The convent had sent Hattie to nursing school when she joined the order. She was a registered nurse now at a hospital in the Bronx. Melissa went to her graduation when she got her R.N., but had refused to attend the ceremony when Hattie became a novice, and later took her final vows. Melissa didn’t want to be there. It was too painful to see Hattie in the habit she wore.
After her vows, Hattie had spent two years working at an orphanage in Kenya, and had loved it. Her life had taken a completely different turn from Melissa’s, and she was content. Melissa said she was happy too, married, with a child and a successful writing career, but her sharp edges hadn’t softened with time. They had gotten harsher. And once Robbie died, the walls around her were insurmountable.
After she bought the house in the Berkshires, the men who worked for her considered her an honest and fair employer. She paid them well and worked as hard as they did on the projects at hand. But she wasn’t friendly or talkative. Melissa said very little when they worked side by side, and they were impressed by how strong and capable she was. She didn’t balk at any task, no matter how difficult, and accepted every challenge. She was a courageous woman, but not a warm one.
The men she hired often commented to one another about how taciturn she was. She was a woman of few words. Norm Swenson, the contractor she used, always defended her. He liked her, and sensed that there was a reason for how hard she was on herself and others. Now and then he saw a spark in her eye and guessed that there was more to her than she let anyone see now.
“There’s usually a reason for people like her,” he said to her critics, in his quiet New England way. He liked her, and enjoyed his occasional conversations with her, when she allowed that to happen. They talked about the house, or the history of the area, nothing personal. He felt certain there was a good person in there somewhere, despite her cold demeanor and sharp tongue. He always wondered what had caused it. One of his workmen called her a porcupine. It was an apt description. Her quills were sharp. The locals left her alone, which was what she wanted. None of them knew about Robbie. They had no reason to, and it was a part of her life, and a time, she didn’t wish to share with anyone. No one in the Berkshires knew anything about her history or personal life.
The fact that Melissa had written under her maiden name of Stevens made her anonymous life in the Berkshires possible. She had kept Carson’s last name when they divorced, in part because it had been Robbie’s name too and was a link to him, and in part because the name Melissa Henderson rang no familiar bells for anyone. But “Melissa Stevens” would have woken everyone up to the fact that there was a famous author in the neighborhood. This way, as “Henderson,” no one knew.
To their old friends in New York, who hadn’t seen Melissa in years, Carson always said that some people just never recovered from the death of a child, and Melissa was apparently one of them. It seemed a shame to everyone and many people said they missed her. Carson had his own struggles after Robbie’s death, but he had strengthened close personal ties, which had supported him. Melissa had severed hers and set herself adrift. Carson’s marriage to Jane suited his quiet nature better than his marriage to Melissa. There was a dark, angry side of her that ran deep, from the scars left by her parents. She had been happy with him but didn’t have her sister’s innocent, sunny nature. And Jane, Carson’s current wife, was a solid, stable woman. She didn’t have Melissa’s brilliant mind, enormous talent, or tortured soul, which was easier for him.
Carson had talked to Hattie about it a few times in the early days after Robbie’s death. Hattie had thought it would soften her sister, but it had the opposite effect, and hardened her.
Carson had always liked his sister-in-law, but lost touch with her when she went to Africa. He still had warm feelings for her. He had also sensed that Hattie didn’t want Melissa to think that she was disloyal, staying in touch with him once he had remarried, so Hattie no longer contacted him. She had written once to congratulate him when he remarried, and said that she was happy for him, and would keep him and his new family in her prayers. He never heard from Hattie again after that. All ties with Melissa were severed except for her yearly emails.
Melissa’s literary career had taken off around the time that Hattie entered the convent, so Hattie hadn’t been present much during their marriage, but she had come to the hospital regularly when Robbie was sick, and had offered to stay with him so Melissa could get some rest. No matter how angry Melissa was at her for becoming a nun, Hattie’s feelings for her older sister had never wavered, and she was there until the end of Robbie’s life.
Melissa had never invited her to Massachusetts once she left New York, and Hattie had never seen the house that Melissa loved so much. It had replaced people in her life, and the writing she had loved and been so good at. To Melissa, the house was enough, it was all she needed and wanted now. She didn’t want anyone in her life, and no contact with the people who knew her when she was married, and were aware of the fact that she had a son who died. She didn’t want to be the object of anyone’s pity.
* * *
—
When Melissa finished sanding the door, she lifted it and carried it back into the house. She had grown stronger from all the work she’d done. She examined it closely when she set it back on its hinges, and studied the intricate molding she’d been sanding. She was satisfied with her work. She had removed all the old coats of paint, and had decided to varnish it instead. The original carvings and moldings were delicate and beautiful. You could see them better now. All she cared about was improving the house. It was a living being to her, her only friend.
After her morning’s labors, she made herself a cup of coffee and stood drinking it, looking out past the lawn and the trees, and the gardens she had created, to the orchards in the distance. They harvested the apples and sold them at a local farmer’s market. She had the time and the money to do what she wanted and what she enjoyed. After five astoundingly successful bestselling books, she had enough money saved to live as she chose. She led a simple, uncomplicated life, and had more than enough in the bank. Two of her books had been sold as movies.
For a while, she’d been one of the country’s most successful writers, and then she disappeared from public life, to the dismay of her publishers. Carson hated to see her waste her talent. But now, working on her house and property interested her more.
She hadn’t been back to New York since she bought the house, and said she had no reason to. She had let friends fall by the wayside after Robbie’s death, and purposely avoided them. She didn’t want to hear about their children, or see them, most of whom were teenagers now, as Robbie would have been. At forty-nine, she knew there would be no more children in her life. Robbie had been the center of her universe, just as Carson had been, but that was all over now.
Once in a while, she contemplated how odd it was never to experience human touch anymore. There were none of the adoring hugs as Robbie wrapped his arms around her neck and nearly choked her in his exuberance, or the gentle, sensual passion she and Carson had shared. She wasn’t close enough to anyone now to have them hug her, or embrace them in return. Now and then someone working for her would touch her shoulder or her arm, or her contractor, Norm, who was a friendly guy, put a hand on her back. It always startled her. It wasn’t a familiar sensation anymore, nor a welcome one. She didn’t want to remember what that felt like. Physical contact with other humans was no longer part of her life, even though it had been important to her before. In their early years, Carson considered her a warm person. And Robbie would respond to her saying “I want to give you a hug” by leaping into her arms, and nearly knocking her down to hug her. He had been a sturdy, happy boy, until he became too weak to walk or even raise his head, and she would sit beside him holding his hand until he fell asleep. In the end, he slept most of the time, as she watched him, making sure he was still breathing, and savoring every instant he was alive.