Beverly didn’t know what to say to that. The idea of seeing Cliff differently, of letting go of thirty years of hurt and resentment, felt both impossible and strangely tempting.
“And there’s something else you should know. About the night Cliff left town.”
“What about that night?” She sat up straighter. She’d spent decades trying not to think about that night, pushing away the memories of standing alone at the ferry landing, clutching a small suitcase, waiting for a boy who never came.
Eleanor took a deep breath, her shoulders rising with the effort. “Theodore and I had an argument that night. A terrible one.”
She watched Eleanor’s face, noting how the lines around her mouth deepened as she spoke. She’d never seen the woman look so… vulnerable.
“Theodore found out about some trouble Cliff had gotten into. I don’t even remember what it was now—something trivial. But Theodore flew into a rage.” Eleanor’s gaze drifted to the window, looking out at nothing in particular. “He said Cliff was worthless. That he would never amount to anything. That… he regretted the fact we ever had Cliff…”
A chill ran through her. She remembered how Cliff had always craved his father’s approval, how devastated he would look after one of Theodore’s cutting remarks.
“Theodore stormed out of the house after that. He was gone for hours.” Eleanor’s voice had dropped even lower, forcing Beverly to lean in to hear her. “I’ve always feared that Cliff heard us arguing that night. That he heard what his father said about him.”
She sat back, stunned by the revelation. “You think that’s why he left?”
Eleanor nodded, her eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears. “I’ve always feared so. The timing… It’s too much of a coincidence. He was just… gone the next morning.”
She tried to process this new information. All these years, she’d believed Cliff had simply abandoned her, chosen something—or someone—over their plans together.
“Did you ever ask him? About whether he heard you?” she asked.
Eleanor shook her head. “No. By the time I saw him again, years had passed. He was different. Harder. More like his father than I wanted to admit. And I… I was too proud.” She gave a small, sad smile. “Another failing of the Whitmores. We excel at pride.”
“I always thought…” She hesitated.
“You thought what?”
“I thought he’d found someone else. Or that he just didn’t care enough.” A weight lifted as she finally voiced the fear she’d carried for so long. “I never considered that he might have left because he felt he wasn’t good enough.”
Eleanor reached across the table and placed her hand over hers—another unprecedented gesture. “I failed my son in many ways. But I think one of my greatest failures was not seeing what was happening between you two. Not understanding what you meant to him.”
She stared at their hands—Eleanor’s thin, age-spotted one covering her own. “I don’t know what I meant to him. Not really.”
“Well, perhaps that’s something you should find out,” Eleanor said, withdrawing her hand and straightening in her chair. Some of her usual composure had returned, though her eyes remained softer than Beverly had ever seen them.
She sat in silence, trying to absorb everything Eleanor had shared. Could it really be that Cliff hadn’t abandoned her on a whim but had fled from his father’s cruel words? Had he truly believed he needed to prove himself before he deserved to be with her?
The pain of that night had shaped her in ways she’d never fully acknowledged. It had made her cautious and reluctant to risk her heart again. And now, with this new understanding about Cliff, she felt as though the ground beneath her beliefs was shifting.
Beverly carried the empty coffee cups to the kitchen, her mind still reeling from Eleanor’s revelations. How could one conversation change so much? Thirty years of hurt and assumptions were suddenly cast in a new light, making her question everything she thought she knew about Cliff’s departure.
The kitchen door opened, and Maxine walked in. “I just saw Miss Eleanor leaving. She looked… different. Almost emotional. What was that all about?”
She rinsed the cups in the sink and placed them in the dishwasher before turning to her friend. “She came to talk about Cliff.”
“Cliff? What about him?” Maxine’s eyebrows shot up.
“She told me something I never knew.” She stopped cleaning and leaned against the counter. “Something about the night Cliff left town. The night he was supposed to meet me at the ferry.”
“You mean when he stood you up and broke your heart?” Maxine’s protective tone was familiar. Always on her side.
“It turns out there might have been more to it.” Suddenly tired, she walked over and sat down on a chair at the small table in the kitchen. Maxine joined her. “Miss Eleanor—oh, she told me to call her just Eleanor. Can you believe that? Anyway, she said she and Theodore had a terrible argument that night. About Cliff.”
“Wait, I’m still dumbfounded that Miss Eleanor told you to call her Eleanor. But, go on.”
“According to Eleanor, Theodore said some awful things. That Cliff was worthless. That he’d never amount to anything.” Her voice caught. “That he regretted they’d ever had him.”
