Chapter 7 Lili
Seven
Lili
The day after the mermaid tour sees us up bright and early, and for once, I’m not the only one in a dress.
“Stop,” Mom tells Goldie when my sister makes yet another face at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, squirming as though
ants are crawling all over her. “I checked all the seams and cut out the tag. You’ll survive one morning.”
Goldie stills as Mom finishes braiding her hair, her small frame rigid, but her mouth still turned down in a pout. “I got
to wear shorts back in Arizona.”
“And you can still wear them under your dress if you want to.”
Goldie looks up at Mom to make sure she’s serious, then, with a grin, races back to our room.
“You look really pretty,” I tell Mom, watching her smooth the blue silk scarf she’d tied loosely around her neck for the third
time. It’s a delicate thing, with tiny golden anchors dotting the fabric, like a map to the sea. “Very nautical chic,” I add
with a teasing smile.
Mom catches my eye in the mirror, a crinkle of warmth spreading across her face. “Thanks.”
I watch her for another moment, trying to decide if this is the right time to bring up the offer Wren made me yesterday. Before I can work up the nerve, Mom is ushering us both down the stairs.
“Move your butt. I’ve been wanting to step inside that steepled white church since before Goldie was born, and we are not
going to be late for our first service.” She gives me a gentle swat, and I can’t help but laugh.
The church is located in the heart of downtown, only a few minutes away. When we arrive, there are still plenty of people
walking up the stepped brick pathway, greeting each other with smiles and laughter, the quiet hum of their conversations mixing
with the sound of a bell tolling overhead. It’s all very welcoming, but my hands curl into my skirt. Now that I’ve decided
to talk to Mom, I can’t stop rehearsing how I’ll say it.
We slip through the old wooden doors to find that, like the exterior, the inside is bright and white. Every surface glows
from the sunlight streaming through the tall arched windows that line the walls.
As we settle into one of the white, boxed pews, I notice the baskets of purple hydrangeas hanging from the arched rods that
stretch across the sanctuary. The smell is light, like summer rain, just the right balance of floral and fresh. I release
my skirt. Even Goldie, who usually can’t sit still for five minutes, seems to take a deep breath, her fidgeting finally slowing,
as her eyes touch on each one, counting.
The service is simple and familiar, the kind of steady rhythm that makes you forget the passing of time. When it ends, the
hush lingers before conversations begin again, spilling warmth into the space.
Several locals introduce themselves, all friendly, but a couple of men with smiles just a bit too polished hover near Mom. Gazing at her bare ring finger, they suddenly seem very eager to give her personal tours of the island.
I brace myself, but before Mom even has a chance to respond, a familiar face elbows her way through, looping her arm through
Mom’s like they’ve been best friends for years.
“You’d think they’d never seen a pretty woman before,” Mrs. Mayhew declares, steering her away. “Most of the people here are
lovely, but God didn’t give those two enough sense to tie their shoes.”
Goldie bursts into laughter.
“But it’s wonderful to see all the Gardner girls here this morning. How are you getting settled?”
“Just fine,” Mom says, the tension in her shoulders easing. “I really enjoyed the sermon, and the church is even more beautiful
than I imagined. I’d love to hear more about its architecture—I mean, the trompe l’oeil design on the ceiling alone is stunning.”
She looks up. “I took an art class years ago and fell in love with the way artists can use paint to create that kind of illusion.
It’s all flat, but it looks like you could reach up and touch carved stone.”
Mrs. Mayhew beams. “It is a beautiful church, that’s for sure. I don’t know all the details about the building myself, but
I’d be happy to introduce you to someone who does.”
Mom’s face lights up. “I’d love that.”
Mrs. Mayhew nods. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take Goldie over to meet some of the other kids first. We’ve got a handful
her age, and they usually gather out back to play tag and red rover and such.”
Mom looks down at Goldie, who practically vibrates at the idea. “That sound good to you?”
Goldie nods so vigorously her braid nearly comes undone, and a second later, she and Mrs. Mayhew are off, leaving Mom and
me to wander through the sanctuary as she continues studying the space.
“What do you think about adding chunky trim like that to the windows at the house?” she muses, pointing. “It’d be more historically
accurate than the simple kind we have up now.”
I nod, grateful that she’s giving me an opportunity to bring up the topic. “Sure. Actually, can I talk to you about the house?”
“Just look at the crown molding,” she says, still lost in thought. “It’ll take a little longer, but I’ve got my miter box.
I could do it.”
I step in front of her. “I need to talk to you about something, and it kind of affects the house.”
That gets her attention. “Oh no, please don’t tell me you found a leak in the ceiling.”
“No, nothing like that,” I assure her. “It’s more of a request.”
Her brows knit together.
“You know how I found Dad’s notebook and have been trying to figure out all his research?”
She nods slowly. “You tried to get a couple of museums in town to help, but it didn’t work out.”
“Right.” I exhale. “Only, it turns out one of them might be willing to help me after all—”
Her expression shifts, the tension lifting. “They are? Lili, that’s great.”
“—in exchange for me volunteering there for the summer.”
She stops walking.
I take a couple more steps before turning back to her.
She isn’t frowning, but she isn’t smiling either. She opens her mouth, then closes it again.
I don’t say anything.
She catches up to me. “What about renovating the house? We’ve barely started.”
“I still want to work on the house. I wouldn’t be volunteering full-time.”
“When are you going to research Kezia Gardner? Not while you’re volunteering, right?”
“I don’t know how that’s supposed to work yet. I wanted to talk to you first, but I’ll figure it out.”
She studies me, her green eyes searching mine. “And Goldie? All the things you promised to do with her? Is one boat ride all
she gets?”
I shake my head. “I’d be doing this for her too. She doesn’t remember Dad the way I do. To her, he’s more like a character
in a story than a real person.”
Mom inhales deeply and looks away. “That’s because he spent too many years chasing after history—years he took from you and
your sister.”
I know she feels that way. But I can’t. And I have a whole stack of postcards reminding me why.
“That’s why I need to do this,” I say quietly. “I finally have a chance to show her that he did something important with his
life.”
Her voice wavers when she says, “You two were the most important thing he did with his life.”
I shift, uncomfortable, my gaze slipping from hers.
“Lili.”
I glance back at her, startled by the softened tone of her voice.
“I understand this is important to you,” she says, carefully, like she’s weighing every word.
“I know you wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t.
” She hesitates, then exhales, thoughtful.
“I also know how badly you wanted to come here to feel closer to him, and if this is how you think you need to do that . . . then okay. I won’t stop you. ”
A slow, uncertain smile tugs at my lips. “Really?”
She hesitates again, then nods. “But promise me you won’t disappear the way he did.”
“I won’t.” My answer is immediate. Certain. “I promise.”
She presses her lips together, searching my face. “I’m going to hold you to that.”