She smiled just a little. “Really?”
I took her hand and said, “Let’s get you to bed. It has been a big night.”
She nodded. “And tomorrow I have a date with Robert.”
Robert. Even though Tilley’s boyfriend had died almost four decades ago, it was easier to agree with her, I had learned from experience. The whole town had, really. My heart swelled with pride and gratitude that Cape Carolina, like our family, had fallen into step with Tilley. If she showed up as herself, fine. If she appeared as Queen Victoria, great. If she discussed gardening tips, they were thrilled. If she wanted to wax poetic about her fictional wedding plans with her deceased boyfriend, they nodded and smiled.
“That’s right, dear. And you will look positively beautiful.”
As I helped her into her nightgown, made sure she brushed her teeth, and tucked her in, Tilley said, “I do believe I’m a little tired.”
I had to admit that, in that moment, I felt a little tired, too. Tired from decades of this emotional roller coaster, tired from worrying about where my daughter’s life would take her now, tired from the spoils and secrets of more than six decades.
I walked silently down the stairs, skipping the squeaky spots that I had become accustomed to stepping around roughly fifty-five years ago. I opened the back door and stepped out on the deck, overlooking the night sky, the silent sound with its still marsh grass, and took a deep breath. This home, this land, this water, and this sky had held me for an entire lifetime. It had guided me through the most difficult moments and the most joyous.
I caught a glimpse of my sad, defeated daughter sitting at the end of our dock, her hair blowing in the breeze. From the time she was a toddler Amelia had simply looked like a little girl who belonged on this beach, whose natural beauty, golden skin and sun-kissed hair melded seamlessly with the scenery around her. I almost went down to her. But then I saw another child I knew nearly as well sitting at the end of his dock right next door. And I realized that it wasn’t only this place that had taken care of us so well; it was the people, too. The ones that were here and the ones that had passed on, who had left this house in body but who, I couldn’t help but feel, were always here with us just the same. All I hoped now was that this place would provide the same healing for Amelia that it always had for me—and that I could hold on to it long enough for her to find her fresh start.
Greer
AUGUST 21, 2015
I DIDN’T TELL PARKER I had an appointment today. I didn’t tell him because I already assumed what the verdict would be. I didn’t want to believe it, but this shit is living in my body. How could I not know? When the doctor came in with a grave expression and said, “Greer, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the treatment appears not to be working,” I just said, “I know.”
You could tell she wasn’t used to that. She was used to tears and panicking, but those aren’t things I really do well. I do stiff upper lip well. So that’s what I did. That’s what I’m doing.
She droned on about clinical trials and alternative therapies, but I already knew I wasn’t going to do any of them. I’m not going to put Parker or my father or my sister or myself through that. I am going to just go ahead and go, on my own terms. I watched my mother’s agonizing death, and I’m not going to let that happen to me. There are peaceful ways to die, places and people who help you do it. That’s what I want, so that’s what I’m going to have.
Thinking about telling Parker breaks me apart inside. I’ll wait a little longer, let him have hope as long as he can. I only wish that I could still hope, too.
Amelia
HELL IN A HANDBASKET
JUST THREE DAYS AT HOME had cured me. Okay. So maybe it hadn’t cured me. But it had given me three days to ignore Thad’s texts and calls and to avoid the fact that my life was in shambles. It had also given me three days to paint and hammer and caulk around Dogwood like old times. It had given me three days to drink way too much with my forever friends Jennifer, Madison, and Sarah and to ascertain that I could crash with my Palm Beach friend Sheree and her husband, Philip, until I got back on my feet—after they promised, of course, that they would not praise Thad for following his truth in front of me.
I had thought about leaving town, staying in North Carolina or maybe even finding a job in New York. But Palm Beach had been my fantasy. I had dreamed a big dream, and I had gotten it. And I only had one rung left to climb on the ladder. Nanette would go to New York like she had always said, and I would be editor in chief. I would be the boss, the one with the big corner office. I would have made it. I could see it that morning on the drive from the airport straight to the office.
I could see it, that is, until I walked into the building. I was prepared for a bit of chaos since I had missed Monday. I rarely took a day off, and I generally never unplugged for even an hour. But yesterday I had needed it. I had needed to reassess who I was and what I was doing. I had needed some clarity and calm to decide if I could really help Parker in his quest to expand his family.
I had decided, thank goodness, that it was a ridiculous notion. I mean, sure, yeah, I had been a little bit curious lately about what it would be like to carry a baby, to bring life into the world. And, yes, it would be a nice thing to do. Maybe. Or maybe the whole idea was totally misguided and I was just contributing to the chaos. Either way, back in Palm Beach I had realized that it was utterly absurd. Parker could choose to ruin his life, but he wasn’t going to take me down with him—not that he was trying to, of course.
While I felt relieved, my decision also shone a light on the fact that this job was all I had.
As I walked into the Clematis building that morning, I could actually feel the way the energy had changed before I even got to my office. Usually when I arrived, people were sitting in their cubicles, writing, on the phone. There was an electric hum. Today, people were walking around, out of their desks, seemingly frantic.
I was confused. Finally, I stopped Philip, grabbing his sport-coat-clad arm. Philip was one of the coolest people I knew. The product of an Irish mother and an Italian father who had met, in true American dream style, on the day they’d become citizens, he had his father’s athleticism, his mother’s eyes, and a sense of what would make a layout come to life that I’d never seen before. That was evident from the day I first interviewed him. He had played pro soccer for two years before realizing that graphic design was his true love. “What is going on?” I whispered.
He engulfed me in a hug. His familiar scent soothed me. “Sheree and I are so sorry.”
Philip and Sheree were one of the most perfect couples I had ever known in real life and two of my very best friends. They were both fun and free and rode the line between responsible and irresponsible absolutely perfectly. They threw the best parties in town—meaning the most fun. In Palm Beach you had to clarify because, to a lot of people, the “best” meant the stuffiest and most overdone. Philip had invited Thad and me over for dinner his first week at Clematis and Sheree and I had spent five hours drinking wine and divulging our entire life histories to each other. It hasn’t happened to me often in my adult life, but sometimes you meet someone, and you just know you’re going to be friends forever. That’s what had happened with us. Philip and Sheree had even come to Cape Carolina for the Summer Splash and Fish—the town’s biggest celebration of the season—a few years ago.