More Than Words Can Say (39 page)

Brooke had said in her second letter that she had always preferred to think of her husband, Bill, as Lucy’s father, and Chelsea knew why. It had been Brooke’s sense of shame that had fostered and nurtured that attitude over the years, and Chelsea sympathized.

But because Chelsea’s perspective on the matter was different from Brooke’s, her feelings differed, too. Chelsea had never known Bill and she had seen very few pictures of him over the years. Unsurprisingly, Gregory Butler now held a more vivid and prominent place in Chelsea’s mind and heart, and she was not surprised by that. Reading Brooke’s journal and seeing the photos of her and Greg together had provided Chelsea with a sense of familiarity regarding Greg that had always been quite impossible for her to develop about Bill. However, she had not taken sides about which of the two men to call “Grandfather.”

When she had asked Brandon his opinion about telling Lucy, he had politely told her that it would be best if she made up her own mind first. Only then, he had added, would he tell her whether or not he agreed. Because this was such a personal matter, he didn’t want to color her thinking, he said. That had frustrated Chelsea a bit, but at the same time she understood.

As she reclined in her rocker, Chelsea realized that on the face of things, it all seemed so simple. Tell her mother Brooke’s story, and then show her the journal and the photos. But it wasn’t that straightforward, and Chelsea knew it. There were only two choices. She could tell Lucy everything and hope for the best, or she and Brandon could carry what they knew to their graves. There could be no in between, no half measures regarding all of this. And if Lucy was devastated by it all, then Chelsea’s decision to tell her would be the cause. And could she live with that? she wondered endlessly.

Chelsea sighed.
What to do? What would I want, if I were in my mother’s shoes?
Then she thought about it some more, and at last she made a decision.

I would want to know,
she thought.
I would want to know it all, no matter where the answers might lead me. And so for better or worse, I will tell her. I think she deserves that, no matter how she might react. . .

Just then she heard the kitchen screen door open and close.
Brandon,
she thought happily. At once the dogs bounded up from the porch floor and rushed to greet him. Then Chelsea heard Brandon laugh, causing her to smile.

Brandon came onto the porch, gave Chelsea a quick kiss, and sat down beside her. After he and Chelsea exchanged some notes about their respective days, Brandon looked over at Jeeves.

“Jeeves!” Brandon ordered. “Fetch!”

Jeeves let go an energetic, “
Woof!
” and then trotted into Chelsea’s kitchen. They soon heard the refrigerator door open and close, whereupon Jeeves promptly reappeared with a cold bottle of beer clamped firmly between his teeth.

Brandon smiled and took the beer from him. “Good boy!” he said. As he twisted the cap free of the bottle, he looked over at Chelsea. “Want one?” he asked.

Chelsea shook her head. “Not yet, thanks,” she answered.

After sitting quietly for a time, Chelsea gave Brandon a more serious look. “I’ve decided,” she said simply.

“About Lucy, you mean?” Brandon asked.

Chelsea nodded. “I’m going to tell her,” she said. “All I can say is that if I were Lucy, I’d want to know.”

“I’m glad,” Brandon said. “And now that you’ve told me, I think you made the right decision. But I’ve also been giving it some more thought, and I have a suggestion.”

“Which is?” Chelsea asked.

“I’d ask her to drive up here and tell her then,” he answered. “Plus, when you tell her, it should be just her and you. This will be a very emotional moment for you both. And yes, I know that Brooke’s story happened here, which might make hearing it harder for Lucy. But I think that the peacefulness of this place will help.”

Again, Chelsea nodded. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “What makes you so smart, anyway?”

Brandon gave her a short smile, then he took another sip of his beer. “Have you forgotten already?” he asked. “I’m the Yale guy who went to Harvard! Now then, can I help you with the dinner?”

“Sure,” she answered. “How does some MacArthuroni and Cheese sound?”

“Like heaven on earth . . . ,” he said.

Chapter 40

A
s Chelsea stood upon the sandy shore, she shuddered slightly.

The sun had begun setting over the far horizon of Lake Evergreen, the lower edge of its fiery sphere seeming to literally descend into the restless waves. Autumn was seeing her last days, and winter would soon be here. Next week, she and Brandon would at last be forced to move into his house in Serendipity.

The breeze coming off the lake felt unusually cool tonight, providing yet another portent of things to come. As was oftentimes the case, it bothered the lake surface to create the slightest of whitecaps. Chelsea had been standing alone here for some time, watching those whitecaps endlessly reach and fall, and now that sunset had come she felt not only relief but also a clawing sensation of dread.

Shuddering again, she hunched her shoulders and gathered her woolen sweater closer. It was not so much the early evening’s chill that made her shiver as it was the nature of the task that lay before her. She had resolved to do this thing, even though it might desperately hurt someone she loved very much. For what felt like the hundredth time today, she tried to strengthen her resolve.

At last, she had called her mother yesterday and asked her to visit the cottage for a night or two. Her argument had been simple but effective. She would be closing the cottage soon, she told Lucy, and she very much wanted her mother to see it first. After some hemming and hawing Lucy had finally agreed and said that she would come up the following night.

When she felt that the moment was right, Chelsea would show her mother the journal and the photographs and explain everything to her. This had been a heart-wrenching decision to make, and although she was determined to go through it, all day today Chelsea had had to keep reinforcing her will. For better or worse, the most important talk that she would ever have with her mother would soon take place. And as much as Chelsea wanted Brandon by her side for this, she had agreed that he should not be present.

At last she turned away from the lake and slowly looked around. Brandon and Jacques had already hauled the dock ashore and boarded up the boathouse windows.
Beautiful Brooke
again lay in her boathouse cradle, beginning her winter’s hibernation. Then Chelsea turned and looked at her cottage. She had lit a robust fire, its smoke gently curling free of the chimney only to be lost to the strengthening breeze. The cottage would soon also be locked shut and its windows covered, lending it the same abandoned appearance that it had possessed when Chelsea first arrived there. She also relished watching the evergreen trees for a time, their still-green needles providing a welcome bit of color against the drabness of an encroaching winter.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and lovingly recorded these images into her memory because she would soon leave this place for the winter and eagerly begin counting off the days and months until her return.

After a time, Chelsea opened her eyes and turned back toward the pristine lake. Not only had she come to love it here, her persona had changed much during these last months. She was a different woman now, and like her love for Brandon, the other changes that had been engendered within her would forever remain a part of her life. She then looked down at her right hand, and she smiled a little. She still carried the short scar that had formed from when Jeeves had bitten her that first eventful day. Like the many other, deeper changes in her, she would also carry that scar for the rest of her life. And that was quite all right.

So much happened here this summer,
she thought
. And so much more will happen tonight. But what will come of my decision? I have resolved to tell Brooke’s story to my mother, but am I wrong? Will the final result be only that I hurt her? Or has she at last become strong enough to accept the truth?

She then looked down at the familiar tin box she held, and she lifted its top. It now contained Brooke’s journal and telegrams, the old photos, and both of Brooke’s letters to Chelsea. Inside too lay Brooke’s final letter to Greg.

She didn’t know why she had brought the box out here with her. Perhaps holding it close gave her some added degree of courage. Or maybe just feeling it in her hands helped to keep her connection to Brooke alive in her heart. For she would need both those things tonight, and she knew it. Because now, rather than seeming like precious possessions from the past, all of the items in the box felt like little individual threats that conspired against her, trying to rob her of her bravery. As she felt her resolve weaken yet again, her hands began to shake.

Just then she heard a horn blow, and she turned to see Lucy’s Mercedes approaching the cottage. While the car neared, Chelsea closed the box.

She’s early,
Chelsea realized.
And here I stand, with all of Brooke’s secret things in my hands. May
God
give
me
strength . . .

With a worried heart, she went to greet her mother.

Chapter 41

W
hen Chelsea reached Lucy’s car, Lucy had already removed her two Louis Vuitton suitcases from the trunk and stood waiting for her. Chelsea sighed and shook her head a bit. Even if Lucy was only going somewhere overnight, she always found it quite impossible to travel light. True to form she was overdressed, wearing a navy suit, a matching raincoat, tall heels, and a rather broad hat. It was hardly Lake Evergreen garb, Chelsea thought, but that was Lucy for you. After Chelsea embraced her, Lucy let go a huge sigh of relief.

“My Lord,” Lucy said. “This place isn’t easy to find, is it?”

Chelsea smiled a little. “I know,” she answered. “But it’s worth it.”

Lucy looked narrowly first at the little cottage and then toward the lake. Before she could comment, the chilly offshore breeze kicked up again, threatening to separate her from her hat. Lucy grabbed its brim and then she shuddered a bit.

“It’s colder up here,” she said. “And windier. But I guess that’s to be expected.”

“Yes,” Chelsea said. “Fall is finally ending.” Still awkwardly holding the tin box in one hand, she picked up the larger of Lucy’s two suitcases. “Come inside and I’ll make us some hot tea.”

Lucy plucked up the other suitcase and began walking with her. “What’s the little box about?” she asked.

As if someone had just poured ice water into her veins, it was now Chelsea’s turn to shudder.
How stupid of me to be carrying this,
she thought.
But I didn’t expect Mother to arrive so early, either.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” Chelsea answered. “Just a little something that I want to talk to you about later.”

On entering the kitchen, Lucy surveyed it judiciously. “It’s not so bad as I thought,” she said. “But I still don’t know how you spent the entire summer up here without going mad from boredom. And where’s that handsome new husband of yours?” she asked as she still looked around the kitchen, eying things.

“He has a late shift at the hospital,” Chelsea said. “He probably won’t be home until about nine.” Just then Chelsea felt another chill go through her as she again regretted doing this without him tonight.

Bag still in hand, Chelsea followed Lucy into the living room, where she placed the tin box on one of the sofa end tables. She then carried her mother’s bag into the guest room and beckoned for Lucy to join her there. The two women set the expensive luggage atop the bed.

“This is your room,” Chelsea said. “I hope it will be okay.”

“I’m sure that it will,” Lucy answered. “I’m only here for a couple of nights, anyway.”

Chelsea couldn’t help but look down at the guest room floor, the same floor from beneath which had come Brooke’s journal and photos. The same items from the past that had started it all and were now driving her nearly mad with anxiety. When Chelsea continued to simply stand there staring, Lucy gave her a quizzical look.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No . . . no, Mom, of course not,” Chelsea finally answered. “Come on, let me show you the rest of the place.”

On returning to the living room, Lucy soon noticed the unfinished portrait of Brooke that stood upon the mantel. “And what have we here?” she asked. “It’s a very good likeness, I must say. Do you know who painted it?”

Her mind racing, Chelsea tried to gain some time before answering by putting another log on the fire and then needlessly poking at it with one of the hearth tools.

“No,” she finally fibbed. “It was there when I arrived.”

Lucy stepped a bit nearer. The fire’s warmth felt good, she realized.

“This artist certainly knew his business,” she added. “It makes me wonder why Mother never mentioned him.” Then Lucy stood back from the painting a bit. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s an interesting story behind it,” she added thoughtfully.

With that, Chelsea couldn’t help but again glance anxiously at Brooke’s old tin box. It lay no more than two feet away from her mother, and she instantly regretted having placed it there. She considered taking it away but then thought better of it. She wasn’t ready to tell Lucy about Brooke’s story, and moving the box would only invite further interest.

After her short tour, Lucy removed her coat and then accompanied Chelsea out onto the porch. She spied Chelsea’s unfinished landscape and walked over to admire it.

“This one’s yours?” she asked.

“Yes,” Chelsea answered.

“It’s good too,” she said. “You really do take after your grandmother, you know.” She then selected one of the rockers and sat down.

Just then they heard the two dogs begging to come inside. Chelsea opened the porch door and they came bounding in. At once, they happily accosted Lucy.