Page 68 of Dreams of Falling
“She wrote letters to you plenty of times. Just most of them never got mailed. She’d fill a wastebasket with them. She knew you were angry with her. I think she was just waiting for you to tell her why.”
I sat down in the desk chair, my heart hurting. I hadn’t written to my mother at all, except for a once-a-year birthday card where all I wrote wasHappy Birthday. “I was angry because she stayed with you,” I said softly. “I felt as if I’d been lied to my whole life, believing her to be strong and independent. It was like the whole world had been lying to me about everything, not only Mama, but Ceecee and my friends.”
“And I made it worse,” he said.
“Yes, you did.” He met my eyes and didn’t flinch. I turned back to the computer. “Can I read it?” I asked.
“Of course. I guess it belongs to you anyway.” He put his hand on my shoulder, and I didn’t want to shake it off, instead appreciating the warmth and the gesture of being in this together.
My Dearest Daughter,
You’re probably wondering why I’m writing to you out of the blue like this. That reads funny, doesn’t it? Because you’re my baby girl, and we should be telling each other everything. That’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. Everything I’ve ever learned has brought me to this one conclusion—we are all thrown into this world without a road map, and it’s up to us to muddle through. Weare free to make a mess of it or to make a success out of our lives. Most of us choose something in between.
I need to talk to you about something important. About something I found out about Carrowmore and the night it burned. I can’t talk about it with Ceecee or Bitty. Just you. You’re the only person who can help me make sense of this. Nothing is as it seems, Larkin. I thought I knew what it was like to make sacrifices for love, but I didn’t. Not really.
I thought about picking up the phone and calling you, but I know you’re so busy with your life in New York, and I didn’t want to bother you. Maybe you can call me tonight? After work? It’s really important.
Love,
Mama
PS: I found an envelope full of old photographs while I was refurbishing my daddy’s desk. There’s one of you and me when you were a little girl, and you’re wearing a ballet tutu, a tiara, and thoseWizard of Ozred Dorothy shoes. It’s my precious daughter the way I remember you—so clever and so courageous in your choices. So confident. I always wished I could be more like you. I guess that’s why I mothered you from behind. I didn’t want who I was to rub off on you too much, like a weak spirit was contagious. I’d like to send the photo to you. You can let me know tonight when we talk if you’d like me to mail it.
I read the e-mail twice, then looked at my dad, who was sitting on the edge of my bed. “Did you read this?”
“Yeah. I thought it might be important.”
I looked back at the screen, trying to picture my mother sitting there at the desk and typing it, and I realized I couldn’t remember the exact shade of her hair. “Do you know what she’s referring to?”
He shook his head. “I don’t have a clue. And I can’t find the envelope of photos, either. I’ve torn this house apart looking for them.”
I thought for a moment. “She mentioned something about her daddy’s desk. Is that here?”
“No. She used Ceecee’s garage to refurbish furniture. That’s where you’ll find it.”
I nodded absently, my gaze traveling around the room again, taking in the artwork and the costumes, the shadow box containing every single issue of the school newspaper that I had edited. I noticed a small frame by my dresser that I didn’t remember having seen before and saw it contained my SAT and ACT scores. They were better than average, but by no means stellar. I remembered asking Ceecee to have them framed, her telling me later she’d misplaced them, and then finding them in the kitchen garbage can. I’d thrown them into my desk drawer and forgotten them.
After a year of therapy in New York, I’d realized that Ceecee had always been good at telling me how wonderful I was as long as the assessment was subjective, but she’d not been a big supporter of hard evidence to the contrary. I stared at the scores now, wondering why my mother had thought to have them framed.
I stood, my knees shaky. “Thanks, Daddy, for showing me.”
“Of course.” He smiled, but his face was tired and worn, his eyes sad.
“You still love her,” I said, the truth of it settling in my bones with a jolt.
“I never stopped.”
I didn’t drop my gaze. “Are you still seeing that woman?”
He didn’t look away. “I haven’t since you left, Larkin. It was a mistake, and I knew it at the time, and I’ve regretted ever since that I hurt your mother that way. And you. I don’t think I can ever forgive myself, and I can only dream that you and your mother will find it in your hearts to forgive me.” He rubbed his hands over his face, his palms raspy over his unshaven jaw. “You have no idea how hard it is to love a person with all your heart and know that they only have a piece of their own heart to give back. It’s a pathetic excuse for what I did, but there you have it. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Daddy.” I closed my eyes, remembering the ribbon I’d pulled from the tree all those years ago.Come home to me, Ellis. I’ll love youalways.I couldn’t condone what my father had done, but I couldn’t blame him, either. “Oh, Daddy,” I said again, taking a step forward and embracing him. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d touched, but the feel of his chest under my head and the scent of him brought me back to when I was a little girl who knew her father could do no wrong.
We stayed that way for a long time, until my phone vibrated with a text and we broke apart. It was Jackson again, telling me he’d pick me up at five o’clock and that he was bringing a picnic supper, even though I’d never responded to his invitation. I glanced at the time on my phone. “I’ve got to go buy a bathing suit. I didn’t pack one, and Jackson’s taking me out on his boat for dinner.”
“Jackson Porter?”
I slid the strap of my purse over my shoulder, not eager to rehash the same conversation I’d had with Bennett. “Yes, Jackson Porter. We’ve reconnected since I’ve been back.”
