Chapter 19
At the beginning of October, it seemed that all Bluebell Cove knew, now that it was fully autumn, was rain.
It came in buckets, pummeling down on the sidewalks, driveways, and their cars.
Unfortunately for Wren, it was moving day, so she ducked in and out of Ivy’s place with her suitcases, shoving them into the back of the new secondhand car she’d purchased four days ago, a Chevy.
It was funny to have a car again. It was her first in many, many years.
Juliet, Ivy, and Celia were there to help as well, but in the end, there really wasn’t much to move.
They followed her in Ivy’s car, parking behind Wren’s to help her carry everything into her one-bedroom house, which was located three blocks away from the Harper house.
She was renting it month by month, so she could leave whenever she wanted. That was what she told herself.
At nearly five months pregnant, incredibly, her loose dresses still made her look only a little chubby rather than fully pregnant.
She sat on the sofa in the living room of her new place with the dog Pierre beside her, watching the rain.
Ivy had ordered pizza, and Celia and Juliet were opening a variety of alcohol-free and full-strength wines.
Wren had never hosted any of her sisters at her own place before.
She’d never even had her own place before, not really, not during her numerous travels, her hotel stints, her week-by-week apartments in anonymous cities.
Her heart leaped with excitement and fear.
Was she going to bring the baby back here after giving birth?
Was there enough space for her and the baby? She supposed there would have to be.
They raised their glasses and clinked, cheersing Wren’s new place.
“It’s so cute, Wrennie,” Juliet said. “Perfect for you.”
“I hope we can come by whenever we want?” Celia grinned.
“Of course,” Wren said. “I’d expect nothing less than nosy neighbors. Especially here in Bluebell Cove.”
The pizzas arrived, topped with chicken and black olives and red onions and jalapenos. Now that she was in her second trimester, Wren didn’t struggle as badly with nausea, and she ate like the food was going to disappear before she got to it.
Celia scrubbed her hands on a napkin and smiled. “I forgot to ask about the photos! How did it go?”
“It was great,” Wren admitted, smiling nervously. She wanted Celia to like what she’d done.
Yesterday, Wren had walked around both the inside and the outside of the Bluebell Cove Eco-Lodge, taking pictures for a website and social media rebrand that Celia thought would bring in more customers year-round rather than just during the summer months.
After years of travel photography, Wren felt that taking pictures for marketing was not so different, especially when she planned to feature her family’s inn.
Wren wiped off her own fingers, then went to get her camera bag. Sitting back on the sofa, she petted little Pierre and watched as her sisters swiped through the two hundred photographs she’d taken of the Eco-Lodge. Celia couldn’t keep her excitement in.
“These are brilliant, Wren. Honestly!”
Ivy nodded seriously, looking at Wren with a sense of wonder and surprise, as though she hadn’t truly imagined her little sister had anything to offer. “I’ll have to get you into the flower shop one of these days,” she said.
“And into The Dockside!” Juliet declared. The Dockside was Theo and Juliet’s restaurant. “We’ve been talking about getting photos made of our new menu items.”
Wren laughed and sipped her alcohol-free wine. “You don’t have to hire me out of pity,” she reminded her sisters.
“I’ve never had any pity for you.” Juliet grinned. “It’s unfortunate, but you just might be the best photographer on the East Coast. If anything, I feel forced to hire you.”
“Shut up,” Wren said, smiling.
But already, a plan was beginning to formulate in Wren’s mind.
Since her return to Bluebell Cove two months ago, she’d already made more than enough money photographing Maine’s small towns and coastlines and forests.
Clients kept coming out of the woodwork, demanding more from her and calling her the quintessential Maine-based photographer.
Now that Celia had asked her to take pictures for the Eco-Lodge, Wren realized she could market herself to businesses across Bluebell for rebranding, websites, and social media.
Several local bands might need band photographs or pictures taken during their gigs.
There were school plays, ballet performances, piano recitals, and sporting events, all of which required photographs—for memories that lasted forever.
For years, Wren’s professional work had been anonymous yet impressive.
She’d taken the same photograph of a Santorini sunset that a billion other people had also taken.
But here in Bluebell Cove, they needed someone with a sharp eye for artistry.
They needed someone who knew how to project love through the lens.
Could that be Wren?
After the leftover pizza was put away, Wren and her sisters got cozier in the living room.
The house came with furniture, but it took them a little while to figure out how to work the television.
When it was up and running, they put on an episode of Seinfeld, which they all laughed at until Ivy admitted it put her in a dark place.
“It’s funny, I guess, but they’re all so mean!
” she cried, showing more of her heart than she usually did.
They switched to Friends after that and wondered aloud if there would ever be a happier time than when there’d been ’90s sitcoms on television.
Around nine thirty that evening, Juliet yawned into her hand, and Ivy agreed it was getting late. She needed to get up early to open the flower shop. She pressed her finger into Wren’s shoulder and said, “I’m serious about having you come take photographs. Let’s set up a time.”
Wren promised she would.
“Wait,” Celia said hesitantly. Her eyes scanned her sisters. “I haven’t known the right time to come out and say this.”
Ivy turned off the television. Everyone looked at Celia, waiting. Wren’s stomach tightened with fear.
“It’s not bad,” Celia was quick to add. She rifled through her purse and pulled out a yellowed envelope. “Nelly Winston sent this to the Eco-Lodge the other day.”
Wren’s eyes widened. She turned to Pierre, who was fast asleep on a pillow in the corner, wanting a break from all the loving the Harper sisters gave to him. Sometimes she couldn’t believe that she still had a little dog of her own.
“It’s a letter Mom sent her,” Celia continued. “I haven’t been able to read it. I thought we could do it together.”
The Harper sisters were quiet, watching as Celia unfolded the letter and splayed it on the sofa between them. “Does anyone want to read it aloud?” Celia asked.
Still, nobody spoke. Fear sizzled in the room. Wren wanted to tell her to stop, to call it off. She couldn’t take it.
But Celia sighed and said, “I’ll do it if nobody minds, I guess.”
Before anyone could stop her, she began to read.
“Dear Nelly,
“I wanted to thank you again for your kind words the other day. I don’t know what came over me. It’s never happened that dramatically. I couldn’t breathe, and the tears just kept coming.
“I know I’ve been quite open about how lonely I am in my marriage and in motherhood.
You must think it’s absurd that I say the same things over and over again and don’t know how to change my circumstances.
I suppose, with four little girls looking up at me, I’m often frozen with indecision.
Now that Wren’s along for the ride, I feel an intense pressure to make everything better. But how?
“The other day, James didn’t come home from the inn.
All night, Wren was up screaming, and I couldn’t get her to go back to sleep.
She was so panicked, and absolutely nothing—feeding her, rocking her, singing to her—did any good.
I stood at the window with our screaming baby, looking down at where I knew James was sitting alone in his office, reading or thinking or doing whatever he needed to do to still feel like himself.
I was so angry, realizing that he can still feel like himself whenever he wants to.
I can’t remember the last time I felt like myself.
“Nelly, I want desperately to be a good mother. I want to be better than my own mother, who was often morose and often ignored us. I want to be better than James’s mother, who once hit him on the ear, making him unable to hear in that ear for three days.
“I suppose all we can be is better than the previous generations.
“Sometimes I have nightmares about my daughters’ futures.
I worry that they’ll marry men who ignore them the way James ignores me.
I worry that they’ll have children and struggle to take care of them because of a depression that I’ve maybe passed on to them.
I worry that I won’t be around to explain to them how frequently mothers feel like failures.
“I want to thank you for sharing the sense of your own failure with me. Your children are remarkable and love you a great deal, and I know that. But the fact that you feel you weren’t good enough to raise them is so, so nourishing to hear. Maybe as mothers, we can never feel like we are enough.
“Nelly, you’ve been a dear friend to me. I’m so grateful for your generosity of spirit and for all the kindness you show the girls and me. I can’t wait for many more days in the garden together.
“Love, Margaret.”
Celia finished reading and blinked up at the rest of the Harper sisters. Wren’s cheeks were wet with tears, and Ivy and Juliet weren’t handling it any better. Together, they sat in silence, considering the depths of their mother’s depression and the ache in her heart.
For years, they’d been trying to understand her. Every written word brought them closer.
And then, Wren considered her own secrets.
She considered how separate she still felt from her own sisters, if only because she still hadn’t come clean about what had happened in Greece.
Was she going to keep all her secrets close to her heart forever?
Was she going to die without sharing everything that had happened to her?
“I don’t know what to say,” Ivy offered delicately.
Juliet pressed her face with her hands and let out a long sigh. “She was a poet,” she whispered.
Celia nodded and folded the letter back up. Her hands were shaking.
“I want to tell you all something,” Wren said, raising her chin.
Her three sisters turned their attention to her, the baby. The baby who’d once cried all night, tormenting their mother during her most difficult time.
“Something happened to me,” Wren said, her voice shaking. “In Greece.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes. All this time, she’d known something was really wrong. All this time, she’d been pestering Wren for details, but Wren hadn’t felt strong enough to share.
“Wren,” Juliet breathed, “You know you can tell us anything, right?”