t come was not to be a buffer with Antonia but to dodge the issue and the family and the possible talk of Brian Forbes. As far as Jo knew, Andrew didn’t know Brian was out of jail and that he might show up if somehow he learned his mother had died.
She set the teacup on top of the napkin and held the saucer with both hands, trying not to think that soon she’d be in Boston all alone, being the one and only witness at Brian’s trial instead of getting ready for her wedding.
“Did you try the crumb cake?”
Jo turned quickly; there was Sarah.
“How’s Lily?”
“Safe and sound and tucked into her imaginary apartment.”
Sarah liked to call Lily’s apartment that, because it reminded her—it reminded all of them—of an Alice in Wonderland fantasy, of cotton-candy daydreams that a little girl would have, that a little girl would imagine as her world. It might have been because the furniture all came from Madison Kids, the upscale Manhattan store that catered to the children of the privileged. Or it might have simply been because Lily was who Lily was.
“Is she all right? Do you think she fainted because of all the stress she’s been under?”
Sarah smiled and adjusted the silver clip that held up her long, black, shining hair. “You mean the stress that she’s put herself under? Well, she seemed okay. I suppose sneaking back and forth between your lover and his dead mother and your dead husband’s sister might be stressful, though.”
Jo said, “Ssshh, Sarah, stop,” even though she knew that Sarah probably was right.
“Sorry,” Sarah said. “It’s just that secrets only end up hurting other people.” She’d learned that firsthand, of course, from having been hurt by secrets herself.
Then Jo had an idea. “Sarah,” she said, “I know we’re busy right now, but do you think you and Sutter could come with me to Boston for Brian’s trial? I think I might need a lawyer to help me handle this. And I definitely know that I’ll need a friend.”
“Andrew won’t be going?”
“No.”
Sarah wouldn’t ask for further explanation. She was too considerate for that. “Well, you can count me in. I’ll have Sutter check his calendar, though I’m sure he’ll rearrange his schedule if he knows it’s for one of us.”
It was nice the way that Sutter, like Frank, like Andrew, had blended into the small band of former college roommates and seemed both amused by their antics and respectful of their personalities and goals. She wondered if Elaine would ever let Martin into their circle too.
Jo’s eyes moved back to the group of mourners, most of whom were finishing their sandwiches now, returning their empty teacups, tightly wrapping little cookies in small, white napkin squares. “Thank you,” Jo said, glad, once again, that she had come home to West Hope, glad that, no matter what might end up happening between her and Andrew, she had friends again, the way Eleanor Forbes had friends until the end.
Lily knew Antonia would be expecting her. She supposed the woman had grown tired of playing three-handed canasta with her driver and Pauline, that she had inhaled and exhaled enough damn country air to last the rest of her lifetime, that she was thoroughly pissed that Lily had dropped her, left her to be entertained by Andrew, a man she didn’t know but at least had been a city boy and still had traces of urban polish.
Staring at the phone that sat on the end table, Lily didn’t know why she couldn’t bring herself to reach across the plump, pink cushion resting on the sofa, dial Wheatleigh, and ask to speak with Antonia.
She could tell her she had fainted at Frank’s mother’s funeral.
She could say it had been too hot in the church, that she hadn’t had breakfast, that she’d been working too hard lately and needed a day to herself, that perhaps they could meet later for dinner.
She could tell Antonia all those things, but if she didn’t reach for the phone, she wouldn’t have to say a word.
Lily closed her eyes and wondered how Frank was doing, if he’d ever forgive her for causing a scene. Then she thought about the lilacs, she thought about her parents, and then about Billy, Cadet William J. Sears.
He was from Litchfield, Connecticut, from her side of the Hudson, from a quiet, moneyed town that often sent boys to private school. Billy had gone to Deerfield Academy in Massachusetts, had been in the same class as the boy who became King Abdullah II of Jordan.
After the Deerfield lacrosse team had traveled to West Point to compete in a tournament, he decided he wanted to go there. Once, when they’d picnicked along the Hudson, he told Lily he’d been awed by the history and the grounds and that he’d wanted to be part of what he felt made America great. He said he wanted to prove that being from a rich family did not mean he was spoiled or snobbish or ungrateful.
How she had loved him. Not because of his uniform, not because of his huge blue eyes. She’d loved him because he thought she was beautiful, or so he’d said, and because he wanted to do something meaningful, something that would help others, maybe even change the world.
She’d loved him because he loved her, because he would love the children they would have someday, because together they would carve a purposeful life. She’d loved him because their love was real, not like the “happy, giddy things” of the fantasy world that her mother and Aunt Margaret had created to sustain them through the Vietnam War. Lily and Billy had a real life and they were going to have a real future.
After the accident, however, Lily regressed to her childish cocoon, where all things were safe, where there were no worries, no problems, no pain.
She had stayed there many years.
And yet, she realized now, none of it had been safe. Not her first or second marriage, not even life with Reginald. And though she’d felt safe with Frank, the lilacs did her in. The time had come, she knew, to learn how to smell the flowers without running away. It was time to face her past and the damage that she’d done.
Without another waver, Lily finally reached for the phone. But she did not call Antonia or Wheatleigh. Instead, she dialed long-distance information for Litchfield, Connecticut.
A William B. Sears was listed in Litchfield. Lily paused and let the operator connect the two lines, past and present.
“Hello?” It was the voice of an elderly woman.
Lily closed her eyes. “Hello,” she said slowly. “I’m trying to locate William J. Sears. He was a cadet at West Point, the class of 1981.” Her throat had grown so dry, she was surprised her words came out.
Silence followed, then, “Who’s calling, please?”
“Just an old friend. My name is Lily. I’ve been wondering whatever happened to Billy. How he’s doing, if he’s okay.” She was amazed with her clarity of thought, her vigilance of nerve.
“He doesn’t live here.”
Lily wove her fingers through the fake fur of the plush rabbit that was perched on the couch. “Did he?” she asked. “Ever?”
The woman sigh
ed. “I’m Billy’s mother. He has several acres right on Route 8 in Mount Rose. Just north of Winsted.”
She didn’t know Mount Rose. But she knew that Winsted was south of West Hope. An easy ride, not far. She drew the rabbit to her breast. “How is he? How is he doing?”
“He teaches sixth grade. His wife teaches third.”
His wife. Well, of course Billy would be married. Did she think he had pined for her, waited for her to reappear in his life? “Oh,” she replied. “That’s nice.” Then she realized he’d become a teacher—perhaps his way to save the world.
“I can tell him you called. He comes here on Sundays. He brings the whole family.”
Family.
He brings the whole family.
“No,” Lily said, “that’s okay. I just wondered if he was okay.” She knew she was repeating herself. But she didn’t know what else to say.
“Well, good-bye, then.”
“Wait,” Lily said. “He has a family, you said. He has children?”
“Yes. Five.”
Five children. Billy Sears had five children who could have been, might have been, hers.
“Oh,” Lily said, “that’s nice.”
“Three girls, two boys. The oldest is twenty, the youngest is ten.”
“Well,” Lily repeated, “that’s nice.” She quickly calculated: Billy had had his first child when Lily was barely out of college; she’d been through two marriages and was on her third when he’d had his last.
She could have had five children and several acres up in Mount Rose. But she had been Lily, too scared of love, just too damn scared. It had been so much easier to hide behind piles of money and lots of servants and a dream wardrobe to die for.
She might have said good-bye to Billy’s mother, or she might have just hung up. Then Lily stayed on the sofa, hanging on to the rabbit, quiet tears gently spilling, until long after the sun had set, when there was a knock on her door and Frank’s voice called out to her.
32
Lily,” he said as he entered the room, “what are you doing sitting in the dark?”
She quick-wiped her cheeks as he snapped on the lamp, the Mad Hatter lamp whose shade was a top hat and whose base was a giant pocket watch. Lily wondered if she’d have to give up those things now that she planned on growing up.
Frank looked tired, his face lined and drawn, his usually cheerful eyes now faded and sad. He sat down beside her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry that I caused a scene.”
He shook his head. She took his hand; it was cool and dry.
“Do you feel all right?” he asked, though his eyes didn’t meet hers. “Did you call a doctor?”
“I’m fine,” she said. She wanted to tell him about the lilacs, about her parents’ funeral.
“I would have come sooner,” Frank continued, “but I was so busy. There were so many people…”
She wanted to tell him about Billy Sears, that he was a teacher, that he had five children who might have been hers. She wanted to tell him she never meant to act so spoiled; she wanted to say that she’d only been scared.
“So you’re sure you’re all right?”
“Yes,” she replied. “It was the crowd, I guess. The closeness of everyone.”
He nodded. Then he said, “Lily, I’m going to take Dad away for a few days. I think a short vacation will be just what he needs.”
Before today Lily would have thought it was a great idea. She would have thought about the time it would give her to spend with Antonia, to try to convert her into a friend. But sitting there on the couch, she’d grown tired of the old Lily, the shallow, scheming, airheaded Lily. And the plain truth was, she wanted to be with Frank.
“I know we’re busy at work,” she said, “but maybe I could go with you. I’d enjoy some quiet time with you and your dad.”
Frank turned to face her, surprise on his face. “Well, I didn’t think—”
She shushed him. “I’d like to, Frank. Really, I would. I could try to cook, and your father could teach me to play cards or something and we’d have a good time. I’d even listen to the ball game. Become a Red Sox fan.” She remembered that, as a child, Jo had shared such innocence, one neighbor to another. Lily wanted to learn to share things too. To share life and love and just plain hanging out, without judgment or expectations.
Frank turned his eyes away from her again. “Thanks, Lily, but I don’t think it would work.” His voice was lower now; his shoulders had dropped too. “We’re going to Lake Mahkeenac.”
If he had only looked at her, she wouldn’t have sensed that something was being left unsaid. Lily pulled her hand from Frank’s. She put the rabbit on the floor and stood up. “Are you renting a cottage?” she asked. “You could teach me how to paddle a canoe….” She hoped her intuition was off base, that she was merely being sensitive after her stressful day.
“No,” Frank said finally. “It won’t work, Lily. We’ll be using the place that belongs to Sondra’s family.”
Sondra.
Oh.
Her.
Lily nodded mechanically. She paced to the window and stood there in the silence, looking out across the town green. She wondered if Mount Rose had a green with little cement sidewalks and a gazebo where the local bands played on hot summer nights. “Well,” she said, hating that she knew the answer to her next question, “does that mean Sondra will be going too?”
His response came way too slowly. “She knew my mother most of her life, Lily. Please understand, she’s only being kind.”
She turned back to him. He looked absurd, really, a grown-up man with thinning hair and middle-aged-though-muscled arms from hauling around antiques, sitting there among Lily’s stuffed animals on pink, fluffy cushions. “Do you plan to sleep with her?” she asked abruptly, because suddenly Lily needed to know if her world was going to shatter the way she sensed it was.
Frank stood up. “I was afraid you’d take it that way. But, no, I don’t plan to sleep with her. Although, to be honest, it does feel pretty good to have a woman care about me enough to want me to be happy.” He took a step toward the door.
“Frank,” she said, “I want you to be happy.” She moved closer to him. “And I’m ready to marry you. Just tell me when.” The words surprised her perhaps as much as they surprised him. Their eyes locked, each awaiting the other’s next comment.
“Lily,” Frank said, “my mother has just died. Now you spring this on me. It’s not fair, you know. I’m not sure what I want right now.”
He didn’t want to marry her after all? Lily’s cheeks grew as pink as the couch. “What are you saying? You don’t mean—”
He held up a hand. “I need some time away. I’ll be in touch.”
As he headed for the door, Lily felt an urge to lash out, to say something to make his stomach ache as much as hers did now. “I suppose this means you’ll be away for your brother’s trial.” With every syllable and every word, she wished she could stop herself. She should have turned around, gone back to the window, looked back out across the town green. Instead, Lily said, “The trial is next week, in case you forgot. In case you care at all about what he did to Jo.”
Frank didn’t say a word; he simply left the apartment.
And Lily was left standing in her ice-cream-colored living room, wondering what on earth she had done, and why she’d felt the need to hurt him the way she surely had.
33
Jo knew the best thing she could do was keep busy until the trial. With her wedding plans canceled—postponed, she kept reminding herself—there was little to do but focus on work, on other people’s weddings, not hers.
Andrew was hardly around. She didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. “Babysitting Antonia” was what Elaine said the morning after the funeral, though Jo couldn’t imagine what he could be doing to entertain the woman and her entourage.
Jo had just hung up from double-checking the time of Monday’s fittings for the kinder
garten teacher’s kids, when she looked up to see Cassie in the showroom.
“Hi,” Cassie said, “remember me?”
Jo got up from her desk and went over to greet her. “Cassie,” she said, “this is a surprise.” She tried not to show relief that Cassie was dressed in normal jeans and wasn’t wearing makeup. Maybe Jo’s mother had been right when she said to let Cassie be herself.
The girl smiled. “I forgot there’s no school today. They’re getting ready for the high-school prom. Our school’s the newest so they use our gym.” She glanced around the shop. “Is my dad here?”
“No,” Jo replied. “I’m not sure where he is.”
Cassie looked around the showroom and shrugged her shoulders. “He’s with that woman, I guess.”
Jo felt a spark of jealousy, until she realized the “woman” must be Antonia. “Ms. Beckwith?” she asked.
“The woman from New York. They’re planning something, you know.”
Jo nodded as if she knew. It was better, she decided, than explaining to Cassie about Lily and Antonia and Frank Forbes and the money. She glanced at the clock. It was only eight forty-five. “Hey,” she said, “I have to ride over to Tanglewood to meet with the caterers. Would you like to come with me?”
Cassie shrugged again. “Okay, I guess. Sure.”
“Great. On the way I’ll fill you in on this positively crazy wedding with eighteen five-year-olds.” She grabbed her purse and jacket, wanting to congratulate herself on being casual with Cassie, on seizing the chance to regain her footing with the girl who had once liked her.
“Are you and Dad ever going to get married?” Cassie asked as soon as Jo had steered her Honda out of the parking lot.
It was a warm spring morning, the kind that let you shed your jacket, the kind that promised that summer would arrive at any time. It was the kind of morning Jo had hoped for for her wedding, when Laurel Lake would be the perfect setting of spring green trees and crystal water. All of which was nice but did not answer the question Cassie asked. “I hope we will,” Jo said, feeling a small heaviness descend upon her heart. “But things are a little crazy right now.”
