Another Yesterday

by Angela Christina Archer

  “Why did she leave?”

  “They don’t know. She went out for dinner with her friend Sherry from college. They said she came home rather early—must have only spent a few minutes at the restaurant before she left, and she was upset, mumbling under her breath about how she didn’t fit in, in San Francisco anymore. They asked her if she was all right and she said not to mind her rambling. She was going to bed and she’d see them in the morning. When they woke up, you two were gone. She left a letter on the bed, telling them she would write or call to them when she got home. She never did either.”

  “So, she just disappeared from everyone?”

  The three of them—Charlie and my grandparents—all nodded.

  “That must be why she came up to Maine.” I rested my elbow on the table and pressed my forehead into my palm. “She had nowhere to go, and when she called upon you for help, you told her to get rid of me. She came here to get away from you because she thought you were going to take me away from her.”

  “Well, I wasn’t gonna just rip you out of her arms the minute she walked through the door.”

  So many of the missing puzzle pieces suddenly fell into place in the giant puzzle that was my life. Even if details were missing, questions were answered, and it was like the curtains to the darkened corners of my mind were flung open and light was finally allowed inside.

  “When did you first find out she was living up here?” Charlie asked.

  Grandma shrugged. “I think Rachel was about six or seven. She wrote us a few letters here and there, lettin’ us know she was all right. But she never told us where she was. Then one day she called us on the telephone, letting us know she was married and owned an inn. I know what you are thinking, but I never lied to you, I didn’t know where she was when you called.”

  “But you lied to Mom,” I said. “You talked to him, you knew he was alive, and you never told her.”

  “She didn’t lie to her.” Charlie held up his hand. “I never told her who I was when I called.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was stupid or scared, or perhaps both, I don’t know. I was messed up for awhile when I came home, and I panicked in the moment. I didn’t know if she’d tell me she was happy and married or what. So, I told her I was an old friend just looking for her.”

  “That’s when you gave up,” I whispered. It was more of a statement than a question and thankfully, he took it as such and just nodded.

  Luke—who’d been silent this whole time—laid his hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay, Rachel?”

  I gave him a sideways glance, and although I smiled, I shook my head. Before he could ask, however, I shoved my chair away from the table and rose to my feet, throwing my napkin down beside the plate.

  “I need some fresh air,” I said. Luke pushed his chair back too, but I stopped him. “Please, just let me be alone for a little while.”

  I thought I would know what to think, say, and do by the time my feet found the front porch, thought that the sunlight and the early morning sea breeze would help as though flipping on some light switch inside my mind and suddenly I’d have the clarity. It didn’t happen, though. Instead, I only felt this twist in my stomach that I couldn’t escape and my thoughts betrayed me, holding me hostage while they mocked me. Regret, guilt, pain, sorrow—they all partied with one another, dancing around me in endless circles. I knew so little about my mom and because I didn’t know, I’d treated her in ways that if I had known, I wouldn’t have acted as I did. Not because I would have felt sorry for her, but because I would have understood her.

  Nineteen and alone. Nineteen and with a baby. Nineteen and a widow. Nineteen and with no place to go.

  I couldn’t imagine.

  I thought of some of the fights we used to have. She didn’t want Luke and I to have sex because she’d gotten in trouble. She hadn’t wanted me to spend time with my grandparents because she knew what they had wanted in regards to me. She was trying to protect me, and I thought she was trying to keep me from them for some selfish, stupid reasons.

  I trotted down through the parking lot and out onto the street, headed for town—headed for Nancy’s flower shop.

  If one person in this town knew about my mom, it would be her.

  “We are closed at the moment,” a voice called out as the door shut behind me and the bell above it dinged.

  “Nancy?” I said.

  “Rachel? Is that you?”

  Before I could answer, Nancy peered around the corner, her eyebrows scrunched. “Is everything all right?”

  “My grandparents showed up last night.”

  Her eyes widened and she drew her lips back to make a hissed noise.

  “You can say that again,” I said, cocking my head to the side.

  “So, are they still at the inn?”

  While I had expected myself to answer her, by the time I opened my mouth, a burst of sobs came out instead of words. She darted over, wrapping her arms around me.

  “It’s okay. Everything will be okay.”

  “But it’s not.”

  “What do you mean? How is it not?”

  Barely able to get more than a few words out at a time, I stuttered and sobbed through the whole mess. From the journals to Charlie. From my grandparents to Luke and from my parents to my guilt in the fight Nancy and I had that morning in the kitchen—of which I hadn’t exactly apologized for yet. We’d steered clear of each other since then, even at James’s funeral. A first and awkward time I wanted to forget. Everything came pouring out like word vomit on the floor surrounded by the puddles of my tears. Nancy remained silent through it all, only smiling a few times and biting her lip as I—the blubbering fool—prattled on and on and on.

  It was only until I finished that she took a deep breath and spoke. “I have something for you.”

  That’s it?

  She lets me go on for nearly fifteen minutes and all she says is she has something for me?

  Before I could ask her, she handed me a tissue box and spun away from me, trotting off to her office and leaving me leaning on the counter of the flower shop.

  At least it smelled pretty in here. I suppose that’s one silver lining.

  By the time she’d returned, I soaked up my tears and blown my nose, going through several tissues.

  “Here.” She held out her hand, handing over an envelope.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s for you.”

  I glanced down at it, reading my name written across it in my mom’s handwriting. “But what is it?”

  “It’s a letter she wrote to you a long time ago. Gosh, I think maybe you were about ten or eleven. It was after you came back from that horrible trip with your grandparents. I think it was the first time she knew that one day she’d have to tell you everything.”

  “So, you knew?”

  Nancy shrugged. “I knew enough, and I’m really sorry I kept it from you all these years.”

  “It’s okay. I know why you did. I know why all of you did.”

  She patted me on the shoulder and led me over to a small table near the walk-in cooler. A quiet place I remembered sitting at when I was a child and my mom would take me over to the store, letting me read or write short stories while her and Nancy chatted the afternoon away. I always loved the corner, and it was perhaps the most potent part of the shop.

  “Let me know when you’re done.”

  As she walked away, I nestled down into the chair. Harder than I remembered, and yet, the allure of the tiny spot was just as inviting as it was all those years ago. I flipped the envelope over and ripped it open, sliding the letter out before I unfolded it.

  Dear Rachel,

  Well, if you’re readin’ this then that means one of a couple of things. Either one day I got brave enough to give it to you myself and I’m standin’ in front of ya bitin’ my lip while I watch ya read this, or . . . I hate to even say it, but I’m dead, and Nancy has given it to ya because ya have found out my secrets.


  The funny thing about secrets is they can wound not only the one they are withheld from, but the one holdin’ them. I’ve lived with mine so long I don’t know where they stop and where I start. They say the strongest people are those who show strength in front of us, but who win battles no one knows about. I suppose it’s true, though I know not if I’ve won many battles.

  My gran’momma always used to say a heart full of secrets is a half heart. Not quite full because it can’t be whole if it’s not tellin’ those ya love the truth. I never gave a second thought to the words of someone who obviously has never had somethin’ she’s wanted to tell someone, and yet, she couldn’t. Cluelesss to the pain ya could cause someone, she saw tellin’ the truth as somethin’ that was black and white. However, the older I get, I understand what she was tryin’ to say.

  I’ve lived a half-hearted life with ya, one I will never get the chance to fix and one ya will forever remember. It is my deepest regret and my deepest pain. To have left with ya such memories and grief, well, it was the last thing I wanted to do. I thought I was protectin’ ya, but I know I was wrong.

  When I was eighteen and in college, I met a man named Charlie Wilson. He was a beautiful man who I adored more than anythin’ in the world. We were foolish, though, and a couple of weeks after meetin’ him, I found out we were havin’ you. Your grandparents weren’t too thrilled as ya can imagine which created a fight that I may or may not be still fightin’ as ya read this. Know it’s not their fault and know it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault, actually, because to say that would say ya were some sort of mistake. And you, my sweet child, were and will never be a mistake in our eyes.

  A few days after we found out about ya, Charlie and I got married. We were in love and so happy. All I did was look forward to the rest of our lives together. Then the war happened and he enlisted and died in Vietnam in December of 1966, they never found his body.

  I made some bad decisions in my life and made many mistakes. I’m so sorry for all the hurt I’ve caused ya. I’m sorry for the lies. I’m sorry for the fights and the harsh words I laid in your lap. I’m sorry I never told ya the truth, and I’m sorry if I’ve left nothin’ but a mess for ya. I know I don’t have the right to ask ya not to be angry with me. I understand if ya are, but I’m hopin’ ya won’t be. At least not for long.

  I never meant to hurt ya. I know I can never make it up to ya, and I know that even these words may not ever be enough to repay for all the harm I’ve done. Just know that I love ya, that I’ve loved ya since the day the doctor said I was going to have a baby, and I hope ya go out and have the best life ya can possibly have. No matter what ya do, no matter where ya are, no matter if ya have kids or not. No matter who ya marry. I just want ya to be happy, and loved, and love everythin’ about your life. I know it’s not all sunshine, but don’t forget, ya never get another yesterday, so make everyday count.

  I love ya.

  Love,

  Momma

  Tears steamed down my cheeks as I refolded the letter and slid it back in the envelope. Nancy tiptoed up behind me, setting a cup of tea down and the box of tissues as she sat in the chair across from me.

  “I don’t know how many times she told me she was going to tell you and then she’d chicken out.”

  “Why did she?”

  “She feared that you’d hate her.”

  “I wouldn’t have hated her. I would have been mad, maybe even stopped talking to her for awhile, but I wouldn’t have hated her.” I heaved a deep sigh, grabbing another one of the tissues. “Maybe it’s better that I learned it later, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “With her gone and with James gone . . . I’m not angry. I know I should be. I should be flaming pissed right now, but I’m not. Instead, I would give anything to have them back, and the first thing I’d tell them is I forgive them.”

  Nancy clutched my forearm, giving it a squeeze. “When I met your mother, she was this sad and lonely person. But she also had this fire in her. She was so determined to give you the best life she could give you. When she finally told me about your dad, I could tell she loved him. But she also loved James.”

  “I know she did.”

  “She never had it easy, but she always seemed to shine as best she could. Which she would tell you she was also as tarnished as they come. You remind me so much of her. I don’t think you realize just how strong you are, which she didn’t either about herself.”

  “I think she left those journals up in that attic on purpose.” I chuckled as I pointed at Nancy.

  She laughed too. “Maybe. Or she just kept forgetting, which she did all the time. She’d tell me, ‘don’t let me forget to go get them so I can hide them or burn them’. But I would forget and so would she.”

  “Thank you for giving me this.” I picked up the envelope then set it back down.

  “It was my pleasure.”

  As we both rose to our feet, I gave her a hug.

  “Are you happy?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Then she’d be happy too.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  As I walked back to the inn, I caught sight of the cemetery out of the corner of my eye. Looking down at the letter from my mom, I heaved a deep sigh and crossed the road, pausing at the gates while I scanned the gravestones.

  I’d seen enough of this place in the last several weeks, and while I didn’t care to see it again for a long time, I also couldn’t deny the urge to go inside and visit them. It was a new normal I would have to get used to, something I hadn’t thought about, and yet, I felt a tug as though they desired the conversation just as much as I would.

  “All right, guys, I hear you,” I whispered.

  I tiptoed down the different paths, leading through the different sections of the cemetery. Bouquets of flowers in all different sizes fluttered in the gentle breeze. I saw Nancy in each of the arrangements, her style, her eye, and her flare for pairing the perfect flowers—both in shape and color—with each other. She had a way with flowers, a skill she tried to teach me once when I was about fifteen years old. Of course, I failed, but I still remember laughing a lot that day as I moved different stems around, pairing roses with lilies and lilies with tulips and tulips with orchids.

  Down another path, I rounded a tree and stopped, halting as I came upon Grandma standing at mom’s grave. With her back to me, her head was down, and her shoulders trembled as though she was crying. I approached slowly, clearing my throat so I wouldn’t startle her.

  She spun, wiping the tears from her face. “Rachel?”

  “Hi Grandma.”

  “I thought maybe you’d come here after ya left, and well, I came lookin’ for ya.”

  “I went to Nancy’s, actually. I hadn’t planned on coming by here, but I was passing by on my way back to the inn and I guess I just wanted to talk to them.” I motioned back to the gate. “I can go and come back.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. I was just . . . well, I missed her funeral. I missed both of theirs, and while I don’t mean to make it sound as though James wasn’t important—”

  “I understand. She was your daughter.”

  “And I missed her funeral, missed it because I couldn’t get over my own foolish pride.” She clenched her hands into fists and looked up at the sky. “Why did I do it? And why do I continue to do it?” Her voice was a shout, but then she brought it down to a whisper. “My own arrogance that has brought me nothin’ but heartache my entire life.”

  I opened my mouth, but she held up her hand.

  “Even today,” she continued. “My behavior at breakfast. I knew I was wrong. I knew I was being mean, but did I stop? No. I just made the whole meal awkward and uncomfortable.”

  “You’ve dealt with a lot of pain and—I think—resentment all these years.”

  “But that doesn’t justify it. After ya left, I apologized to everyone, especially to Charlie. He did nothin’ wrong. Nothin’ at all. He loved my daughter. He care
d for her. He protected her.” Grandma cupped her hand over her mouth, shutting her eyes tight. “I wish I hadn’t missed her funeral.”

  “Do you want me to tell you about it?” She nodded so I continued. “It was a nice ceremony. Pastor Dawson knew my parents well and he did a lovely job. Dad—James—said a few words, too, and so did Nancy. Everyone said it was just peaceful. They were sad, of course, but there was just an air about it, as though everyone just remembered all the good about her and they celebrated that.”

  “Did you say anything?”

  I lowered my chin and shook my head.

  “I never understood her.” Grandma’s eyes misted with tears again and she opened her purse, yanking out several tissues. “And you were right at breakfast. Because I didn’t understand her and because I treated her the way I did, I caused her to treat you the way she did. It’s my fault you and her didn’t have the best relationship.”

  “No, it’s not your fault, and I shouldn’t have said it was. It’s not anyone’s fault, not even hers, even though she lived her own life and didn’t tell anyone about it.” I glanced down at the letter in my hands. “I really wish she would have, though.”

  “We really did miss out on a beautiful life with her, didn’t we?”

  “A part of me wants to say yes, but another part of me wants to say no. We did share a beautiful life with her. It was just a different kind of beautiful. Sure, there are tons of bad memories and fights, but there are just as many—if not more—good memories. I want to hang on to those and let the bad go.”

  “I never should have said what I did to her that day. I really didn’t mean it. I wasn’t going to give ya to another family. I don’t know why I said it.” She buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

  I moved toward her, clutching her shoulders. “It’s all right. I don’t hold it against you. You were just thinking . . . out loud. Everyone was going through something terrible and in times like that, in times of grief and sorrow, sometimes we just say things for the sake of saying them.”