Stitches in Time

by Terri DuLong

  “Oh, my gosh,” I said. “That’s terrible.”

  Charlotte nodded. “It is. A lot has been done the past few years to prevent this, but we have to keep our light to a minimum on the beach, so we carry special flashlights with a red light. This enables us to see the mother turtles and babies when they hatch, but it doesn’t disorient them. Are you planning to stay awhile and patrol with us?”

  I looked at my mother.

  “It’s up to Isabelle,” she said softly.

  “Yes. Definitely.” I felt like I was about to embark on a unique experience.

  And it was.

  We joined the others walking the beach, staying quiet and keeping an eye on the ocean. Any conversation I heard was soft and limited. I had lost track of time as I walked beside my mother and allowed myself to absorb the night sky, the water, and the energy that surrounded me. My mind wandered to the information she had shared with me, and I felt like I was in a state of suspended animation—unsure whether to let go and move forward or to grip the hurt tighter and hold on.

  I wasn’t sure how long we had been walking the beach when my mother touched my arm and pointed as she increased her pace.

  “I think we have a female coming to nest,” she whispered, and we both followed Charlotte, who was in the lead.

  We joined the small semicircle of volunteers, our eyes glued to the huge sea turtle emerging from the water a short distance away. She made her way up the sand, leaving large tracks behind her that resembled those of a small truck. When she finally found what she thought was a good spot, she got to work. Using her front flippers, she began to dig out what my mother whispered was a body pit. I was intrigued with the amount of work that the preparation took. After some time she began using her hind flippers to dig.

  My mother leaned toward my ear and whispered, “She’s digging the egg cavity now to deposit her eggs,” and I nodded, totally captivated with what I was witnessing.

  We then watched as she deposited her eggs and proceeded to work just as hard using her hind flippers to cover the nest with sand. The entire process lasted a few hours, but it was as if time stood still as I stood there entranced by all of it.

  The female sea turtle then headed back to the shore and into the ocean while the other volunteers got to work putting poles into the ground, attaching survey tape and sectioning off the nest area for protection.

  The three of us walked away from the area and I shook my head.

  “That was utterly amazing,” I said. “When will the mother be back to take care of the eggs?”

  “Oh, she won’t,” Charlotte said. “Her job is finished. She drops the eggs and the hatchlings have to fend for themselves.”

  I felt an ache in my heart. “Oh. She’ll never come back to check on them?” I wasn’t liking the end to this amazing process.

  Charlotte shook her head. “No, but she will eventually come back to this exact beach to nest again. Studies show that it has to do with the magnetic field of the earth—that’s how they always return to the same beach to nest.”

  I nodded and mumbled, “Hmm,” as I realized there seemed to be a connection between the mother sea turtle and my own mother. No, she hadn’t dumped me before I was born. And yes, she had been with me for fifteen years of my life. But like the mother sea turtle, when she left, she left me with the feeling she had never looked back—until now.

  And like the sea turtle mother, my mother was now working at building a nest.

  Chapter 31

  By the time I had arrived home it was after three, and I had fallen into bed fully dressed.

  My alarm went off at six and I groaned as I reached over to silence it. The emotional impact of the night before washed over me. My first thought was to call Yarrow and fake a sickness, but then I remembered she was doing me a favor the following day by doing the deliveries herself so I could drive to Atlanta with Chadwick.

  Forcing myself out of bed, I stripped out of my clothes and headed to the shower. I didn’t bother to take the time to blow-dry or style my hair, and applying makeup was out of the question. I just wanted to fulfill my duty with the delivery of coffee and muffins and return to my cozy bed.

  Yarrow looked up when I walked into the tea shop.

  “Tough night?” she said.

  “You could say that,” I told her, then grabbed the basket and headed out.

  When I returned to the tea shop a few hours later to drop off the empty basket, Yarrow was busy with customers. I gave her a nod and walked across the garden to Koi House.

  I must have gotten a second wind because I made myself a cup of tea and dialed Petra’s number.

  “Holy shit,” she said, after I related the events of the night before. “That was some night you had.”

  “Yup, it was. In more ways than one. Did you know that my mother was an alcoholic? Had your mother ever said anything to you?”

  “No. I had no idea, but you know . . . I do seem to remember there was a time shortly before your mother left that my mother was worried about her. She was backing out of lunches and plans they had made. But I don’t think my mother considered she was drinking. She was concerned that maybe your mom was ill.”

  I let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Hmm, well, I guess she was. Some people feel that alcoholism is a disease.”

  “Wow, so she hasn’t had liquor for all these years? You really have to give her credit.”

  When I remained silent, Petra said, “How did the two of you leave everything? Any change in your relationship?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I just don’t know what to think. I mean, sure, it’s easy now for her to tell me her side of the story, but my father isn’t here to debate it or tell a different version.”

  There was a pause on the line before Petra said, “Isabelle, listen. I don’t want to get you mad . . . and I know you adored your father . . . but did you ever think that maybe he told you what he wanted you to think?”

  “Are you saying he lied to me?”

  “No, that isn’t what I’m saying. But many times we’re told something because the person telling us truly thinks it’s the truth and that’s the way it happened. But don’t forget . . . all of us have defense mechanisms. I think drinking was your mother’s way of coping, but she told you she left to protect you. Maybe your father did the same thing. He wanted to shield you from your mother. Maybe he thought you’d be better off without her in your life.”

  “But it wasn’t up to him to make that decision.”

  “Exactly,” Petra said, and I heard the sadness in her voice.

  * * *

  My mind had been racing all afternoon with thoughts of my parents, myself, and where I was headed. I’d spoken to Chadwick briefly, explained it had been a late night, and promised to give him all the details when he picked me up the next morning. Another thing I loved about him: he gave me room to breathe and didn’t press me for answers.

  I curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and realized that my father had been the opposite of that. Especially with my mother. A kid doesn’t pay much attention to those things, but as an adult they suddenly become clear. Looking back, I recalled that my mother could never seem to measure up to my father’s standards. Whether it was her cooking, the way she looked, what she wore, what she said. And I now remembered snippets of unkind comments he would make to her. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was why I tried extra hard—to avoid those barbs being directed at me. I also wondered if that was why I was drawn to Roger. He never intimidated me or demanded more than I was able to give.

  I let out a deep sigh and suddenly came to understand that living in that type of environment—where no matter what you did or said, it was never good enough—must be a living hell. And while it was no excuse to leave your child behind, I was coming to understand the reasons behind my mother’s behavior.

  Thinking about this made me recall one of my psychology courses in college. I had read that all behavior has a reason. It doesn’t always make sense or justify cer
tain actions, but it does make one stop and at least try to figure out why a person acts or behaves the way they do.

  * * *

  I had skipped both breakfast and lunch and by five I was starved. I didn’t feel like preparing a full dinner so I opted for canned soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. I had just finished eating when Haley called.

  “Hey, sweetie, how’s it going?” As soon as I said the words, a deep sense of loneliness came over me. My daughter had only been gone two days and already I missed her terribly.

  “Really good,” she said, and I could hear the happiness in her voice. “Dad and I are having a great time and I adore Gordon. He’s so funny and has a super sense of humor. We’ve been busy getting everything ready for the wedding Friday evening.”

  I smiled. When Roger found out that Haley could come in April and stay a week during spring break, he and Gordon set about to plan their wedding while she was there.

  “Oh, good. I bet you’re enjoying that.”

  “I am. I went with them to the park where the ceremony will take place, and it will be so nice. They’ve hired a company to have it all decorated and you should see the swanky hotel where the reception will be. The room overlooks a lake and it’s going to be really cool.”

  I smiled again at my daughter’s happiness.

  “Oh, and guess what? They said I could sit with them at the head table and I get to say something and toast them.”

  “I’m impressed,” I said. “I know you’ll do a good job. Is it a large group attending?”

  “About a hundred people. I can’t get over how many friends they have, and they’ve invited colleagues at the television studio. Somebody is going to film the ceremony and reception for them too.”

  “All of it sounds wonderful. And you like their house?”

  “I love it. Oh, and I almost forgot . . . they have a new kitten. Her name is Irma and I just adore her. She’s so sweet and she’s been sleeping with me since I got here.”

  It was obvious that my daughter was in her glory.

  I laughed again. “I’m so happy for all of you, Haley.”

  “Oh, how’d it go last night with Nana? Is everything okay there?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it went okay. We had a long talk . . . and well . . . we’ll see what happens.”

  “Oh, good. Okay, I need to go. Dad and Gordon are taking me out for dinner. I’ll give you a call in a couple days. Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you too, and give my best to your dad and Gordon,” I said, before hanging up.

  I cleaned up the kitchen, did a little bit of knitting, and by seven I could barely keep my eyes open. I definitely did not function well on only three hours of sleep. So I put on my jammies, grabbed the book I was reading, and headed to bed.

  I was having a hard time focusing on the book because my mind kept wandering and I recalled my last dream about Emmalyn. She had said something about unraveling and going back. That sometimes we just had to take something apart and then start all over.

  I couldn’t help but apply this idea to my mother and me. I was smart enough to know that I couldn’t go back. That I could never recapture those lost years with my mother. They were gone. Forever. But if I decided to start over with her—what would I have? Could we possibly build a decent mother-daughter relationship? Would she tire of living here and take off again? Would I be exposing myself to a possible repeat of hurt? All of it was a huge risk. I knew that. And I was pretty sure that was why I had no answers. Because I wasn’t entirely sure it was worth taking that risk.

  Chapter 32

  I had dozed off the night before by eight o’clock and slept straight through till six. Yes, I had been exhausted, but I think stress factored into my fatigue too. And the entire situation with my mother was notching up my stress level. All the more reason I was looking forward to getting away with Chadwick overnight.

  By the time he pulled up in my driveway promptly at ten, I was on the porch, my overnight bag beside me, ready to bask in the company of Chadwick Price.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he called, getting out of the car and walking toward me to take my bag.

  “Good morning,” I said, as he leaned in for a kiss.

  “Feel more rested today?”

  I nodded as he placed my bag in the trunk.

  “Yes, much better.” I slid into the passenger seat and smiled as he backed the car out of the driveway.

  He patted my knee and returned my smile. “Good. Well, we’ll be at my parents’ house before six.”

  He headed toward I-95 and all of a sudden I felt nervous about meeting Virginia and Austin Price.

  “What are they like?” I asked.

  “My parents? Oh, I think they’re pretty likable people. And they can’t help but like you.”

  I wasn’t sure why he was so certain about that.

  “So,” he said, “you had quite a long night with your mother.”

  “I did.” I proceeded to bring him up to speed and when I finished, he remained silent.

  “No comment?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure I have a right to comment. This is between you and your mother. How do you feel about it? Do you think there’s a chance to have a relationship?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I’m still trying to absorb everything she told me. One thing I don’t understand is why my father wouldn’t tell me the truth about her drinking. Or why he kept her letters from me.”

  “Well, you said your mother felt she was protecting you by leaving. Maybe your father did the same thing. He might have thought it was better to keep you to himself.”

  Petra had said pretty much the same thing. “So you think he was the one being selfish?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying that generally people do the best they can. They don’t mean to intentionally hurt somebody, but that’s what often happens when information is withheld.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I’m annoyed that he didn’t tell me everything and then let me decide.”

  “He may have also felt somewhat responsible for your mother leaving. He knew how angry you were with her and maybe he didn’t want to ruin what you shared with him.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “Could be,” I said.

  “What did you think of the sea turtles? You were fortunate you got to see one of the females making her nest.”

  “It was amazing. I’m glad my mother took me with her.”

  “It’s a wonderful organization, protecting those sea turtles. I joined a few years ago.”

  I shifted in my seat to look at him. “Really? I didn’t know you belonged. Have you seen the hatchlings come out of the nest?”

  “I have. It’s pretty awesome. The incubation period is around sixty days, so if she dropped her eggs the other night, that nest will have the hatchlings heading to the water around mid-June. If you’d like to see, you can go with me.”

  “Oh, I’d love it,” I told him. Having watched the mother work to build the nest, drop the eggs, and then return to the ocean, I felt like I had a vested interest in those hatchlings. “Yes, definitely.”

  He reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. “Good. It’s a date.”

  I was glad that he’d changed the subject from my mother to other topics. I needed time to put everything I had learned aside, take a breath, and figure out exactly what I wanted. Because at the moment I wasn’t at all sure if I even wanted things to change with my mother.

  * * *

  After we stopped for lunch off the interstate, Chadwick picked up I-75 and we continued north to Atlanta.

  “A little over three hours,” he said, “and we’ll be there. My parents’ home is just outside the city limits.”

  “Oh, you live on a plantation,” I said, joking with him.

  “Not anymore. Most of the land has been sold off over the years.”

  Was he serious? I had a feeling he was.

  “So the homestead has been in your family for a long time?”

  “Since before
the Civil War, yes.”

  “I was only kidding with you. But you’re serious. Why haven’t you said anything about this?”

  He seemed surprised that it appeared to bother me.

  “I didn’t think it was important. Does it make a difference? With us?”

  “No,” I hastened to say, although I wasn’t really sure. “No. Of course not. It’s just that . . .”

  I wasn’t really sure what I felt or thought. I knew Chadwick certainly hadn’t had a deprived childhood, but he grew up on a plantation? Now I wished I’d taken more interest in what I packed. God, they probably dressed for dinner.

  He patted my knee and left his hand there. “You have nothing to worry about. Really.”

  “And I imagine you have servants too?” I said, again joking.

  “Only Mary. She’s an all-around cook and housekeeper. She’s been with us since I was small. My mother doesn’t allow her to do any of the heavy cleaning anymore. Mary’s in her mid-eighties now. So my mother hired a cleaning company.”

  This was beginning to sound like Downton Abbey. If I hadn’t been nervous before I certainly was now.

  * * *

  “Here we are,” he said a few hours later. “Home, sweet home.”

  He had pulled onto a long road covered with a canopy of live oaks, but I didn’t see a house immediately. Then I saw a huge, three story, red brick structure at the end with white columns and a portico.

  Okay, maybe not quite as large as Downton Abbey. But close. And he referred to it as “home, sweet home”? Clearly, I had not been prepared for this.

  Chadwick parked in the circular driveway, leaned over and kissed me.

  “All set?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  I almost expected liveried footmen to appear to take our luggage, but we each carried our bags to the front door, which was flung open by a tall, thin black woman wearing a black dress and white apron.

  “Master Chadwick,” she said and there was no denying the excitement in her voice. “It’s so good to see you.”