CHAPTER 20
Lillian sat in her chair by the window as night fell, listening to the whippoorwill calling out to the darkening sky.
She pushed aside the tray of uneaten food that Odella had brought up, tossing a bite of chicken to the waiting Mardi, who’d been sitting patiently as they’d both waited for Tucker’s Jeep to return.
Tucker had called earlier to let her know that there’d been an accident on the highway, so they’d turned around and had dinner in Savannah.
It hadn’t mattered. It had been a long time since Lillian had had an appetite, and now she just used food as a buffer against the medications and alcohol that seemed to be the only things getting her through her days.
Leaning forward, she rubbed her swollen knuckles, feeling the shifting of the seasons in her bones.
Like the weathered oak trees in the alley that never alternated colors or dropped their leaves, they showed the approaching autumn in more subtle ways—a change in pitch to their nightly cry, and an almost imperceptible change in the angle of their arch.
It was almost as if the oncoming cold of winter alerted them to hover closer to the earth and to one another to help face whatever came next.
Lillian sighed, missing Charlie again. He’d been the one who’d protected her, who’d sheltered her from the storm even when she thought she didn’t need it.
She’d been thinking a lot about him lately, and she didn’t know why.
He’d been gone for almost fifteen years, and in the time since he died, she had only thought of him with the same nostalgia one might feel for a favorite dress that no longer fit.
It was the scrapbook, of course, and all of the memories it brought forth—the good and the bad.
And all the things that weren’t written on the pages, but were inscribed instead on the years themselves, as permanent and irrevocable as surviving beyond everyone you’d ever loved.
She turned her head, hearing the sound of a car approaching the house, followed eventually by the front door closing and footsteps climbing the stairs.
Despite her sense of foreboding and inevitability, she smiled.
Piper with her bad leg wouldn’t take the elevator any more than Annabelle would have.
Mardi ran to the door before anyone knocked, then launched himself through the opening crack as soon as Lillian called out her permission for them to enter.
Tucker, Helen, and Piper stood clustered in the doorway like children sent to the principal’s office, and it made Lillian want to laugh, realizing how very reversed their situations really were.
She was the one who should be afraid, after all.
Lillian indicated the sofa and wing chair near her and they found seats, Tucker and Piper together on the sofa and Helen in the chair with Mardi’s head propped on her lap.
Piper handed her more scrapbook pages. “Here’re more of my grandmother’s pages.
I’ve got one more left. I haven’t read it, but I’ll give it to you as soon as I’m done. ”
Lillian regarded Piper with surprise. “You’re prolonging it, are you? Afraid of what you might find?”
Piper’s eyes met hers with a question, but she didn’t look away. “No. Not anymore. I think I’m hesitating now because I don’t want to say good-bye. It’s the last thing I have of hers.” She reached behind her neck. “Well, almost.”
Gently, she unclasped the chain, then held the necklace in front of her, the gold charms seeming overly bright as they reflected the lamp-light. “I think Lola belongs to you.”
Piper stood, then waited in front of Lillian until the older woman realized what Piper was trying to do. Lillian bent her head forward and waited for Piper to clasp the chain behind her neck before stepping back and sitting down again.
“I’ve made a list of the charms along with when they were added and by whom. There’s still quite a few I’m unsure about—although I assume most of them are Josie’s since we haven’t read any of her pages—yet.”
“Yet?” A butterfly settled in Lillian’s stomach, beating its wings against her past.
“I think we’ve found Josie’s daughter. She lives in Savannah. If it’s her, she might have Josie’s pages.”
Lillian sat back in her chair. “Alicia,” she said.
“You know her?” Helen asked.
“No. I just know of her. I followed Josie’s life. Knew she had a daughter, and that Josie had named her Alicia.” She smiled to herself, remembering when she’d read the birth announcement. “Alicia is my middle name. I always thought that was Josie’s way of telling me that she hadn’t forgotten me.”
“But you had no other contact with her?”
Lillian’s knuckles began to hurt and she rubbed them, trying to make the pain go away, and knowing that nothing would ever take it away completely. “No. We’d made a clean break. There was no more contact.”
Piper leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Was it Josie who added the baby carriage charm to Lola?”
How easy it would be to say yes. Lillian shook her head, the effort exhausting her. “No. Alicia wasn’t born until nineteen fifty and we stopped adding to Lola when we split up the scrapbook in nineteen thirty-nine.”
“So who did?”
Lillian fisted her hands, wishing she had a drink.
As if reading her mind,Tucker stood and moved to the wet bar, then poured her a generous glass of sherry.
She took her time sipping from the glass, her eyes never leaving Piper.
“That would be jumping ahead in our story, wouldn’t it?
We’ve still got a few more pages in Annabelle’s scrapbook, and you’ve got most of mine still to read.
That way you’ll have all the information you need before you start jumping to conclusions.
But maybe that’s your nature. Is it, Piper?
To jump ahead of yourself before you’re prepared? ”
She watched as Piper’s cheeks darkened. Before Piper could defend herself, Tucker stood again. “That’s enough, Malily.” Tucker moved back to the wet bar and poured three more glasses of sherry.
Lillian looked down at her hands, knowing he was right.
“All right. Why don’t you tell me what you learned today?
I’m eager to hear how events have been distorted by the historical record.
” The weight of Lola on her chest surprised her.
It was the weight of years pressing against her chest, pushing the air out of her lungs.
Tucker brought over the drinks and Helen clasped hers with both hands as she spoke. “Why don’t you read from your scrapbook first? You haven’t gotten very far.”
“My eyes hurt, and it’s hard for me to read the handwriting.
Why don’t we have Piper read it?” She wasn’t sure why she’d said that, only that she realized how much Piper sounded like Annabelle, and how when she’d been ill, she’d enjoyed listening to the sound of Annabelle’s voice reading to her.
It was a rare place in her memory, a place untouched by adulthood.
“I’d be happy to.” Piper stood and moved to the desk where Lillian had motioned.
“The pages are stacked in order from the top. Thumb through them to find where you stopped. I didn’t write every time I had Lola, so I don’t have as many pages as Josie and Annabelle.
” She took a sip from her glass. “They had a gift for turning the mundane into something exciting to write about. I preferred to live an existence that was a bit more exciting, and precluded the need to share lest all my secrets be exposed.”
Piper glanced at her, then leaned over the desk, and Lillian noticed how her hair fell over her shoulders, the first time she’d seen it loose. It softened her, shadowing the blunt edges and angles of a woman who’d once jumped tall obstacles without blinking an eye.
Sitting back down next to Tucker, Piper cleared her throat and began to read.
June 14, 1937
It’s been a year since my debut and Papa is getting impatient with me. I can’t explain to him that my future isn’t solely in my hands, that I wait for my love to offer for me, to take me away so that we can live together finally as man and wife.
I’ve told no one except this book, so Josie and Annabelle are left to wonder when they read this.
It’s remarkable that the sisters of my heart don’t yet know the depth of my love, or the secrets in my heart.They only know that Charlie makes me laugh, and loves to dance and has already promised me that he will love me forever.
Sweet Annabelle, I think you suspect my secret, but your loyalty keeps you silent. Or is it jealousy? Your clandestine activities to help those less fortunate amongst us are admirable, but I’m afraid they won’t keep you warm at night. Take care, my friend, that you choose wisely.
I’m afraid these affairs of the heart have cooled our friendship, and it grieves me.
That’s why I invited Annabelle and Josie to Asphodel last month.
Our friendship is meant to last forever and I’d hoped we could recapture some of our childhood.
I think we did, too. We went riding again, just like old times and even got Josie to sit in a saddle, although she never went faster than a slow walk.
But Annabelle flew over hedges and gates—scaring the life out of me and Josie—but she was a queen on her horse.The very best.And I remember thinking at the time that I wished for her in life what she felt at that moment—sheer joy and passion at having found the thing that makes her heart beat wildly.
People live their entire lives without discovering what that is, but she’s found it by helping others.
And by flying over hedges on the back of a horse.