Chapter 16 #2
Most of the people Frankie spoke to knew Estelle, but even those who didn’t were at least familiar with the school and had some connection—niece, cousin, friend of a friend—who’d taken lessons at Starview.
The apprehension Frankie had felt initially at the sight of the list evaporated as people she didn’t know shared their sadness over Estelle’s departure and willingness to celebrate her in this way.
“How did you do it, Mom?” she mumbled, noting down yet another contribution on a piece of notebook paper she’d stapled to the spreadsheet.
For as long as she could remember, people had wanted to be in Estelle’s company, and her mom had invited them in, basking in forging connections and the attention that followed.
But maybe that was par for the course for stage performers because Estelle had definitely had that special something. That star quality.
That duplicity?
The thought was there before she could stop it.
Frankie was trying to keep saving the school separate from her new discoveries about Estelle.
To think of them like two distinct problems to solve.
But she couldn’t deny the element of dissonance that came with simultaneously basking in the admiration people had had for her mom and hurting over the lie she’d told.
But maybe she was being too hard on Estelle. Maybe her mom had improvised the fictional tale in an interview and then fed it to Frankie to make sure her tongue didn’t slip. Simple self-preservation. No ill intent. She had worked hard for them.
Frankie put her phone down and spun the chair around so she came face to face with the framed gold record.
That one big hit had been it for Estelle.
A feat never to be topped. Would she have gone further in her career if Frankie’s dad hadn’t died when she was a baby?
Even though Estelle had managed to tour with Frankie tagging along, most likely it would have been easier for her to pursue her career if she’d had a husband to depend on. A home base.
She stood, reaching out to straighten the frame even though it was already perfect.
Estelle had never made Frankie feel like she was the reason her success was brief, and when she’d made the choice to stop performing and settle in Aspen Creek, she’d never once expressed regret over what might have been.
Instead, she’d taken every ounce of the effort she’d poured into her artistry and created Starview, so Frankie would be damned if she let it go to ruin now.
She sat back down and picked up her phone again.
The next number on the list was the radiation clinic in Charlotte where Estelle had had her treatments during her cancer scare ten years ago.
The breast cancer had been caught early, and she’d thankfully only needed radiation, but it had still been a time of upheaval that had brought the two of them even closer—all that time spent in the car together driving back and forth to appointments.
The call connected, and after Frankie asked the receptionist if there was an office manager or someone like that she could speak to, she was transferred.
“This is Sheila,” a woman answered after two rings.
Frankie opened the same way she had in all the other calls. “Hi, my name is Frankie Lavigne, and I’m Estelle Lavigne’s daughter.”
“Okay?” the woman said, the inflection noting curiosity rather than the recognition Frankie had met in the other calls. That was to be expected though. Years had gone by, and Charlotte wasn’t a small town where everyone knew each other like Aspen Creek.
“I’m calling because my mother was a patient of yours a while back, and I know how much the care you provided mattered to her.”
“Oh, well that’s lovely to hear,” Sheila said. “Is she doing all right?”
“Um, no. She passed recently. Not from cancer,” Frankie hurried to add, so Sheila would know she wasn’t calling to complain about the treatment not working.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” There was a pause on the line, then, “So what can I do for you?”
“My mom ran a music school in Aspen Creek—Starview Conservatory—maybe you’ve heard of it?”
“Hm, no, can’t say I have.”
Frankie started to sweat. It’s okay, she told herself.
Not all calls could be smooth sailing. “Okay, well, I’m currently putting together a memorial fundraiser to support the school and celebrate Mom’s life which will include a raffle, a silent auction for baskets, and a live auction for memorabilia, so I’m contacting everyone who was important to her to see if they would like to contribute something.
Perhaps a wellness-related item or a small donation to sponsor a basket?
I know it would have meant so much to her. ”
Sheila was quiet for a moment. “What did you say your mom’s name was?”
“Estelle Lavigne. The school is called Starview Conservatory.” Frankie switched hands, holding her phone so she could wipe her palm on her jeans. It was warm in here, wasn’t it?
“One second. Just looking up her records,” Sheila said, followed by the clacking of keyboard keys. “We don’t typically participate in things like this unless it’s for a specific health-related cause, but…” More typing followed.
Frankie waited.
“What’s her date of birth?” Sheila asked.
“July 10, 1958.”
“And Lavigne is spelled L-A-V-I-G-N-E?”
“That’s correct.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, but we don’t have a record of a patient by that name here. Are you sure you have the right clinic?”
Frankie’s eyes flew to the computer screen, where she’d looked up the place.
“Don’t tell me I’ve…” she whispered to herself.
Charlotte was big, and Estelle’s clinic was undoubtedly one of many, but…
She leaned closer to the screen and studied the map.
No, it was the right place. She was one hundred percent sure because the coffee shop where she’d often waited for her mom’s treatment to be done was across the street.
“Miss?” Sheila’s voice returned.
“I’m sure,” Frankie said. “Unless you’ve moved since then. Maybe changed owners?”
“No, we’ve been here since 2005.”
It was as if someone flipped a switch, turning the office from sweltering to frigid. The hair on Frankie’s arms stood straight up as the perspiration coating her skin cooled. Frankie swallowed. “Can you please check again? It would have been, let’s see…” Was it late spring maybe?
She’d been dating Zach, a law student she’d met at a bar in Charlotte, for about a year at the time—she remembered because he’d wanted her to join him and some friends on a cross-country road trip that summer to celebrate graduating, which had sounded amazing.
But then Estelle had fallen ill and needed Frankie’s help getting to treatments and making the school run smoothly, and she’d had to back out.
She’d received a few messages from Zach as he’d set out through Tennessee and west, but after that, contact had been sporadic, only to end with an “it’s not you, it’s me” text a month later. She’d never heard from him again.
“I think her treatments started late May ten years ago if that helps.”
More typing, then Sheila returned. “I’m very sorry, but she wasn’t a patient here. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
A small gasp escaped Frankie, as if someone had punched her in the sternum. “And you’re absolutely sure?”
“I’m positive. But I wish you all the best with your fundraiser.” She hung up.
Frankie remained in place, the phone pressed to her ear and her breaths still coming in irregular spurts.
It couldn’t be. She’d dropped her mom off outside that clinic several times per week for six weeks.
She’d listened to stories about the staff and other patients who Estelle got to know, and she’d shared her excitement that the treatment was working.
Without thinking, Frankie dialed the number again, this time choosing the nurse line instead of the administrative office, and when the call connected, Frankie told a different story.
She said she was helping her mom access her medical records, but that her mom was unsure if this clinic was the right one, so could they please check?
But the answer was the same. They’d never had a patient by that name.
Frankie dropped the phone to the desk, the room spinning wildly around her.
Before she knew what was happening, she had her head in the garbage bin next to the desk, her whole body heaving to expel everything she’d consumed earlier that day.
Forgotten was the list of donations she’d procured, her next student, the engagement of the Starview parents, and every other good thing she had going.
Only one thought remained.
Here was yet another lie.