Another Yesterday

by Angela Christina Archer

  A lump caught in my throat and I dropped my gaze to the floor. My eyes filled with tears. Ever the guilty one, I played the daughter that no mother desires. The daughter who flees from her mother’s warmth, who puts forth no effort to make contact after she moves away, and the one who behaves as the ungrateful brat, brought forth from her mother’s love only to throw it in her mother’s face.

  I hated being that daughter.

  Yet, I did nothing to change myself.

  “I should have come home more and I should have called her more.” I closed my eyes, shaking my head as Nancy clutched my shoulders.

  “Don’t do that. Your mother would not want you to feel any sort of guilt whatsoever. You did nothing wrong.”

  I shook my head again. “No, I did. I did everything wrong.”

  “She never said anything to me about you not coming home or calling enough. And believe me, she would have.” Nancy chuckled. “Lord knows that woman could be so opinionated.”

  I giggled through my tears, sniffling.

  “She knew you had your own life to live. Of course, she didn’t understand your love for the city, but she figured New York was for you, what Shadow Brook was for her.”

  “She was so young still. I just feel like forty years have been ripped away from her . . . and from me.”

  “I know. I feel the same the way.”

  “Where’s my dad?” I cleared my throat and wiped the tears from my cheeks. “Is he at the house?”

  “No, he’s upstairs, taking a nap.”

  “Upstairs?”

  “Well, yeah, since they sold the house, they moved in here, into one of the rooms.”

  “Wait, they sold the house? Why didn’t mom tell me? And what about when they have guests?”

  She bit her lip. “Your parents haven’t had any guests for a while, actually.”

  “Why?”

  “With James’s illness and treatment, it made it harder for him to help around here, and your mother just couldn’t keep up with the demands with taking care of him, taking care of the guests, and trying to maintain the place. They began to cut back little by little, then finally just quit.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know.”

  “She didn’t want to worry you.” Nancy released my hands and cradled my cheeks in her palms. “Oh, Rachel, I’m so sorry you lost her.”

  “I’m sorry you did, too.”

  Nancy gave a slight nod as tears welled in her eyes, deepening the sea blue. The lines of her face hidden in their puffiness, and yet, their faint reminders shined through.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Well, at least let me get you settled into your room.” She ambled past me and with a shrug to her shoulders she motioned for me to follow her back into the foyer and around to the front desk where she fetched one of the room keys from the wall of hooks. The tiny bit of silver glimmered in the faint light of a tiny lamp sitting upon the desk. “I think I know the perfect one.” She grabbed the handle of my suitcase and led me up the staircase. The railing wobbled a little in my hand as the steps moaned under me. “Wasn’t your favorite room the one in the corner with the view of the beach and the garden?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Well, then, I’ll put you in there.”

  Her lumbering gate continued down the hallway past a few doors until we reached room number five. One of the largest rooms in the house—often reserved for couples on their honeymoon or special guests like a famous Hollywood celebrity. Whether it was the elegance of the white shimmering wallpaper, the over the top fluffy comforter and pillow shams, or the view of the sandy beach and ocean waves, I didn’t know, but I just loved every inch of the space—as did everyone else who visited the inn on a regular basis.

  “I’m afraid the pipes in the bathroom of the room are giving your parents some trouble. They work, but the hot water can be a bit quirky. Let me know if you have any problems.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  I crossed through the doorframe and caught my breath. Just as the rest of the inn and everyone in it, the room had grown old. The glimmer of the walls had faded while the white comforter and pillows showed their age, their once fluffy cloud-like softness lay flat against the mattress and their color tarnished with a hint of yellow.

  “It’s different than I remembered.”

  “Your mom had plans to redo it, but couldn’t get to it before . . .well, she just didn’t get to it.”

  She tossed my suitcase on the bed and opened the drawn curtains, letting the sunshine into the room. With a layer of dust, the mustiness threatened to make me sneeze. “I would stay up here to catch up with you, but I’ve got some things to do at the shop.”

  “Oh, that’s fine. I will probably just unpack and get some work done.”

  “Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Well, if you need anything let me know. As always, there are plenty of extra linens in the closet. When I get back I’ll wake James for his lunch and take you in to see him.”

  “Thank you.”

  As she grabbed the doorknob to leave, she turned back to face me, yanking a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “It’s good to see you, Rachel. I’m really glad you came. It’s been way too long since you’ve been home.”

  “I know.”

  Although the room around me had changed, the view from the large windows hadn’t, and as I looked out the pane of glass, I couldn’t help but smile. Still just as beautiful as it once was, I’d always loved the stretch of beach around the inn. Like an old friend, my bare feet had walked through its sand thousands of times while the soft pebbles squished in between my toes and the waves pounded around me. No greater therapy than strolling down the shoreline, just a mere glimpse from behind the glass right now caused an exhaled a breath of calmness through my body, a feeling I hadn’t felt in months.

  I unpacked my suitcase into the chest of drawers in the corner, pausing just before I pushed the drawer back in. A jumbled mess of thoughts had left me motionless as my eyes traced the knots in the stained wood and the patterns in the lace runner lying on top. Guilt pounded down upon me like the waves mere feet away, weighing on my shoulders with anxiousness and sadness.

  Nearly eleven years had passed since I’d been to Shadow Brook, and while I’d seen my parents a handful of times, I hadn’t seen them in a few years. Their trips to the city had dwindled with my dad’s sickness, and of course, I couldn’t be bothered with making the trip myself. Sure, I spoke to them on the phone a couple of times a month, but it wasn’t the same, and I knew it.

  I missed holidays such as celebrating Thanksgiving with the big meal around a large table in the inn or Christmas Eves watching the snow fall along the beach as we sipped hot chocolate next to the lit tree. I missed birthday celebrations, eating cake and ice cream as we sat in rocking chairs on the back porch—a family tradition I enjoyed, at least until I’d shunned it in my teens. Far too busy with friends to blow out candles and play games meant for children. Along with those, I wasn’t there for any of my dad’s doctor appointments or chemo treatments, and I forced my mother to deal with it all on her own.

  The time I’d missed seemed so long, and yet, so short. Thousands of days, thousands and thousands of hours, they all felt like nothing more than a blink of my eye now.

  I’d missed every single one. And for what? To live my life with a man who hurt me more than anyone ever could?

  I spun away from the dresser and made my way back to the window, brushing the curtains open as I looked out upon the sand and waves once more. All those missed chances and there was nothing I could do about it. All those phone calls I rushed to end. All those letters I forgot to write. All those emails I ignored. And now it was too late to make up for them. It was too late to fix. I had held onto my dreams so tight I’d ruined any chance for a relationship.

  And now my mom was gone.

  “You will never have
another yesterday,” I whispered to myself. Words I’d heard my mother say countless times. As a kid, I thought them as a beautiful poetic thought. As a teenager, I thought of them as annoying. And now, in my thirties, I suddenly realized exactly what she meant.

  An hour or two later, after unpacking and reading a few chapters of a book, a knock rapped against the door before it opened a crack and Nancy peeked in.

  “Rachel?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Your father is awake.” She waited by the doorway, leaning on the frame. “Now that he’s awake and has eaten his snack, I’m going to head back out for a bit and get some more work done. I’ll bring by Moe’s for dinner, if that’s okay?”

  “Sure, that’s fine.”

  “Would you like all the fixings on your lobster roll?”

  “Oh . . . um, only mayonnaise, please.”

  “Well, all right, then. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “Thank you, Nancy.”

  I watched her descend the stairs, disappearing down into the foyer. I waited for the click of the front door. Not only because I wanted to make sure she had left, but also because I needed a moment alone before visiting with my dad. I didn’t know what was on the other side of his door—devastation, anger, or bitterness of his own toward me, the horrible daughter.

  My hand trembled as I knocked on the door.

  “Come in.” His voice was weak, strained. Nothing like the strapping intonation I remembered from my youth or the last phone call—the once bellowing noise had faded into a hoarse murmur.

  “Hi, Dad.” I inched open the door, breaching it only enough for me to squeeze in, as though someone was trying to follow me, and I quickly shut it.

  “Hi Rachel. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too.”

  Although still young and considered in his prime my dad’s cancer had aged him. The stress and drugs had taken their toll on his body, nearly crippling him and leaving him the shell of a man he was before they diagnosed him. His shoulders were no longer the stout ones that gave me piggyback rides as a small child. His arms were no longer the strong ones that held me when either he carried me to bed after I’d fallen asleep somewhere I shouldn’t or when a boy I liked didn’t like me in return. And his once round face, so full of joy with sparkling green eyes, now drooped in an oval shape, devoid of much color, his irises dimmed.

  “How are you feeling?” The question felt stupid and wrong, but I asked anyway.

  “I’ve been better.”

  “I’m so sorry, Dad.”

  He closed his eyes and laid his head back on his pillow. A slight smile spread across his lips for a moment before he exhaled a deep breath. “It’s a part of life, right? I know she had her fair share of times when she had to prepare for my death.” He chuckled a little to himself. “Who would have thought she’d go before me.”

  I sat down on the edge of his bed, and the frame squeaked with my sudden weight.

  “I wish you two could have seen each other one last time though,” he said.

  I cleared my throat, trying to ignore my guilt. “I’m sorry I haven’t been home in a while.”

  “Eh, you were just trying to make a life of your own. It’s what everyone does.”

  “I still shouldn’t have stayed away. Not with your cancer and the treatments, and all the stuff mom had to deal with on her own. It was selfish and wrong.”

  “I knew how angry you were, and I saw the desperation in your eyes. You needed to leave. Quite honestly, I think your mother saw it, too. She tried to deny it, but deep down, she couldn’t.”

  “It was stupid of me to be so angry, though. She never did anything wrong. I mean, at the time, I believed she had, but at the end of it all, she didn’t. All she did was push me to make a choice, it’s what any mother would have done to see her kid happy.”

  “It’s in the past, Rachel, and there’s nothing you can do about it but change the future. She knows you loved her.”

  “I don’t know how she would. I’ve been awful.”

  “She knew. Believe me. If you are feeling any guilt, don’t. You didn’t know if you wanted her life, and there is no crime in that. She was so proud of you and what you had accomplished. The house, the job, she used to brag about her book editor daughter living a wonderful life in New York.”

  He coughed a few times as his trembling hand fetched his glass of water. He took a sip and set it back down before he adjusted the tray of food in his lap, nearly spilling the vegetable soup from the bowl sitting in the center.

  “How long do you plan to stay here?” he asked.

  “Mr. Gilmore said I could stay as long as I need to . . . within reason, of course. He didn’t sound too happy, but then he hasn’t been happy with me much lately, it’s a wonder he hasn’t fired me.”

  “Fire a managing editor? Wouldn’t that be foolish of him?”

  “I never got the promotion.”

  “Why?”

  “He just decided to go with someone else.” I lied.

  “Well, that’s too bad. Is Paul going to meet you out here? At least for the funeral?”

  I inhaled a deep breath. The truth sat on the tip of my tongue, and yet, the words commandeered my ability to speak. I shook my head, dropping my gaze to the floor as my shoulders hunched with my omission.

  “Well, that’s a shame, but hopefully his busyness means a good thing. Aren’t you planning some expensive home remodel?

  “Yeah, we were.” Technically not a lie, since we ‘were’ going to start them before I discovered him in bed with another woman. “So, how long has it been since you’ve had any guests in the inn?”

  Dad jerked his head, slightly, and blinked a few times at my change of subject. “Oh, uh, about a year or so, I guess. I thought we told you we were slowing down the business.”

  “You did, but I didn’t think you meant closing completely. With no guests, what were you doing for an income?”

  “We’ve been getting by just fine.”

  Of course, my parents’ bank account was none of my business, but that still didn’t mean I didn’t worry—especially now with my mom gone.

  “So, what are you going to do now?”

  “What I’ve been doing for the last sixty-two years of my life. I’ll wake up, live out my day, and go to sleep.”

  “I mean with the inn.”

  “Nothing.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “What do you mean nothing? Dad, you’ve got some major decisions to make.”

  “I know, but I don’t have to make them now. They can wait a few weeks.”

  “How can you be so calm about this?”

  “I think you’ll find everything will work out. It always does.”

  “You sound like mom.”

  “She always did have this ability to stay calm didn’t she?”

  “With some things. There were other things she didn’t.”

  “Well, one thing is for certain, I don’t want you to worry about anything. All right?” He adjusted his weight, wincing as though in pain while the bed squeaked again. “I think I’m going to take another nap before dinner. Nancy mentioned she’s bringing Moe’s back. I’ve always loved their lobster rolls.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “But after dinner I’d like to go for a walk along the beach. Perhaps you could join me.”

  “I’d like that.” I let a sigh as I rose to my feet and grabbed the tray from his lap. “I’ll take this back downstairs for you. If you need anything, just let me know.”

  As I shut the door behind me, a weight of emotions pounded on my shoulders. Looking around at the dingy hallway I used to run around in as a child, I didn’t know how Dad could be so cavalier. Did they have money saved I didn’t know about? Did they have a buyer for the inn? Did he plan to ask me if he could move in with Paul and me?

  I knew he was never one to panic or become overwhelmed, but still, my head was spinning, and I wasn’t even involved in the business. What was he not te
lling me?

  TWELEVE

  My mind was nothing but a fuzzy haze during my mother’s funeral service, and while I’d heard every word spoken about the lovely woman she was, as I left the church, I couldn’t recall a single one of them. Perhaps it was some form of self-protection or perhaps it was simply my mind trying to block it all out, I didn’t know. Maybe it was even both.

  The days following my arrival in Shadow Brook had blurred together in some unknown amount of time, leaving me not knowing what day it was. I’d heard going home after so many years after a tragedy could do that, but it wasn’t just my visit that had plunged my world into such a chaotic mess, it was also the stress of it all.

  Between combing through my mother’s life insurance paperwork, the inn’s financial records, and sitting at the table with my father, listening to him speak about the love of his life with both delight and utter devastation, a whirlwind of thoughts burdened my frayed nerves—nerves that nearly broke at my mother’s funeral.

  No matter how many times I pinched my arm this morning, leaving black and blue bruises on my skin, I never woke up from the nightmare. My life changed before my eyes in ways I didn’t expect and didn’t know, yet, if I’d even fully survive. The loss of a parent is unlike any other loss, one made worse by the guilt weighing on me for being such a horrible daughter. My pain so great, it almost crippled me.

  Looking at her casket humbled me to my inner core. The woman who loved me, cared for me, and raised me—even if she drove me a little bit crazy—for the last thirty years of my life lay lifeless in a box barely bigger than her body. She looked tiny and peaceful as though sleeping and dreaming—probably of all the grandkids she wanted, but would never see. Grandkids I couldn’t give her, and I lied to her about. I thought of the years I’d wasted with my foolishness, and my guilt played with the never-ending gut-wrenching pain that mocked me. I would have given anything to have her back.

  “It was such a lovely service, wasn’t it?” Nancy asked, striding through the front door of the inn after Dad and me. Her husband, Evan, followed close behind with a couple of huge bouquets in his arms. The fresh scent of flowers filled the room. “I’ll get started setting up the food for the reception. The guests should arrive shortly.”