30. Caleb
CHAPTER THIRTY
Caleb
We make our way around the front to the base of the lighthouse—the same place I always sit when I need to talk to my mom.
The sun is still making its way to the highest point in the sky, peeking out from behind the clouds every now and then to add a few seconds of warmth to the cool morning air. Waves crash in the distance, larger than usual from the storm that rolled through overnight.
Marnie didn’t question why we were here—only accepted my outstretched hand and followed my lead down the smooth, sandy path.
After placing her sunflower on the spot next to mine, she presses a kiss to my cheek and lets me wrap my hands around her waist, hoisting her up onto the ledge with the best view of Edgartown Harbor and Chappaquiddick Island.
This is the first time I’ve ever brought someone here with me.
I thought I would feel more nervous bringing her here. Instead, I feel an overwhelming sense of peace. Everything feels right when I’m with Marnie.
I fixate on the waves ahead of us in an attempt to steady my voice that’s threatening to shake before the words leave my mouth. “My mom died when I was sixteen.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Marnie look up in my direction.
I can’t meet her eyes for fear of not being able to get this out without shutting down, so I keep my attention on the horizon.
“She had an aggressive form of breast cancer that eventually spread all over her body. She spent months in the hospital fighting it. I was with her when she passed.”
Marnie is still looking at me, but I feel her hand grab mine as she interlaces our fingers and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. I return one of my own.
The only people who know what really happened that summer are me and my father. Not even Linny and Parker know the real story—the intimate details of how it all went wrong.
I think back to that summer in the hospital. Even as her condition deteriorated, the room was full of photos celebrating the good days while the flowers I brought gave color and life to the room on the bad days.
There were more bad than good.
I spent a lot of time at the hospital that summer. My father visited on occasion when he could get away from work. I used to stay for days at a time because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her hours away in Boston, all alone and in pain.
There wasn’t a lot of extra space in the hospital room, and I couldn’t bring any of her plants from home because they were too big, so we decided to grow our own in small plastic cups from the cafeteria on the windowsill.
I used to pick up new packs of seeds as a surprise each time I visited, and we would track their growth each week.
When they got big enough, I would take them back home and continue to tend to them to make room for new ones in her hospital room. I took extra care with the growing buds so she could take over when she got better, but that day never came.
I swallow thickly, emotion building in my throat at the memory.
Marnie waits for me to find my words. She doesn’t know how much I appreciate that—how much that means to me.
“She passed away on July 17th. Her doctors were trying her on some new medications, but she was so weak.” My voice starts to come out shaky, but I push through, needing to get all of this out.
“After her last surgery, she contracted an infection. She was too sick to fight any longer, and it killed her.”
I sniffle loudly, desperately trying to hold back tears so I can finish. “They let me stay with her until my father got there to sign the paperwork, and then they took her away forever.”
A shiny layer of tears lines her eyes when I find the courage to meet them. “I’m so sorry, Caleb. What happened to her afterwards?”
“Mom didn’t want a burial or viewing. She didn’t want us to remember her like that .
. .” I trail off. “My father kept her ashes after she was cremated. He refused to bury them or get a headstone. They are locked away somewhere in his house. I think it’s his way of trying to keep her safe and protect what’s left of her. ”
Of course, we fought about that, too. We fought about everything once she was gone, that last part of her disappearing before our eyes.
I have no physical reminder of her or her existence besides the flowers. The first things I grew once I got my greenhouse were clippings taken from the plants we grew that summer, but even that is not enough to fill the void she left behind.
“The Children’s Memorial was one of her favorite places.
She used to take a weekly shift working at the lighthouse in the summer and I would tag along since school was out, and while I collected donations from visitors going up to the top, she was on her hands and knees cleaning, weeding, and restoring the stones.
She worked in small sections, and by the end of the summer, the memorial looked brand new. ”
I point out the stones around us, watching Marnie tilt her head to read as many as she can.
“That’s why I like coming here. It may not be a headstone, but this place was special to her, and I feel close to her when I’m here. I always try to bring flowers like she used to do when she volunteered.”
A single tear springs free, and I make no effort to stop it. It settles atop my cheekbone, where Marnie meets it with her thumb and gently wipes it away.
“Every year on the anniversary of her passing, my father and I get together for dinner. That’s why I got so worked up yesterday—I don’t like the emotions that day makes me feel.
We make her favorite food and eat in a silent toast to her memory.
We talk about anything but her, as if somehow just being in each other’s presence is supposed to make us feel better.
Somehow, that makes it worse than actually talking about her. ”
The longer we go without discussing her, the more it feels like she’s disappearing. I just wish my father understood that. I wish he knew that when he does that, it feels like I’m disappearing, too.
Every time I try to talk about her, he shuts me down.
“What was her name?”
“Celine.”
“Tell me about her.”
I start with some of my favorite memories of her.
How she attended every sporting event with a sign and cheered for all my teammates, even if we lost. How she taught me to drive a stick when I was thirteen while my father was at work.
How she covered for me when Parker and I hit a baseball through an upstairs window and broke the glass.
Then I move into things she taught me that I still do to this day—how I tie my shoelaces, the way I write my fives with a loopy curve, the kindness in which I treat people.
“It’s been almost a decade without her, and I miss her more and more every day.
I mourn her, and I mourn the things she’s missed.
My high school graduation, getting my driver’s license, my first day of work.
And I mourn the things she will continue to miss.
My wedding and her grandchildren, if I’m lucky. I have to do all of it without her.”
Marnie doesn’t say anything for a while.
She just sits there, taking it all in, trying to process everything.
When she finally does look back at me, her eyes are wet with tears threatening to spill over.
“That was too much for a child to go through. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that all on your own.
” With her fingers still interlaced in mine, she leans her head on my shoulder.
“Thank you for sharing this with me. For trusting me with this. I know that couldn’t have been easy. ”
That’s where she’s wrong. Everything feels so easy with her. Like I don’t have to hide or pretend. I’ve never been this open—this vulnerable—with someone before, much less when talking about my mom.
“Thanks to you, I now have a positive memory to associate with July 17th.”
It’s meant to sound sincere, but it comes out self-deprecating.
“Caleb.” Her lips are flat, like she’s not saying something she wants to. “It’s okay, you don’t have to hold anything back with me.”
“I know,” I answer honestly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with not having my mom, but talking about her helps. It feels like I’m keeping her memory alive when I can share her story. So, thank you for listening.”
She gives me a soft smile.
I stand and reach down to help her up. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”
We stroll down the beach beside each other slowly. I let my feet drag through the sand, relishing the cool feeling between my toes. She picks up the occasional whole seashell and stuffs it into her pocket.
“While we are on the subject of difficult topics, can I ask what your old boss’s deal is?”
Marnie stops in her tracks. “Irene?”
“Yeah. She sounds like a real piece of work.”
She lowers her head like she shares the sentiment. “Irene is not the easiest person to work for, but she commands a lot of respect in our field. She can make or break a career.”
We fall into step with one another again. “That doesn’t mean she should get a pass to treat people like that.”
“Can I tell you something?” she asks.
“Anything.”
“I’m kind of dreading having to return to Boston at the end of the summer.”
“What do you mean?”
“This summer has been so stress-free. Even with the added responsibility of taking on all the planning, I haven’t experienced the levels of anxiety that I normally do as I approach an unveiling. It’s been a breath of fresh air, and honestly, I’m enjoying my work more because of it.”
She kicks up an array of sand, then plants her feet and turns to face me.
“I know I owe a lot to Irene for getting me to this point in my career, but the move to Martha’s Vineyard and getting to work for Josie this summer has put a lot of things into perspective for me.
I have no idea what I am going to do with that, if anything, but it’s just something I’ve been thinking about recently. ”
“So, last night you gave me some advice to follow my dreams. Can I return the favor and give you some advice now?”
“Okay,” she replies hesitantly.
“I think you should take your own advice.”
Her eyebrows scrunch together. “I’m not following.”
“I think you should follow your dreams and do something that makes you happy.”
“What makes you think I’m not happy?”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean if you’re happy here, too, you could always stay. Isn’t there still an opening?” I remember her saying they haven’t filled the current vacancy that will be open once her exhibit is done.
“Yeah, the job posting went live the other day.”
My ears perk up at that. “So, why don’t you apply for it?”
Her voice gets quiet. “Because I’m scared,” she whispers. “I’m scared of what Irene will do if I tell her I’d rather work for Josie and take my name out of consideration for the promotion in Boston.”
“What would she do, blacklist you in the industry? Berate you in front of your coworkers?”
“Well, no . . .” she hesitates. “At least, I don’t think she would.”
“Then what?” I urge. I’m desperate to know why she’s so terrified of this woman.
She looks up to the sky and sighs. “I guess I’d feel guilty for not seeing this through. My career is what it is because of her.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to owe her for the rest of your life. If she really supported you, she wouldn’t hold you back from something you want. From something you’d excel at.”
Selfishly, I want her to stay. The thought of her going back to Boston in a month and a half kills me, especially after everything that’s happened in the last week between us.
I see the idea turning over in her mind like she’s considering it. I’ve said my piece, now it’s up to her. I’ll support her either way, but deep down, I’m really hoping the selfish part of me wins out.
“Take a chance on yourself, Marnie. You just might surprise yourself.”