I rolled my eyes, pulling the plug inside the sink and taking my gloves off, hanging them inside out over the drying rack. I leaned on the counter’s chipped blue-and-white tiles.Make up your corner of the world neat and tidy and it will be enough.I said this to myself every day. Keeping Dogwood together was like squeezing sand as hard as you could inside your palm and wondering why it slipped through your fingers. But I would worry about that tomorrow.
Mason and Amelia had dated very briefly right before his accident. But their coming together had felt like kismet. Olivia and I had dreamed of it our entire lives. Anyone could see they were perfect for each other: the son and daughter of two best friends, the star pitcher and the valedictorian. And then, after it all fell apart for him, he just disappeared. He didn’t call her, didn’t write. I understood retreating. But without a word to my daughter? He had told her they were going to be together,had guaranteed her a future. No one knew better than I did that high school romances faded. But there are right ways to do things. And Olivia just let her son abandon Amelia. It was the biggest fight we’d ever had.
She said I didn’t understand, that she had a different relationship with her children than I did with mine. I should certainly hope so. I wouldneverhave let my children behave that way, and especially not at eighteen years old. I took a deep breath to keep myself from getting worked up, picked up another drying towel, and started in on the goblets. People with dishwashers didn’t have these conversations. They were missing out.
“Shehassabotaged every relationship she has had since Mason,” I mused.
Tilley nodded. “You’re telling me.”
“But surely she didn’t know about Thad.”
“But wetoldher,” Tilley said, crossing her arms, all pretense of drying the dishes now over.
I rolled my eyes. “That girl just never listens.”
“Mother! Don’t say that!” Tilley snapped. “I’m standing right here!”
And, just like that, she was gone. My sister, who had been so lucid and clear a heartbeat ago was gone again. Thirty-seven years and it still broke my heart every time. Thirty-seven years of doctors telling me they couldn’t find a cure—or, even, a diagnosis. Thirty-seven years of answers like,Well, it seems akin to delusional disorder, but not quite consistent with that.AndIT appears to be triggered by stress. The ones who made me themaddest were the doctors who said she was faking. Who would fake such a thing?
“Not you, darling,” I soothed. “You’re the best girl I know.”
She smiled just a little. “Really?”
I took her hand and said, “Let’s get you to bed. It has been a big night.”
She nodded. “And tomorrow I have a date with Robert.”
Robert. Even though Tilley’s boyfriend had died almost four decades ago, it was easier to agree with her, I had learned from experience. The whole town had, really. My heart swelled with pride and gratitude that Cape Carolina, like our family, had fallen into step with Tilley. If she showed up as herself, fine. If she appeared as Queen Victoria, great. If she discussed gardening tips, they were thrilled. If she wanted to wax poetic about her fictional wedding plans with her deceased boyfriend, they nodded and smiled.
“That’s right, dear. And you will look positively beautiful.”
As I helped her into her nightgown, made sure she brushed her teeth, and tucked her in, Tilley said, “I do believe I’m a little tired.”
I had to admit that, in that moment, I felt a little tired, too. Tired from decades of this emotional roller coaster, tired from worrying about where my daughter’s life would take her now, tired from the spoils and secrets of more than six decades.
I walked silently down the stairs, skipping the squeaky spots that I had become accustomed to stepping around roughly fifty-five years ago. I opened the back door andstepped out on the deck, overlooking the night sky, the silent sound with its still marsh grass, and took a deep breath. This home, this land, this water, and this sky had held me for an entire lifetime. It had guided me through the most difficult moments and the most joyous.
I caught a glimpse of my sad, defeated daughter sitting at the end of our dock, her hair blowing in the breeze. From the time she was a toddler Amelia had simply looked like a little girl who belonged on this beach, whose natural beauty, golden skin and sun-kissed hair melded seamlessly with the scenery around her. I almost went down to her. But then I saw another child I knew nearly as well sitting at the end of his dock right next door. And I realized that it wasn’t only this place that had taken care of us so well; it was the people, too. The ones that were here and the ones that had passed on, who had left this house in body but who, I couldn’t help but feel, were always here with us just the same. All I hoped now was that this place would provide the same healing for Amelia that it always had for me—and that I could hold on to it long enough for her to find her fresh start.
GreerAUGUST 21, 2015
I DIDN’T TELL PARKER Ihad an appointment today. I didn’t tell him because I already assumed what the verdict would be. I didn’t want to believe it, but this shit is living in my body. How could I not know? When the doctor came in with a grave expression and said, “Greer, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the treatment appears not to be working,” I just said, “I know.”
You could tell she wasn’t used to that. She was used to tears and panicking, but those aren’t things I really do well. I do stiff upper lip well. So that’s what I did. That’s what I’m doing.
She droned on about clinical trials and alternative therapies, but I already knew I wasn’t going to do any of them. I’m not going to put Parker or my father or my sister or myself through that. I am going to just go ahead and go, on my own terms. I watched my mother’s agonizing death, and I’m notgoing to let that happen to me. There are peaceful ways to die, places and people who help you do it. That’s what I want, so that’s what I’m going to have.
Thinking about telling Parker breaks me apart inside. I’ll wait a little longer, let him have hope as long as he can. I only wish that I could still hope, too.
AmeliaHELL IN A HANDBASKET
JUST THREE DAYS AT HOMEhad cured me. Okay. So maybe it hadn’t cured me. But it had given me three days to ignore Thad’s texts and calls and to avoid the fact that my life was in shambles. It had also given me three days to paint and hammer and caulk around Dogwood like old times. It had given me three days to drink way too much with my forever friends Jennifer, Madison, and Sarah and to ascertain that I could crash with my Palm Beach friend Sheree and her husband, Philip, until I got back on my feet—after they promised, of course, that they would not praise Thad for following his truth in front of me.
I had thought about leaving town, staying in North Carolina or maybe even finding a job in New York. But Palm Beach had been my fantasy. I had dreamed a big dream, and I had gotten it. And I only had one rung left to climb on the ladder.Nanette would go to New York like she had always said, and I would be editor in chief. I would be the boss, the one with the big corner office. I would have made it. I could see it that morning on the drive from the airport straight to the office.
I could see it, that is, until I walked into the building. I was prepared for a bit of chaos since I had missed Monday. I rarely took a day off, and I generally never unplugged for even an hour. But yesterday I had needed it. I had needed to reassess who I was and what I was doing. I had needed some clarity and calm to decide if I could really help Parker in his quest to expand his family.
I had decided, thank goodness, that it was a ridiculous notion. I mean, sure, yeah, I had been a little bit curious lately about what it would be like to carry a baby, to bring life into the world. And, yes, it would be a nice thing to do. Maybe. Or maybe the whole idea was totally misguided and I was just contributing to the chaos. Either way, back in Palm Beach I had realized that it was utterly absurd. Parker could choose to ruin his life, but he wasn’t going to take me down with him—not that he was trying to, of course.
