Chapter Twenty-one
Nora stared up at her elder daughter in shock. “Caroline?” she whispered, setting her tea down on the table beside her.
“I don’t believe it!” Ruby ran across the porch and pulled her sister into a fierce hug.
Nora drank in the sight of it, her girls, back together on Summer Island.
In the old days, she would have joined them, thrown her arms around both girls for a “family hug.” But now a lifetime’s worth of poor choices left her on the outside, looking at her own daughters through a pane of glass as thick as a child’s broken heart.
Nora got awkwardly to her feet and limped forward. “Hey, Caro. It’s good to see you.”
Caroline drew back from Ruby’s embrace. “Hello, Mother.” Her smile seemed forced; it wasn’t surprising. Even as a child, she’d been able to smile when her heart was breaking.
“This is great,” Ruby said. “My big sis is home for a slumber party. We haven’t done that since Miranda Moore’s birthday party.”
In the soft, orange light, Nora studied her elder daughter.
Caroline was flawlessly dressed in a pair of creased white linen pants and a rose-colored silk blouse with ruffles that fell around her thin wrists.
Not a strand of silvery-blond hair was out of place, not a fleck of mascara marred the pale flesh beneath her eyes. Nora had the feeling it wouldn’t dare.
And yet, in all that perfection, there was a strange undercurrent of fragility. As if she were hiding some tiny, hairline crack. Her gray eyes seemed suffused with a silent sadness.
Nora wondered suddenly what had brought Caroline here. It was unlike her daughter to do anything spontaneously—she planned her grocery-shopping days and marked them down on a planner. An unannounced trip to the island was startlingly out of character.
Ruby peered past her sister’s shoulder. “Where are the kids?”
“I left them with Jere’s mom for the night.” She glanced nervously at Nora. “It’s just me. I hope that’s okay. I know I should have called.”
“Are you kidding? I begged you to come,” Ruby said, laughing.
Ruby looped an arm around her sister’s narrow shoulders. The two women moved into the house, their heads tilted together.
As she limped along behind them, Nora heard Ruby say softly, “Is everything okay at home?” but Caroline’s answer was too hushed to be overheard.
Nora felt like a third wheel. She stopped at the kitchen table and cleared her throat. “Maybe I should leave you two alone for a while. You know, for a sisterly chat.”
Caro and Ruby were almost to the living room. Together they turned around.
It was Ruby who spoke. “That’s what got us into this pathetic mess, don’t you think?”
“I just thought—”
“I know what you thought,” Ruby said with a tenderness that squeezed Nora’s heart.
Caroline moved forward, her left arm clamped tightly down on her designer overnight bag, her heels clacking on the hardwood floor. Nora could see her daughter’s fear; it was close to the surface now.
Poor Caro. She actually thought it was possible—if you were careful—to skate on ice too thin to hold your weight.
“So,” Caro said, offering a quick smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “would you like to see the newest photos of your grandchildren?”
“We could start there,” Nora said, knowing it wasn’t her line. She was supposed to be desperately thankful for even the pretense of normalcy. “But if we really want to get to know each other, it will take more than pictures.”
Caroline paled—if that were possible—then went on seamlessly.
“Good.” She unzipped her bag and took out two flat photo albums. “Let’s go sit in the living room,” she said, already moving.
She went to the sofa and sat down, her knees pressed demurely together, her fingers splayed on top of the albums on her lap.
Ruby rushed over and sat beside her.
Nora ignored her crutches and hopped on one foot after her daughters. She sat down beside Caroline.
Caroline glanced down at the album. Her long, manicured fingers stroked the tooled leather.
Nora noticed that those hands, so perfectly cared for and heavy with gold and diamond jewelry, were trembling.
Slowly, Caroline opened the book. The first photograph was an eight-by-ten color shot of her wedding.
In it, Caroline stood tall and stiffly erect (not nearly as thin as she was now), sheathed in an elegant, beaded-silk off-the-shoulder gown.
Jere was beside her, breath-takingly handsome in a black Prada tuxedo.
“Sorry,” Caro said quickly, “the new photos are in the back.” She started to turn the page.
Nora boldly laid her hand on top of Caroline’s. “Wait.”
Who gives this woman to be married to this man?
When the priest had asked that special question, it had been Rand alone who’d answered. I do. Nora had been in the back of the church, doing her best not to weep. It should have been: We do; her mother and I.
But Nora had given up that precious moment.
She had been there for Caroline’s wedding, but she hadn’t been there.
Caroline had invited her, placed her at a close-yet-distant table, one reserved for special guests, but not family.
Nora had known that she was a detail to her daughter on that day, no more or less important than the floral arrangements.
And Nora, lost in the desert of her own guilt, had thanked God for even that.
She’d gone through the receiving line and kissed her elder daughter’s cheek, whispered “Best wishes,” and moved on.
There were endless questions she hadn’t allowed herself to even ask then, but now, as she stared at the beautiful photograph of her daughter, Nora couldn’t remain detached.
Who had acted as Caroline’s mother on that day? Who had sewn the last-minute beads on Caro’s dress . . . or taken her shopping for ridiculously expensive lingerie that she would never wear again . . . who had held her, one last time, as an unmarried young woman and whispered, I love you?
Nora drew her hand back. She heard the sound of a turning page and forced her eyes open again.
Ruby laughed, pointing to a shot of the whole wedding party. “I want you to know, I never wore that dress again.”
“Yeah, and you never came home again, either,” Caroline shot back.
Ruby’s smile faded. “I meant to.”
Caroline smiled sadly. “Words that could be our family motto.”
She quickly turned another page. “This is our honeymoon. We went to Kauai.”
Nora noticed that Caroline’s fingers were trembling again. She kept gently touching the photographs.
“You look so happy,” Nora said softly.
Caroline turned, and Nora saw the sadness stamped on her daughter’s face. “We were.”
And Nora knew. “Oh, Caro . . .”
“Enough honeymoon shots,” Ruby said loudly. “Where are the kids?”
Caroline turned back to the album, flipped through a few more sand-and-surf photographs, and came to a stop.
This one was in a hospital room festooned with balloons and flower bouquets. Caroline was in bed, wearing a frilly white nightgown and an exhausted smile. For once, her hair was a mess. She held a tiny baby in her arms; the red-faced infant was wrapped in a pink blanket.
Here, at last, was a genuine smile, the kind that shone like sunlight.
Nora should have seen that smile in person, but she hadn’t.
Oh, she’d visited Caroline in the hospital, of course.
She had come, bearing an armload of expensive gifts.
She’d talked to her daughter, commiserated about labor, then commented on how pretty the baby was .
. . and then she’d left. Even then, with the miracle of a new generation between them, they hadn’t really talked.
Nora hadn’t been there when Caroline realized how terrifying motherhood was. Who had said to her, It’s okay, Caro; God made you for this?
No one.
Nora clamped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. A small, noise escaped. She felt the tears burn her eyes and streak down her cheek. She tried to hold her breath but it broke into little gasps.
“Mom?” Caroline said, looking at her.
Nora couldn’t meet her daughter’s gaze. “I’m sorry . . .” She meant to add for crying, but the apology cracked in half.
Caroline was quiet.
Nora didn’t realize that her daughter was crying until a tear splashed onto the album, landed in a gray blotch beside a picture of Jenny in a bassinet.
Nora reached out, placed her hand on Caroline’s cold, still fingers. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered again.
Caroline bent her head. A curtain of hair fell forward, hid her face.
“That was the day I missed you most.” She laughed unevenly.
“Jere’s mom was a take-charge kind of gal.
She whipped in and packed me up and sent me on my way with a list of instructions.
” Another tear fell. “I remember the first night. Jenny was in a bed beside me. I kept reaching out for her, touching her little fingers, stroking her little cheek. I dreamed you were standing beside my bed, telling me it would be okay, not to be afraid.” She turned, looked at Nora through mascara-ruined eyes. “But I always woke up alone.”
Nora swallowed hard. “Oh, Caroline . . .”
“I tried to remember that prayer you used to say when I was scared at night. I know it was stupid, but I just kept thinking that everything would be fine if I could only remember those words.”
“‘Starlight, star bright, protect this baby girl against the night.’” Nora smiled uncertainly. “Caro, there aren’t enough words in this galaxy to say how sorry I am for what I did to you and Ruby.”
Caroline leaned toward her and let Nora take her in her arms.
Nora’s heart cracked open like an egg. She was crying so hard she started to hiccup. When Nora drew back, she saw Ruby, sitting on Caroline’s other side. Her face was pale, her lips drawn into a thin line. Only her eyes revealed emotion; they were shimmering with unshed tears.
Ruby stood up. “We need to drink.”
Caroline wiped her eyes self-consciously and frowned. “I don’t drink.”
“Since when? At the junior prom, you—”