“Thank you for telling me this,” Emily said.
Annie nodded.“I appreciate your kindness.Maybe tomorrow you can tell me your story, how you got here.We’ve all got one.”
Emily warmed at the idea that Annie was looking forward to speaking with her again.They parted ways, Annie disappearing back up to the second floor.
As other inmates swarmed around her, Emily gravitated toward the nursery down the hall, in the south corridor across from the chapels.She hadn’t taken much notice of it before.The doors were always shut against the noise of the main floor.She peered in through the small glass window in the centre of the door; it was dim in there, the curtains over the large windows half shut to block out some of the sunlight so the babies could sleep.Emily could see two lines of wooden cradles, twenty or so in all,though fewer than half appeared full.Two mothers were seated in armchairs, nursing in the soft light.One looked up at Emily, hollow-eyed with a single tear track bisecting her cheek, a stream through a dark wood.Emily saw a flash of Eleanor in the woman’s face, glimpsed the torment in her eyes before two strong hands gripped Emily’s upper arms and hauled her away from the window.
CHAPTER 20
RACHEL
Bayfield—February, 1984
Rachel was sitting at the kitchen table with her homework spread out when she heard the key in the lock.Her eyes slid off her lined workbook, where she was making notes for her English essay, a biography of Virginia Woolf.She hadn’t been assigned the book, but was irresistibly drawn to it after hearing about Woolf’s obsession with her dead mother, how her writing and personal letters were littered with mentions of their relationship.
She has haunted me, Woolf had said.
Rachel was taking a moment to let her thoughts percolate as she stared out the big kitchen windows at the frozen lake.This time of year, the beach looked like a miniature mountain range, the sand and ice forming into peaks that were regularly covered in snow.The sand hardly moved when stepped on, and the water was frozen as far out as Rachel could see from their vantage point on the cliff.
At the sound of the key in the rarely used front door, she roused herself from her stare and turned, curious.Dora had been out earlier, fetching some groceries, but Rachel thought she’d already returned.Realization dawned on her then and she stood, apprehension buzzing in her veins as a figure emerged from the dark hallway.
“Mom?”
“Hey,” Mary said, walking into the kitchen.It was late afternoon, and the grey-filtered light from outside mixed with the golden glow of the lamp over the table, casting Mary’s skin a pale yellow.Rachel was reminded of lemon curd: bland to look at, but sharp on the tongue.
“What are you doing here?”Rachel asked, taking a tentative step toward her.
“I’m just…” Mary’s voice was high-pitched and wavering as she teetered on the edge of tears.She looked at Rachel, then lowered herself to the floor and began to sob.Rachel watched her for a moment as Mary hugged her own shoulders like she was trying to stop herself from breaking apart, rocking back and forth on her knees as her cries began to crest.
“I—are you okay?”Rachel asked, knowing she most certainly wasn’t.Mary lunged for her then, sudden and ferocious.Rachel cried out in fear as Mary pulled her into a tight hug and held on, tears drenching her sweater.Rachel could feel Mary shaking, heart pounding hard in her chest as her breaths came sharp and shallow.
“I don’t—want to—be like this!”Mary’s words stuttered with her sobs and she held tighter to Rachel.It was starting to hurt.
“Gran!”Rachel shouted desperately to wherever Dora was in the house.“Gran, come quick!”
Rachel felt helpless, but nevertheless patted her mother’s back softly.Thiswassickness, she knew.Her mother was ill and needed help.But at the same time, she knew what would happen next.This sort of meltdown could only mean disruption and drama and chaos.Rachel didn’t think she had ever pitied her mother more than she did in this moment, but she also hated her for the storm she would bring down upon Rachel and Dora until her whims blew her away from them again.
Dora hurried into the room, and relief flooded Rachel.Mary let out a little cry and released herself, flung her body instead into Dora’s waiting arms.
“Mama,” Mary moaned, as Dora rocked her like an inconsolable child.She met eyes with Rachel over Mary’s head.What happened?
Rachel shrugged.
“Mama…”
And so Rachel stood by, watched as a mother and daughter loved and despised one another, resented and depended on each other in the same desperate breath.No matter the distance between them, the love and dependence somehow always won out.In her times of crisis, all Mary wanted was for her mother to hold her and tell her it was going to be okay.
And Rachel watched it all from afar, knowing she would never in her life feel the same.
Three days later, all they’d been able to get Mary to eat was a few bowls of tomato soup and a single sleeve of saltine crackers.She sipped on tepid water from a green Depression glass that Dora said was her favourite from childhood.She slept fifteen hours a day and stared at her bedroom wall or the television the rest of the time, leaving her bed only to use the toilet.
All they’d been able to get out of her was that something had happened with the guy she’d been seeing, and that she’d had thoughts of suicide for the past two weeks—egged on, she claimed, by images from her dreams.
New year.
New boyfriend.
New failure.
