Gigi pulled Avi to her as we walked. “I am definitely where I’m supposed to be. I couldn’t imagine not being with my three beautiful granddaughters and my mildly irritating son, who is so much like his father it is both wonderful and scary.”
“Is he a lot like Grandpa?” I asked.
“Oh my, like his clone!”
The thought brought me joy. Our grandfather died when Dad was partway through college. Even so, Dad loved him so much and spoke of him so often, it was as if he was still around.
“What do you think, Avila?” Gigi asked. “Should we go home and use some blueberries from the freezer?”
Avi sighed, flopping her body like a rag doll from side to side as she walked. “I guess so,” she said in exaggerated defeat.
Gigi laughed. “And you, my dear, are so much like your great-grandma, it is terrifying!”
“Am I?” Avi’s mischievous eyes brightened.
“Another little clone, except a clone whose life is happy,” Gigi said thoughtfully while stroking Avi’s hair.
“Great-grandma’s life wasn’t happy?” Avi said, sounding sorrowful.
“Parts of it were,” Gigi answered.
“I bet those were the parts you were in,” Avi said, wrapping her little arm around our grandmother.
“I bet she’s right,” I said, wrapping my arm around her from the other side.
Gigi chuckled, saying, “You two want pie and scones, don’t you?”
Avi leaned forward and winked at me. “Works every time,” she said in a mock whisper.
***
After dinner and dessert, which consisted of a slice of blueberry pie and a blueberry scone, my father left for a meeting and I went up to my room. I opened the door and quickly shut it to keep the hallway light from entering the room. I went to the window and stood beside it, staring out into the darkness. Up and down the yard, up and down the trees. I focused harder.
No one was there.
I pressed my fingertips to the glass. It was cold—colder, even, than the night before. Winter would be here soon. I allowed my gaze to shift far beyond my yard, toward the sea. I imagined the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs that created our cove … the smell of the salt hanging thick in the air … the swirling wind.
Even through the stone walls, I heard the wind. It was dark now and the moon wasn’t out yet. All I could see was darkness, except for the lights of Sam and Jason’s house breaking free in random bursts, places where fall leaves were no longer blocking their brightness.
I pulled the drapes closed and left the room. Grabbing the crumpled sweatshirt that lay on my bed, I put it on as I went downstairs.
In the family room, my sisters and grandmother were gathered.
“Where have you been?” Avi asked in an annoyed tone.
“My room,” I said.
“You were there for an hour,” she fumed.
“She was there for fifteen minutes,” Gigi said, calming my sister down. “Want some popcorn? It’s covered in white chocolate,” she said with a devious grin.
Dad hated it when we ate lots of sugar, but he was out tonight. My father had grown up here. Though he knew the whole town, he didn’t care about socializing. He went out for two reasons: church and business. When he was around others, he did well, not awkward like I was. People enjoyed talking to him, and he told marvelous stories. He and I could be in the same place, experiencing the same thing, and when he told others about it I would think I missed something. He never ever lied; he simply told the truth in such a way that made it exciting. He and Avi shared this trait.
Looking up from her book, Lisieux said, “Where is Dad, anyway?”
“A parish council meeting,” Avi answered before Gigi could.
Avi didn’t miss much. She was only eight, yet she could walk into a room and instantly know what everyone was doing and sometimes thinking. It was unsettling.
“What are we watching?” I asked, sitting beside Gigi and taking a handful of white chocolate popcorn.
“Black Beauty,” Gigi answered. “Avila’s choice.”
She didn’t need to say who’d picked it. Black Beauty was one of Avi’s favorites, which meant we’d seen it at least twenty times. If I hadn’t already promised to watch a movie with them, I’d have happily done anything else.
“Great,” I said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.
Avi stuck out her tongue.
I picked up the ball of yellow yarn and the knitting needles. I could at least work on the blanket I was making. Mom was the one who taught me how to knit. After she died her knitting basket sat untouched for years, until one day, when I was missing her so much it hurt to breathe, I sat beside the basket and carefully removed the ball of pink yarn covered in dust. After blowing off the dust, I held the yarn and felt peace. I picked up the needles and tried to remember what she’d taught me. After a few hours’ practice, I remembered the movements and began working on a scarf. I wore the scarf I made the entire winter, imagining her arms holding me tight when it was wrapped around me.
I no longer cried for my mother, but I still knit. It made me feel close to her.
When the movie started, Lisieux acted as if she didn’t notice. Her eyes were rapidly scanning the pages of whatever book she was reading. She was the fastest reader I’d ever met, and she often read four or five books at a time. She left books in every room she entered and simply picked them up again when she returned to that room.
Avi snuggled up to Gigi, as I methodically moved the needles and tied the yarn while staring blankly at the screen.
I thought of the empty spot in the yard, the one Luca had been occupying every evening for at least the last two weeks. I thought, too, of our conversation on the trail, of his fear of the inn. As I added row after row to the yellow blanket, I couldn’t stop the curiosity.
“I saw Luca today,” I said casually, hoping someone would take the bait so we could discuss our strange neighbor without my being the one to officially start the conversation.
“Did you?” Gigi said in a surprised tone.
“Yeah, when Jackson and I were at the beach, he was there fishing,” I said.
She nodded and returned her attention to the movie.
I completed another row of the blanket and then said, “He asked about the inn.”
“What about it?” Gigi asked.
“He wondered what it was,” I said.
Gigi nodded and munched on some popcorn. “I suppose people see an old abandoned building and they become curious.”
“Yes,” I said, trying not to sound interested in what I was saying. “I told him it was an inn, but he thought there was more to it.”
Gigi looked puzzled. “More to it? What does that mean?”
“Shh,” Avi hissed.
I turned to the screen, my knitting needles moving without my thinking of them. It was incredible how that happened—my hands working on autopilot.
“He thought something happened there,” I said when the scene had ended.
“It was an inn for close to fifty years. Many things happened there,” Gigi said.
“That’s what I told him. He’s a strange boy, though,” I said, trying to sound disinterested.
“I guess if you lose your mom and you barely know your dad, you’re allowed to see the world differently than others,” Gigi said kindly.