Island Girl (53 page)

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Authors: Lynda Simmons

BOOK: Island Girl
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“No problem at all,” Mark said, leading Stokes away. But leaving Jocelyn behind.
She leaned close again, whispering. “You’ve been lucky up to now because Grace always found a way to make things right for herself. But she couldn’t do it this time. Not after what you did to her with Chez Ruby.”
It was my turn to curl my lip. “So you made things right by putting her in a swan out on the lake?”
“Grace got in that swan all by herself. And she was having fun. Laughing and cheering, like she’d won something. Until she jumped, and it was all over.”
My stomach dropped. “Jumped? Why would she jump?”
“Are you that dense? She jumped for the same reason she can’t bring herself to get on a ferry. Because you taught her that it’s not safe to leave the fucking Island.”
Big Al chuckled.
So she climbed into the swan because of you and jumped back out because of you. Nice work, Mom.
“It’s not my fault,” I muttered, and backed up a step. Thought how nice it would be to climb into a swan and give Al the finger. Tell him to fuck right off and go to Grimsby. I turned, searching for Grace again. Seeing that bloody paramedic still with her.
“It’s not my fault.” I raised my voice. “It’s not my fault.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jocelyn demanded, bringing me back, making me focus. She tipped her head to the side. “Are you sick? Grace thinks you might be. That you might have cancer again—”
“I don’t have cancer. I never did. Where did she get such an idea?”
“From Liz.”
“Why would Liz tell her that?”
“How should I know? But she said it was a basal cell and you had laser treatments.”
I stared at her. Liz had lied to Grace? Elaborately? For me? She must have been really drunk.
“If it’s not cancer, then what do you have?” Jocelyn jerked a thumb at me when Mark returned. “What does she have?”
“Nothing,” he said at the same time I said, “Alzheimer’s.” I hadn’t known I was going to say it, but now that it was out there, I couldn’t take it back. And Big Al was quite amused when both of their mouths fell open.
Jocelyn recovered first. Hauled back a fist and plowed her dad in the stomach. Doubled him over, bringing the paramedic tending to Grace running.
“You’re going to marry a woman with Alzheimer’s?” Jocelyn growled. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Probably because he loves her,” the young man said, helping Mark to bend over, catch his breath. “I see that kind of devotion all the time. Especially in couples who’ve loved each other for years.” He smiled when Mark straightened. “So how many has it been for you, sir?”
“Twenty-eight.” Mark struggled to draw in a breath. “And I’d like twenty-eight more.”
The paramedic gave us one of those horrible
I’m so sorry
looks.
“He knows that’s not possible,” I told him. “He’s just an optimist.”
“He’s an idiot,” Jocelyn said. “I can’t believe you’re going to saddle us with a . . . a—”
“Lump?” I finished for her. She shot me her trademark scowl and I laughed. “I’m the one it’s going to happen to, and I’m even more surprised than you are that he wants this.”
“With all the research being done today,” the paramedic said, “you have every right to be optimistic.”
Mark smiled and there she was behind his eyes—Hope. Waving her little pixie fingers, trying to make me believe he was right. Luck was on our side, just like with Grace and Jocelyn. Miracles for all today!
I sighed and turned back to Grace. With the paramedic busy here, Officer Stokes had wasted no time taking his place. I hurried across the sand and sank down beside her. “Grace, honey? Are you okay?”
She held out her arms to me. “Mom, I’m so sorry.”
I drew her close and laid her head on my shoulder, her damp hair brushing soft against my neck, her breath warm on my skin. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all.” I glanced over at the officer. “Can your questions wait until we get her home?”
“I don’t see why not.” He tucked the notebook into his pocket. “Maybe a little rest will help trigger her memory. Help us figure out how that swan got all the way over here.”
“It’s a mystery.” Grace sat up straighter, wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “But if I think of anything, I’ll let you know.”
“You’ve got my card.” He turned to me. “We’ve arranged for the art center shuttle to take you all back to Ward’s. I’ll come by the house to speak with the girls later today.”
Out in the water, a man with a hook finally caught the swan and guided her back to the marine rescue boat. Once she was alongside, another man climbed in, turned her motor off, and settled back for the ride to the dock. The drama was over. The curious started to leave. Like Jocelyn said, the swan was safe, they were safe. What else mattered?
Mark and Jocelyn were already making their way to the shuttle, Jocelyn marching ahead, talking, talking, talking, and Mark hanging back, silent—giving her the right to be angry, to say her piece. Probably feeling bad because he’d kept the Alzheimer’s from her, but confident that eventually she’d shut up and start asking questions instead. Giving him a chance to explain, to mend the rift with an open and honest discussion, because that was his way. Had always been his way, even when the girls were little. Encouraging them to ask tough questions, develop opinions, and learn to voice them effectively—as if Liz had ever needed encouragement. He’d made me crazy if you want the truth, but maybe he’d been right all along. His daughter wasn’t the one who had jumped out of the swan after all.
“We should get you home,” I said, helping Grace to her feet. “But I have to ask. How
did
that swan get there?”
“It was the strangest thing,” she said. “We got to the beach and saw her floating in the water, right over there.” She went on to tell me the Tale of the Swan. How the big bird had danced on the water, turning in a circle, nodding her head like she was happy to be there.
“We were nervous at first,” Grace said. “But how could we not get in?”
She looked down at the sand, avoiding my eyes while she gave me her version of the story that she and Jocelyn must have cooked up before the police and the ambulance arrived. Not trusting me with the truth the way Jocelyn had trusted Mark. Telling me instead about the beautiful sunrise, the fun of riding on the lake at dawn. Steering clear of the darker truth, brushing the unpleasantness aside, because that’s what I’d taught her, because that’s what we did. We swept aside the pain and sadness, pushed the tough questions and the guilty answers under the carpet and then we walked on the lump. Told ourselves we were moving forward, giving ourselves a clean slate, a fresh chance. And all the while, we kept walking on that bloody lump, pretending we didn’t feel a thing, until one day we tripped over it and fell flat. Found ourselves drunk in a park, or swimming from a swan, or taking the handyman to bed, with that lump lodged in our throats, making it harder and harder to breathe.
“It was fun,” Grace said. “Until I fell in the water and ruined everything.”
The lie stung, but I’d earned it. She could no more tell me she’d jumped from that swan than she could tell me about her picnics with Liz or her trips to the airport or why she let Jocelyn put a new password on her computer, because they were all criticisms of me. Blatant rejection of my policies, my rules, and guaranteed to start an argument she knew she couldn’t win. Unlike Liz, effective communication had never been Grace’s strong point. So she was doing exactly what Jocelyn said she would—lying to protect herself. From me.
“I’m not sorry we went out in the swan. I’m just sorry it ended like this.” She dug a toe in the sand. “I wish I hadn’t been so stupid.”
It would have been easy to let her go on lying. Pretend I didn’t know the truth and avoid a long, humbling conversation. Let everything go back to the way it had always been. Both of us keeping secrets, telling the other what she wanted to hear—or what we thought she could handle.
Or I could tell her the truth. Give us yet another fresh start, another clean slate, with nothing left behind to trip us up later.
“Grace, you weren’t stupid, you were scared, which I understand. But really, you should be proud of yourself.” She looked at me curiously and I threw an arm around her shoulder, started walking with her across the beach. “You made Donaldson history out there today. We’ve always fought against tyranny. Given the finger to authority. Told the despots to fuck off and leave us alone. But you’re the first one to do it in a swan. And I’m proud of you, even if you were aiming that finger mostly at me.”
She stopped dead and pulled away, her face stricken. “Mommy, I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Yes you did, and that’s okay because I deserved it.” I draped my arm over her shoulder again, kept walking. “I kept secrets from you too, and I didn’t treat you with the respect you deserve as an adult. But I promise things will be different, I’ll be different. And when I’m not, when I yell or try to give you your opinion, you have to promise to stop me, to remind me of this conversation. Can you do that for me, Grace?” She nodded and I smiled. “I’ll hold you to it. And while we’re making promises, I promise I will never keep secrets from you again. Which means I have something to tell you.” I stopped when we reached the path. “And I need you to listen carefully, okay?”
LIZ
 
The call came at 10:15 A.M. Nadia and I were already in line at the ferry dock with KFC, potato salad, everything we needed for a fabulous picnic on the nude beach, waiting for the next crossing to Hanlan’s Point. When the phone rang, I thought it was Grace—finally answering the texts and messages I’d been leaving her since early that morning—and I answered with, “Well, it’s about time,” only to have Mark say, “Liz? Thank God I reached you.”
I hadn’t spoken to Mark since our lunch at the Rectory—neither of us willing to be the first to say
I’m sorry
or
I was wrong
or, better yet,
I miss you
—and my breath caught when I heard his voice. “I’m calling to let you know that Grace won’t be meeting you today. There’s been an accident.”
My whole body went cold and the bucket slid from my fingers. “What happened?”
Nadia caught the chicken while Mark told me about Grace and Jocelyn in a swan, the three of them going to Grimsby. “Getaway Swans,” I said, suddenly remembering Jocelyn’s phone calls.
“That’s what Jocelyn called it,” Mark said. “Did you know about this plan?”
“For years,” I said softly. But I was always just talk. Jocelyn was the one who had pulled it off, made the dream come true for Grace. And I hoped she didn’t blame herself for the accident. “Are they okay?”
“They’re both fine and they’re home. They just need to rest.”
“Can I talk to Grace?”
“She’s with a friend right now—”
“Friend? What friend?”
“Liz, I don’t have time—”
“Okay, okay. How about Jocelyn? Can I talk to her?” Make sure she understood the gift she had given Grace and how much I would have loved to have been a part of it all.
“Jocelyn is with friends now too, but I’ll tell them both you called.”
“What is wrong?” Nadia asked when I closed the phone.
“My sister and Jocelyn aren’t coming.” I looked up at her and sniffed back unexpected tears. “There was an accident on the lake.”
While I explained what had happened, she fished a tissue from her purse. “They are all right?” she asked when I finished. I nodded and dabbed my eyes. “And they are home?” I nodded and dabbed again. “Then there is no need to cry. We will take picnic to them.”
“I can’t do that,” I said, but Nadia held the bucket tighter and grabbed my arm, dragging me across the dock to the gate for the Ward’s Island ferry. Naturally, the
Ongiara
was there and loading, and Nadia kept going, taking me across the ramp and along the deck while I said, “This isn’t going to work,” and “What do you think you’re doing?” and grabbed at bikes and tried to dig my feet into something, anything to hold my ground, convince her that I was not going to Ward’s.
“I do not understand,” she said when she finally stopped at the railing, setting the basket and the bucket down and turning to me with a scowl. “You want to be sure sister is okay, yes? Then what is problem?”
“Problem is Ruby. It’s her house. She’ll be there.” I bent to pick up the bucket. “We need to get off.”
She put a foot on top of the chicken. “Why? Because your mother made mistakes and you cannot forgive her? Is time you learned universal truth—all mothers make mistakes. You must forgive anyway.”
“Why? Because she’s sick?”
“Even more because she’s sick.”
I almost laughed. “So you’re one of those people who believe that even if you’re a shit all your life, once you get sick, you’re automatically entitled to forgiveness? A moral do-over regardless of the mess you’ve left behind? Sorry, Nadia, I disagree. My mother has not earned a do-over.”
I started to walk away. Let her keep the goddamn chicken. But she latched on to my T-shirt and yanked me back. “What your mother has or has not earned should not concern you. Is what you have earned that matters. You forgive your mother so you can stop being little girl, stop being affected by things she did. And then you forgive yourself for what happened to sister so you can get on with your life.”

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