Folly Cove (24 page)

In the end, though it was tempting to travel home to see you and the girls once more despite my precarious state, I chose to stay here to spare you the odious task of being caretaker for one more person, when you have had so many depending upon you already.

I have you to thank for saving Folly Cove and for keeping the Bradford name out of the ditch. I'm sure you've done a fine job with the girls as well. Please give them my love. However, it's very important to me that you tell them the truth now about your own history—all of it. My illness gave me plenty of time to spend on the computer, and I now know that my mother was right when she said you were an impostor. I don't care one whit about that. In fact, I rather admire you for it, and I always enjoyed buying your stories hook, line, and sinker, my dear. But I do believe the girls deserve to know, if only for their own medical histories and so forth.

It will be a difficult task, but please do this, Sarah. Not only to spare your own conscience, but as your last act as my wife, because I am asking you to do it. I will rest easier in the afterlife if I know everything is out in the open.

With all my love, Neil

Sarah folded the paper carefully and tucked it into the envelope, barely resisting the urge to shred it between her fingers. How dare he ask this of her?

“Well? What did he say?” Flossie asked, studying her with those wide owlish eyes. The sun had come out and was pouring through the front
windows now, highlighting her gray hair so that it looked silver, nearly metallic, as if Flossie were wearing a helmet.

“Don't pretend you didn't read it.” Sarah finished the brandy in two swallows.

Flossie didn't deny this, only said, “Neil's right. You need to tell the girls.”

“No. And don't you do it, either.” Sarah stood up, gathering her coat, thankful for the reservoir of anger stiffening her spine.

“They need to know the truth,” Flossie said mildly. “Especially now that Neil's gone. I'll tell them if you won't.”

“And if you do that, I will sell this house right out from under you,” Sarah said. “The property is mine now. You saw the will.”

“You wouldn't do that.”

“Try me. Do you know how much shorefront property is worth on Cape Ann these days?” Sarah took Neil's note and folded it into her coat pocket. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“And I'm sorry for yours.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said.

“When will you tell the girls that Neil is gone?”

“I'm not sure they need to know that, either,” Sarah said. “Why bring them more pain?”

“What about a memorial service? Doesn't my brother deserve that, at least?” Flossie stood up suddenly, her cheeks flushed. She looked less like an owl now and more like a ninja in her black clothes, ready to leap over the coffee table.

“I'm not ready to think about that yet. Anyway, it's for me to tell the girls, not you. They're my daughters.” Sarah nearly threw herself toward the front door. She'd pulled the door open when Flossie stopped her again.

“What about the ashes?” Flossie said. “Aren't you taking them with you?”

“You keep them,” Sarah said without turning around. “Neil sent them to you. Obviously, he still didn't trust me.”

Sarah felt the damp sting of tears on her face as she stumbled up the path toward the inn, wrapping the coat around her as the wind fingered its way beneath her clothes, chilling her to the bone.

M
onday, her mother called to invite Elly for late-morning coffee. “We've hardly spent any time together,” Sarah said. “I suppose you and Laura have been busy.”

Too busy for your own mother
. That's what Sarah was implying. Elly didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she simply said she'd be delighted to visit this morning.

She rode Kennedy's bicycle to the inn around eleven o'clock. Kennedy was in school, Jake was at work, and Laura was mucking out stalls, so Elly was glad of a distraction. She'd checked her e-mails and jobs online and there was nothing new. Not even a text from Ryder. Well, what did she expect? She'd made it clear that she wasn't expecting anything from him, and then she'd left for Massachusetts without even calling him to say good-bye. She had only herself to blame for feeling stupidly wistful about what might have been between them.

It didn't help her mood when Sarah pointedly raised the subject of friends as Elly was buttering one of Rodrigo's fresh raspberry scones and her mother was sipping black coffee. They were seated on the enclosed sunporch on white wicker chairs, a hooked rug in jewel tones at their feet, crystal vases of bright orange mums on the tables. Elly had been determined to feel relaxed, at least, if not completely happy to be here, by focusing on the warmth of the morning sun on her face and listening to the faint rhythmic growl of surf beyond the lawn and garden.

She remembered those rare mornings when the inn was empty—usually off-season, like January or March—when she and her sisters were allowed to play out here. They'd lie on the floor, on these sunlit squares of brightly colored wool, and argue over Monopoly. Or they'd gather their dolls and make a complicated neighborhood where the Barbies were always getting dressed in different sparkly outfits and marrying the sexless Ken dolls. Oh, the hours they'd spent searching for those lost tiny plastic high heels!

As they got older, Laura would bring them out here to play hairdresser. Once, they'd horrified Sarah by braiding their hair into cornrows with beads from a kit Aunt Flossie had given them. She'd brought it back from one of her group yoga retreats to Jamaica.

“I did not raise you to be hippies or Rastafarians,” Sarah had shouted. “Take those off at once and wash your hair!”

“You must miss your friends in Los Angeles,” her mother said now. “Are you seeing anyone special?”

“No, not really.” Elly pushed thoughts of Ryder aside. “It's a nice change, being here. I love hanging out with Laura and Anne. And Kennedy's a great kid.”

“Your friends must miss you, too.”

Elly pictured Frankie, her closest friend in Los Angeles, even though Frankie was fifty years old and a widow. Frankie lived below her in the apartment building and was one of the few besides Elly who ever sat outside on the narrow wrought-iron balconies overlooking the courtyard. They had met when Frankie called up from her balcony to ask if she could borrow a cup of sugar; Elly had responded by pouring a cup of sugar into a sandwich bag and lowering it down with a rope to Frankie's balcony below.

“I'm sure a few of them do,” she told her mother. “But absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?”

“Except when it comes to your career, of course,” Sarah said. “You can't ever let people in the industry forget your face. Or your beautiful voice! I learned that the hard way, when your father left us and I tried to resume my own singing career. I had been away too long. You've got to keep putting yourself out there if you're going to make it.”

“I know.” Elly glanced around the room, trying to find any other subject that wasn't her career. “I like the watercolors in here. They're new, right?”

Her mother didn't bother glancing around. “Yes. A local woman did them. I try to support the Rockport Art Association. Now, what about your friends here? Have you seen anyone?”

When Sarah mentioned her classmate Paige Martinson, saying Paige had gotten married at the inn recently and was now a high school guidance counselor in Rockport, Elly said she'd like to see her. She followed Sarah into her office to get Paige's contact information off the computer.

Sarah paused to greet a couple by their first names and asked about their stay. The man and woman were in their seventies, birders with their telltale floppy-brimmed hats cocked at rakish angles. The woman went on about red-bellied woodpeckers and bluebirds, then said, “And we saw an entire flock of harlequin ducks off Andrews Point! Can you believe it? That's a lifelong bird for me!”

“I'm so very glad the birds behaved themselves, Mandy,” Sarah said, pressing Mandy's bony hand between her own, sounding so sincere that Elly had to smile.

“You're so good at that, Mom,” Elly said, once they were closeted in Sarah's tiny office off the reception area.

“At what?” Sarah was scrolling through her computer's address files.

“At making people feel welcome.”

“I'm glad when my guests are happy,” Sarah said, glancing up at her in surprise. “It's not an act. When people are happy at Folly Cove, they return here with their children. And with their children's children. Ah,” she said, looking at her computer again. “Found it.”

She read Paige's cell phone number and e-mail to Elly off the computer and waited until Elly had put them in her phone, then said, “It's a shame you had to miss that gorgeous wedding. They were going to Italy for their honeymoon. Tuscany. Such a beautiful time of year to be there.”

Her mother could sound so convincing about things she knew nothing about that for a minute Elly nearly asked her more about Italy,
then remembered: Sarah had never been anywhere. Her mother, as far as Elly knew, had never left New England, other than for her Florida honeymoon.

Once, Elly had been hospitalized after a car accident while she was in college. She'd been on a ski trip to Vermont with friends and the car went off the road on a patch of black ice. Elly was in the front passenger seat; she'd spent a week hospitalized in Burlington. Her mother never came to see her.

“It's Christmas week at the inn,” Sarah had explained at the time. “You know what that's like. But I can send you anything you need, darling. Just let me know what.”

At the time Elly had accepted the situation. It was only when she overheard the nurses talking, saying, “That poor girl, all alone for the holidays,” that she felt angry. She'd never said any of this to her mother, though. What would be the point?

“I'll be eager to hear what Paige says about her trip,” Elly said. She didn't dare tell her mother that Paige hadn't invited her to the wedding. Her mother would be furious if she knew.

The lack of invitation was Elly's own fault. She and Paige had kept in touch until a couple of years ago, when Hans left her. Paige had reached out and e-mailed her that Christmas. Sent her a card. She'd even phoned a couple of times and left messages. Elly never answered, too sunk in her own solitary misery.

Sarah peered at Elly above the frames of her blue reading glasses. “Elizabeth, may I ask you a straightforward question, please?”

Elly had given up on asking her mother not to call her “Elizabeth.” “Sure.”

“As delighted as I am to have you here, I'd like to know your plans for the future,” Sarah said. “The older I get, the more I realize how short life is. I'm sure you're losing ground on your career, being here so long. Unless, perhaps, you're planning to audition in New York?” Her mother's eyes sparkled suddenly. “I dreamed of being on Broadway when I was young.”

“I don't want to be in New York, Mom.” Elly took a deep breath, then added, “Actually, I've decided to bag the whole singing thing.”

“Oh, no!” Sarah looked stricken and put a hand to her throat. “You mustn't give up your dream!”

“Mom, take it easy.” Elly stared at her in alarm. “It's not the end of the world. I'm not that good. I'm not even sure it was my dream in the first place. I think it was more yours.”

“What do you mean?” Sarah cried. “Of course it was your dream! You're the best singer in our family!” She stood up from her desk chair and reached for a photo album on the shelves behind her.

“Yes, in our family,” Elly murmured. “But that's a pretty small sample size.”

“I know quality talent. You are a brilliant singer.” Her mother slapped the album onto the desk and started flipping pages until she reached a picture of Elly as a teenager, wearing a striped shirtwaist dress, a picnic basket dangling over one skinny arm.

Elly recognized the photograph: it was from the summer she'd been cast as the mayor's daughter in a community theater production of
The Music Man
. She was fifteen at the time. Sarah had grumbled about Elly not landing the part of Marian the Librarian, even though everyone, especially Elly, knew she was too young for that part.

“You stole the show in
The
Music Man
!” her mother said. “And remember the Marblehead Arts contest your senior year of college? Everyone said you were the best talent they'd ever seen!”

“Still a small sample size, Mom.” Elly gently closed the album. “Look, can't you just be happy for me? Be glad I've found work I like. And a place I enjoy living. I have a good life in Los Angeles.” Though, even as she said this, Elly felt a flicker of doubt: she hated the smog. The traffic. The endless cycle of rejections. The power plays of producers and directors, the celebrities and their need for spotlight, Hollywood's constant pressure to age backward.

Her mother sagged against the desk chair. “How
can
I be glad when you're throwing away your future? I know you're older now. Too old to be called promising. But surely there's something you can do with your voice, rather than lie down and give up?”

“It wasn't my decision,” Elly said, stung. “I didn't
give up
on singing. The Fates decided for me.”

“No! I will not stand for that. You're much too young still for resignation to an ordinary life.” Her mother's eyes were dry but red-rimmed. She looked her age, for once. Like a woman long past her prime instead of a woman in charge.

“I know you're disappointed, Mom, but that's how it is,” Elly said. “I'm ordinary. Hurrah. I can stop beating myself up. Listen, I've got to go. I promised Laura that I'd pick Kennedy up from school.”

“What do you mean? It's only noon. And we're having a conversation here.”

It was more like having a scolding, Elly thought, but she kept her voice even. “I know, but Kennedy has an early-release day and an orthodontist appointment. I'll see you again soon, all right?”

Sarah nodded and let her go, dismissing her with a cheery wave, though her lips were trembling.

Elly felt like she was slinking out of the office, exuding a smoky trail of defeat behind her. She felt so suddenly despondent that she decided to text Paige. She needed to spend time with someone outside her family. Amazingly, Paige texted back immediately and said she'd love to meet up.

“Of course you can keep the car,” Laura said two hours later, when Elly brought Kennedy back after a tortuously long orthodontist appointment. “I owe you for sitting around in the orthodontist's office while I was teaching. Besides, you deserve to have a little fun. Stay out as long as you like.”

Laura wouldn't have been so generous if she'd known what Elly was planning: since she had the car and was alone, tonight was the perfect opportunity to stalk Jake at work and find out what secrets he was keeping. The more time Elly spent here, the more she was convinced that Jake was hiding something.

Paige was meeting her at three o'clock for a glass of wine. That gave Elly enough time to stop by Jake's office before meeting her.

Jake's receptionist greeted her with a smile. She was a pale, malnourished brunette in cowboy boots and dangling turquoise earrings, obviously some kind of wannabe Sundance catalog model. Not Jake's type, Elly thought with relief. She hoped to hell Laura was right and
her husband was trustworthy. On the other hand, would that make Anne the one who was lying? Elly refused to believe that without proof.

The hygienist, who came out to call a patient while Elly was waiting for the receptionist to finish on the phone, was a more likely lover for Jake: a young, athletic-looking brunette whose skirt was several inches too short even for those legs. A Jennifer Lopez sort of skirt, the kind she was always tugging down on
American Idol
. No wonder J. Lo had upskirting Web sites devoted to her.

The receptionist—Kim, according to the name tag floating between her nonexistent breasts—hung up the phone and smiled. “Sorry to keep you waiting. How may I help you?”

Elly had her spiel ready: she was visiting from the West Coast and overdue for a checkup and cleaning. “I wondered if I can get one here.” She hoped Jake wouldn't catch her. But if he did, she had a pat speech ready for that, too. She really did need a cleaning.