Standing over the sink in the ladies’ room of Svenigan’s, Alice stared at the faucet. There was no handle. How were you supposed to turn it on? After several frustrating moments, the toilet flushed in the other stall and an older woman emerged, sidling up to the sink. Alice, making a show of touching up her lipstick, watched out of the corner of her eye as the woman waved a hand under the faucet and water came gushing forth. Then she remembered about motion sensors: They’d just been coming into vogue back when she’d been in the habit of frequenting public restrooms.
These days, she felt like a foreigner in her own country, everything rushing at her faster than she could take it all in: billboards displaying unfamiliar brand names, computerized kiosks where there had once been smiling tellers and ticket takers, the maze of automated messages and prompts that greeted her when she called a place of business. Any little thing might confound her, even something as simple as a faucet.
The woman seemed to shoot her a curious glance, as if trying to place her. Alice wondered if she was being paranoid; even so, she kept her face averted as she washed and dried her hands. She’d arrived a day early in the hope of speaking with Jeremy before the rest of the family descended on her. It would be less awkward this way, without everyone else around. For Jeremy especially. Being a teenager was difficult enough, and she wanted to be a part of her son’s life, not just another complication.
Sixteen
.
He’s sixteen
. She struggled to absorb that unbelievable fact. She’d kept track of every birthday and watched him grow through the snapshots Randy and her sister had sent—each new spurt in height, each new sign of maturity, both a source of wonder and of pain—but it still felt unreal. She couldn’t stop picturing him as the little boy he’d been, frozen in time like in the photo she wore in the locket around her neck. She hadn’t seen him since. Randy had stopped bringing him to visit her in prison. He’d written her a letter explaining that it was for the best; Jeremy had grown so withdrawn he barely communicated, and the visits only made it worse. Both he and Dr. Turner, the psychologist Jeremy had been seeing at the time, were concerned about Jeremy’s mental state.
It had nearly killed Alice to be cut off from her son, but in the end she’d gone along. What choice had she had? Now she wished she’d fought harder. Her judgment had been clouded by the guilt she’d felt and she hadn’t seen that she’d only been making it easier for Randy, who hadn’t wanted to face her for reasons of his own, reasons that had soon become apparent when she was served with divorce papers. Now, as a result, she was a virtual stranger to her son. Worse, Jeremy seemed to have no interest in getting to
know her. Her letters had for the most part gone unanswered. When he did write, it was only a few cursory lines.
How are you? I’m fine
. He always signed those letters,
Your son, Jeremy
. As if she didn’t know her own child. The thought caused something to twist in her gut, and she took a deep breath to quiet her anxiety at seeing him again.
Ain’t no sense trying to undo what’s done. Might as well try stuffing an egg back into a chicken once it’s laid,
drawled a voice in her head, that of Calpernia King. Big, black Calpernia, tough as the tire iron she’d used to beat her abusive boyfriend near to death and about the last person Alice, in her old life, would ever have thought to call a friend. Yet in the nine years she’d spent at Pine River, she’d come to know and love Calpernia, who, for all her tough talk, had always had Alice’s back. She wished Calpernia were here now. She could use all the reinforcement she could get.
Alice made her way back to the entrance of the cafe, to retrieve the suitcase she’d left behind the coat rack. Thankfully, Svenigan’s was nearly deserted at this hour. The dinner crowd wouldn’t begin showing up until the shops downtown had closed for the day and thoughts turned to Ina Svenigan’s short rib lasagna chased by a slice of her homemade marionberry pie. The plump, middle-aged woman working the register paused to glance at Alice for perhaps a beat too long, and Alice could only hope the years had done their work in making her less recognizable.
As she made her way up Harbor Street tugging her suitcase behind her, her thoughts turned once more to Jeremy. He ought to be home from school by now; she’d call him as soon as she checked in at the bed- and-breakfast. The thought caused her to quicken her step as she headed up the
hill, her heart tumbling over in her chest like an eager child dashing ahead of her. Then she remembered about his afterschool job—Denise had written to her about it—and her excitement waned. The call would have to wait.
The wind picked up, bringing rain that lashed at her already raw cheeks. She’d booked a room at the Harbor Inn, known locally as the White House—a small act of defiance on her part, though it hadn’t been under White family ownership for decades. It stood at the top of the hill, a lit beacon, its round turret and gables making it look like something out of a fairy tale.
One in which a princess gets spirited away, then returns to her kingdom and lives happily ever after
, Alice thought, smiling grimly.
It was where she and Randy had spent their wedding night—a fairy tale gone awry in the end. Not much had changed since then, she saw as soon as she walked in. A spacious entryway wainscoted in oak and lit by antique brass sconces opened onto the reception area in what had once been the parlor, a large cozy room hung with paintings of sailing ships. A log fire burned in the fireplace and a tray of cheese and crackers had been set out along with a decanter of red wine.
No one was about, so Alice rang the brass bell on the desk. Moments later, a smiling white-haired woman in a dark green cardigan embroidered with jack-o’-lanterns came bustling through the side entrance. Her smile faded as soon as Alice gave her name.
“Alice Kessler?” She peered at the reservation book, frowning. “I’m afraid there’s been some sort of mistake. We don’t have a reservation under that name. Are you sure it wasn’t one of the other inns?” Even when she looked up, her eyes seemed to avoid Alice.
“Quite sure.” Alice put on a perplexed look, though she had a pretty good idea of what was going on here. It was just the first of what would be many such rebuffs, she thought, with a sinking in her gut. “The gentleman I spoke with over the phone said you had plenty of vacancies,” she went on, maintaining a bright, pleasant tone. “Is there a problem?”
“I’m afraid so. We’re full up at the moment,” she was informed.
“I see.” Alice spoke quietly but in a way that made her displeasure known. She should have been prepared for this. It was a small community and people had long memories, many of whom had ties to the Whites.
Heat rising in her cheeks, she said in an overly polite voice, “In that case, may I use your phone? If it’s not too much to ask.”
None too graciously, the woman pushed the phone toward her. Alice punched in Denise’s number, which she knew by heart, praying that her sister was home. Otherwise, she’d be out of luck, no money for a taxi—what little she had on her was in traveler’s checks—and the nearest accommodations a long walk away. She couldn’t call her mother, either; Lucy met with her book club on Thursdays. Besides, Lucy wasn’t expecting to hear from her until tomorrow and, knowing her, she’d gone to some lengths to prepare a homecoming that would only be spoiled by Alice’s early arrival.
Luckily, Denise picked up on the second ring. “God! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming in early?” her sister chided, sounding delighted to hear from her nonetheless.
“I was hoping I’d get a chance to talk with Jeremy, you know, before having to face everyone else,” Alice said.
“Well, your timing sucks.” Denise gave a good-natured if frustrated laugh. “I’ve got a houseful of nine-year-olds at the
moment—Taylor’s Brownie troop, in case you’re wondering what all that noise is about,” she added, raising her voice to be heard above the shrill chorus in the background. Gary’s still at work and Ryan’s at football practice, so I have no one to watch them. I hate to make you wait, but. . . . ”
Alice was quick to assure her, “It’s fine. Get here when you can.” She’d waited nine years, she could wait another half hour or so.
It was fully dark and raining heavily by the time Denise pulled up in front of the inn in her ancient Honda Prelude. Emerging from the driver’s seat with a yellow rain slicker tented over her head, she rushed forward to envelop Alice in a damp embrace that smelled faintly of chocolate-chip cookies, reminding Alice of everything warm and good she’d missed.
“You’re cold as ice!” Denise cried. “Why didn’t you wait inside?”
“Let’s just say the temperature in there wasn’t much warmer.” Shivering inside her coat, Alice glanced over her shoulder at the inn’s brightly glowing windows.
Her sister didn’t question her further, but Alice hadn’t missed the flicker of uneasiness in her eyes—this was no ordinary homecoming, they both knew. “Well, even blue with cold, you look good,” observed Denise, pushing a hand self-consciously through her own unkempt hair.
“You mean, for someone who just got out of prison,” Alice said.
“Hush now,” Denise scolded, in the same tone their mother would have used. Briskly, she took hold of Alice’s suitcase, dragging it over to the Honda and heaving it into the trunk, which was plastered with bumper stickers like the ones that read,
Well-behaved women rarely make history
and
One people, one planet, one future.
Her sister’s constancy was reassuring in this new, jarring world Alice had entered into. Denise was still the same girl who’d cried over every mangled, furry heap by the side of the road and who’d marched in every demonstration, only older now and the mother of two. It had been a bit of a shock, the last time Denise had visited, to see that her baby sister was going prematurely gray.
“Remember that old VW bug you used to drive?” Alice remarked when they were on their way.
“God, yes. Dad used to threaten to dress up Grampa in his old World War II uniform to shame me into getting rid of it.” Denise gave a laugh that seemed somehow forced. Hunched over the wheel, she looked as though she were navigating her way through a heavy snowstorm instead of the rain that was a fact of life in this part of the world. “I used to wonder if that’s part of why he and Mom fell in love, because they both had fathers who’d been wounded in the war. God knows they didn’t have much else in common, unless you count the fact that they were the only two people on the planet who liked rutabaga.”
“They had us, too,” Alice reminded her. She was thinking about how strange it would be to walk into her parents’ house, the house she and her sister had grown up in, and not find her father there. That had been one of her worst moments in prison, when she’d learned of his death. Now she recalled the words he’d murmured in her ear just before they’d taken her away in handcuffs.
Don’t worry about Jeremy. We’ll look after him.
She’d clung to him for a long moment, as if she were being sucked out to sea by a strong tide and he was a stanchion
. I’m sorry, Daddy,
she’d choked.
I know I let you down
.
He’d pulled back to look at her, the stern lines in his face giving way to an expression of infinite sadness.
You’ll always be my girl
.
Don’t ever forget that.
And she hadn’t. But now he was gone and she would never have the chance to make it up to him. Sitting in the car, staring out at the darkness and listening to the hiss of water under the tires, she felt a renewed sense of loss.
After a bit, she ventured, “How’s Mom doing?”
“Better. You know her, she never stays down for long. Besides, with all her activities, she barely has a moment to herself. She belongs to so many clubs I can’t keep them all straight. Did she tell you she also signed up for a cooking class? Who knows, maybe she’ll be the next Julia Child. Oh, that reminds me. She’s planning a supper for the whole family. You’re not doing anything on Sunday, are you?”
“Gee, I don’t know. I’ll have to check my calendar,” Alice answered dryly.
Denise didn’t respond, and a heavy silence fell, weighted with all that was left unsaid. Her sister had to be thinking about the changes that lay ahead, not just the good ones but the fact that the status quo that had existed for the past nine years would be disrupted. For one thing, Denise’s husband, Gary, was deputy chief of police; however much he might like Alice, her presence would put him in an awkward position. And the children Denise taught in school all had parents who might take a dim view of her harboring a paroled convict.
“Thank you, by the way. For coming to get me,” Alice said at last, in a tone that conveyed gratitude for more than the ride.
Thank you for not abandoning me. For coming to see me all those years. For giving me a reason to live
. “Gary won’t mind my staying the night?”
“Please. You’re my sister.” Denise waved aside any such concerns, but Alice noticed she hadn’t given a direct answer. Now, she chattered on, “Wait’ll you see how big the kids have gotten. Ryan’s as tall as Gary. He just made the varsity team, did I tell you? We’re all thrilled about it. Of course, we told him he can’t put football over his schoolwork, not if he wants to go to a decent college.” With them barely scraping by on her and Gary’s combined income, it was a scholarship or community college, Alice knew.
“Speaking of school, is Taylor still planning to boycott fourth grade?” she asked. Her sister had told her that Taylor was getting teased a lot and often came home from school in tears.
“Oh. Well. You know how kids are. She’ll get over it,” Denise said with a lightness that belied her concern. “Ryan had me for a teacher, too, and it certainly hasn’t affected his social life. In fact, if the girls don’t stop calling, we’ll have to put in another phone line.”
Denise herself had been the butt of every fat joke in grade school, the girl who’d sat on the sidelines at dances and gotten picked last for every team. Alice thought that was what made her such a good teacher; she could empathize with the kids who had trouble fitting in.