Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The alarm went off at seven a.m .—far too early for my taste. But given it was Thanksgiving, we had a lot of cooking to do. At least we had prepared all the dishes we could in advance. I decided to go with comfortable, so I slipped into a pair of black jeans and a hunter green tank top. I draped a sheer black cardigan over the top, threaded a silver belt through the belt loops, brushed my hair into a ponytail and did my makeup. By the time I was done, Bree was awake and changing clothes.

"What did you think about last night?" she asked.

"Shush," I warned her, giving her a shake of the head. "Not here."

"Right, sorry." Bree dressed quickly and we clattered down the stairs together, into the kitchen. My mother was eating a plate of bacon and eggs, and May was at the stove, making breakfast for everyone. Grams was trussing the turkey. It was a large bird, probably around twenty-four pounds, and it would take until late afternoon to cook. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, then kissed May. Bran was nowhere in sight.

"Where's Bran? Is he still sleeping? And Aunt Ciara—when is she supposed to get here?"

"Bran's asleep on the sofa, but I imagine he'll be getting up shortly. He's used to early mornings." May handed me two plates, one for Bree and one for myself.

We took our places at the table with my mother. I leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. She returned it with a shy smile. There was something different about her this morning, I thought. But I decided to wait to find out what it was.

"Ciara will be here in about two hours. She's dropping off some Thanksgiving baskets to a couple of people in town. She does that every year." My mother waved her fork at me, then went back to her eggs.

At that moment, Bran entered the kitchen, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He leaned over to give me a kiss, then went over to the stove to hug his mother. She pushed a plate into his hands, then waved him back toward the table.

"I don't suppose there's any coffee to go with that?" he asked.

"The coffee pot seems to be on the blink," my mother said. "I don't have any instant, but your aunt is bringing her coffee pot with her."

I groaned. "I can't wait that long." I turned to Bran and Bree. "After we finish breakfast, why don't the three of us go out and bring coffee back for everybody? I want to take a look at the beach, too. It's one place that I still love up here."

I'd come a long way since I first left Port Townsend, but I knew I wouldn't be going into town anywhere near the building in which the Butcher had trapped Rian and me. There were still too many memories left there. Sometimes you couldn't shake the baggage, even when you'd rather travel with just a carry-on.

"Sure," he said. "I wouldn't mind taking a look at the Strait."

Bree nodded, and we polished off our breakfasts.

Grams motioned for me to follow her out on the porch. She looped her arm through mine and we walked out to the mailbox, leaning against the fence.

"Later this morning, I would appreciate it if you would take your mother out for a walk. I want to call my contacts at the Crown, and I don't want her finding out what I have to say to them. If you could keep her away for about twenty minutes to half an hour, I should be able to get through in that time."

"What about Aunt Ciara?"

"I'm not worried about her. She seems to mind her own business for the most part."

"All right, after we get back with the coffee, I'll take one for the team and go out with my mother." We headed back inside, where Bree and Bran were getting ready to leave. I grabbed my purse and keys, and after sliding on my jacket, we waved goodbye and headed out to the car.

Jamba's Java was open, so we pulled through and I placed the order. "One quad-shot pumpkin spice latte with extra whipped cream, one triple-shot mocha, and one extra-large coffee with two sugars and cream. I'll also take three double-shot lattes." As I held out my credit card to her, I smiled at the woman behind the drive-thru counter.

Five minutes later we were at the beach. We walked out on the shore, under the silvery sky. Seagulls surrounded us, their calls haunting and melancholy in the autumn air. As we sat on one of the driftwood logs, I told them what Grams had asked me to do.

"We need to keep quiet about what we found last night," I said. "I don't want anyone going after my mother, thinking she knows where the bottle is. My father was probably terrified of that, as well."

"Are we still going to search for the letter?" Bran asked.

I shook my head. "If I find it, I find it. Last night actually answered a lot of my questions, though we can never be sure of what actually happened. But most of it seems fairly self-evident. I don't think my father would have killed himself without Theodosius's instigation, though. He was a happy person, as far as I can remember."

"Sometimes people can seem happy on the outside and they're miserable inside," Bree said. "Look at Robin Williams."

I sighed, shaking my hair so the wind whistled through it. The chill air woke me up, and braced me for the day.

"True enough," I said. "But I'll never know. I haven't felt my father's spirit around at all. I think he's moved on. That's a good thing, actually." Glancing around, I stood and straightened my ponytail. "We better get back, so Grams can make that call."

As we drove back to the house, I tried not to think about what we'd discovered. Somehow it seemed worse than if my father just decided to borrow money and not have the means to repay it. Now I had to question what kind of a man he had been. If he had considered letting Theodosius loose on the world again, how good could he have been? But all questions were hypothetical, because the only person who could tell us what we really needed to know was dead. And I wasn't interested in trying to raise him from the grave.

I cajoled my mother into taking a walk at around noon. Dinner wouldn't be ready for a few hours, so she finally agreed.

The entire way, my mother prattled on about all the neighbors we had known when I was a child, and what they were doing now. Sarah Strand had moved away, Hedy Lancashire had opened a new business and she was making a fortune in real estate. Ernest Wallace had become a special-effects technician for Hollywood and moved away from the town four months before. Ernest and I had attended high school together, and my mother had never approved of him. But now, she seemed rather proud.

When she ran out of people to talk about, she finally turned to me as we rounded the corner toward the nearest park. "All right, let's have it. What did you want to talk to me about? There must be something, for us to leave the house like this."

"I just want to know more about you," I said, and it wasn't a lie. "I want to know what you dreamed of being when you were a girl. I want to know what you'd like to do now , and what you'd like to do in the future. You have to have some sort of goals or dreams—you can't have eliminated all of them."

My mother stopped, leaning against one of the fence rails. She stared across the park, toward the water. "I honestly don't know if I have an answer for you," she said. "My dreams were crushed when I was very young."

"But what about building new ones? I'm moving on with my life and I'd like to see you move on with yours. You've been sitting in that house since Father died, mourning and growing bitter. That's not who you are. I saw a glimpse of that when we talked last. Can you be honest with me? At least just this once?"

Catharine paused, still staring out at the water. "You don't think it's silly for a woman my age to have dreams? To have goals she may never reach?"

"No, I don't. What I think is tragic is someone who has dreams and won't even try for them. I want to see you move ahead. I want to see you enjoy the rest of your life and not become a bitter old lady, so angry at her own wasted years that she takes it out on others. I'm being real, here, Mother. You have so much to offer, so why not give it a shot?"

She didn't say anything, but after a moment her fa?ade began to crack. Tears ran down her face and she let them fall, unheeded. She didn't bother to wipe them away. Finally, she turned back to me.

"My goal is to see you happy. You may not believe it, but I really want you to be happy, I want you to have everything you want. But if you want to know about me, if I were to do something that I enjoy, that might lead me to my happiness—I think I'd take an art class and get back into drawing. I've always loved design, and I have a good eye for it."

"Then why don't you do it?" I asked. "I'm going to take remedial history courses for our culture. I'll pay for an art class for you, if you promise to go. I don't think you're hurting for money, but I'll make sure you get into the class and have all supplies you could want."

I could see the struggle in her face—between the woman she let herself become, and the woman that she wanted to be. Finally, the dam burst and she sobbed, as I wrapped my arms around her.

"I thought you hated me," she said.

"I didn't like the woman you became. I still don't. You're close to being a narcissist, but I don't believe that's who you are deep inside." I hesitated, then added, "I know you weren't thrilled about being a mother. But you did the best you could, and you raised me to be the woman I am. And I like myself. I've had a rough time the past couple of years, but I'm coming out of it, thanks to Grams. She's made such a difference in my life. I wish you'd let her in a little bit. I think you could benefit from some of her wisdom."

My mother let out a long breath. And then—in a shuddering voice—she said, "Do you really love me? I don't see how you could. I've neglected you so much over the years. I'm not as strong as your great-grandmother, and I'm a little scared of her. I suppose I feel that she took my place. You love her so much, I can see it between the two of you. I just don't know if there is room enough for me, as well."

It was then that I realized my mother was just as insecure as I was, if not more so.

"You were raised during a time when women were still expected to marry and bring up kids. Oh, there were women who were choosing to go away from that path, but especially in traditions like ours, I know it was expected. And I understand that it wasn't something you felt you could do effectively. But I also know, equally as well, that you love me. That you would never let me go hungry, and that you would do your best to help me, even if it's the last thing you felt like at the moment."

"So, there's room in your life for me?"

I brushed back the hair from her face. "As long as you're making an effort, there will always be room for you. You gave birth to me, and you did your best to raise me. You can bet, I'm not going to leave you behind."

There was more, but we had said what we needed to say. And it felt like our conversation had opened both eyes. As we headed back home, I decided this was the best moment to tell her.

"I want to tell you that Bran and I are getting married. We're engaged."

That set off a round of laughter and smiles, and our tears disappeared as I told her about Kyle and Faron, and Bran. She was far less judgmental than I thought she would be, and we talked all the way home. In the back of my mind, I hoped I had given Grams enough time to make her calls.