The mention of her mother did what logic couldn’t. Maryanne’s resistance crumbled inward, and her eyes filled with tears. “Why?” came the broken syllable. “Why me?”
Daisy held her hands firmly and smiled as her vision blurred. “Because you showed up. Every single time we needed you.” Daisy’s throat tightened. “ Even on the days we didn’t realize we needed help, you were there. You’ve been a good friend to us.”
Maryanne’s chin trembled. “She was my best friend.”
“I know. And she’d want you to have this.” Daisy pushed the check forward. “She’d want you to get out of that job and use it to start over. Learn a skill. Move somewhere better. Do whatever you want, Maryanne. It’s yours.”
She finally picked up the check with shaky hands. The wall of tears trembling in her dark eyes collapsed. She looked up at Daisy. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything. Just put it in your purse and have a slice of cake. We don’t have to make a thing out of it.”
Daisy understood the specific, devastating sensation of holding something in her hands that she’d been told her entire life she would never deserve, so she knew it would take some time for Maryanne to process. They were all adjusting to new situations and still learning to measure just how unfathomable their future opportunities could be.
It was wild to receive such a gift. Exciting and awkward.
But to give a gift… That was where the true satisfaction hid.
Jack got to experience that every year, on a scale so far beyond what Daisy could give.
Her heart tightened at the thought of him. Did he know what his generosity looked like up close? Did he ever stay long enough to see the impact he had? Or did he always disappear in the end, the way a dream thins at the edges and fades when reality presses back in.
Maryanne stayed for dessert, and they laughed over old stories that made the penthouse feel more like a home than any furnishing ever could.
“Thank you for tonight. I needed this,” Daisy told Maryanne as they hugged at the door.
“I should be the one thanking you, mija.” She dabbed away another tear. “And I will see you in two weeks at St. Crispin’s Cemetery.”
Daisy’s throat tightened. After all this time, her mother would finally have the proper resting place she deserved. “Right under the pink cherry blossom tree.”
“I’ll be there.”
Once Maryanne left, she started on the dishes. Maggie yawned, and Daisy shooed her away. “I’ll take care of this. You go to bed.”
Maggie squeezed Daisy’s shoulder on her way out of the kitchen. “That was a good thing you did.”
Daisy nodded but didn’t trust herself to speak. Her heart was full, despite being bruised. And for the first time since the feast, she felt like she could breathe easily again.
“Air that doesn’t smell of hunger,” she whispered to herself, smiling, as she slowly washed the dishes.
She dried the Dutch oven and returned it to the shelf, wiped down the counter, and folded the tea towel into a neat square beside their new blue toaster. The envelope sat against the backsplash like an afterthought, catching Daisy’s eye as she shut off the overhead lights.
She picked it up and slid her thumb beneath the sealed flap, already pulling open the cabinet that hid the bin. Her fleeting thought about the aggressiveness with which junk mail arrived cut off as she unfolded the paper inside, and the world tilted off its axis.
“Oh, my god.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Daybreak
The staff opened the pool on the first of June, as they did every year, draining the winter’s stagnant weight and refilling it with water so clear it mirrored the sky.
Jack stood on the back veranda, as two groundsmen folded back the heavy canvas cover and a third skimmed the surface, sweeping away the debris. The morning air carried the faint mineral scent of limestone and chlorine, as salt air blew onto the terrace from the sea.
Steam rose from the blue water as the morning chill lingered past its welcome. Spring seemed reluctant to leave, forcing summer to arrive slanted and tentative, almost apologetic in exhausted shades of gold.
“Water’s a comfortable thirty-two degrees, sir.”
“Thank you, Tom. Looks like a fine day for a swim.”
