“It must be hard to be back on the Vineyard now that your mom’s gone,” Frank offered.
“It is, and it isn’t,” Candice said. “I’m enjoying the change of pace. Things in the city were a little tough the past semester.” She waved her hand. “Sorry, I still talk in semesters.”
“You never left the college environment,” he said.
“I don’t know anything else,” she agreed. “But what about you? You haven’t been here since graduation, have you?”
“No, I moved around a lot,” Frank said. “I came back to the Vineyard a few years ago. To be honest, I still sometimes panic,wondering whether I made the right decision in coming back. When I was gone, it felt like every opportunity was available. And now, it’s like the world is tightening in on me. Sometimes, it can feel suffocating. Sometimes, it’s cozy.”
Candice knew what he meant. “That’s poetic,” she said.
“It’s just life, I think.”
They regarded one another. Candice couldn’t recall being so impressed with him when they were younger. Then again, his brain probably hadn’t been fully developed back then. Neither had hers.
Finally, Candice asked him about his family, about his mother and his sisters. He told her that his sisters were fine. “But Mom has Alzheimer’s,” he said. “It’s been really hard. That was her on the phone, actually. She forgot that I already called her tonight. Heck, she forgot that I spent most of the evening with her. That’s the thing about this awful illness. I do everything for her because I’m worried about her, and I don’t want her to feel alone. But she forgets.”
Candice took a breath. She had no idea what to say. “I’m sorry,” she offered finally.
“It was in the cards, I guess,” Frank said sadly. “But the other day, the funniest thing happened. Mom doesn’t talk much, unless she’s nervous. And she rarely sings. But she started singing this old country song. It was out of the blue. I’d never heard it before. I didn’t recognize the lyrics. It wasn’t like it was something she’d played for us when we were kids.”
“That's a funny coincidence,” Candice said. “I was just in my mother’s study, going through her old records. I picked up a Dolly Parton one. She always loved Dolly.”
“This wasn’t Dolly,” Frank went on. “But when I asked her what it was, she couldn’t remember. A few minutes of silence later, she snapped her fingers and told me that we needed to ask Stella what it was. That’s what she said. ‘Stella would know.’”
Candice shook her head in surprise. “Why would my mother know something like that?”
“My mother doesn’t remember saying it,” Frank admitted sadly. “Who knows what’s going on in her head? But you know that our mothers were close back in the old days. Maybe they used to listen to country albums together.”
“What a funny thing,” Candice said. “Two women in Massachusetts, listening to songs from the South. It doesn’t make sense, does it?”
I don’t think any one of us makes sense when you get down to it,” Frank said. “That’s the beauty of being alive, maybe.”
“Maybe it is.”
Candice was beginning to grow nervous. Her conversation with Frank moved into territory that not only made her heart ache but also made her think more than she wanted to. She was relieved when Frank suggested they head back in for “one more round” before the end of the night. “You’ll have to convince me to get Lindsey home after that.” Candice laughed. “She promised me that we wouldn’t be out too long.”
“That’s Lindsey,” Frank said, opening the door to the roar inside the bar. “She loves to push limits, doesn’t she?”
“Absolutely,” Candice said. “Maybe I’m too boring for that.”
“You’ve never been boring in your life,” Frank said before he turned and pressed his way through the crowd and toward the back table.
Candice hesitated for a moment, watching him walk farther and farther away from her. There was a strange tug at her heartstrings, but she told herself not to even think about it. Before long, she knew, she’d be gone.
11
On the final day of June, Gwen sent Candice, Lindsey, and Henry a 112-page outline of her plans for the Harbor House: what needed to be changed architecturally to make the space perfect for the women who’d come from all over to heal, to transform. Sitting at the table with a mug of coffee, Candice had only just opened the document when Henry stormed into the kitchen, his cheeks ruddy. He opened the fridge, then closed it again, annoyed. “I’m going to contest the will,” he said. “Right now. Today.” He got his personal lawyer on the phone immediately, then began barking orders and questions at him until he had the good sense to leave the kitchen and give Candice a bit of peace.
At that moment, Sarah and Peter came downstairs for breakfast. Peter had bedhead. His hair was all over the place and glowing with the morning light, whereas Sarah had obviously made herself up before she’d come downstairs. She’d begun doing that a couple of years ago, as though she hadn’t been able to handle the idea of her parents and brother seeing her “messed up.”
“Morning!” Candice said brightly and fakely.
“What’s up with Uncle Henry?” Peter plopped two pieces of bread into the toaster while Sarah removed the eggs from the fridge and began heating oil in the skillet.
“It’s the will,” Sarah said. “Didn’t you hear him?”
Peter scowled, as though his sister had said outright that she thought he was stupid.
