Chapter 20 - Winter #3
Elizabeth turned and walked back on the boardwalk.
Grace followed. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had been here.
Had she ever walked out to the beach here?
The rocks? She knew Elizabeth had spent a lot of time at the beach as a young woman, lived and worked in a beach town up near the border with North Carolina.
She’d liked it, from the stories she told and the photos Grace had seen.
But she couldn’t remember Elizabeth ever coming to this beach . . . or any beach . . . since Dad died.
They walked across the screened porch and into the house. Grace closed the wooden door behind her. Elizabeth turned. “I came to make sure you’re alright. You’re not in great shape, but you’re alive. I doubt I can do anything more, and I don’t want to make you more miserable. I’ll leave.”
Déjà vu. When? Where? Oh my god. Robby’s first visit to her cabin. Was she about to hurt someone else? Maybe the only other person who cared about her? “No. Mom. Don’t go.” And suddenly she was sobbing, running through her tears to her mother.
Elizabeth held her for a long time. She cried too . . . and took off Grace’s hat and stroked her hair. Eventually, she pulled back and said, “Let’s fix some tea.” Grace nodded, went to a lower cabinet, and pulled out a white electric kettle.
“I didn’t know you had one of those! It’s just like the ones in Scotland!”
“That’s why I got it.”
“That was a fun trip . . . Good memories . . . Where are your cups . . . mugs . . . whatever?” Elizabeth looked at the cabinets, then back at Grace. “Wait. Are you okay . . . with Covid? Have you been vaccinated? I have. I don’t want to get sick.”
“Yes. And I get my groceries delivered. I don’t go out.”
They poured two mugs of tea and sat in the living room on the sectional sofa.
It was a comfy, brown brushed corduroy, with colorful threads running through it that gave it an exotic look.
The pieces were currently arranged in two long sofas.
She sat on one, Elizabeth on the other, so they faced each other across a distressed, pale yellow wooden coffee table.
“We’ve never minced words, you and I. We danced around a bit when you came by at Christmas though, didn’t we? You never said why you came back here. Why did you?”
Grace looked up from her tea. “I broke it off with the man I was seeing. I didn’t know where else to go. Winter was coming.”
“You were living with him?”
“No. But the place I was in wasn’t winterized . . . He wanted us to try living together over the winter — some place else — but I wasn’t ready.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth took a sip of tea. “He’s still on your mind?”
Grace didn’t look up. There was a long silence.
“Yes, but before you say anything more, I’m not going back to him.
He didn’t deserve what I did to him.” She looked at Elizabeth.
“He’s a good person.” She turned her head toward a window.
“Cam didn’t deserve what I did to him either.
I hurt people . . . I called a therapist right away when I got back here.
I’m glad for Covid. I don’t trust myself around people anymore. ”
“You can get better. Cam’s a sweet guy and he loved you, but he was clueless about grief and the effect your dad’s death had on you.
We were all so clueless.” She looked down, then back at Grace.
“You need help. I’m glad you’re getting it.
” Elizabeth was looking at her daughter, but Grace was still looking away.
“I finally am too. It took me forever, but I figured out I couldn’t do it on my own.
I probably wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t done it. ”
“Me, either.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “I meant here, in this house, with you, today. You meant something different, didn’t you?
” Grace didn’t respond or look at her. “Grace, please . . . please don’t leave me.
I don’t mean to be selfish, but I’m only still here because of you.
You’re the reason I finally got help. Even in the state I was in, I couldn’t leave you totally alone.
Your dad wouldn’t have wanted that. And I’ve made progress.
I feel better, but if you leave, too . .
.” Now Elizabeth looked down, then she sat up, and put her mug on the table.
“I want you to know I did the best I could. It wasn’t near enough, but it was — honestly — all I could do.
I know you’re damaged by your father’s death and his absence.
He was your rock. Your advisor. And I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.
Nobody was. Not Cam, either. I’m sorry. You’ll feel better eventually, but you have to stick with the therapy. Feel the pain. Do you believe that?”
Grace looked back. “Sometimes. More than I used to. My therapist says that too, and I want to believe him . . . but it’s so hard.” She looked back down.
“Maybe we can visit sometimes. I think I understand what you’re saying about not trusting yourself around people, but I’m here, if you feel up to it.”
“Thanks. Maybe.” Grace paused. “I am going back there . . . to Minnesota. I feel better there. I don’t know where, yet, but I want to go. When it gets warmer.”
“That’s fine. I didn’t mean you had to stay here. I know you’ve never liked it. I want you to be happy.” She picked up her mug and stood up. “I should go. The dog’ll be freaking out. I never go anywhere. He has separation anxiety.” Grace stood up too.
“When did you get a dog?”
“Right after New Year’s. He was my resolution, or maybe a late Christmas present. I went to the shelter where we used to volunteer when you needed community service hours, and I fell in love with him. He’s a terrier mix. About six. Owner died. He was so pathetic. But now he’s not.”
“What’s his name?” They walked to the kitchen.
“Mortie, after a kind Jewish man I knew. He looks Jewish.” Elizabeth put her mug in the sink. Grace gave a hint of a smile.
“Hug?” Elizabeth looked at her daughter.
Grace nodded, thinking Déjà vu again — the afternoon she first left Grand Marais with Jim.
She and Robby had hugged. The first time they’d really touched.
This hug was longer. When they broke apart, Elizabeth said, “I hope you continue to feel better. Maybe we can do this again.”
“Maybe so . . . I’m glad you came.”