“It’s not extortion,” says Kristie. “I’m just trying to get my feet under me.”
“But I don’t—we don’t necessarily have...” Louisa’s voice trails off, and she looks around the porch; it’s possible, from her expression, that she is realizing how ridiculous that must sound to Kristie. The foghorn on the lighthouse sounds.Hello!The foghorn seems to be saying,Here I am, just across the harbor from your big fancy house!“I mean, I hate to trot out a platitude, and I’m not sure exactly what all of your problems are, but money won’t fix everything.”
This statement infuriates Kristie so much, and so quickly, that she can feel the flame of anger licking at her everywhere—the tips of her fingers, her toes, the top of her head. She almost loses it. She stands up, walks to the railing of the porch, turns around. “Can I tellyousomething, Louisa? That’s bullshit.”
Louisa stares at her. “Excuse me?”
“That’s complete and absolute bullshit. The fact is that the only people who say that money can’t fix problems are people who have plenty of it! Because guess what? Besides the fact that my mom is dead, every single one of my problems is connected to money. All of them. And all of my mom’s problems were connected to money too. She didn’t have any money saved for medical emergencies. How could she? She was always just trying to survive. If my mom hadn’t met your dad, if she hadn’t gotten pregnant and decided to keep the baby—decided to keep me!—she would have gone to law school instead of being an assistant forever. She would have been a lawyer. Maybeshewould have been a judge. But she didn’t havethe money. And she had to take care of me.” Kristie takes a deep breath. “My mom’s life changed in every conceivable way after she met your dad. And your dad’s life didn’t change at all.”
Louisa flares her nostrils and her voice gets cold. She crosses her arms. “My parents sent money to your mother four times a year until you were eighteen. My father didn’t shirk his responsibilities. He did what he could.”
Kristie snorts.
“Hedid,Kristie. He didn’t just walk away without a backward glance.”
“Maybe not. But it wasn’t enough,” Kristie says. She’s leaning back on the railing now, facing Louisa. “It was never enough. I mean, the checks, yeah, I’m sure they helped. But we still struggled. Wealwaysstruggled. And he never had toreally pay,not the way my mom paid. He didn’t give up any of his plans. He didn’t get thrown off track.Youdidn’t even know about me—what does that say about how much his life changed when I was born?”
Now Louisa does pour more wine. She takes a small sip and puts the glass down too hard. “What should he have done, Kristie? Deserted my mom and me, two people who didn’t do anything wrong, who would have been worse off without him? Left us to figure it out? So maybe things would have been better for you and your mom but they would have been worse for us.”
Obviously,thinks Kristie,obviously I would have preferred that.But she sees Louisa’s point. “Yes. No. I don’tknow,Louisa. I don’t know what the answer is.”
Louisa sighs. “I guess the answer is that there is no answer. But I bet you don’t have any idea, Kristie, what he accomplished in his life, in his career. He wouldn’t have done any of that if he’d left his marriage, or if it had come out that he had a daughter with another woman. He helped a lot of people as a judge. Alotof people. His mantra was,Leave the world better than you found it.And that’s whathe worked toward, every single day. He helped create these drug courts—”
“I don’t care about drug courts!” says Kristie, too loudly.
Louisa stares at her, and then she says, “Maybe you don’t, but that’s probably because you don’t understand them. He kept so many people out of jail, got them treatment, got them back with their families...”
“Maybe. Sure, okay. That’s great. But he didn’t leavemy motherbetter than he found her! He didn’t leave me better!” Kristie takes a deep breath. “And if you don’t want it getting out thatour fatherhasn’t always been the perfect saint everybody thinks he was, then I would really appreciate it if you’d take this check back to your mother and ask her to write another one because it’s a nice gesture and whatever but it’s just not enough to cover what we gave up.”
“Gettingout?” says Louisa. “Are you threatening us? What are you going to do, go to thePortland Press Heraldwith a tip?”
“Maybe,” says Kristie. (Is this how blackmail works? She’s not sure; she’s never blackmailed anyone.)
Louisa shakes her head. “No. No, you’re not going to do that. You don’t know everything you think you know. You’re getting it all wrong.”
Now Kristie walks to the end of the porch, and back again, before she speaks. “Only from your point of view. From mine, I know a lot. I know it’s easier to be you than to be me. I know it’s always been easier. I know you went to private school, then college, then graduate school. I know you have both your parents, and I have no parents. I know what yoursummer houselooks like. I mean, come on. Just the fact that youhavea summer house...”
“It’s not my house!” Louisa cries.
“It will be one day.”
Kristie can see the change move over Louisa’s face—her own rage moving in to battle Kristie’s. Louisa takes a bigger sip fromher wineglass. “You think you have me all figured out, Kristie, from a couple of glimpses of this house, but you don’t. You don’t know anything about any problems I might have. You don’t know anything about my marriage or my job, or how hard I’ve worked for any of it. And you think I have both my parents? I don’t have my father, not anymore. Every single day he’s slipping a little further away. So maybe I’ve known him all these years and you haven’t, but that also means I can see what’s disappearing.” Louisa’s chest is heaving, and there’s a tear snaking its way down her face.
“I’m sorry about that,” says Kristie. “I really am sorry. But I still—”
“I’ll see what my mother says.” Louisa cuts her off. She glances at her watch. “She’ll probably be home soon.”
“Thank you,” says Kristie.
“Good night.”
It’s eight forty-five now. Time to go. She’ll schedule the Uber while she’s walking around the side of the house, and she’ll wait for it at the top of the road, where nobody will be able to see her.
32.
Pauline
“Like this, Grandma?” Hazel takes one of the strips of pastry Pauline cut and lays it across the top of the pie.
