“Mel . . .”
“It’s Mom.”
Both Camille and I dart for the phone. “Let me talk to her first!” Camille gets there before I do and wrests the receiver from Mel. “Mom, it’s Camille . . . how’s Europe? Did you see the Eiffel Tower? Tara thinks you’re stuck in some dirty hotel, but I told her, ‘you’re crazy.’ How’s . . .”
She disappears down the hall. I look to Mel.
“I e-mailed her this phone number. About time she signed up for international service on her cell phone.”
“Did she sound happy?”
“Sickeningly so.”
“Hm. Enough said.” A brief laugh escapes me. “Wonder why she’s calling and why now. I mean, I’ve been wanting to talk to her for a month and she’s been so elusive.”
“I told her everything we’d heard. She confirmed it
all. Dad really took eight thousand bucks from that old battle-ax. She didn’t want to elaborate, though.”
As is Mom’s way. Quiet drapes the room. I run my index finger over and over my thumb, thinking. “I figured you’d talk to her about it. And you know what? I should have done that the minute the rumors began to fly.”
“Why the turnabout then?”
“I looked in the mirror.”
“What?”
“I heard more surprising news about Mom and Dad the other day—at the wedding, of all places. And as I leaned against a bathroom counter, hiding out while trying to figure out what to think, I noticed that I look old, Mel. Why didn’t you tell me how old I was beginning to look?”
Mel’s face appears soft. Instead of a haughty glance, or sarcastic sigh, I see compassion in her eyes. “Well, you are my older sister.” She smiles and I know she’s kidding with me. “Tara, like I’ve told you before. You’re the one who always holds things together. Haven’t always enjoyed that trait in you. Okay, to tell you the truth, it’s the part of you that I love to hate. But lately, you’ve had me worried.”
“You, worrying about me?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.” She uncrosses her arms and lets them drop to her sides. “This move—this brainchild of yours—seemed so crazy at the time. And so unlike you. But you know what? It’s been a good thing for all of us, even though I can’t believe I’m admitting this to you.”
“You really think so?”
Mel grasps me by the elbows and her eyes bore into me. “Look at Camille. She’s going back to school and she was just about to tell you about a new business idea she and Holly have.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. And this move has helped me too. I’ve wanted to live in the big city for as long as I could remember, but when you all left me to come here, I lost my nerve. I’ve always felt like I was the one who had something to prove and then I failed.” She glances down at the floor before shoving a harsh sigh from her chest. “I think I’m almost ready now.”
“You are ready, Mel. I’m the one who’s had a hard time letting you go, but I have no doubt that you can conquer whatever you set your mind to doing.”
“Thank you. Now get in there and tell Mom everything you know.”
As if on cue, Camille prances into the living room, her face flushed from talking with our continent-hopping mother.
I take the phone from her. “Mom?”
“Tara, darling! It’s wonderful to hear your voice again.”
“You too. I’ve read your Facebook, but you don’t update it often enough. We need more pictures!”
Mother laughs and the sound feels akin to warm bath water rolling over bare skin. I’ve missed her more than I knew.
“Camille says you are working, Tara, at an inn? Are you handling the accounting for them?”
I smile. Of course she’d think that. “Actually, Mom, I’m working the front desk. It’s just part-time, but I love it. The gentleman who owns it asked me to work for him on our second day here.”
“Fabulous. I’ve always known you’d be good working with the public.” I revel in her praise. “This boss of yours . . . is it anyone I’d know? Your father and I lost contact with the people of that town, but it’s possible, I suppose.”
“Hm. Don’t think so. His family owned the place and he came here to run it after his sister died. His name is Nigel.”
There’s a pause on the line. “Nigel Thorton?”
Something like heartburn drops within me. “You’ve heard of him?”
“Well, of course I have. Didn’t Nigel tell you? He was your father’s pen pal for many years. Oh, after he had reformed himself.” She laughs lightly. “For someone so proper, he was quite a troublemaker, back when we lived there . . .”
Somewhere after “pen pal” I lost her. Nigel and my father . . . friends? He’s been lying to me? My temples constrict, the living room shrinking from view. He might not call it that, but isn’t it true that in a court of law omission of fact can be considered a lie?
Nigel must have had a good reason for not mentioning this information. Unless he doesn’t realize who my father was.
Right. Not possible.
“. . . anyway dear, I’m glad that you’ve been able to make peace with Otter Bay. Perhaps someday I will too.”
Her words touch me. Knowing all I do now, what must Mom really think of these changes in her daughters’ lives? Surely, she’s happy with Derrick, but I sense that her tone is bittersweet.
She changes the subject like a champ. “Well. It’s very early here and Derrick has made plans for us to tour the North York Moors before the sun fully rises. Can you imagine me, getting up before dawn? Oh, but they say the view of heather, far as the eye can see, is simply too breathtaking to miss.”
“But Mom, I’ve got more to talk to you about . . .”
“Soon, darling. Derrick waits for no one.” She’s the only one laughing.
Though I’ve got more to say, experience tells me that Mom is done for today. I can only hope that we’ll have another chance to talk. And soon.
“AM I CORRECT IN my assessment that you now know?” Nigel holds his cane in front of him, both hands shaking as they lean on its slender handle.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“There are things I wanted to say to you that I didn’t think you were ready to hear.”
I groan. “Why does everybody feel the need to decide when I’m ready to hear a little thing like the truth?”
Betty, who’s reading a romance paperback, slides it upward in front of her face, but keeps it low enough to see over the top. Her bespectacled eyes don’t move from me.
Nigel’s eyes sag, his face filling with a downcast smile. Pity? He’s got pity for me? He lowers his gaze. “I’ve prayed hard about when to tell you . . .”
“You’ve prayed? And God told you to just keep on lying? I admit, I don’t know God all too well, but it would seem to me that the creator of the universe would be above telling His children to keep secrets from one another.”
Nigel nods. “Perhaps you are correct.” His brow, usually so even and anxiety-free, now has grooves burrowing through it. It glows from moisture.
I tried to avoid this moment, although I’m not sure why. Like my mother had done, I rose up early this morning, just as the sun began to stretch its rays. I padded down to the water and waded through briny thickness, the air heavy, like my mind and heart. Confrontation, although once an energizing event during those drab days at the auto parts company, no longer held any spark for me. Still, it could not be avoided.
Betty chews her fingernails, as if watching a horror flick. I almost laugh, but knowing how wicked it would sound I mentally make myself regroup. “You are the one person, Nigel, who could have kept my father’s memory alive in a beautiful way and instead, you chose to let me hear all sorts of terrible accusations.” Bitterness stings my eyes. “Were you so desperate to fill a vacancy that you’d resort to this? To allow my family to suffer while you look the other way?”
The spears I throw bring me no cure from the brokenness
.
“Tara. Please. There’s much I have to say to you. Allow me to take you to breakfast, so we may discuss this at once.”
Breakfast at the diner. What had become a mainstay since our relocation, no longer holds any draw for me. I’m not even hungry. “Moving to Otter Bay has been enlightening, that’s for sure.” I pause, drawing strength from my disappointment. “But it’s also been the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
“No, no, no, my dear. You mustn’t say that. Please. I ask that you reconsider my offer.” He takes his cane and turns toward the door, opening it wide in an effort to guide me over to the diner. “Your father saved my life and you must allow me to tell you about it.”
Betty gasps. She wears a guilt-ridden smile and turns a page she never actually read.
Nigel lures me with the first positive words about my father that I’ve heard since we arrived. I don’t want to be angry anymore. Nigel welcomed my sisters and me into this town from the very start and this is something I’ve not forgotten. I wipe my eye with the backs of two fingers. “Coffee’s all I need.”
As we walk across the parking lot in silence and enter into the daily din of the Red Abalone Grill, I only hope what Nigel has to say will help me to truly understand.
Chapter Thirty-one
So my father wrote to you all these years?”
Nigel’s eyes never leave me. “He never forgot me. He liked to call himself my personal narc.”
I swallow. The thought makes me want to laugh aloud. Dad, a narc. It’s even funnier hearing the word coming from Nigel’s mouth. Still, the implications are frightening. “You were addicted to drugs then, Nigel? That’s hard to believe.”
“I would prefer to have thrown my old life into the incinerator, but that’s not always possible, nor the right thing to do. You see, God has long forgiven my past, but if I were to forget it completely, what use would I be to others in need?”
“So my father was the one who kept you accountable, then?”
“Precisely. He would write, and when I would not write back to him, he would call. Oh, this was before e-mail became so prevalent. I would not have been able to get away with so much avoidance these days.”
“Except the way you avoided telling me the truth all this time.”
Nigel’s usually neutral coloring takes on a faintly scarlet hue.
Mimi’s on duty this morning, swinging a coffee pot in her normally frenetic way. I accept another refill and she scoots on to other customers.
The mug warms my hands. “Did Dad ever talk about us?”
Nigel sips his tea, the creases near his eyes deepening. “He spoke of you girls quite often. Your father did not show his emotions readily—unless talking about his daughters. He loved you all so very much. That was always clear.”
I sling back into the cushioned seat. “I had no idea. Dad never mentioned you—oh! I didn’t mean to insinuate . . .”
Nigel smiles in that soothing way of his. “You didn’t. Robert was a private man, except when it mattered.”
I lean my head to one side. “When it mattered?”
“He shared his faith with me.”
“The prayer. He had each one of us recite it when we were children too. My mother never seemed to take it all that seriously, but for Dad, it was a solemn occasion. Any time he talked of God was a solemn occasion, actually. He asked me often if I believed that Jesus was my Savior and how much God loves me. I always said yes. I guess that’s why I’ve felt so drawn back to church lately. It’s like I’ve needed to know more about my faith.”
“Yes, well, I have noticed that you have grown immensely in your beliefs. Your father would be pleased you have accomplished something he so wanted for you. He prayed for this, Tara. For all you girls.”
Hope stirs inside my chest. “Really?”
“Yes, truly. Robert struggled with pride—I believe that’s one reason he could never find it in him to return here—but he also knew the eternal value in a relationship with God. He told me many times that all I needed to do to get right with God was confess my failures and receive the Lord’s forgiveness. And I have done so.”
“And yet you lied to me.”
Regret, palpable and raw, shrivels his face. His chin quivers. “I’m very sorry.”
My eyes skim the diner’s ceiling and I draw in and exhale a deep breath. Part of me wants to indulge in some finger pointing, to make sure Nigel knows just how his deceit has discouraged me. The other part of me longs to soak in every detail that he can remember about Dad.
“Tara? Do you remember your father’s baptism?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, blinking away trace bitterness. I let out another breath, while digesting Nigel’s question. My inclination is to say “no,” but somewhere in the far reaches of my mind, a familiar thought resides. Water, my father, he’s happy . . . “Nigel? Was Daddy baptized at the beach?”
“You do remember—how wonderful. Yes, your father, along with several friends, was baptized in the ocean. Except for the birth of you and your sister, I believe that was the happiest day of his life. Made him feel like a new man, he always said.” Cheer tries to alter Nigel’s countenance, but it doesn’t last and regret settles back on his features. “Of course, that was before, well, the church hurt your father. Deeply.”
I reach my hand across the table. “What do you mean? How?”
“He wasn’t a perfect man. Unfortunately you have heard about some of his past sins, things he never denied. However, your father would have stayed in Otter Bay forever, despite his fallen state, except . . .”
“Except what?”
Deep rivulets reappear on Nigel’s forehead. “Some of the more vocal church members no longer thought he had any right to attend services. He did understand that his indiscretions most probably should disqualify him from teaching Sunday school, but they asked the pastor to send him away. And the man of the cloth agreed—the scoundrel.”
The injustice slams into me like a rod to the back. “I’ll never go back there.”
Nigel shakes his head. “No, my dear. Those people have long gone and with them their ungodly ways. I believe your father would be tickled to know that you have gone back to the church he once loved. Those who are there now understand that the church today should operate much like a hospital for sinners.”
I lean my elbows onto the tabletop and cover my face with both hands, emerging only after I’ve had a moment to think about this latest barrage of news. One secret after another revealed. Just a few months ago, life was unstartling. Predictable. Linear in its approach. What I didn’t know, didn’t hurt me—but it didn’t help me much, either.
On the heels of that thought it occurs to me that I’ve been reading my beloved Soaps Weekly Digest less and less lately. The more I reread the Scripture passages from Pastor Cole’s sermon each week, the less interest I seem to have in Eliza. Besides, it’s not near as much fun to read when I’m starring in a daytime drama of my own. “Why did you keep all this from me, Nigel?”
“I was fearful. And, perhaps, stupid. You see, after verifying who you were that very first morning, I did start to tell you, but we were interrupted by the delivery of Jorge’s fine meal. I wondered if perhaps it was a sign that it was too soon. I feared you would leave before Robert’s wish was fulfilled. After some time had passed, I saw the error in my judgment. By then, you had been discovered by Peg and I became concerned that she would fill your head with her opinions.”
“So you knew about Peg’s relationship with my father?”
“Some, yes. He had made peace with his past, however, so I had hoped she could move on.”
I hang my head, taking in his revelations. After a few cleansing breaths, my eyes meet Nigel’s again. “Well, you shouldn’t have worried because my father’s wish was fulfilled. He asked me to take my sisters home to Otter Bay.”
“That my dear, was only part one.”
“Oh? He told you there was more?”
“He did, indeed. Robert h
oped that someday you and Mel and Camille would all fully embrace the life of freedom he never had.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you see? He wanted you to live your faith and not be ruled by bitterness. He knew what it was to struggle with that and wanted so much more for you girls.”
Mother’s words spin into my consciousness: Don’t let bitterness guide you, Tara. Forgive and move on and you’ll be set free. Make a point to love your life, dear one.
Nigel’s eyes shine with emotion and I reach out and rest my hand on his. “Thank you.”
“Whatever are you thanking me for?”
“For being my father’s friend.” I catch my voice before it breaks, then turn toward voices mingling behind the cook’s counter, across the diner. Peg bustles between customers, cracking jokes and offering coffee and napkins. She moves fast, but people seem to enjoy her, their smiles congenial, warm. After Peg sets down a check in front of a guest, she mops her forehead and walks to the far corner of the diner. There she slides into a booth.
“Before you go, I have something I must ask. Will you forgive me, Tara?”
I can’t receive forgiveness unless I give it first. Norma’s words reopen raw wounds. Who am I to refuse to forgive someone who asks for it? “Of course. Yes. I do, Nigel. I really do.” Peg rests in the booth across the diner and I address Nigel. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”
He nods, his features more relaxed, and I leave the diner to call Mel on my cell. We talk, my sister and I, the steady crash of waves as my backdrop. Conversation over, I step back inside the diner and head directly for Peg, whose white-clad feet rest on the seat opposite her.
“May I?” I gesture to the seat where her feet lay.
I slide in next to her shoes. She’s neither smiling nor frowning; instead Peg appears tired, loose bags dangling beneath her crescent-shaped eyes. I had hoped to talk to my mother about Peg last night, but as it turned out, our conversation was disturbing enough for one evening.
Sweet Waters Page 21
