I perch on the edge of the mattress.
“When you were young,” she says, “you used to sneak in here and get under the covers with me. I’d be so tired, and half the time I was stoned and hoping you wouldn’t get stoned from secondhand smoke. Now here I am wishing I’d appreciated it at the time.”
“You’re getting weepy on me,” I say.
“Nostalgic. Thinking about what could have been.”
Like Paul, out by the firepit. And, if I had to guess, like Reid, wherever he’s gone. The only one of us sleeping soundly is probably Hadley, dreaming of dancing with the Swiss ambassador in Kosovo.
“I talked to Reid,” I say. “I’ll talk to him again in the morning. What was that about property taxes earlier, anyway?”
“Nothing to worry about,” my mother says. “Reid has another life away from us. Sometimes I think he’d rather spend his summers in Provincetown or Fire Island, but he comes around eventually.” She tucks her hair behind her ears, revealing the scars along her chest. “Tell me about your project. And I want details. Don’t hold back.”
I trace the stitching in her quilt, not sure where to begin.
“We got upset tonight,” my mother adds. “Igot upset, but emotions are overrated. I’d have been out of business decades ago if I’d let emotions rule my decisions.”
“You’re not as stoic as you let on,” I say. “You’re the one who hid from Mrs. Haviland this afternoon when she brought her bullhorn to Burkehaven.”
“I wasn’t hiding.”
“What was keeping you occupied inside an idle construction site?”
“Okay, maybe I did hide. This town is too small to have enemies, so Andrea and I avoid each other when we can. But I mean ... she issoannoying.”
“She’s not that bad.”
“She’s terrible.”
I swing my legs onto the bed and lie next to my mother, eyes closed. If I want honesty, if I want vulnerability, I’ll have to offer it, too. “Sometimes I feel as though I’m stepping into the middle of a conversation. I was always away at school. You and Reid, you had a life here in town, one that didn’t involve me.”
“Those years ...” my mother begins. “They were hard. I made choices, and there were reasons, but it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t make other choices now if I could.” She shifts beside me. “How does the podcast work? Do you record on your phone?”
“Or on a digital recorder.”
“I won’t sign a release. Not yet, but let’s see where the conversations go.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Not at all, but I’ll give it a try.”
I run down the hall, grab the digital recorder from my room, mark the time and place, and return to my mother’s room, where I lay the recorder on her bedside table next to the pipe. Maybe my mother will find it easier to tell her story on the record.
“Do I just talk?” she asks.
“Or I can ask questions. Whatever’s easier. You were telling me about choices.”
“You were making me feel guilty.”
“Do you feel guilty?”
“All the time. I probably shouldn’t have sent you to boarding school, but Reid ... he was traumatized, and getting him through that took any energy I had. You were a happy kid. I wanted to give you some distance. Besides, you reminded me of Hadley: independent, fearless, ready to do whatever you wanted. She made friends and traveled the world, and I wanted that for you, too. That’s what I meant earlier when I told her things had worked out for her in the end. Sometimes I’m jealous of the life she’s led, untethered, free to do whatever she wants.”
“Tell her tomorrow,” I say. “Or I can play her the tape.”
“You can broker all our secrets soon if you keep this up.” My mother settles into the bed, closing her eyes, and for a moment, I think she might be nodding off. But then she says, “I’d broken things off with Isaac Haviland by the time he came to the lake, but he didn’t want to hear it. He tried to convince me to leave with him.”
“Were you tempted?”
