Chapter Nine
Talia is behind the wheel when the familiar wooden signboard comes into view at last.
Welcome to Mulberry Bay
It’s painted in shades of purple to reflect the distant Catskill peaks and the abundant berries that ripen each spring, and blues as deep as the mountain lake looming ahead beside a cluster of rooftops and steeples.
“Look, everyone! We’re here!”
No reaction from her family.
A glance in the rearview mirror reveals that Hayley is wearing earbuds and focused on her phone. Caleb is asleep, resting his tear-stained face against the open window.
He had an accident earlier, before they made it to the bathroom, so all the windows are down despite the high temperature. Poor Caleb was mortified, especially when Hayley reacted as if she’d been sprayed by a rabid skunk.
“For the love of God, calm down! It’s just pee!” Ben shouted at her as he pulled onto the shoulder so that Talia could comfort their sobbing son.
At the rest stop, she found shorts for him to change into while Hayley sulked in the car and Ben bought potato chips and chocolate bars for everyone. He asked Talia to drive the rest of the way so he could answer some emails.
Now he’s in the passenger’s seat with his laptop open, hands poised on the keyboard.
She’d put on a playlist she’d made for last year’s road trip to the Outer Banks. It’s filled with upbeat summer songs, reminding her of better days that weren’t so long ago. Maybe it will remind Ben, as well . . . if he ever stops working and starts listening.
“Hey, Ben? We’re in Mulberry Bay. See the sign?”
He glances up only briefly, distracted. “Okay. I’ll wrap this up.”
When she first revisited her hometown back in June, Talia was struck by how much has changed around here. Particularly this landscape at the edge of town, decidedly rural when she was growing up.
On the radio, Ed Sheeran is singing about old country lanes and going home to the friends who raised you.
Talia remembers the four of them together, riding their bikes out here when it was a road lined with fields of wildflowers and scattered houses.
She and Caroline were always in the middle of the pack, keeping pace side by side so they could chat.
Midge, of course, was in the lead, standing as her muscular legs pedaled hard, urging the others to keep up.
Kelly was perennially way behind and complaining about everything—too hot, too cold, too thirsty, too tired.
She stops at an intersection where a massive modern gas station/convenience store gives no hint to the rickety wooden garage that once stood on the site.
There were only two pumps, both full service, manned by a grumpy attendant whose name slips her mind, but she can see his tobacco-stained front teeth, the way one slightly crossed over the other.
She can see the soda vending machine that was perpetually out of order, or if it was functioning, was out of everything except Crystal Pepsi.
She hasn’t thought of that in years.
Or the creek in the woods way back behind that old gas station, with cold water and slippery flat rocks and tadpoles that swam around your bare feet.
Or the big meadow with wildflowers. They’d pick bouquets for their moms. Well, everyone except Caroline, because her mother thought she was at the library or doing some other acceptable activity.
The Winterfields had strict rules about where and when and with whom she could ride her bike. Rules about everything, even visiting Talia, who’d lived right next door.
The car behind them beeps. The light has turned green. Talia drives on, pointing at a fenced modern sports complex where a girls’ soccer team is practicing. “That used to be a softball field. My friend Midge played there. No lights, no bleachers, no locker rooms.”
Ben glances up from his laptop. “Well, it’s come a long way. Midge is the one we’re staying with, right?”
“No, that’s Kelly. Midge is the cop. Well, sergeant detective. Or is it detective sergeant? Actually, right now she’s the chief, just like her dad.”
“What about yours?”
“My what?”
“Your dad?”
Her hands grip the steering wheel. “What do you mean? You know I didn’t have a dad. Just my mom.”
“No, I know. But being back here . . . does it make you wonder about him? Who he is, if he’s still around here?”
“Not really.”
How easily she slips back to lying to Ben. But now isn’t the time to admit that she has been wondering about her birth father, not just because she finally ventured back here after all these years, but because . . .
What kind of person are you? Ben asked. What kind of parent lies to their children?
Maybe she gets it from her father. For all she knows, he’s made a mess of his life too.
Then again, what if he hasn’t? What if he grew up to be a wonderful person? What if he regrets not being there for Natalie, for his daughter? What if he’s been searching for her?
“I thought you never wanted to come back here or even talk about the past because of him,” Ben says.
“Really? I didn’t realize you even thought about that.”
“Of course. Your mom used to invite us, remember?”
She nods.
It was the topic of her final conversation with her mother on a muggy July morning two years ago. They stood on the train platform beneath an overcast sky, Natalie’s enormous rolling suitcase between them, the northbound train rumbling near, blasting its horn.
“I really would love to have you up to visit over Labor Day,” her mother said. “With the kids, and Ben. Don’t you think it’s time?”
Talia did not. Back then, she was convinced it would never be time.
Back then, she was also convinced that she and her mother had lots more time together. That Natalie would live to a ripe old age.
“Promise you’ll at least consider it, Talia. They’ve never been to Mulberry Bay. The lake is warm and beautiful then.”
“The lake is never warm, Mommy!”
Looking back, she has regrets. Had she known what was coming, she’d have responded differently. She’d have promised to visit on Labor Day, with her family.
Now it’s happening, but Mommy isn’t here.
Maybe they shouldn’t be either.
Maybe introducing Ben and the kids to her hometown, to Midge and Kelly, to Haven Cliff . . .
What if it doesn’t resolve anything? What if it only serves to amplify the fact that she kept so much of her past from them?
But she did it because she was trying to protect her family.
Come on! You were trying to protect Caroline. And yourself.
Maybe not in that order.
Talia can add that guilt to the quarter century’s worth she’s been dragging around ever since Caroline, then seventeen, asked, “Can you keep a secret?”