Laura Abbot (17 page)

“No.” Pat watched the car pull into the yard. A man was driving and beside him was… “Noel, it’s Laurel.”

“Laurel?”

Pat had already started toward the vehicle. “Something must be wrong.” Noel followed. Then, oblivious to Dylan’s excited circling, they watched as Laurel and a nice-looking young man got out of the car.

“Mother, Dad. This is my friend Ben Nolan. Ben, my parents, Pat and Noel.”

Ordinarily Pat would have suspected Laurel’s visit had something to do with the fellow now shaking Noel’s hand. But not this time. Her daughter had not stepped forward. Had not acknowledged Dylan. She remained standing there, studying Pat with an expression at once questioning and distant. Pat looked into Laurel’s eyes and trembled. Her daughter was staring at her as if she were a stranger.

Behind her, Pat became aware that the men had stopped talking and were observing them. Pat took a step forward. “Laurel…”

Her daughter’s next words stopped her cold. “Mother, I’ve come home for the truth. To find out who I really am.”

L
AUREL WATCHED
the flush fade from her mother’s face, saw her fingers pluck at the loose denim shirt she wore. For a brief second she regretted her abruptness, but she wasn’t in the mood for polite formalities.

Her father looked from her to her mother and back. In an even tone he said, “Your mother and I were about to have a glass of lemonade. Why don’t you and Ben freshen up and join us? Then we’ll talk.” As if accompanying a programmed robot, he took her mother by the arm and led her toward the house.

Laurel was grateful when Ben didn’t say anything, but simply grasped her hand and followed her parents. Inside the house, he gave her fingers a comforting squeeze. Laurel went straight to the bathroom, closed the door and sank down on the commode, desperate to calm her fluttering nerves. Finally she rose, dashed cold water over her face, finger-combed her hair and went into the great room.

Ben sat in the rocker, holding a glass of lemonade. Her parents sat on the sofa, her mother’s face pale and drawn. That left Laurel the worn but comfortable blue-and-white checked armchair. An untouched glass of lemonade was on the oak table beside it. The only cooling came from a ceiling fan. Broad patches of sun streaked through the windows, yellowing the wooden floor where the light fell. Home, which had never failed to offer her comfort, felt foreign. These people on the sofa—so familiar—were strangers.

Her father turned toward her, his eyes full of pain. “To answer your earlier question, posie, you are our daughter, whom we love very much.”

Laurel couldn’t afford the luxury of pity. “Oh, I know I’m your daughter. The more important question is who exactly are you?”

Her mother pulled her legs up under her and crossed her arms. “Don’t be ridiculous, Laurel. We’re Pat and Noel Eden. What’s gotten into you, anyway?”

Laurel was suddenly glad Ben was there. Otherwise, she might have turned coward, opting to continue the elaborate game of make-believe. She ignored her mother’s question. “I understand now why you wouldn’t come to Belleporte, Mother.”

“What do you mean? I didn’t come to Belleporte because I was too busy.”

“Too busy? Busy running from the past, I guess.”

The room shrank, as if she and her mother were the only persons on the planet. “Don’t start, Laurel,” Pat said.

“Well, when will it be time?” Laurel felt anger curdling her words. “I’m a grown woman. I can handle a little thing like the truth.”

“Laurel…” Her father’s voice stopped her. “You’re upset. Justifiably so, I presume. But can’t we talk about whatever’s troubling you without rancor?” He turned to Pat. Laurel could barely hear him. “It’s time,” was all he said.

Instead of facing her, her mother turned her head and stared toward the window, her profile so implacable that Laurel was stupefied. Ben nodded at Laurel by way of encouragement. She took a deep breath, knowing that, like her father, she didn’t want needless unpleasantness.

Deliberately she softened her tone. “Mother, do you remember when I was little, how you used to tell me stories? They always started the very same way—with the magic castle.” Her mother continued gazing at the window, but when she bit her lip, Laurel knew she had her attention. “Remember? ‘Once upon a time, there was a magic castle by the sea. A big white castle, with windows like surprised eyes and two chimneys so tall they scraped the clouds…’ But the magic castle wasn’t by the sea, was it, Mother? It was beside Lake Michigan and it was called Summer Haven.”

Dylan’s tail thumped against the floor, a wasp buzzed at the screen door. Noel reached for Pat’s hand. Laurel watched as her mother slowly turned back to her. Her voice sounded like a scratchy recording. “What is it you want to know?”

Laurel searched for the words. The wasp’s buzzing seemed to be coming from inside her head, intensifying, battering her brain. “Are you Jo Sullivan?”

Her father’s knuckles whitened in the effort to steady her mother. Ben, Laurel, Noel—all of them stared at Pat. Noel dropped her hand and put his arm around his wife, his eyes never leaving her face. “The truth, darlin’.”

Looking for all the world like a trapped animal, her mother raised haunted, tear-filled eyes to Laurel. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Katherine, then, is my grandmother?”

“Yes.” Pat wiped a stray tear away with her fist. “She’s…all right?”

“Better than all right,” Laurel said. “She’s wonderful.”

“My father?”

“He died last year.”

Pat nodded as if she’d expected that answer. “Nan?”

“Fine, too.”

Again the silence came, broken only when Laurel mustered the most significant question of all. “Why, Mom? Why?”

Pat’s eyes rounded. “Do we have to go into this?”

Laurel felt a tick of irritation return. “Yes, we do. I have a grandmother, an aunt, a cousin. I deserve to know who I am.”

Noel cleared his throat. “Your mother and I never meant to hurt you. Far from it.”

“You must have had a reason.” Laurel sensed herself becoming desperate. “We did.
I
did.” Her mother’s words hit Laurel with the force of hailstones. “There was an argument. I was told I was not welcome at home. I left. End of story.” Then, for the first time, her mother’s tone became sarcastic. “Except for the fact I tried, repeatedly, to make contact. The phone numbers had been changed. Unlisted. Letters were returned. Let’s just say that eventually I got the message. Loud and clear.”

Before she was conscious she’d moved, Laurel found herself across the room at her mother’s feet. “But
why?
I don’t understand. Katherine’s not like that.”

“It wasn’t Mother.”

“Then
who?
”

“My father.” Pat collapsed into her husband’s arms.

Ben crossed the room and hunkered beside Laurel. “Maybe a break is in order. Your mother’s had quite a shock.”

Noel caught Laurel’s eye. “He’s right, posie. Later, okay? For now, why don’t you take Ben for a walk, show him the place, get some air?”

Laurel didn’t know whether she could stand, but with Ben’s help, she found her feet. It was clear that her mother had had enough for the moment.

But Laurel wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

B
EN GRIPPED
Laurel’s hand tightly and led her outside, down the porch steps and toward a grove of trees at the back of the property. Dylan ran ahead of them and was soon joined by another dog.

“That’s Fonda,” Laurel explained, nodding toward the second dog.

Laurel knelt to greet the dog. Hungry for attention, Dylan brushed against Ben’s leg. Ben idly stroked the pup’s head while gazing at the panorama before him. This was a spectacular setting, a clearing high on a ridge facing east. In the distance, chain after chain of mountains stretched to the horizon. Overhead a hawk circled lazily. From somewhere lower in the valley came the laughter of children. Being here gave him a whole new appreciation for Laurel—for her playfulness and joy. Now, though, as she petted Fonda, such emotions had been replaced by a heartbreaking wistfulness.

“Come,” she said, taking his hand again. “I want to show you something.” She led him about a quarter of a mile through the trees to a large rock outcropping at the edge of a cliff that sheltered a natural stone bench. She pulled him down beside her. “Look,” she whispered.

He’d thought the previous view was spectacular, but this one made it pale by comparison. “Wow!”

She sat for a few moments, her eyes fixed on the vista. “This was always my special place. Where I’d come to daydream, to think.” Her hands lay in her lap, her breathing light, her body still. A picture of repose, except for the tension in her shoulders, neck and face.

“How are you, Laurel?”

She looked up and ran her fingers gently across his cheek. “Numb. I want answers.”

“I know, but your parents—especially your mother—needed time. They seem like fine people.”

“I’m still scared. And angry.”

Ben studied the wildflowers clinging to the cracks of the rocky precipice, blooming despite their precarious rooting. He plucked one and handed it to her. “See? Survival’s what it’s all about. Your parents must’ve had their reasons. Withhold your judgment until you’ve heard them out. Listen to them with an open heart.” He put his arm around her. “Like you listened to me,” he whispered.

She nestled against him for a long time, neither of them speaking. Finally she stood. “Thank you, Ben.” She held out her hand. He got to his feet and let her lead him. On the way back, she spoke only once. “Like Dad said, ‘It’s time.’”

P
AT STOOD
at the window watching Laurel and Ben, knowing with a mother’s intuition that Ben was much more than a friend. Ordinarily she’d have rejoiced. Now she merely gave thanks that Laurel had someone with her as the whole shameful story came to light. She prayed, too, that somehow her daughter would find a way to forgive her—them—for the lie they’d lived all these years.

Her husband came up behind her and put his arms around her, snugging her back against his chest. She sighed heavily. “Were we wrong, Noel?”

“At the time we did what we thought was best. For us, but especially for our baby.”

She mulled over all the years—Laurel as a toddler discovering nature, as a twelve-year-old winning a ribbon at the county fair, as a teenager earning a scholarship to the university. “It’s been a good life, hasn’t it?”

“And it will be again. You have to believe that.”

Pat nodded toward the window where she could see Ben and Laurel mounting the porch steps. “They’re here.”

“Tell it all, darlin’. Probe the wound. Let it heal.”

Pat turned in his arms. “I can’t lose her.”

“Give her some credit. She loves you.”

Fear raced up her spine. “I hope it’s enough.”

“Love always is.”

Pat heard the screen door open and closed her eyes briefly before gathering herself and walking toward her daughter. “I’m ready, Laurel.”

Ben placed his hands on Laurel’s shoulders. “Perhaps I should excuse myself. This is really between you and Laurel.”

“No,” both women said at once.

“I want you here,” Laurel said.

“This is a family matter,” Pat said, “and I have the welcome sense that that includes you.”

Laurel reached up and squeezed Ben’s hand. “It does,” she said in a firm voice.

Pat breathed a sigh of relief. No matter the outcome of this conversation, at least Laurel had someone standing by her. Pat found Noel’s eyes, warm with encouragement. Someone standing by. Just as she had always had in her steadfast husband. It was more than many people ever knew.

T
HEY TOOK UP
their same places—Ben in the rocker, Laurel in the armchair, her parents on the sofa. Laurel studied them, wondering in how many ways the next few minutes would change her life.

Noel began. “It’s important for you to understand the context in which everything happened. It was a chaotic time. Culturally. Politically. Morally. Campuses were hotbeds of change, even revolution. Young people were challenging the norms of their elders—in dress, music, behavior and politics. Civil rights, women’s lib, anti-war movements. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to be young and idealistic then.”

Laurel leaned forward. “What does that have to do with you?”

“Everything,” Noel said simply. “I dropped out of grad school to move from campus to campus organizing student protests.” He shrugged. “I even gained a sort of minor celebrity. Had my picture in
Newsweek.
”

Her mother took up the story. “I was a frivolous sorority girl, going blithely about my life until a friend’s fiancé was killed in the war. Like so many, I got caught up in the cause, dropped out of the sorority, moved to a coed apartment I shared with other liberal-leaning students. I shucked my fancy wardrobe, wore sandals and granny dresses, let my hair grow. For a time it was probably more a rebellion against conformity and my upbringing than it was a genuine conviction. Until I met your father.” The hint of a smile played over her lips. “He was so clear in his views, so dedicated to his cause, and, frankly, so charismatic that I fell in love with him the first time I met him.”

Noel picked up Pat’s hand. “And here was your mother—this beautiful, intelligent, passionate young woman who was genuinely grappling with these huge issues of the day. And who thought I was wonderful.”

“We were helplessly, hopelessly in love,” Pat said. “I left school and followed him, helping recruit. Of course my father was outraged, my mother baffled.” She drew a hand to her chest as if holding in some heartache. “This is where the truth becomes more painful.”

Laurel waited, trying to imagine the dichotomy between the Sullivans’ views and those of her parents.

“I hadn’t been home since Christmas. My parents were beside themselves. Finally Nan called, begging me to come to Belleporte in May for her wedding. I loved my sister. How could I refuse? My parents didn’t know about Noel. At my insistence, he waited at a motel in Lake City while I went to Summer Haven to break the news that I planned to marry him. I was scared. I knew how hard it would be for my family to accept him. Especially my father.” Her mother’s voice tightened as she got into the story. “I thought I could soften them—him—up before they met Noel.”