The Secrets Sisters Keep (19 page)

She finished in the bathroom and returned to the bureau for her bedtime hot chocolate. That’s when Ellie noticed the pink ribbon on top of her jewelry box. And the small note next to it.

The handwriting was filled with feminine loops and circles: it was Carleen’s. Ellie had always admired her sister’s bold script, always had seen it as a mark of self-assurance.

Slowly, she picked up the note. She drew in a breath and read:

You said you have nothing of Mother’s. This was her pink ribbon. She’d used it to tie up old letters. I found it that day in the attic. C.

Ellie picked up the ribbon. She studied the grosgrain as if it held answers in its tight pink weave, as if it held memories, as if it held Mother. Then she closed her fingers tightly around it. She didn’t dare start to cry. She knew she should go to Carleen. Thank her for the ribbon. Thank her for the gesture. But the ribbon felt cool and good in her hand. And her thanks could wait until morning.

Chapter Thirty-five

M
orning sunlight swathed the water of Lake Kasteel like a finely crocheted blanket, the kind Edward’s mother had labored over even after her fingers had been knotted by arthritis and her vision had been blurred by years.

He wandered down the lawn toward the dock, puffing a cigar he’d found on the hall table. He’d bet that his pal, Goldsmith, had left it for him. David had been a friend for many years, so many that he’d known Edward’s crocheting mother and his plumbing supply-selling brother, and, of course, his plumbing supply-selling-brother’s wife. They’d known a lot about each other way back when: David had also known about Edward’s one and only love.

Sitting on the dock, swinging his feet into the water, he remembered London and remembered her.

He’d called her Pia, after the quirky little actress who’d been so enchanting on Broadway in the sixties but who had taken a peculiar turn or two after that. Edward’s Pia had had that same playful energy, that same impish beauty, and she’d stolen his heart the first day they’d met. It was not until several years later that they ran off to London, unhindered by media mongers (it was the early seventies, so gossip still moved slowly) or by her husband, whom they’d left back home in the States. Pia had joined him ostensibly for the shopping; he supposedly was scouting new acting talent. But they’d really gone for something else: alone time at the Chesterfield Mayfair, private, secluded, discreet.

For five days and four nights they existed on raspberry jam and clotted cream, sweet English scones, strong tea. And love.

She never saw the inside of Harrods, and he didn’t attend a single play, didn’t view a single actor or conduct even one interview.

So be it!

After the Mayfair, came sadness.

She’d returned to her husband, as they’d known she would.

He’d returned to Broadway, his heart in tiny pieces. He tried to put his feelings into writing, but it was pointless, so he finally gave up and began taking young men as lovers, chalking up his deep love for a woman as a bad joke played on him by Mother Nature. Edward Dalton had, after all, sensed he was gay—a
homosexual
—from the time he’d inadvertently walked into a backstage dressing room when he’d been around nine and spotted the male and female leads
going at it,
as they called it back then. He’d been more intrigued—excited, actually—by the man and his large, glistening parts than by the woman and her . . . well, he hadn’t really noticed much about her.

He’d once revealed that experience to David Goldsmith, though they’d stopped talking about that sort of thing once David married Myrna and Edward was finally able to relax with his gayness. Gay men were, after all, much less complicated and so adoring. It helped salve the ache for his Pia.

He’d always thought David was the only one who’d known the truth, but now there was Carleen.

And now the time had come to tell his nieces what really had happened the day the house burned down and what had happened years before.

It was time they knew. Before he was no longer around to tell them.

He puffed another puff, watched the smoke snake to the heavens, and thought about the people he’d loved who were waiting for him up there.

“S
he’s gone,” Amanda said to Ellie as they both left their rooms and were headed downstairs. “I found this under my door.”

Ellie opened the small square of paper. The loops of the handwriting were once again familiar.

I’m sorry about Earl
, it read.
I’m sorry about everything
. It was signed with a
C
, the way Ellie’s note had been.

“Yes,” Ellie said, “she’s gone.”

They stood quietly for a moment, then Amanda said, “Thank God,” and Ellie did not have the strength to disagree. Besides, it was nine twenty-seven, and there were other issues to address.

Brunch at nine
thirty. Family picture at eleven.

If Henry had told them once, he’d told them a dozen times. But, as Ellie left Amanda and went down to the kitchen to make sure Martina was ready to serve, she looked out the window and spotted her uncle sitting down by the water. He wore a white shirt and white walking shorts. A white beret was perched atop his head. He was very still.

Ellie went to the back steps and hollered. When Edward didn’t answer, she gathered the hem of her requisite white skirt, kicked off her white canvas pumps, and trotted down the sloping yard.

He was so dormant she thought he was dead.

“Edward!” she shrieked from half annoyance, half fear. “Get up! You’re getting dirty!”

It was another heart-stopping second before he turned to her and blinked.

She sighed. “What are you doing? Stop scaring me.”

His impish smile skated across his time-lined face. “I was conferring with my muses. Seeing into the great beyond.”

She could have mentioned it was nine thirty and there would be plenty of time for great-beyond-seeing after the rest of the family left. But that was the old Ellie, and this one was different. This one was in charge of herself and no one else. Not anymore!

So she simply said, “Well, get up. Like it or not, this still is your party and it’s time for brunch.” New Ellie or not, she was not in the mood for his twisted humor or his antics. “Of course,” she added, “it will be different than we expected. Carleen left during the night, and apparently, Babe’s husband did, too.”

“Carleen’s gone?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

Edward stood up and brushed the seat of his pants. “It’s me who’s sorry, Ellie. I’m sorry that my absence upset you and the girls. Especially you. I honestly thought you’d get along better without me as a referee. And I’m really, really sorry about that stupid stunt with the noose. I did it because I didn’t like the looks of Wes McCall. I’d been hoping he’d get in trouble for it. Questioned by the cops, or something humiliating that would get back at him for that baloney with the helicopter. I had a feeling he was behind that.”

She could have asked about the cancer. She could have asked why he’d refused treatment. But he looked smaller, standing there in his white, his blue eyes
a-twinkle,
as Henry sometimes called it. “You upset Henry, too, by disappearing.”

He nodded. “I couldn’t tell him. He hates having to keep a secret. But Henry will forgive me. It’s you girls I’m worried about.”

“We’re fine,” she said. “We’re all fine.” Then she put her arm around him and realized, for the first time, how much smaller he’d become, how his once muscular back and arms had thinned with age. “I even think Carleen is fine in her own way.” Then Ellie guided Edward up the dock and toward the lawn and the house where they’d lived for far too long.

T
wo people were missing from the table—Carleen and Wes.

Ellie wondered if the family had had a meal
in toto
since the weekend had started and decided, no, they hadn’t. Still, it was nice to see everyone seated, dressed in virginal white except Jonathan and Heather’s boyfriend. Babe was there—Amanda whispered to Ellie that she must have packed her white dress in her suitcase because she’d seen her leave the house before bedtime.

Henry also wore white, though he hadn’t been invited to join in the picture.

So far, no one had noticed that Ellie had disobeyed instructions by tying her hair in a small ponytail and wrapping it in the pink ribbon Carleen had said had belonged to their mother. She would tell the others after the photograph was taken. Until then, it would remain her special secret. Hell, if Edward Dalton could have secrets, so could she.

She passed the platter of strawberry blintzes and silently hoped no one spilled fruit on their white.

Edward did most of the talking, directing his chatter toward the children, as if he was determined not to acknowledge that two people were missing or to admit the fact that, without Carleen, most of the tension had abated.

Amanda, good Lord, was actually smiling. Not huge, OhMyGod-I-am-so-happy smiles, but little lifts at the corners of her coral-lipsticked mouth that hinted at lighthearted amusement. She even aimed one or two smiles at her husband, which Ellie thought was puzzling, under the back-waxing circumstances.

Babe, too, seemed to exude an aura of well-being that even Edward apparently noticed, because halfway through his wedge of melon he turned his attention to her. “You look especially lovely this morning, my dear.” He did not include Ellie or Amanda in his comment, and Amanda did not seem to care.

“I spent the night at Ray’s,” Babe explained without flinching. “As you can see, my husband isn’t here. It was my idea for him to leave. But when I was returning from Ray’s early this morning, I saw a cab out on the street. Wes got in. Along with Carleen.” She sipped a mimosa, then added, “I must admit, that was a surprise. I thought Carleen had changed.”

“I doubt they ran off together,” Ellie interjected. “I think Wes simply saw a chance to hitch a ride.”

Then Babe said yes, she supposed that was possible.

Amanda asked Babe if she and Wes were divorcing and Babe said yes, without a doubt.

Heather asked if she and Shotgun should still look him up when they went to California. “He promised Shotgun he’d introduce him around,” she added, ignoring the quick, surprised movement of her mother’s eyebrows.

“Do what you want,” Babe said. “But the man is self-centered, so I doubt he’ll remember. If you really want to go, I can give you names, and I can make some calls on your behalf. But I am staying here.” It was the first time those assembled had heard such a notion. “Well,” she continued. “Not here, in this house. I’ll be at Ray’s. Until we decide what to do next.”

Ellie passed the four-cheese frittata and thought it was ironic that Babe was vying to live at Lake Kasteel, while Ellie had finally garnered the courage to get out.

Then a cell phone rang. Edward’s eyes narrowed, because he detested what he referred to as satanic technology, cell phones, computers, anything that required a charger or a wireless card.

“It’s mine,” Babe said, standing up and pulling the phone from her pocket. “Sorry. It must be Ray.” Then she looked at the caller ID and scowled. “Oh, no. It isn’t Ray. It’s my agent.”

***

“W
ill she really stay here?” Heather asked once Babe had excused herself and left the room to take her call. “I mean, geez, what about her career?”

“When was the last time she starred in a film?” Chandler interrupted with his nose in the air the way Amanda had once promoted but suddenly detested. “I bet no one wants her for those romantic comedy things anymore. She’s too old.”

Amanda rubbed the irritation that tingled in her neck. She supposed her children were waiting for her to agree. Instead she said, “Chandler, for starters, you need to show some respect. Babe is your aunt. She is your elder.”

Chandler gawked at his mother as if she were a stranger.

“Her career,” Amanda continued, “or what she does with her life is none of your business. We should all be supportive and hope that she’ll be happy. And I, for one, will be delighted to have her back on the East Coast.”

Everyone else’s eyes had shifted from Chandler to her.

“Besides,” she added, “haven’t you heard that money is the root of all evil?”

The feedback from the group was pretty funny, especially since no one spoke.

Amanda turned to her husband. “Jonathan? Would you please tell everyone the rest?”

Jonathan cleared his throat and slid his arm on the back of Amanda’s chair. “We’ve decided to make some pretty major changes. As a family. We’ve decided to sell the brownstone and move to Vermont.”

Chandler dropped his fork onto his blintz.

Heather was mute.

Chase said, “Cool.”

Jonathan put his elbows on the table and tented his fingers. “We’re going to get back to basics. Burlington is a wonderful town. It’s where I grew up; I still have friends there. I think the town can use a decent architect.”

Chandler laughed. “For what? Designing cow barns?”

“Chandler,” Amanda scolded.

When the boy snorted he sounded just like his mother, which did not please her. “Right,” he said. “Well, it won’t really involve me, anyway. I have one year left at Choate. Then I’ll be off to Princeton or somewhere. It’s not as if I’ll actually ever have to live in Vermont.”

“Oh, but you will,” Jonathan said. “Neither you nor your brother will be going back to Choate. You’ll attend public school. As for college, you’d better start thinking about scholarships and financial aid.”

The boy turned as white as his shirt. “Financial aid? Like a loan?”

Amanda felt sorry for him. She had trained him so thoroughly to be such a boor. It would take time to untangle the knots.

“Yes, Chandler,” Jonathan said firmly. “You’ll be amazed, but it won’t kill you. We’ll talk about the details later, but for now, we wanted everyone to know. The truth is, we’ve run into some financial difficulties, but we’ll work them out. Frankly, we think we’ll enjoy our new life.” He reached into Amanda’s lap and took her hand. She’d never felt more proud of him. He wasn’t perfect, but as it turned out, neither was she.