When she opened the door, she blinked in surprise. Eleanor stood on her porch, looking as proper and composed as always, despite the late hour and the chaos of post-hurricane life.
“Eleanor,” she said, still not quite used to dropping the “Miss” after all these years. “Is everything all right?”
“We need to talk.” Her tone left no room for argument.
She hesitated. She hadn’t quite recovered from their last talk, which had upended decades of assumptions about Cliff’s departure. Nor had Eleanor ever been inside her home, but something in Eleanor’s expression made her step back and gesture to enter.
“Of course. Come in. Would you like some hot tea?” She closed the door, noticing how the woman scanned the cottage with sharp eyes.
“Tea would be nice,” Eleanor said, then added, “Your home is lovely. You’ve done well with it.”
The compliment surprised her. Eleanor wasn’t known for dispensing praise freely.
“Thank you. Let me put the kettle on.”
In the kitchen, she filled her kettle and set out two cups. Eleanor took a seat at the small kitchen table, her back straight, hands folded primly in front of her.
“Have you spoken with Cliff yet?” Eleanor asked without preamble.
She placed tea bags in the cups, buying herself a moment before answering. “No, I haven’t. Not about… that.”
“I see. May I ask why not?”
She turned to face her. “I’m not sure how to even broach the subject. Would I say something like, by the way, your mother told me your father said terrible things about you the night you left town, and I’ve been blaming you for standing me up all these years when maybe you had good reason to leave? That doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”
The kettle whistled, and she poured steaming water into the cups.
“Milk? Sugar?” she asked.
“No, thank you.”
She set the cups on the table and sat across from Eleanor.
“Maybe this will help.” Eleanor reached into her handbag and withdrew a yellowed envelope, placing it carefully on the table between them.
She stared at it. “What is this?”
Eleanor’s eyes held a mix of regret and purpose. “A letter. From Cliff to you. Written the night he left.”
Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the envelope. “I don’t understand.” She opened the envelope and unfolded one section of the letter. Her name was written at the top in handwriting she instantly recognized, even after all these years. Cliff’s handwriting. She closed her eyes for a moment.
“I believe that Cliff left this for you, but somehow Theodore found it before you saw it. I guess he followed Cliff that night and… I believe he opened the letter and read it, then took it and hid it in a book in his office. I found it today when I was boxing up his books.
She traced her fingers over her name, written in Cliff’s bold, youthful handwriting. “Why would he do that?”
“I can only guess at his reasons, but I suspect he thought he was protecting Cliff. Or punishing him. Maybe both. Theodore had very firm ideas about what was best for our family. About what was best for Cliff.” Eleanor’s voice turned bitter. “He believed Cliff needed to focus on college, on making something of himself. Not on?—”
“A girl from the wrong side of the island?” she finished for her.
“Those were Theodore’s views, not mine. Though I admit I didn’t do enough to counter them. I’m afraid that worrying about what was proper and what people would think of our family… that has always been my weakness. And I paid dearly for that, both with Cliff and with Jonah.”
Eleanor took a sip of her tea and then looked pointedly at her. “Aren’t you going to read it?”
She nodded and unfolded the rest of the page, smoothing the paper as her heart pounded.
Beverly,
I’m so sorry to leave tonight after we made plans. My father said some things I overheard, and I needed to leave. I want to prove to my father that I can be a success. Make him proud of me. Make you proud of me, too, I guess.
