Page 60 of The Lost Hours
Lillian let out an inelegant snort. “He knows what he wants. He’s just afraid to say it. Susan taught him to doubt his own feelings and to hesitate when it comes to getting what he wants. But he’s learning. And I have no doubt that Piper will stay, regardless of whether or not I think she should.”
“And you don’t think she should?”
Lillian looked down at the crimson bloom in her hand, the redness of it making everything else around it pale. “It’s not up to me, is it?” She twisted the bloom, feeling a sense of inevitability, of Annabelle’s part in sending Piper into Lillian’s life to tidy up an unfinished past.
After a few moments, Helen spoke. “Piper gave me pages of her grandmother’s scrapbook to read, and I gave her your pages—the ones we’ve already read. Once we’re caught up, we’re coming to you so we can read the rest of yours. Please don’t be angry. But I think you’ll agree that it has to be this way. You’ve been silent for so long, Malily. And it’s my story, too.”
Lillian raised an eyebrow, remembering too late that the movement would be lost on Helen. With a long sigh, she said softly, “I suppose you’re right. I won’t like it, but I’ll do it for you.”
Helen reached for her hand and held it, and they were silent for a long time. Eventually, Helen turned to her. “Out of curiosity, Malily, when do your pages end?”
Lillian stilled, trying to think of why Helen would be asking, and trying not to imagine the worst. She didn’t pretend to think about it; she remembered the date as if it were yesterday. “September third, nineteen thirty-nine.”
Helen was silent for a moment, and Lillian tensed. “Something else I’ve been thinking about, Malily. You were married the following year, which makes me think that you’d have a lot to write about. But instead you stopped—and so did Lillian—within months of each other. Surely there was a lot more to be said about your lives.”
Lillian lowered her head, shading her face in the shadow of her hat brim. “It was a busy time. I felt that I’d become a woman, and the scrapbook and Lola were childish things to me. I didn’t need them anymore.”
Helen nodded, then reached into the pocket of her knit dress. “Piper found this with her grandmother’s pages. It’s dated September eighth, nineteen thirty-nine.”
The sun dipped lower in the sky, and the evening breeze from the river rushed over them, tossing the rose bloom from her hands and making the ancient oaks in the alley begin a faint, whistling cry. Lillian knew what it was before she touched it, although she’d seen it only once before. She grasped it with shaking fingers, glad Helen couldn’t see. “This was with Annabelle’s things?”
“Yes. Piper told me it was stuck between two scrapbook pages, as if it were hidden on purpose.”
“How odd,” Lillian managed, her fingers shaking so hard that the words were now a blur. She’d always imagined this moment differently; despite the hours and the years of silence that separated them, she’d always thought that it would be Annabelle she’d unburden her sins to. Annabelle in her self-imposed role of martyr would have understood, and chased the demons away. But Annabelle was gone, leaving only Lillian with the truth.
She took her time finding her voice. “Was there anything written on the pages? Any words of explanation?” Her hands ached, nearly masking the ache that pressed against her heart.
“Nothing. And Annabelle’s scrapbook ends in July of the same year.” Helen faced her, the breeze lifting her hair, reminding Lillian of when Helen was a little girl and had become Lillian’s hope that she’d been given another chance.
Helen continued. “I think Piper believes that her grandmother might have known something, or might even have been involved. That’s the reason why she’s been dragging her feet in reading the scrapbook and researching further. She’s afraid of what she’ll discover.”
Lillian fought to control her voice. “What about you, Helen? Are you afraid of the story you don’t know?”
The whistling in the trees became louder, saturating the air with discordant notes and an unease that seeped into Lillian’s skin, shrinking it tightly against her bones.
“No, Malily.” Helen’s green eyes widened, reminding Lillian again of an innocent child. “Because I know you. More than my own mother, I know you in my heart. You saved me, remember? When I was so sick and burning up with fever, you picked me up and put me in your car and drove me to the hospital. And then you slept in my room until the fever was gone, and you held my hand when I woke up and it was dark. You saved me then, too. Do you remember that? Do you remember what you told me?”
Slowly, Lillian nodded. “ ‘Where there is life, there is hope.’ ”
“It gave me hope; it helped me not be scared of a darkened world. So no, Malily. I’m not afraid of the story I don’t know. Nothing you could ever tell me would make me not love you or think less of you. You’re who you are today because of what you did in the past. I can only feel proud to be your granddaughter.”
A cicada whirred in the magnolia tree, its last song to the fading sun. Lillian had been waiting for this moment for so long, felt as if each hour leading to it had been counted. But now that it was here, the words were as lost to her as Helen would be if she spoke the truth. She’d not anticipated this—only a letting go and a freedom from the burden she’d carried for seventy years.
A small line appeared between Helen’s brows. “So who was the baby, and what connection did he have to Annabelle O’Hare?”
Lillian felt the charm, cold and heavy against her skin.Be patient and strong; someday this pain will be useful to you.The words she’d lived by for so long felt meaningless now as the lie fit itself to her tongue, flattened by the threat of facing death alone. A story untold seemed suddenly like a small price to pay.
“A girl in trouble is a temporary thing, they used to say. Perhaps a young girl saw no other alternative than to end her shame.”
“Was it Josie’s baby?”
Lillian stared at Helen for a long time, trying to find the right answer. Instead, all she said was, “I don’t know. She could have kept it hidden from me; I didn’t see much of her that last year before she went to live up north.”
Helen nodded, thinking. “Did you know about the secret attic room in Annabelle’s house?”
Lillian weighed her words, each heavier than the last. “Yes. She showed it to me once. She wasn’t sure why it was there or what it was used for. Why?”
Without answering her directly, Helen said, “Piper and I are driving into Savannah tomorrow. We’re going to see the house and the attic room and then do research at the library. I’ll let you know what we find.”
