Sweet Waters

by Julie Carobini

  I nod, because no words will come. The wind and the spray of waves swirl around us as we stand barefoot in the sand, gazing at each other. Josh’s arms wrap me tighter and I’m floating on a potent mixture of breathlessness and contentment.

  He cinches me closer, and when he speaks his breath tickles the tips of my ears. “I love you, Tara.”

  The words, although I’ve heard them before, sound different coming from Josh. Full and heady and charged with anticipation. And longing. He pulls back and implores me with his eyes.

  Not long ago I admitted to myself just how much I wanted a man’s love in my life. Until now, though, I hadn’t realized the exhilaration of loving that man back.

  I lift my chin toward Josh, barely able to contain my smile. “I love you too, Josh. Very much.”

  And I mean it with everything in me. Not a drop of doubt remains.

  I could stay here forever . . .

  “I WOULD LIKE TO come in.” The woman standing on our porch at half-past ten wears a full-length wool coat and a befuddled frown. One hand continuously squeezes the fingers on the other.

  I push on the screen-door latch, speechless.

  All three of us are still up, although barefoot and dressed in pajamas as varied as our personalities. Camille’s wearing pj bottoms and a cami, Mel is in silk loungewear, and I’ve slipped into a pair of fleece sweats. Before the doorbell rang, we’d been sitting on the floor, feasting on bowls of Camille’s favorite ice cream: fudge crunch.

  Peg steps into our cottage, her flat lips pulled into her face. She glances around at the walls, yet appears to notice nothing.

  Camille hops up. “Is Holly okay?”

  Peg’s eyes widen on Camille, as if she’s just been awakened from a frightening dream. She makes a visible effort to calm herself before speaking. “Holly’s good. She’s at home watching the Food Network. Has some crazy idea about putting something with chorizo on my menu.” Her voice, usually coarse and raspy, trails off.

  “So why are you here?” Leave it to Mel to set things straight. It has not gone unnoticed, at least by me, that my sister’s back stands as rigid as an ironing board.

  Peg puffs out a firm breath, her eyes more focused. She stares at the three of us, an expression of determination on her face. Yet it’s not the ornery one I’m used to. This one is more of resolve. “May I sit?”

  Her polite tone confuses me. “I . . . sure . . . of course. Why don’t we head into the kitchen?”

  Leaving our half-eaten bowls of ice cream behind, Mel and her crossed arms lead the way, followed by Peg, me, and Camille scampering up from her comfy spot on the floor. We slide into the booth and I realize my faux pas. I’ve loved this room for its warmth and cozy feel, but discomfort crawls up my skin like a spider. Our father’s nemesis sits with us in the place usually reserved for sisterly banter.

  “I suppose you’re here for your money.” Mel’s voice bristles against my raw nerves.

  Peg gapes at Mel. “You hate me.”

  Compassion swells within me. Peg’s a victim in this situation, but her daily demeanor has clouded that fact. This night, however, she sits before us looking sad and somewhat lost. “We don’t hate you, Peg. We’re just sad that we even have to have this conversation.”

  She nods, her chin moving up and down like a pogo stick on slow. “Yes, well. I’m sad too.” She finds my eyes with hers. “And ashamed.”

  I shrug. “You probably didn’t want to be reminded of what happened when we all lived here all those years ago. Your anger was, uh, understandable.”

  She leans her head to one side, narrowing her eyes. “You know what happened then?”

  I let down an exaggerated sigh. “Dad took money from you. I’m not happy repeating that, but if that’s what you want to hear . . .”

  Redness tinges her eyes and they fight to stay open against the fluttering. “I meant, oh, I meant . . .”

  Camille slips an arm around Peg and the moment freezes in my mind. For all her less-than-thought-out decisions and sometimes immature ways, Camille’s treatment of Peg is childlike, precious.

  Peg rocks in her arms, whispering, “I’m so sorry. I . . . am . . . so . . . sorry.”

  Mel looks away, while I reach my arm across to touch Peg’s sleeve. I’d forgotten to take her coat. “It’s okay. Really. I was planning to pay you a visit tomorrow with a cashier’s check.” I slide out of the booth and stand. “But if you’d like, I can write you a personal check tonight.”

  “Stop!”

  No sound can be heard except for the refrigerator’s cooling unit, coaxing itself to keep working.

  “Sit down. I have much to say.”

  That look of resolve, the one I’d noticed in the living room, has reappeared across Peg’s face. Slowly, I sit.

  She continues. “Your father paid back every cent he owed me.”

  “He did . . . what?” Mel lunges forward, as if ready to inflict physical justice.

  “Peg? I don’t understand.” My mind tries hard to accept this new and very welcome truth.

  “Sometime after he and Marilee took you girls to Missouri, I received a check in the mail in the full amount, plus interest. I did not expect to ever hear from him again.”

  I whip a look at Mel.

  She appears just as shocked. “I never thought to ask Mom if he’d paid it back! And she never offered that nugget either.”

  My eyes implore Peg. “But you led me to believe that he still owed you a debt. Why? Why in the world would you keep the truth from me?”

  “Because I wanted you to leave!”

  “But why? Just because of old memories?”

  Mel fumes. “I’ll tell you why. It’s because she figured we were all cut from the same cloth. You thought we’d somehow get into that till of yours, didn’t you?”

  Camille has pulled away from Peg, her hands resting in her lap, her chin pulled downward.

  Peg steps from the booth, standing in the kitchen, glancing around as if searching out an escape route. “Your father—and my sister—were close at one time. It was because of her recommendation that I hired Robert in the first place, to handle the books for my diner.” She rubs her wide lips together, moistening them. “My sister had problems—many, many problems—and so she left this town for good. That’s when Robert and Marilee started dating. Your mother, well, it was obvious to the entire town how hard she was falling for Robert. Very affectionate, that one. She hung onto him everywhere they went, and her face, well, it looked like a full moon the way it glowed. The man could pass a burp and she’d swoon!”

  Camille stifles a giggle, but a queasiness sinks into my abdomen.

  “It wasn’t long before the two were engaged, and everyone knew it was because Marilee was with child.” Peg peers at me. “That was you, Tara.”

  The queasiness continues to quake my insides.

  “I accepted it, you know. My sister, well, she had made her choice and Robert couldn’t wait forever. Marilee seemed like a nice girl, flighty, but nice.”

  Mel sighs. Loudly.

  “Everything was going along, me running the diner and your family growing like those grasses out on the dunes, until CeCe came ridin’ into town, looking like Rapunzel with all that flowing, curly hair. And she had one thing on her mind.”

  CeCe . . . was Peg’s sister? Confusion binds up my heart and mind like a knotted web, but before I can work to untangle the mess, I have something to say. “I need to stop you right there, Peg.” I glance at my sisters, the muddiness of guilt in my gut. “I meant to tell you about something else I had heard recently, but never actually got around to it.”

  Mel’s eyes are hard, like marbles. “Spit it out.”

  I meet them with my own, hoping to soften the edges with a look of desperation. “I’ve heard that Dad wasn’t always faithful to Mom. That he, uh, might have had an affair with CeCe.”

  “Gross.” Camille sticks out her tongue.

  Mel’s expression matches Camille’s.

&nb
sp; Peg goes on. “It was commonly believed back then that Marilee trapped Robert into marrying her. Still that’s no excuse. In my opinion, a man knows what he’s doing when he . . . well, you know.” Peg pounds one rounded fist into her open hand. “Anyway, CeCe’s presence around town again got the man confused and they dallied—more than once, she told me.”

  I close my eyes against the sheer pain of learning so much about the intimate sins of my father. Somewhere in my mind’s cluttered recesses I realize that the woman standing in our kitchen, if she is truly CeCe’s sister, is also our beloved Camille’s aunt.

  “She wanted him to leave you girls, to jump on the back of her motorcycle and ride away to who knows where with her. But your father”—she shakes her head—“to his credit, he wouldn’t do anything of the sort. Her ultimatum changed him. Everybody could see it. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he’d hit his head on the rocks and finally come to his senses.”

  Camille’s interest piques, but she seems wary. “What happened then?”

  Peg meets Camillie’s gaze. “That’s when CeCe took up with Grant, Marilee’s brother.”

  Camille is still. “My . . . father?”

  I can’t take it and grasp Camille’s hand from across the table. “CeCe was Caroline, your mother, Camille.” My eyes implore her. “I never knew she was related to Peg.”

  “Is that so bad?” Peg snaps.

  Camille appears dazed. “Wait. That would make you . . . my aunt?”

  “Yes, it would seem so.”

  “So that would make me . . .”

  Mel cries out, incredulous. “Holly’s sister.”

  I gasp. “Oh, of course. You’re Holly’s half-sister!” A glimmer of silver lining appears in the sober room, the thought of dear Holly and our cousin being related by blood. “Is this what you really came here to tell us, Peg? That Camille’s got a sister . . . and an aunt?”

  “There’s more.”

  Mel slams a hand down on the table. “For crying out loud, how much more can there be? You’ve just about turned this family upside down! We’re like characters in some bad soap opera! What else could you possibly say that could be any more surprising?”

  Peg’s shoulders and chest rise and fall as she gathers strength. She eyes us all. “Robert—your father—was Camille’s father too.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Silence.

  We all turn our gazes on Camille, who has been sitting in a stupor. It’s all too much for her. She doesn’t make eye contact with any of us, but stares into the grain of the wood table, her fingers pressed against her puckered brow.

  The magnitude of Peg’s pronouncement is only beginning to fill my consciousness. “Camille?”

  She shakes her full head of curly hair before slowly rising from the table, whispering a high-pitched, “Excuse me,” and dashing out of the kitchen.

  I spin back to Peg. “Are you certain about this?”

  Mel grunts. “Let me out.” She flicks her head toward the doorway and I slide out of the booth so she can follow after Camille. She brushes past Peg, who has yet to answer, and stops. She speaks to Peg without looking at her. “Did our father know this?”

  Peg’s voice sounds weighed down. Remorse? “No, I don’t believe he did.”

  “Well. Then you’ve got a lot of nerve keeping this from us. Our father died not knowing Camille was his. What’s wrong with you?” Mel doesn’t wait to find out, but marches from the kitchen. We can hear her feet pounding against the floorboards as she heads down the hall.

  Peg’s head is dropped forward, but her eyes remain level, watching me. “I didn’t know. I swear it. Two years after you all picked up and left town, CeCe showed back up here with another bundle in her arms and no plans to stick around to raise her.”

  “Holly?”

  She nods, her face grim. “My sister was a cruel woman—selfish, addicted. I don’t even know if she’s still alive.” Her wrenching sigh fills the quiet. “Grant, your mother’s brother, was a rebel, just like CeCe. It was obvious she used him to taunt your father. When she left baby Camille with Grant, I was busy taking care of my sick husband, Hal, God rest his soul. Then Grant went and crashed his Harley, getting himself killed.” She shakes her head slowly. “I was relieved that Marilee offered to take Camille in. I just couldn’t do it at the time.”

  Pity draws on me.

  “Your father really couldn’t afford another mouth, though. That’s why he took the money.”

  I stare at her. “Really?”

  “Really.” She shoves her hands into the pocket of her coat. “I hated him for getting mixed up with my sister. I think maybe I blamed him for her problems. After my husband died, though, I felt very, very alone.” She slides back into the booth, facing me. “Two years later, when CeCe showed up with another child, I felt grateful, as sad as that may sound. I’d already lost Camille and I was being given another chance. I said something to that effect and that’s when CeCe told me that Robert was Camille’s real father. Apparently, she didn’t sleep with Grant until after finding out she was pregnant with Robert’s child.”

  My mouth has gone dry. I’m awash in grief over careless lies and time lost. Oh, Daddy, did you ever suspect this? Instinctively, I know. He must have wondered. He always treated Camille like one of his own, whether or not he knew for sure. “So she left again?”

  “’Fraid so. And I’ve raised Holly ever since.”

  “Then why? Why weren’t you happy to see us? Camille’s your niece too, after all.”

  Regret fills Peg’s face. “I’ve been a stupid woman. When you all showed up here a few months ago, I was more scared than a hog at butcherin’ time.”

  “Scared? Of what?”

  She looks me square in the eyes. “That if you knew the truth, you’d take my Holly from me.”

  The idea’s unbelievable to me.

  “Your faithfulness, though, to pay back your father’s debt”—she shakes her head—“that touched this bitter old woman straight down to the core. I could not, in good conscience, keep the truth from you any longer.”

  Despite the shock and the grief of the last hour—of the last few months really—hope lingers. My eyes never waver from Peg’s. I see a woman beaten down by her own poor choices, and yet, did she ask to have those decisions foisted on her? Silence falls between us. We each grapple with what to do next, when Camille appears in the doorway, fresh tears staining her cheeks.

  “I—we need to talk to Holly.”

  The ball of emotion in my chest nearly bursts. I reach out to Camille, and she falls into my arms.

  “Yeah, we do.”

  She rests her mane of curls against my shoulder and sniffles. “I called her. Her food show finished so she’s coming over.”

  Peg’s face pales. “Now? Holly’s coming now?”

  Camille nods and Peg falls silent. Mel remains AWOL, and I’m nearly numb. The clock on the old stove beats a steady rhythm as we wait for what seems like a lengthy passage of time. Yet only ten minutes later, Holly’s rubber-soled shoes, the ones we’ve heard rocket across the diner floor since the beginning, flap up the stairs to our front door. Camille flies from my arms, throws open the door, and stands rooted in place, gaping at Holly.

  Our visitor throws out a nervous little laugh as she enters the room. “Now what’s got you girls in a stir this late?” She turns and halts, her eyes finding Peg, stoic and still, on the bench just inside the kitchen doorway. “Aunt Peg?”

  Peg extends an arm toward her. “Come here, Holly.”

  Camille wraps an arm around Holly as they walk toward the kitchen. Holly gasps. “Oh my word. Who died?”

  For the first time all evening, Camille smiles. “Nobody. We just have something to tell you.”

  As the girls squeeze around the table, I take another glance toward the doorway. Mel needs to be here, but I can’t force her to join us. The old me would drag Mel from her room, but I’m no longer the girl who needs to be in charge all the time. Tr
uthfully, I never really was in control.

  Peg shifts and clears her voice. “This needs to come from me.” She purses her lips and pulls in a deep breath through her nose and huffs it back out. “Holly, your mother was my sister.”

  Holly cocks her chin. “Oh Auntie, I know that—I have pictures, remember?”

  Peg nods and her cheek twitches. “There’s more. Your mother had another child too. Before you.”

  Holly’s eyes widen. “No kiddin’.”

  Mel appears and leans on the door frame, her eyebrows knitted toward each other, and her forehead bunched.

  Peg glances at Mel, and then thrusts her chin toward Camille. “She’s right there next to you.”

  Holly flits a gaze my way, her mouth agape. “Tara?”

  I shake my head. “No . . . not me. Camille. Camille’s your sister, Holly.”

  We watch as Holly turns to find Camille’s blotchy red face staring back at her. A beat of silence passes before Holly’s surprise fills the room. “Well I’ll be dipped in buttermilk! How?” She grabs Camille by the shoulders and hugs her tight, her voice thick with emotion. “By the looks of you girls, I thought someone had kicked the can, but this . . . this is the best news I’ve heard ever in my whole life.” Holly pulls back, and holds Camille at arm’s length, her face glowing. “I . . . I have a sister of my own.”

  Mel and I glance at each other, our eyes full.

  We know just how Holly feels.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Two Weeks Later

  You know those times in your life, when your world crumbles and you think you’ll never be able to think about anything else ever again and then some time passes and along the way you realize that you have fallen in love—honestly, for the first time ever—and while all issues may not exactly be resolved, they’re better?

  Much, much better?

  That’s the way it is for my sisters and me. And I did say, sisters. Peg’s pronouncements threw us all into a spin for several days, but slowly we emerged from the turbulence, our new sisterly bond a beautiful display—like a pearl-holding clamshell, pried open and laid out in the sunlight.