“Tuck probably will, too,” I said.
She smiled. “I hope so. I kind of like the idea of Daddy living on through him, even if it’s in a small way.”
“Leala Clare.”
“Sadie Way,” she echoed in the same dull tone.
“You’re avoiding talking about the job.”
She sighed. “You think you’d take a hint.”
The laptop whirred quietly, the only noise in an otherwise silent house. “It’s not a big deal to want to go back to work.”
Running a finger over the faces in the photo, she said, “It is when my whole life I wanted nothing more than to stay home with my children. I know how lucky I am to have this opportunity at all. There are so many moms out there who have to work just to put food on the table. I’m being ungrateful.”
“It’s okay to want to change, Leala. It’s okay to change. What would you tell a working mom if she wanted to quit her job to stay home?”
“If that’s where her heart is leading her, then to do it if she can.”
“Then why are you arguing with where your heart is leading you? Is it because of Mama?”
Leala set the frame back on the filing cabinet, turning it just so. “I don’t know. Maybe? I’m kind of lost right now, trying to figure out who I am.”
“You are who you’ve always been. Kindhearted, loving, loyal, brave, nurturing, stubborn, slightly controlling, and always having to be right.”
She tipped her head and reached for the electric bill on the desk. “I liked the first part better. And I should probably call about this bill, get it paid. I’m thinking it’s not high on Mother’s priority list.”
“I checked already,” I said. “It’s been paid.” What Leala didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her any.
Pale eyebrows shot upward. “Really? That’s a relief. Maybe she’s not as bad off as we think.”
Reaching across the desk, I handed her the whole stack of papers, minus the bill for the truck loan. “You might want to check the rest, though.”
“She really needs a better organizing system. There’s stuff in here from last fall.”
Agreed. Mama’s priorities certainly didn’t revolve around filing.
As Leala sorted through the letters, the laptop finished cycling through its startup. I almost did a happy dance when it connected to the Wi-Fi. I typed in the password—LakeMagic—and clicked through to Google to create an email for Mama and for the cottage. A website was next on my list of to-dos, but that was going to take a little time.
“I’m really hoping Mama won’t disown me when she finds out what I’ve done,” I said as I logged off. “Leala? What is it?”
Deep lines creased her forehead as she stared at the paper she was reading. She turned the paper to face me. DEPARTMENT OF THE TREASURY—INTERNAL REVENUE SERVICE was printed at the top. “It’s a federal tax lien, Sadie.”
“What’s that mean?” I asked, coming around the desk.
“It means Mother owes back taxes. Nearly forty-three thousand dollars in back taxes. And if they’re not paid, the IRS can eventually force the sale of the cottage to recoup the money.” With a renewed fervor, she dug through the rest of the pile. “I don’t see any evidence that she’s set up any kind of payment plan.”
Stunned, I sat on the edge of the desk and barely registered the noise of the front door opening and muted voices in the entryway. “When was the letter sent?”
“Last month, but she had to have received a warning before this letter arrived. Why didn’t she call Connor straight away? This is in his field of law. He could’ve helped sort it all out.”
Mama was proud and stubborn, yes, but not asking for Connor’s help was taking those traits to the next level. “I don’t know, but what can she do now? And how on earth does she owe that much?”
“It doesn’t say why. If paying it off in a lump sum isn’t possible, then setting up a payment plan will be necessary. I hate the thought of her having yet another monthly bill, especially since being delinquent carries such dire consequences. Connor and I were going to use our savings for him to start his own firm, but I think we can stretch a bit and make a contribution to help pay this down.”
The door squeaked as it was pushed fully open, and I nearly fell over at the sight of Mama standing in the doorway in a loose shift dress and sandals. Her cheeks were rosy and her curls corkscrewed every which way.
“Surprise, girls! I was sprung early.” She snatched the lien notice from Leala’s hand and added, “I appreciate the offer of a contribution, Leala Clare, but I won’t take your money. Or yours, either, Sadie. I got myself into this fine mess, and I’ll get myself out.”
Chapter
24
Leala
The next morning, blazing orange and red hues tinted the far reaches of the lake where the light touched first, the colors warning of another storm brewing. I sat cross-legged on my yoga mat at the end of the dock, listening to the birdsong and the frogs. I’d arrived early enough to see the loon floating by crying, her sleek body leaving gradually fading ripples in the water as the lake absorbed her sorrow.
I drew in a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to find peace within myself. I’d had another restless night, worried about Mother, worried about money, worried about everything.
After Mother had taken Sadie and me to task for going through her mail, she had retired to her room for the night but had a steady stream of visitors stopping in. Sadie and I watched a House Hunters International marathon with her, and any time either of us started talking about anything other than what was happening on the show, she shushed us.
“There’s time enough for reality tomorrow,” she’d admonished.
How she could simply ignore her troubles amazed me, because I worried mine to death. It seemed every time I had one worry under control, another popped up. My fingernails were ravaged, and I was starting to get bald patches at my temples. There wasn’t enough yoga in the world to soothe my anxieties.
When I heard footsteps on the dock, I expected to see Teddy or Bree and was stunned to see it was Mother and Sadie making their way toward me, steaming mugs in hand and towels draped over their shoulders. Both smelled of citronella and were dressed in loose shorts and T-shirts and wore no shoes. Sadie handed me a cup of coffee and then set hers on the dock. She took one towel and spread it out, then the other. And in no time at all, we were sitting side by side, Mother in the middle, looking out over the calm lake.
With them here next to me, I felt a sense of peace, despite the fact that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been comfortable being this close to my mother.
“I can get real used to this yoga of yours, Leala Clare. I can see why you enjoy it,” Mother said with a teasing lilt, finally breaking the silence.
A headband held back her hair, but a few curls had sprung loose over her forehead. She truly looked none the worse for her heart adventures, except for some bruising on her arm and dark circles under her eyes.
It hadn’t escaped my notice that she’d been using my full name since she’d returned home from the hospital, and it was beyond my comprehension why I suddenly missed her calling me LC.
“Relaxing, isn’t it?” I sipped the coffee. Sadie had made it just the way I liked it.
“I always thought dusk was my favorite time on the lake, but I might have to reconsider,” Sadie said as she stretched her legs. “There’s a stillness to the early morning I appreciate, as if it’s gathering its energy, readying itself for what the day holds.”
Mother patted her leg. “That’s a real pretty picture you painted, Sadie Way.”
I glanced over at my sister. “There’s definitely a reason you’re the storyteller in the family.”
“Hey, now,” Mother protested. “I tell stories. Lots of stories. I have stories for days. Years even.”
Again there was a lilt to her tone when I’d been expecting defensiveness. It caught me off guard, but I reminded myself to try to embrace the changes in her rat
her than be wary of them. Sadie had shared with me what Buzzy had said of Mother, the reaping and sowing of it all, and I had to admit I’d been cynical … yet optimistic. Hopeful, even. But I also knew that she wasn’t the only one who needed to change. I had to be less reactive and defensive as well. I glanced at the water oaks. It wasn’t only one tree that had bent—but both. “I know, Mama. You should take a page out of Sadie’s book and think about filming your stories to share them with a bigger audience.”
Her eyes widened when I called her mama; then her chin dipped as she tried to hide a smile. “Maybe I will.” She fluffed her curls. “I’m quite photogenic, and viewers will love my accent, especially if I play it up a little, make it seem like I ain’t got a lick of sense, then reel them in with my wit and charm.”
Clearly, some things probably would never change where my mother was concerned, but that was okay. She was who she was, and I loved her, flaws and all.
“I’m not a storyteller. I don’t tell the stories,” Sadie said, eyeing us both like she didn’t know who we were anymore. “I share the stories. There’s a difference.”
“Barely,” I said. “I saw the way you questioned Bree yesterday. Your questions will guide the story she tells your audience.”
Sadie took a sip of her coffee, then grinned. “I should get story guider printed on a mug.”
“Merch!” Mama exclaimed. “I do so love me some merch.”
I could only shake my head at that. “You’re a storyteller, Sadie Way. Always have been, always will be. A Southern Hankerin’ might not have you putting pen to paper, but it wouldn’t be the same without your heart, your voice. That’s a storyteller, plain and simple.”
“Leala Clare Keesling,” Sadie said with a big smile. “Did you finally watch some of my videos?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t go getting a big head about it. I watched a few episodes. They were nice. I liked them. Okay, I loved them.”
Her hair sparkled in the morning light as she laughed, and the happy sound filled my soul.
“Perhaps I’ll start a travel channel,” Mama mused. “A Southern Belle in the Wild.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Mama was about as far from a belle as I was from a rock star. A boat idled past and its driver lifted a hand in hello. We waved back.
Sadie shifted, turning sideways to face Mama and me. “A travel channel? Does that mean you’ll be taking more vacations?”
Mama ran a finger around the rim of her mug. “Not a vacation, no. Retirement. Listen, girls, I know I’ve gotten myself into a big hole, moneywise.”
“How, by the way?” Sadie asked, interrupting, and I was glad she had, since I was curious, too.
Mama said, “When your daddy died, I inherited some stock. I never paid it much mind until I fell behind on my bills, and the roof and the dock needed replacing. Those stocks had gone up quite a bit in value over the years. Who was to know that I had to pay tax on the difference?”
Sadie and I both raised our hands. And if Connor were here, he’d probably pass flat out if he heard this conversation. Capital gains were a big deal in his firm. Lots of billable hours went to figuring out work-arounds to avoid paying the taxes.
“Shoo,” Mama said with a tsk. “Well, I didn’t. Not until the IRS contacted me out of the blue. I don’t have that kind of money and wasn’t sure where to get it. Originally, I’d been planning on wishing for an enormous pile of cash at the lantern festival, thinking Lady Laurel was my only hope. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this past week, these last few days especially. Whew-ee, there’s something about dying that sure has a way of making you want to live, let me tell you.”
I sighed. Nope, some things definitely would never change.
She went on. “You girls know this cottage was always your daddy’s dream, not mine.” She swallowed hard and added, “When he died, I couldn’t bear to see his dream die, too. So I stayed on. I worked hard. I couldn’t bring myself to change any of the décor, because it was all things your daddy and I chose together. I kept using his big old desk and that broken chair … A part of me thought that if I could just keep this place as he wanted it, it would be like he was still here with us.”
I blinked away tears as I realized for the first time how much she had loved my father. She so rarely talked about him that it was easy to forget.
She went on, saying, “Since he’s been gone, I’ve been living in a state of denial. I made choices I probably shouldn’t have, not only for the effect they had on me, but on you two as well. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I’m sorry. Real sorry. It’s high time I start letting go. Life is short. I need to start living for myself, chase my own dreams, and stop trying to live through others.” She threw a meaningful glance at Sadie. “I can’t unlearn all my bad habits overnight, but I’m trying to see beyond myself. I want to be better. I want us to heal.”
Tears perched on Sadie’s lashes as she said, “I want that, too.”
“Me, too,” I echoed, wanting it more than anything.
“I decided I’m not going to make any wishes this year. It’s past time to make my own wishes come true. I’m calling a realtor first thing Monday morning. I’m going to sell the cottage,” Mama said. “I can see now that your daddy will always be with us, cottage or no. He lives inside us. Where we go, he’ll go. I’ll use some of the profit to pay off the IRS and my other debts, make sure Camp has enough to get himself settled into a good place, then use the rest for my travel fund.” Her shoulders shimmied and she grinned. “I’m going to see the world.”
“I—But—” Sadie cut herself off and simply shook her head.
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Mama said, “but it’s for the best. All I ask of you girls is to stay the rest of the week here with me. Let us have one last water lantern festival together, here at the cottage. What do you say?”
I liked what I was hearing, but I realized I didn’t trust it. I feared she was going to slip back into her old ways, her old habits, and I was going to end up hurt yet again. Still, after seeing her lying in that hospital bed, I was willing to give it a chance.
“I’m in,” I said.
Sadie nodded slowly as if reluctant to agree.
Mama took a deep breath. “I want you to know that I heard you both at the hospital the other night. I heard you. I know I haven’t been the best mother—now, now, don’t argue,” she added, even though neither Sadie nor I had said anything. “When children are little, they learn from their parents. Soak up absolutely everything. I’ve come to realize that when children are older, they start teaching us parents. I’m learning from you, and I promise to keep soaking it in. But I will say this. Right or wrong, you two are you because I was me. I’m real proud of both of you. Real proud. Now, come on—bring it on in. Give me some love. It’s been a rough week, almost dying, and all.”
* * *
Home.
The word loomed large in my thoughts as I lay next to Connor in our enormous California king–size bed. Muted light filtered through the window, giving the room a hazy, drowsy, dreamlike glow.
We’d come back home to collect a few more items to take to the cottage, since we’d be staying there for the rest of the week. Tucker had fallen asleep in the car during the quick drive over and had stayed asleep as Connor carried him and Moo inside to his small bed for a restful nap in a familiar place.
Connor and I had wasted no time in taking advantage of being alone. It was much-needed bonding time, of hearts, of bodies. My head rested now on his chest, and his heartbeat comforted, soothed. He ran his hand over my hair, his fingers playfully tugging on loose curls.
Home should bring a sense of warmth, of love, of safety, of happiness. Yet, when I’d walked in earlier, it was almost as if I’d walked into a hotel. A place to stay. To live for a while. But little else.
I lifted onto an elbow. “I think we should sell the house.”
His eyes widened. “Where did that come from? We can afford—”
I held my hand to his lips, silencing him. “This house is too big for the three of us. And yes, it’s beautiful, but it doesn’t feel like home to me. It feels like I’m living in someone else’s house. Remember our apartment in New Orleans? That felt like home.”
We’d lived in that apartment for three years. We’d barely had any money. Connor had been in law school full-time, and I’d been working full-time at a small accounting firm. Yet we’d never been happier.
His gaze softened, and he took hold of my hand, twining his fingers through mine. “You mean the studio apartment that always reeked of grease because we lived above a restaurant, had roaches the size of my fist, had rusty water most of the year, and had six locks on the door?”
I conceded his memory with a smile. “It also had amazing purple walls, that enormous original window that filled the room with sunlight, the most comfortable red velvet couch that we found at a flea market, framed nature prints from street artists that reminded us of our hometowns, colorful throw pillows that doubled as seating when we had people over, and a giant corkboard that we filled with all our treasures. Ticket stubs, pictures, the piece of ribbon from my wedding bouquet. It was filled with us. Look around here. What do you see?”
He cast his gaze around the room, and I followed it with my own, tracking across the cool gray walls and pastel canvases that held no meaning at all other than the designer thought they complemented the room, across all the gray and cream accents and knickknacks that held no stories or memories.
“It’s beautiful, yes, but it’s not us,” I said, sitting up fully. “It’s not me, at least. I thought it was once. When we bought the place, hired the designer, agreed to it all. I wanted you to be happy, yes, and I know buying this place fulfilled something for you, but ultimately I think I agreed because I was trying really hard to be someone I wasn’t. I think I was trying so hard to prove that I wasn’t anything like my mother that I lost sight of who I truly was.” I blinked away a tear. “I am my mother’s daughter. I love color. And patterns. And cozy houses full of warmth and personality. Houses that tell a story, our story, of where we’ve been, how far we’ve come, and where we hope to go.”
The Lights of Sugarberry Cove Page 25
