Chapter 52 Tilley - Second Act
TILLEY Second Act
Tilley felt a little guilty about what she had done to Robbie, but, well, sometimes these things couldn’t be helped.
She knew that Elizabeth would never, ever agree to tell Robbie the truth, and she didn’t blame her.
Elizabeth had stood tirelessly by Tilley’s side for decades, taking care of her, her son, then their ailing parents.
She had been the rock of their family, Tilley’s caregiver, her savior. She would never betray her now.
One of the things that had been most difficult over the years for Tilley is that her late boyfriend Robert’s parents had insisted on taking him back to Wilson, where they had a family mausoleum, to be buried.
It was only right. He and Tilley hadn’t even been married.
But she hated the idea of never being able to go see him, talk to him, leave flowers at his grave—or, at least, not often.
So, in lieu of a grave, Tilley had found her own special spot with Robert.
One of the most unique and magnificent parts of the Dogwood property was the live oak trees with massive branches that, instead of straight, grew sideways toward the sea, toward the light, as if ever reaching to be a part of a world that wasn’t meant for them, that could never sustain them.
Tilley understood those trees in a lot of ways.
They never felt like they belonged here.
And, without Robert, she never felt she did either. Only now, maybe she could.
Sitting on the low, thick, gnarled branch of the tree closest to the sound, the smell of salt and brine so present, was where Robert had first kissed Tilley, where she had known that she would love him all her days.
And so, for years, every time she wanted to feel him, every time she wanted to tell him something, Tilley had come to this spot where the trees grew thick and the marsh grass began and the birds swooped and the frogs and cicadas and grasshoppers sang.
Where fish jumped and crabs scurried and, in this place of so very much life, Tilley could imagine that Robert’s spirit, too, was alive, even if she had lost him in body.
Today would not be the most difficult conversation she would ever have with her Robert.
But it would be one she had never imagined.
And so she began, whispering into the wind, “Robert, I told him. I told our Robbie that he was our son. And, well, I told him under a bit of a guise of madness, but all the same, the truth exists in the world for him to pick up or cast aside. It exists so that if there ever comes a day he discovers what is real, he will know I at least tried to be honest with him in the only way I could face.”
Tilley took a deep breath. The breeze was soft but steady, and she paused to watch a heron swoop down into the water and grab its dinner.
As a girl, she’d hated the sight of it, the fish dying.
But that was the circle of life. We live, we die; some days we live for ourselves and some days for others.
And now it was time for Tilley to take a new place in that never-ending, infinite circle.
“Robert, my darling, I hope this doesn’t hurt you.
” Tilley knew that, in truth, she was simply exhaling into the glorious fresh sea air of Dogwood, of Cape Carolina, of this place that had held her hopes and dreams, secrets and lies, since the day of her birth.
But, even still, she could swear that, if she closed her eyes, she could feel Robert right beside her, his arm touching hers, his thigh against her thigh.
The breeze blew, and it was his breath in her ear. Tell me, darling. Tell me.
Her eyes filled as she said, “I have kept your memory alive for all these years, held your name on the tip of my tongue as if you were only in the next room, but now, I have to tell the truth: I have met someone. A man who is very unlike you but who understands me, I believe, who can help me move forward while also accepting that you hold such a big piece of my heart. And, if it’s all right with you, my darling Robert, I’d like to try to move forward, to see if I could have a second act. ”
With that, the breeze that had been so constant stopped dead.
Still. It was so abrupt that Tilley’s eyes popped open.
Her Robert had been the breeze that had cooled and calmed her all these years.
And, in one moment, he had left. But then, the most curious thing happened.
The wind picked up again and, as if it was coming from all sides, enveloped Tilley, as if in a hug, cocooned in the safety of the natural world.
Could Tilley prove that this was Robert giving her his approval?
Of course not. But that wasn’t what was important.
Robert was gone. And so, what mattered now was what Tilley believed.
And she believed, as she always had, that her Robert was the breath in her ear, the breeze in her face, as she sat on their special tree.
And now he had given her the one thing she needed most: permission to let him go.