Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
I t was ten days later when the plane landed on Martha’s Vineyard. Estelle gripped Roland’s hand hard until the wheels stopped rolling and the side door opened to let them out. It was the beginning of February—a brand-new year—and even more snow had piled up on the islands, blanketing them in soft white.
Estelle watched Natasha gather her little backpack and put on a pair of thick sunglasses. Now that she wasn’t in France anymore, her chicness was especially pronounced. Despite the long flight, she’d refused to wear anything but her finest clothing, while Estelle and Oriana had put on pajama pants and let themselves get comfy.
A little car came down the runway to pick up the guests on the private plane. From here, Roland planned to head to Reese and Oriana’s place for dinner with Meghan and Hugo, while Chuck, Estelle, and Natasha went immediately to the retirement facility. Vivian was waiting for them.
Estelle hugged Roland extra tight as the taxi pulled up to the airport.
“You’re a good person, Estelle Coleman,” he breathed into her ear.
“I’m just chasing a story,” she said, although she knew this was a lie. She’d given up on the “story” aspects of this a long time ago. She was dealing with real people.
She was reminded of her daughter, Sam. All day, every day, Sam worked to build better lives for the people of Nantucket Island. She met drug addicts, alcoholics and depressed people who said they couldn’t go on, and she tried to convince them there was still so much to live for. It was an admirable pursuit, Estelle thought now. Maybe Estelle should try to do something like that more often. Maybe bringing Natasha and Vivian together was her first foray.
Natasha was pale during the drive to the retirement facility. When the car pulled up, she muttered in French and then turned to Chuck to say, “You tell me my daughter is living here? In this place for very old people?”
“For people like me,” Chuck said.
Estelle got out and hurried around the car to let them out. She wanted to take Natasha’s arm to make sure she got to the front door all right, but Natasha refused to have help. Chuck and Natasha walked side-by-side to the front door, which opened automatically and brought them into the warmth. Estelle shivered until she was deep inside the facility.
“Afternoon, Claire,” Chuck said to an employee. “We’re looking for Vivian. This is her mother.”
Claire’s eyebrows went to her hairline. She was genuinely shocked. “It’s a pleasure to have you here!” she said. “Vivian is right this way.”
Estelle thought she would throw up. She was terrified of what would happen next. Slowly, Claire led them to the living room with the television, directly to the same position where Vivian had sat day in and day out since her arrival.
The minute Natasha saw her for the first time, she froze. Her hands were in fists at her sides. She shook with tears.
Estelle couldn’t imagine not seeing her children for forty years. She would never have let that happen.
But she couldn’t blame Natasha for what had happened. Estelle had given up on being judgmental.
Natasha put a chair next to her daughter’s wheelchair and took both of her hands. Chuck moved to turn off the television; nobody else was in the room, anyway.
Under her breath, in tender, motherly tones, Natasha spoke to Vivian in French. Her eyes filled with tears. But Vivian continued to stare straight ahead as though Natasha wasn’t there at all.
Estelle suddenly realized that she didn’t want to be here for this. She wanted to give them privacy.
Chuck followed Estelle into the living room next door. There, they stood in silence.
“It’s still good they’re together,” Chuck whispered.
“They’re all each other has,” Estelle agreed.
Chuck looked weary. He sat down next to the fireplace and studied the fire.
From the next room, they could still hear Natasha speaking to Vivian in French. Could Vivian hear her? Did she understand anything?
“How is your book going?” Chuck asked at last.
“It’s okay,” Estelle said. “I’ve been distracted, to say the least.”
“You have quite a lot of material to work with,” Chuck said.
“I would never use something like this,” Estelle said. “It’s too private. Too sacred.”
Chuck nodded. “I know what you mean.”
Suddenly, a woman in her eighties entered the living area. She smiled at Estelle, but she was focused on Chuck. Chuck turned and looked at her. A blush crawled up his neck.
This is the woman he’s falling in love with , Estelle realized.
“You’re back,” the woman said, dropping down to hug Chuck.
Chuck struggled to his feet and hugged the woman as tightly as he could. His eyes were closed.
Estelle thought it was a shame that so many “middle-aged” people considered older people “done” with life. It was so clear that older people wanted to live as much and as well as they could. Chuck wanted his heart to beat with love for a beautiful woman.
“How was France?” the woman asked.
“It was gorgeous,” Chuck said. “And we even visited my great-granddaughter in Rome.”
“You’re a lucky man,” the woman said.
“Maybe I can take you someday,” Chuck said. He turned to look at Estelle. “But first, I’d like you to meet my son’s wife. This is Estelle.”
“I’m Sylvia,” she said, reaching out to shake Estelle’s hand.
“It’s a pleasure,” Estelle said.
Suddenly, from the next room came the sound of Natasha crying out. Estelle bolted toward the noise, frightened that something had happened. Maybe it was an emergency.
But she found Natasha back on her feet. Her eyes and face were glowing with joy. “She heard me!” Natasha cried. She sounded sure of herself. “She squeezed my hand back!”
Chuck and Sylvia were hot on Estelle’s heels. Together, the three of them looked at Natasha and Vivian. It was true something was different about Vivian’s eyes; something spoke of health and vitality and happiness.
She looked more awake than Estelle had ever seen her.
Natasha was firm in her belief. “I’m not going back to France,” she said, reaching down to take Vivian’s hand. “I won’t leave until Vivian can walk on that plane with me. I won’t leave till she’s well enough to tell me she loves me back.”
Natasha could sense her daughter’s beating heart. She could feel a future for them both.
Estelle knew better than to think Natasha was making it all up.
A mother knows , Estelle thought. We always know.