Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Present Day
E sme had never blocked anyone on the phone before. It was far easier than it should have been to click on someone’s name and decide you never wanted to hear from them again. Just like that, her ex-husband was canceled and deleted from her life. And she was on the open road with her heart on her sleeve and the windows cracked.
She was already out of Colorado, singing songs on the radio, humming when she couldn’t remember the words. She felt ecstatic. Alone. Thrilled. It was the first time she’d felt like this since Larry’s death. She tried to overcome the guilt of feeling so good. But here it was, and she had to be grateful for it.
Esme hadn’t been able to sleep after her conversation with Victor last night. She’d tossed and turned, asking herself, Why did I let myself get tied up with this man again? Why am I sleeping in his hotel room? Why did I tell him so much of my story when he doesn’t really deserve it?
She felt as though she’d betrayed herself all over again. She’d thought, I have to fix this before it’s too late.
Victor had slipped to sleep easily, just as he always had. Why are men so good at falling asleep? Even when Joel died, Victor had slept eight hours a night. Esme hadn’t slept for days and dropped twenty pounds in just a few weeks. It wasn’t a contest, she knew. Just because she’d taken it so much harder physically didn’t mean she loved Joel more than Victor did.
Victor had taken Joel’s death in his own way. He’d just been able to move on faster. He’d abandoned the sinking ship of their lives.
That morning at five, Esme had gotten up and packed. She’d been quiet, careful to tiptoe around the hotel room. Victor had been sleeping like a rock.
Downstairs, she’d told the concierge that she needed to rent a car as soon as possible. “Where is the nearest rental place?”
The concierge had arranged for her stepbrother to drive Esme to the car rental facility thirty-five minutes away from the hotel. It was an act of generosity that Esme would never forget. When she’d offered the stepbrother money for his time and gas, he’d refused it and said, “Everyone has a bad day every now and again.”
Esme had wondered if her “bad day” was written all over her face.
Then again, most sixty-nine-year-old women weren’t sneaking out on their ex-husbands in the early morning.
Esme got her hotel that night and charted the rest of her course to her destination. She felt electrified and unbeatable. She felt as though she could drive forever. The text messages from her daughters indicated that Victor hadn’t told them anything about Esme’s departure. It was clear he was too embarrassed to tell them.
Esme had never been to Wisconsin before. She was surprised at how lush it was, with heavy green trees, flowing rivers, and glistening lakes. After driving through mass amounts of landscape—the deserts, mountains, and plains—seeing Wisconsin felt like a cold drink of water. It felt like rest.
Esme’s phone pinged the directions as she went, taking her to a quaint subdivision on the outskirts of Madison. Her pulse quickened until she parked in the driveway and cut the engine. Although she’d never been here before, it felt sort of like coming home after a very long journey. She thought of The Odyssey.
Esme left her suitcase in the back seat and headed for the door. It was four in the afternoon and seventy degrees—a perfect, sun-dappled day. Before she was able to hit the bell, the door opened.
And there she stood.
“LeeAnne!” Esme cried. She swept forward and wrapped her arms around her little sister, who was so beautiful, wrinkly, and very old. Not as old as me.
LeeAnne’s smile was exactly the same as it had been at thirteen. “Let me get a look at you.” She held Esme’s shoulders and stepped back.
Esme grinned stupidly. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I look like a seventy-year-old woman,” she said.
“No. You look like yourself,” LeeAnne said.
LeeAnne led Esme inside and closed the door behind her. They entered a living room with hardwood floors, beautiful Turkish rugs, lush plants, and soft dark blue and tan sofas. Because LeeAnne’s husband was a literary critic, bookshelves held probably a thousand novels everywhere. On the walls were photographs of LeeAnne, her husband, and the children they’d adopted over the years. Because of LeeAnne’s extensive cancer treatments, she hadn’t been able to have children. But LeeAnne had never let that come between her and having a wonderful life.
“You were so vague on the phone!” LeeAnne said as she reached for two glasses of wine and led Esme to the back porch, which stretched out in the shadows of enormous trees. “I’m going to need the whole story.”
LeeAnne set Esme up on the back porch with white wine, popcorn, and peanuts, then snapped her fingers. “I just have to check on Mom. She isn’t feeling too good today.”
Esme’s heart pumped. Of course, she knew that Fran was still alive. And, of course, she’d heard that Fran was living with LeeAnne now that Fran’s second husband had died and her health had failed her. But it was still strange to think of her “evil stepmother” somewhere on the walls of this quaint house in Wisconsin. The woman who broke my father’s heart.
LeeAnne disappeared and returned with the same smile.
Esme felt strangely nervous. “Did you tell her I’m here?”
“I was going to ask you if you wanted me to,” LeeAnne said.
Esme tilted her head. Suddenly, she felt eight years old again, craving the love of her stepmother above all else. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know.” She rubbed her temple, then raised her glass to LeeAnne. “Cheers to seeing you again.”
LeeAnne smiled and clacked her glass to Esme’s. For a moment, Esme allowed herself to mourn the life she and LeeAnne should have had together. If only Fran hadn’t whisked LeeAnne to Wisconsin a few weeks before Esme’s wedding to Victor. If only Fran hadn’t spent years forbidding Thomas to see LeeAnne. If only LeeAnne hadn’t decided to go to university in Wisconsin and marry a man from Wisconsin. But life had a way of doing whatever it pleased.
Suddenly, Esme burst into tears.
LeeAnne was on her feet, hurrying to wrap her arms around Esme. “Oh, honey. Oh no.”
Esme’s shoulders quaked. She wept into her hands, feeling as though the world was off its axis. Against her better judgment, she’d told Victor the innermost workings of her heart. She’d told him she blamed him for everything. She’d realized just how wrong that was, too. It wasn’t fully Victor’s fault. Sure, he was selfish and always had been. But she’d let herself get tossed around. She’d let herself get hurt.
“It’s stupid,” Esme breathed.
“It’s not.” LeeAnne scooped herself into the chair directly beside Esme and took her hand. “You’ve had a crazy year. You lost Larry just a few months ago.”
Esme let out a wail. The wail felt powerful enough to rip her lungs apart. Hiccuping, she said, “I want to thank you again for coming to the funeral.”
“Of course, honey! I wouldn’t have missed it!” LeeAnne said.
Esme’s voice shook. “My daughters are back. All three of them. And it makes me so happy they’re back. And feeling so happy so soon after Larry died makes me feel so guilty.” She hiccuped again.
“You can’t feel guilty for that,” LeeAnne ordered. “Your daughters are back because they love you and are old enough to recognize how messy everything has gotten. They’re old enough to recognize the importance of second chances.”
Esme filled her lungs and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I was on a road trip with Victor, LeeAnne. Victor Sutton!” She said his name as though it were a curse.
LeeAnne’s eyes widened with a bemused smile. “How did that happen?”
Esme wrung her hands. “He’s been trying to get closer to the girls. I’m so thrilled about that. I really am. And now, he and Valerie are going to write a book together. Wow! Great!” She feigned excitement, and her knees clacked together. “But Valerie invited him out to California with us to help her pack up for her big move, and then suddenly she couldn’t drive the rental van anymore, and I heard Victor volunteering to do it, and I heard myself agreeing to come with him…” She trailed off. “I told myself it would be fine. We’ve spent a lot of time together since he returned to Nantucket.”
“You didn’t mention that,” LeeAnne said.
It was true that Esme and LeeAnne chatted on the phone every couple of weeks. Esme was careful not to share any details about Victor. Are you stupid, Esme? After what he did to you? That was what she imagined LeeAnne saying. That was what she imagined everyone saying. And she was only human. She didn’t want anyone to judge her too harshly. She didn’t want anyone to think she was dumb.
LeeAnne raised her chin, and Esme followed her gaze to watch the leaves flicker with the early September wind.
What LeeAnne said was not something Esme would have guessed in a million years.
“Do you think he’s changed?”
Esme’s jaw went slack. “Victor?”
LeeAnne nodded.
“No. I mean, not really,” Esme said. “Probably not.” She scanned through the details of the summer, then said, “I mean, he sold Dad’s books. The German antique books he gave Victor many years ago. Do you remember those? He sold them so that he could help fix an old veteran’s home. Maybe you remember Doug?”
LeeAnne bent her head and narrowed her eyes. It had been too long since she’d seen Doug. She’d left Nantucket when she was a teenager.
Esme swallowed. “I can’t remember Victor being so selfless before. But I can’t help but feel like it’s another manipulation tactic. Victor always knew how to wrap me around his finger.”
“But you’ve made it clear you don’t want anything with him?”
“Very clear,” Esme assured her.
I’m not in love with him. I can’t be in love with him.
“Can I ask you a question?” LeeAnne asked.
“Okay.”
“Have you changed at all since you divorced Victor?”
Esme’s eyes widened with surprise. “Of course! I’ve changed so much.” She laughed. “Imagine if I hadn’t changed in thirty years? I’d have the emotional maturity of a thirtysomething. What a disaster that would be.”
LeeAnne spread her hands out. “Then why do you think Victor hasn’t changed and grown, too?”
Esme’s head rang like a bell. “I don’t know. Because this is Victor we’re talking about. Because Victor has only ever lived for himself.” She dug her nail into a divet in the porch table. Through the trees, she could make out the silver of a lake. “Did I tell you he’s divorcing his second wife? Bree?”
“The woman he left you for.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what happened?” LeeAnne asked.
“It sounds like they just fell out of love. Funny, since he told me Bree was the love of his life,” Esme said.
“People say all kinds of things,” LeeAnne said. “I told my husband last week that I was going to go off sugar.”
Esme chuckled in spite of herself. LeeAnne always had a way of making her feel light.
LeeAnne narrowed her eyes. “So you were on this road trip with Victor. But I don’t see Victor anywhere. Nor a moving van.”
Esme realized she’d left out pertinent facts. She explained that she and Victor had gotten into a fight because she’d accused him of manipulating her. She’d gotten up early, rented a car, and left him without saying goodbye.
“That’s epic,” LeeAnne said, then wrinkled her nose. “Sorry. My daughter says that word all the time. Epic. It stuck with me.”
Esme waved her hand and wondered which daughter it was. LeeAnne had two daughters and two sons. Four children, like me.
Esme had a sudden memory of when she’d called LeeAnne and told her about Joel’s diagnosis. “Leukemia. Like you.” LeeAnne had burst into tears.
“Victor must be worried sick about you,” LeeAnne said.
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s finally gotten the hint,” Esme said.
Suddenly, a buzzer on LeeAnne’s phone went off. LeeAnne hopped to her feet.
“Is everything okay?” Esme asked.
“Mom just needs something. I’ll be right back,” LeeAnne said.
Esme watched LeeAnne flee through the back door. But just before she disappeared, Esme called, “Can I come up, too?”
“Sure! Come!”
Esme’s arms and legs shook as she ascended the stairs. LeeAnne was already up there, talking sweetly to Fran. An old woman was responding, her voice cracking and soft. Esme remembered the last time she’d ever seen Fran, not long before she’d married Victor. She remembered that Fran had essentially shamed her into giving up her original dreams of going to college.
Fifty years ago. How long will you let these wounds bleed? she asked herself.
Esme rounded the corner and entered Fran’s bedroom. LeeAnne had fetched her a fresh glass of water and was tinkering with Fran’s television. Fran wanted to watch a soap opera, but she’d forgotten its station.
Esme stood in the doorway for a long time before she said anything.
Fran was probably ninety pounds now. She was frail with blue-ish hair and little eyes and bony fingers. She wore a big T-shirt with a funny cartoon cheese drawn on the front—a classic Wisconsin symbol—and was wrapped up in blankets. She looked at LeeAnne with all the love in the world.
For a little while, Esme had hated Fran after Joel died of leukemia. She’d hated Fran because Fran’s daughter had lived and Esme’s son had died. It wasn’t fair, she’d thought then.
But that was irrational.
Hatred was irrational.
So was love.
And for a very long time in Esme’s life, Fran had been her mother. Her only mother.
Tears welled in her eyes.
“Mom?” LeeAnne began. “Somebody here wants to say hi to you.”
“Who?” Fran turned her head slowly and found Esme in the doorway.
Fran recognized her immediately. Esme’s stomach dropped.
“Esme,” Fran breathed. “What are you doing here?”
She didn’t sound upset. She didn’t sound as though Esme had done anything wrong.
And Esme thought to herself, Fran has changed, too. She was so angry. So volatile at my father’s house. But was all that volatility a result of the fact that Thomas couldn’t love her the way he’d loved Rose? Esme’s thoughts twisted.
Esme walked to the bed and took Fran’s hand. “You look wonderful, Fran,” she said because she meant it. The woman was in her nineties. She was holding up just fine.
Fran’s eyes were like crystals. “I was sorry to hear about your father.”
Thomas died in 2006. It was hard to believe that was almost twenty years ago.
“He was a good man,” Fran said. “No matter what happened between us, I can always say that.” She glanced at LeeAnne, then added, “He gave me my LeeAnne. He gave me the world.”
Esme considered reminding Fran that she’d taken LeeAnne away from Thomas. That she’d taken LeeAnne away from Esme. But the woman was in her nineties. There was no use for that kind of conversation.
“I miss him,” Esme said of her father. “But I’ve kept the Book Club going. It’s called the Sutton Book Club now.”
“He loved that Book Club,” Fran said sadly.
LeeAnne watched them from the right of the television. She cupped her elbows.
“He cared for it so well,” Fran said. “I’m sure you do the same.”
Esme sniffed. “I went to college so I could be a professional librarian, too.”
“How wonderful.”
Fran’s eyes brightened. It seemed she’d forgotten that she’d told Esme not to go to college. That she’d pushed her not to pursue her dreams.
“Esme went to Harvard, Mom,” LeeAnne said. “Isn’t that sensational?”
“Harvard! You don’t hear that name every day,” Fran said. Her hands stretched out across the blanket, and she let her head relax deeper into the pillow. “But you were always a brilliant little thing, Esme. Sometimes I told Thomas it was your greatest downfall. The fact that you were smarter than everyone else.” Fran’s eyes twinkled.
Esme wasn’t sure how to carry that. She swallowed a lump in her throat and felt a crushing weight against her chest.
“It was good to see you, Fran,” Esme said. “Take care of yourself.”
“LeeAnne takes great care of me,” Fran said. She took her daughter’s hand and shook it, gazing up at her.
Esme ducked out of the room and hurried to the bathroom to cry. Everything felt as though it had a jagged edge. Everything reminded her of what she’d lost.