Chapter 47 Greta
Greta
A slow parade of people had begun arriving at the side door of Innisfree in the late morning, most with casseroles or deviled
eggs, potato salads or plates of cookies in their hands, so many that Greta was having trouble finding room in the refrigerator
for everything. After his outing to the SCPA this morning, Tom was having a good day and spent an hour answering the door,
greeting people, sitting at the counter to keep Greta company. He had just gone upstairs, and she was rearranging the refrigerator
to fit a pasta salad from Dorothy Severson when the phone rang. Emma thundered down the stairs to answer it. She said a breathless
hello, listened for a moment, then shouted. “Oh my God! Grandma, they found Dad! They’re coming home!”
A key fit into a lock and turned. There was more screaming, hugs, yelling to Cody, a quick call to Eli, running upstairs to
tell Tom, who probably wouldn’t understand. Greta went into the piano room and put on an old LP to celebrate. “I got a brand-new
pair of roller skates,” the folk singer Melanie warbled. “You got a brand-new key . . .”
Greta couldn’t wait for Lindy and David, and Hailey and Jack, to get back to Innisfree. She had such good news to tell them.
This morning, Marjorie had insisted, after Cody and Emma had woken up and come downstairs, on taking Greta up to the attic.
She had held Greta’s hand for the half hour it took until Greta stopped shaking. Then, she had asked Greta to tell her what
had happened to her all those years ago, every detail of what had happened. “You’ve been keeping this secret for far too long.
It’s been taking its toll on you.”
So Greta had spoken it out loud for the first time, to her oldest friend. How the young man had been so handsome, so charming,
arriving with her brother like something out of a dream that Greta had hardly dared to dream—that someday, someday, a handsome
man like that would notice her, pay her some attention. How he had flirted with her in front of her whole family, made her
blush, and everyone had thought it was adorable, the older-brother kind of interest he had seemed to take in her. How, the
night he came up to the attic, in the middle of the night when everyone else was sleeping—it was three steps from the guest
room door to the entrance of the attic stairs—she had been flattered, at first. He had sat and talked to her for a while.
Touched her hand, her face. Kissed her gently, thrilling her.
And then. And then.
“It’s okay,” Marjorie said, squeezing Greta’s hand as Greta started to sob. “You can tell me if you want to. You can say the
words. I understand. Greta, the same thing happened to me when I was fifteen.”
At that, Greta’s anger flared. How dare anyone do such a thing to Marjorie? “Who?”
Marjorie waved the question off. “We’re not talking about me right now. I’ve had years of therapy, Greta. Years and years.
It helps to talk about it. It really does. It helps to know you’re not alone, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. It has
happened to nearly every woman I know.”
“But I—I flirted!”
“You were twelve! He was a grown man of twenty-three! He was a monster, Greta. You were his victim. And I’ll tell you what—if he hadn’t died in the war and he was still alive all these years later, he wouldn’t be giving you a second thought right now.
You’d probably be one of thirty girls he’d done this to. ”
Greta saw him again, drowning in that slick of oil. “I had . . . bruises. Afterward. He held me down. I tried to scream, but
he put his hand over my mouth.”
“I understand,” Marjorie said, tears in her eyes.
And so, Greta, haltingly at first, and then more quickly as she began to feel more brave, told Marjorie everything, every
terrible detail that had been flashing through her mind these last sixty-nine years. Marjorie squeezed her hands, gazing into
her eyes, telling her over and over again, “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.”
And then, when it was all over and Greta had cried in Marjorie’s arms, Marjorie picked up the boys’ Nerf basketball off the
floor and handed it to Greta. “Throw this at the wall. Scream. Let it out. If you need heavier things, we’ll find them.”
Greta had ended up breaking an entire set of dishes Marjorie hauled out of the storage area that dated to the 1960s, a mustard
yellow set Greta had always hated. (“Everything okay up there, Grandma?” Cody had called, from the foot of the stairs, sounding
frightened. And Marjorie called down to him, “Your grandma just needs a minute!”)
Afterward, Marjorie helped Greta sweep up the pieces. Even the way they clinked as they landed in the dustpan and jangled
when dropped into the trash can was satisfying. Greta felt, oddly, better than she’d felt in years.
Marjorie linked arms with her, and they stood side by side looking out the big window at the ocean, which was calm today and
a very deep blue. “I remember when this was your princess room,” Marjorie said. “I loved it up here so much. And the way time
flies, you’re going to have great-grandchildren not long from now, Greta, I have a feeling. Maybe, if we’re lucky, you and
I will even share great-grandchildren, if my Jack will admit how he feels about Hailey. He was quite excited yesterday morning
when she called to ask him to come with her to Eastport. And he said he suspected that her wedding might be off?”
At the actual twinkle in Marjorie’s eye, Greta grinned.
“Yes! It is off!” Hailey had been upset when she’d run in yesterday morning to leave her engagement ring upstairs, but Greta had been happy.
And now she didn’t think Hailey and Jack getting together was a bad idea at all.
She’d seen the way Jack had looked at Hailey the other night, the way he was always there to help her when she needed it.
“Well, that is very good news, indeed!” Marjorie said, grinning, too. “And not only for that reason,” she continued, “but
because you’re my oldest friend, I would really like to loan Lindy the money to buy this place from you. Then you and Tom
can go to Florida, you can get your condo, and Tom can get the care he needs, and God knows I hope you’ll still come back
here for the summers, as long as you can, because I will miss you if you don’t. But, Greta, I’ll give her very favorable terms.
Reasonable monthly payments, whatever she can handle. Because I would really, really like to see your great-grandchildren
grow up here. Because, otherwise, that monster wins, Greta, after all these years. And we cannot let him win. He already stole
seven decades of friendship from us! Well, that is more than enough! You have been so strong and so courageous all these years.
We cannot let him win. We cannot let any of these bastards who do these things to us girls win.”
Greta let all of that sink in. She thought, Yes. Absolutely, yes. She grinned. “Let me tell you about how I pointed a gun at Hailey’s horrible fiancé the other day when he was threatening
her,” she said. Marjorie shrieked with laughter, and this incident she would no doubt announce at the next meeting of the SCPA, but Greta didn’t care one bit about that. She was glad
to think of it, in fact—of everyone in The Cove knowing her for who she truly was, after all this time—as she and her oldest
friend made their way downstairs to have another slice of blueberry pie, because life didn’t last forever, and it was long
past time to forgive herself, and Marjorie, too, and whoever else she needed to. They’d all just been doing their best, all
this time.