Chapter Twenty-Seven
Perhaps this is the change that’s up ahead. Perhaps whatever her mother has to say will offer the answers Diana seeks. Andrea seems to sense it, too. Her sister unfolds herself from the sofa and joins Diana on the floor, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and a puzzled expression on her face.
“Andrea, you talk about how wearying it is to parent. You complain, a bit more than I would like, about motherhood. It’s not, though, that I can’t empathize.
“When you two were small, your father worked all the time, trying to make his real estate business a success. I’d quit my teaching job to stay home with you.
We’d recently moved to Alcott, and I didn’t have many friends.
Today, you’d say I was depressed. Back then, though, depression wasn’t something people talked about.
“I started to drink. A glass of wine after dinner. Two glasses. It wasn’t long before it escalated, and I was drinking at lunch, at breakfast. I’d pull out the wine as soon as your father got in the car to leave for work. I didn’t even wait for him to drive away,” Vivian says dully.
“Mom, I don’t—”
“You were a toddler, Diana. Andrea was a baby. It would have remained my secret, had it not gotten worse.”
“Worse?” Andrea says, her voice cracking.
“One night, it was about an hour before dinner, after I had finished off an entire bottle of wine.” Vivian shudders.
“I realized we were out of milk. My babies need milk, I thought. Your father was at a meeting, and I didn’t expect him until late.
I bundled you both up in your coats—it was winter, a bitterly cold night—and put you in your car seats. ”
Diana has never seen her mother so vulnerable before. She depends upon Vivian’s strength and competence. That her mother is a flawed human being isn’t a reality she wants to face.
“We were only going down to the grocery. A two-mile drive at best, but the roads were slick with ice, and I started out too fast . . .” Vivian’s voice trails off. She clears her throat and finishes, “I backed out of the driveway and rammed into a tree.”
“Oh, Mom,” Andrea says.
“It was a terrible scene. The fender was mangled, and the crash made such a noise.
The tree was in the front yard of the house across the street from us.
The Thompsons lived there then; they came running out into the cold.
The wife wanted to call the police, but the husband must have smelled the alcohol on me and convinced her not to.
He somehow moved my car back into our driveway.
He never said a word to me. I was so ashamed.
“After I got you both inside and into bed, I dumped all the alcohol down the drain. Your father came home while I was pouring out an expensive bottle of port, a gift from a client. He wasn’t happy about that.
He was even less happy when I explained what happened.
How I had been drinking too much. How I had tried to drive while drunk. How I could have hurt the two of you.”
“What did he say?” Diana whispers, taking her mother’s hands in her own. Her heart is beating too fast, and she hates that she unintentionally drew her mother into a conversation that caused her to reveal her own secret.
“He had no idea I was miserable. He was blinded by his work and the pressure of supporting our family. I should have told him earlier; he should have paid attention.” Vivian smiles sadly at her daughters.
“I vowed never to drink again, and we agreed I would go back to work. I started substitute teaching that spring and had a full-time position for the new school year. I’ve never had a drop of alcohol since that night. ”
“Mom, I had no idea.” Diana looks directly at Andrea for the first time since her sister’s hurtful attack. “We had no idea.”
“Every day of my life, I see that tree—it’s misshapen and never grew right after I hit it—and I am reminded you two could have died.
We were lucky. I made a mistake. I hid what was going on from the person I loved the most, which was another mistake.
Your father, fortunately, forgave me. It took a long time, but one day, I forgave myself, too. ”
Vivian lets go of Diana’s hands and gestures to the letter. “People make mistakes. When we love them, we forgive them, even if they take a very long time to tell us what they did.”
Diana thinks of Lakshmi’s theory that there are limits to knowing another person. Of Grace and how many years she’s suffered without William, reliving the loss of him every day. And of Duncan: lying on the floor of her bedroom, Tom’s letter in his hand.
“Mom, should I keep trying to figure out the rest of the story?” What a relief it would be for her mother to tell her what to do. That is one of the hardest parts about being a widow: all the solitary choices, not sharing the responsibility of making decisions with someone else.
“That’s your call. Not mine. Not Andrea’s. Whatever you do, I’ll support you. But,” Vivian says, unable to entirely refrain from offering an opinion, “when I read this letter, I see a man trying to make amends, albeit in a clumsy way, but still, trying.”
The intimacy of their conversation is disrupted by the beep of Andrea’s phone.
“It’s Evan. They’re almost home. I should go.
” She nods at Diana and kisses Vivian’s cheek.
“See you tomorrow at Noah’s soccer game, Mom.
” Then she leaves, escaping the emotions bouncing around the room.
The door clicks shut behind her, and the house is quiet again, save for the pop of the fire as a log breaks from the heat.
That did not go well, Diana thinks. Andrea didn’t even comment on their mother’s revelations or ask how Diana feels about the letter, whether finding it reignited her grief, or whether she’s hurt to find out Tom kept secrets.
Vivian checks her watch. “We have some time before your dad and Duncan get back. Let’s have a cup of tea.”
Diana follows her mother into the kitchen, where Vivian takes the kettle from the stove to fill it with water.
“Thank you for telling us your story, Mom. It’s so not how I see you, but I guess that was your point.”
“A rather obvious ‘nail on the head.’”
“Will you tell Dad about Tom’s letter?”
Vivian turns on the burner, centering the kettle over the flame. “This is too important to keep from him. That’s not how our marriage works.”
Diana doesn’t respond to the subtle dig at her relationship with Tom; instead, she busies herself gathering mugs and spoons for their tea.
“I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” Vivian says. “I didn’t mean it as a criticism about you and Tom. Having open communication is a priority for your father and me, and I have to honor that. You didn’t ask me to keep this to myself, and I hope you won’t ask me to do so now.”
Diana imagines her parents sitting together at their kitchen table after the accident, opening up about her mother’s secret.
They were tested, and they chose honesty as their marital currency.
She and Tom didn’t ever discuss their relationship to honesty; she assumed they’d tell the truth.
Clearly they each interpreted telling the truth differently.
“Will Dad be upset I didn’t tell him myself?”
“He’ll understand this is difficult for you. He’ll be glad to know what’s going on, and he’ll be sad Tom didn’t feel safe enough to tell any of us what happened.”
“Didn’t feel safe?” Diana says, putting rooibos tea bags in the mugs. “That’s an interesting interpretation.”
“There must have been a good reason why he didn’t tell you earlier.”
“A reason I’ll never discover.”
“I wish you didn’t find that letter and that this whole mess would go away. You have enough on your plate with the kids and work.”
“Are you telling me to forget about all of this?”
“No, not at all. It’s only . . .” Vivian sighs. “Have you thought through the consequences of keeping at this?”
“I can’t stop looking for answers because it might be uncomfortable. The kids and I bear the biggest burden from all of this, and I’ll make sure we’re okay.” Diana hopes she sounds confident.
“What about your sister? Clearly, she is hurting and is in pain.”
“That’s my responsibility? She said awful things about Tom, and about you, Dad, and me. It was too much.”
I’m done with my life being determined by your grief, Andrea said. Diana wishes she could forget her sister’s insults, but they are as clear to her as the lines from Tom’s letter. You need to get rid of the delusion Tom was such a perfect guy.
“I predict you’ll hear from Andrea in the morning. She’ll regret what she said and need support.”
Diana could make a case for needing support as well, but if Andrea is right and her needs have driven their family for the past two years, this is not the time for that comment. “Do you agree with her?”
“I don’t agree with how she came after you. That was wrong of her.” Vivian picks up the whistling kettle from the stove and pours the boiling water into the mugs as Diana takes the honey from the cupboard. “Tom was complicated, sweetheart.”
“Complicated?” Somehow that description hurts as badly as Andrea’s comments.
“My calling him complicated isn’t distressing, is it?
You two loved one another, a fact I don’t have any doubt about.
But he did demand a lot of you, didn’t he?
He was so focused on what he wanted. He worked all the time.
I worried about that. Your sister saw Tom differently than you or I did, and the letter set her off.
She’s concerned about you and the kids.”
“She has an unusual way of showing her concern.”
“Try to forgive her. I’m asking a lot, but our family can’t have a rift between you two.”
“I’ll think about it. That’s the best I can offer.” Diana stirs a spoonful of honey in her tea and blows on the hot liquid. “You know, the person I would have forgiven, without any hesitation, was Tom. Even for committing a crime. I know I would have. Which is why all of this is so—”
“Upsetting. Disappointing. Frustrating. Worrisome. Maddening.” Vivian, never one to keep her opinions to herself, jumps in to finish Diana’s sentence.
“Yes, all of that. Maybe he was being selfish and hurtful, like Andie said.”
“That’s not the Tom your father and I knew. He was complicated, Diana, not malicious.”
“Why couldn’t he bring himself to tell me until he was dead?”
“Oh, Diana, he was ashamed. Two men died! Tom was afraid of losing you and the children. Losing his career and reputation, too.”
“I wouldn’t have left him over this, Mom.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with you. That’s tough to wrap your head around. Tom not telling you was rooted in his own fear and shame. He probably couldn’t get out of his own way to realize it would be all right—challenging, but all right—if he opened up.”
“What about leaving the letter for me to find in the time capsule?”
“We can have theories about why he did that, but you’re going to have to find an answer you can live with.”
“You’re not going to share your thoughts?” Diana asks. “That’s out of character.”
“Ah, yes, The General always tells you what to do.” Vivian chuckles at Diana’s wide eyes and open mouth. “You’re surprised I figured out you and your sister call me The General behind my back? Give me some credit.”
“How did you do it?”
“To be an effective general, one must never reveal one’s intelligence sources. Let’s say it didn’t require a complicated military operation to figure out.”
They both laugh, and the sound is magnetic, propelling them across the room to one another. Vivian, only a few inches taller, wraps her arms around Diana. Diana relaxes against her mother, inhaling her rose perfume, grateful she’s been loved by this woman all her life.
“Your sister came up with the nickname, didn’t she?” Vivian asks when she releases Diana from their hug. “I can count on Andrea for the incisive remark.”
“It’s said with admiration. You’re efficient. Organized. You hold the family together. I couldn’t have made it through Tom’s illness, his death, or all these past months without him if you and Dad hadn’t been there.”
“It’s what we do for the people we love, sweetheart.”
“Of course, but Mom? It’s time for me to take care of myself, to not rely so much on you, Dad, and everyone else.” As she speaks, Diana feels a shift, as if a power long dormant has woken up.
A look comes over Vivian’s face, one Diana hasn’t seen in some time. It’s pride, as if she’s been waiting for Diana to arrive at this moment. “What will you do about this letter?”
“Find Jessica,” Diana says. “Thanks to my online sleuthing, I came across arrest records for her in New Hampshire and Massachusetts, plus a high school graduation listing and her parents’ address in Maine. I sent a letter to her at their house, in case she visits.”
“You’ve done so much to find her.”
“I also came across Carson Roy’s obituary.
His only survivor was his mother, which I already knew.
The obituary mentioned he dreamed of opening his own garage.
Apparently, he’d been rebuilding motorcycles since he was a kid.
” Diana has never ridden on a motorcycle.
Had Tom? She has no idea. “I wrote to Grace, too, with an update, but there’s been no word back yet.
I figured a letter would be easier than a phone call.
This way, she can decide when to read it. Or if to read it.”
Diana is relieved she’s told her mother what’s going on, but she’s still angry at Andrea. Sometimes families make things difficult.
“Will you ever tell the children?” Vivian muses. “Maybe when they’re grown, like I did?”
“Duncan knows.”
“Duncan? Wait, does that have anything to do with what happened when you were in Hamilton?”
In the past, Diana might have shielded herself against criticism about her parenting; tonight she holds her ground. “He figured some of it out, so I had to update him. I didn’t tell him all of it, only the details that are most relevant. He’s okay.”
“That’s why you’re not giving up,” Vivian says, understanding filling her eyes.
“Yes, for both Duncan and Phoebe. For me, too. And for Tom.”