Chapter 55 Alice
Alice should have suspected Deirdre knew.
She’d trusted Liam never to breathe a word about their affair, but if anyone could pry out information, it was Deirdre Moore.
Deidre had been jealous of Eloise ever since they were kids. She’d always been looking for something to hold over her. And
now she’d found it.
But Alice wasn’t going to wither. She wasn’t going to be made to feel like some despicable person. She had paid her penance
privately for long enough. And she had truly been a devoted wife to David in the years that followed, all the way up to his
death.
“How dare you.” Alice confronted Deidre the next morning when she ran into her on her walk to the cemetery. She couldn’t help
but note that Eloise wasn’t with her, despite how she and Deidre walked together every morning. Perhaps Eloise was icing her
out as well. “How dare you spill information that’s not yours to share.”
“I wasn’t trying to cause a family rift,” Deidre said. “I was worried about how Eloise kept putting your marriage on a pedestal.
I was trying to show her that relationships are nuanced, that’s all.”
“Very big of you,” Alice said. “Where would this island be without Deirdre Moore here to point out the nuance of it all?”
“I’m sorry, Alice,” Deirdre said. “I really am.” She looked very tired, not her usual put-together self.
“You will be. You’ll lose Eloise’s friendship from this, just watch. This whole thing will backfire in your face.”
Deirdre winced like Alice had thrown a punch. It didn’t make Alice feel as good as she’d hoped.
“You have such a beautiful family,” Deirdre said meekly. “Nothing can take that away.”
“Except that it can,” Alice said. “I lost David too young, I’m losing Eloise to Scotland, and who knows where my granddaughters
will end up. And I’ve lost Liam too, because I still feel that damn guilt every time I so much as make eye contact with him.”
Saying it all out loud made Alice realize this had been building up over the years, and especially over this summer. And now
that her secret was out, it was all coming to the surface, stirring up the waves she’d tried to tame. She was in her late
seventies, the prime of life well behind her, and she was headed into her final chapter all alone.
“And we lost our daughter,” Alice carried on, unable to stop up the dam now that it had blown open. “We lost little Penelope.”
This was the wound that hadn’t closed at all, even though the grave had so very long ago. Somehow every hurt always traced
back to this one.
Deirdre offered Alice a tissue. Alice accepted it reluctantly, dabbing her eyes and her nose.
“I know how you feel,” Deirdre said.
“No.” Alice’s anger boiled. The audacity of Deirdre to even pretend. “You don’t.”
“Well, of course I don’t know exactly .” Deirdre dropped into silence, then reared up from it suddenly. “But I lost my daughter too.”
Alice had no idea what Deirdre meant. Deidre had only had boys as far as Alice knew. But she could feel Deidre’s emotions
radiating off of her, not heat waves, but hurt waves. This was not the type of pain someone feigned for pity. It was very
real, very deep, very dark.
“Please don’t tell Eloise,” Deirdre said.
And before Alice knew what was happening, the two women were holding each other as they cried out similar parts of different
hearts.