Chapter Thirty-Two
Now
It wasn’t raining, exactly, but it was misting, and it gave me goose bumps as I knocked.
The front door opened, and Val stood in her bathrobe with an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips, surprise naked on her face. “Hey, baby. What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Neither of us moved for a moment as her words washed heavily over both of us. Finally, she sighed. “Sorry, that wasn’t my best work, was it?”
I pushed my hair back from my face, where it had started to stick from the heat. “Is Rig here?” I knew he’d likely already headed back to the mess hall—tonight’s cocktail hour would be starting any minute—but I’d hoped I might be able to head him off.
“He left for dinner a while ago.” She pinched her nose, gave me an unsubtle up-and-down, her eyes lingering on my old shorts and Trevor’s sweat-soaked T-shirt. “Shouldn’t you be getting cleaned up, too?”
I ignored this. “What about you?”
She scoffed, pulling the cigarette from her mouth and stuffing it in her pocket.
“Oh, no. I’m staying right here. Rig was running me ragged all day, leading hikes, of all things.
He and Chels have graciously allowed me to take the night off.
Wasn’t that kind of them?” Her lip quirked.
“Uh-oh,” she said. “I’ve got a terrible idea. ”
I rubbed a spot on my chest, waiting.
“Come have a drink with me. Just one measly drink, then you can go to your stuffy dinner. Come on, please,” she added as I started to protest. Her hand was already on my wrist, pulling me into a hug.
“Jesus, I miss her so much,” she whispered against my hair, and I went rigid in her arms. She only pulled me closer.
“One drink,” I agreed, because what else could I say? When I pulled back, her eyes were glistening, and mine might have been, too.
—
Within minutes, Val had procured two wineglasses and a bottle that I recognized as her favorite chardonnay.
It was already half-empty; she’d clearly started early.
She ushered me out onto the back porch, then filled my glass with a much heavier pour than I needed.
I wished we were sitting in the air-conditioning, but I forced myself to smile and take a sip anyway.
“You all right, sweetheart?” She drank deeply, her pink lipstick leaving a print on the edge of her glass.
I nodded, not knowing how to broach the topic. Hey, Aunt Val, did you know that the fire was never really a wildfire at all?
That my mom and Rig knew?
Who do they think it was?
Why did she never tell me any of this?
None of those questions came out of my mouth, though.
Because from the corner of my eye, I could see the back deck of the next-door staff cabin.
And I thought of the photo and the strange symbol that had been burning a hole in my pocket all weekend; the family who had lived here, all those years ago.
I thought of the one person I had yet to ask about my mom’s missing best friend, and how she was sitting beside me now, with a very full glass of wine and a clear desire to talk about my mother.
For a moment, I hesitated, thinking back on what Margo had said: that Val was off-limits. But I was on my own now, wasn’t I? Margo was no longer my ally. She never had been.
I crossed my legs, feeling the sweat instantly pool where my knees touched. “What do you know about Winona Hayes?”
“Excuse me?”
“Winona Hayes,” I repeated. “She used to live here, when I was a baby. My dad mentioned her to me at the memorial. He said that she was my mom’s best friend. But I’d never heard of her, so I was wondering if you remembered her.”
Val pursed her lips and fiddled uncomfortably with her gold cross necklace, as if I’d said something uncouth in polite company. “Oh, honey. That’s a real sad story.”
“Sad how?”
She blew out a hard breath, her cheeks stained red from the wine and the heat. The rain had stopped for the time being, but the humidity was fierce and unrelenting. “I don’t know if I should. Your mother—I don’t know if she’d like it.”
“It’s important to me,” I said, feeling as desperate at I sounded. “Please, Val. Tell me.”
I could see her weighing the decision as she took a drink. Finally, she gave a small nod. Her eyes changed, and she looked off into the trees. And I could tell what she was doing—she was taking herself back, into those memories. Shifting into another time.
“Back in the day, your granddaddy had a hard time filling positions in the summer. So there was a network out there, I guess you could say—a word-of-mouth kind of thing—and we’d get drifters and hippies, all sorts of folks passing through or needing help.
Sometimes just for the summer, sometimes longer.
All of them always fell in love with Dread’s Cove and were happy to take a job in the kitchen or wherever we needed them. ”
“Did Winona Hayes need help?”
She tipped her head solemnly, playing with her wedding ring now.
“She showed up here on the run from a family who treated her wrong, and she was looking for a place she could feel safe. Where she could grow roots. Nothing more human than that, right? I remember when we all saw her for the first time—well, she was just beautiful. Vivacious and kind. She pulled up to the old mess hall during dinner in a rusted Chevy truck on its last legs. Probably hadn’t showered in days, but somehow she looked like a movie star.
Some people just have a light like that, you know?
You can’t put your finger on it, but you can feel it.
All she had to her name was a duffel bag, her grandmother’s cookbook, and a bright-eyed optimism that was contagious.
Lord, everyone was under her spell immediately. Especially your mom.”
My lip began to quiver, and I took a sip of wine to hide it. I gave Val a smile that I hoped was encouraging.
“That was a big summer for everyone. Your mom had just moved back and started taking over for your granddaddy, and Rig had gotten the head of operations job. Both of them were in their early twenties, and in hindsight, probably biting off more than they could chew. They were just trying to keep their heads above water. And not just because of how much work they had to do. Hope had died that January, and your daddy was—well, excuse my French, baby, but your daddy was a damn bastard. Then and now. Nowhere near able to give your mother what she needed, or what she deserved. Your mom and Rig were both heartbroken in different ways. And God, both so young with so much responsibility—I remember being in awe of them. Seeing how hard they worked, day in and day out, and how much they loved Dread’s Cove, with every last part of themselves.
They both were working too hard. Burning themselves out.
“But something changed when Winona got here at the start of that summer. Your mom became someone totally new. Like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. Becoming friends with Winona softened her edges. She gave Annie permission to feel her feelings, to experience so many of life’s small joys that she had never let herself try before.
Hell, once I walked in on them baking a strawberry pie together.
Straight from one of Winona’s cookbooks.
Flour everywhere, the place was a damn mess.
But they were just having the time of their life.
I’d never known your mother to touch a stove before, but Winona Hayes had her trying all sorts of things. She was like a whole new person.”
My stomach churned as I thought of Steph, appearing here that summer and changing everything, too. How many times I had thought that my life was so much bigger and better with her in it.
“Of course, I was a couple of years younger than Annie and Winona, and I was just a counselor that year, so I didn’t spend much time with them. But I’m woman enough now to say that I was jealous.”
“Jealous?”
She waved her wineglass around clumsily, sloshing a little onto her hand.
She sucked it from her thumb before continuing.
“Friends like that—that other-half-of-your-soul kind of friends—they don’t come around too often.
Then Winona fell in love with Frankie that summer and got pregnant, right around the time Annie got pregnant with you.
Your sweet mother had never been happier.
She had a best girlfriend to share this place with and to raise a daughter beside. ”
I tried to fight a shiver at her unknowing mention of Steph.
“Winona stayed here about two years. Came at the start of summer, left at the start of summer.”
“If Winona had a great life here—I mean, why did she leave?” I asked, wiping the wine from the corners of my mouth. “Was everyone surprised?”
“Well, I certainly was. I remember being just plain shocked when they told me she was gone.”
“They?”
“Your mama and Rig. I found the two of them talking the morning after she’d skipped town. I’d never seen Annie in such a state—crying and snotting all over everything. She took two days off. Two. You ever know your mother to do that?”
“Never,” I choked out.
“Me either. She was absolutely beside herself. Kept saying, ‘It’s all my fault. She’s gone because of me.’ ”
A chill passed through me. “Why would she say that?”
Val shrugged, slurped her chardonnay. Her glass was already close to empty.
“I guess she tried to talk Winona out of it, but she couldn’t.
Rig told me what had happened. Apparently, Winona decided she was going to leave Frankie and the baby.
Her daughter—gosh, what was her name—was just about a year old, same as you.
She didn’t feel cut out for motherhood, apparently.
Your mom begged her to stay, said they’d figure it out together—that we were all a family here, we looked out for one another.
But Winona was adamant. She’d decided she was leaving that night, plain and simple, and wouldn’t be talked out of it.
Guess those roots she’d wanted had grown too deep, and she panicked.
So then, Rig told me, she got on a Greyhound with nothing but the clothes on her back and left her whole life behind. ”
The ground seemed to tilt beneath me. “Rig said she left on—on a Greyhound.”
“Sure did. Said he watched her get on the bus himself. He was the one who drove her to the station in Lavender.”
I didn’t think my heart had ever beat so hard in my life. I ached for water, a gallon of it at least, or anything colder than this lukewarm glass of awful wine.
Val’s face was as red as a tomato. She pushed her sweaty wineglass to her forehead and waved her other hand like it was a fan.
“I know you got more questions, but I think I’m fixing to retire soon, sweetheart.
Too hot out here for little old me.” A small laugh, crossed with a hiccup.
“All this wine and heat gets me feeling sleepy. Don’t forget I led a hike today. ”
This was her polite, slightly slurred way of telling me it was time to go, but I couldn’t leave just yet. I was so close to something. “Do you know if my mom ever heard anything else from Winona?”
Val leaned back and made a sound halfway between a sigh and a snort.
“When I moved back, I asked her. She snapped at me, told me she didn’t want to talk about her.
I remember thinking, Note to self—do not mention Winona Hayes.
Too sore a subject, even all these years later.
That’s why you surprised me just now, when you asked me about her.
Feels like her name is some kind of curse around here. ”
“What about Rig?” I pressed. “Did he know anything?” I was leaning forward, elbows on my knees.
If Val had been more sober, she might have bristled at the raw intensity in my voice. As it stood, she just pursed her lips, let her head sway a bit.
“Well, of course I asked him, too. But he didn’t know, either. Just said that wherever Winona was now, she’d made her choice that night. And that she’d have to live with the consequences for the rest of her life.” Her eyelids were fluttering as she spoke. I was about to lose her to sleep.
“Val, what did he mean by that? What consequences?”
Her answer was a snore. “Aunt Val?” I tried, desperate now, but she didn’t stir.
She was out cold, her wineglass dangling precariously from her hand. As gently as I could, I took it from her and set it on the table. She snored again, but didn’t move. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.
Quietly, I crept inside, closing the screen door behind me. What did it all mean? The day after Winona disappeared, Rig had told Val that he’d driven her to the bus station himself. That he’d seen her get on the bus. That she’d wanted to leave, to start a whole new life from scratch again.
But that wasn’t true—because I’d found the tickets. There’d been two, not just one.
And I’d found more artifacts of her life in Winona’s box. All the things she’d left behind. I’d read her cookbook, seen the evidence of the love she had for Steph. Seen her perfect handwriting, her extensive annotations in the margins.
The picture of her, and my mom, and me, and Steph—the warmth and love in her eyes, shining so bright. I couldn’t accept that Winona had forsaken motherhood impulsively.
I didn’t know her, but she felt so close. Close like my mom had been all weekend. Close like Steph.
The front room was still. Cocktail hour had just started, so it would likely be hours before Rig returned. I moved to put my shoes on at the door, resting my hand on the banister for balance, head throbbing with the weight of it all.
The idea was stupid. I knew this. I’d had more than one stupid idea over the past few days.
But this might be my only shot. I had to see what other secrets were waiting here, just out of reach.
Because I wasn’t just close to Winona, or my mom, or Steph right now—I was close to the truth. The closest I’d been yet.
So I let my inner Steph win out and compel me up the stairs.