Page 72 of The Lost Hours
Lillian stared at her for a long moment, not comprehending at first. The ticking of the clock was more insistent now, each tick louder than the last, the sound coming from very far away. She shifted her head. “But Justine . . . She was . . . she was his housekeeper.”
“Apparently she was more than that, Malily,” Tucker said gently.
“Did . . . did Annabelle know this?”
“According to her scrapbook, we think she didn’t find out until her father was so sick with the flu.”
Lillian’s gaze darted around the room.Couldn’t they hear the clock ticking?She jerked her hand out toward the sound of the clock, succeeding in knocking it to the floor. She held up her hand to stop Tucker, who’d already stood. “Leave it.”
Piper spoke again. “Annabelle or Josie never told you?”
Lillian stared at Piper for a long moment, seeing her friend Annabelle—the friend whose loyalty she’d taken for granted, who’d taught her how to cultivate tea roses and who’d known how to keep a secret. “I don’t think Josie knew. And Annabelle never told me.” She closed her eyes and laughed, the sound brittle and hollow. “I was jealous of Annabelle. I thought she and Freddie . . .”
Helen leaned forward. “But wouldn’t she have told you? You were like sisters. I would have thought she’d confide in you about her feelings.”
Lillian gasped, the memories of her youth cold and unyielding against the reality of her frail body. “Yes. She would have. I know that now, but back then . . .” She shook her head, still unable to tell the rest of the story. The ticking from the clock, although now muffled, continue to reverberate through her head.
Tucker stood and moved to press the buzzer on the wall by her bed. “I’m calling Odella. You’re not looking well, Malily. We can continue this tomorrow after you’ve rested.” After murmuring something in her ear, he lifted her as easily as one of his daughters and brought her to the bed. Piper approached and adjusted the pillows under her head and placed a blanket over her legs, her touch soft and reassuring as Lillian had known it would be.
Lillian nodded, feeling the tiredness now in her bones. She welcomed it, this respite from the pain. But there was something new, too. She felt lighter, somehow. As if the secrets that had long anchored her to this world were slowly fraying, like a ship breaking its moorings as it slid out to sea.
She turned her head and blinked at the watery image at the foot of her bed. Annabelle sat there, her knitting needles flying, the ticking of the clock having eased its way into the clicking sound of needles. Blue yarn spilled on the white chenille bedspread, only Lillian knew that it wasn’t the right bedspread.Always knitting, Annabelle. Always that incessant knitting as we’d waited those last months for news of Freddie. How I’d hated it. And how I hated you for having something to keep you busy besides regret.
She heard Helen whisper in her ear before kissing her cheek. “Good night, Malily. We’ll see you in the morning.” Lillian closed her eyes and the sound of the knitting needles ceased.
Piper took her hand and Lillian managed to hold on to it, pulling her closer. “Stay. Please.”
Piper sat down on the edge of the bed, not releasing her hand. “Okay.”
Lillian waited for Tucker and Helen to leave before speaking again. “I need you to do something for me.”
Piper nodded.
“In the top drawer of my writing desk is an old framed photo. I need you to bring it to me.”
Piper stood and did as Lillian asked before resuming her seat on the side of the bed. “When was this taken?”
Lillian smiled, smelling again Charlie’s cologne and hearing the magic of Josie’s voice. She felt her in the room, too, knowing that if she turned her head she’d see Josie and Annabelle at the foot of the bed, just as she remembered them during those long months of waiting.
“Right before my come-out ball. It was the happiest night of my life.”
“Then why do you keep it in your drawer instead of where you can see it?”
Lillian sighed, not remembering ever feeling so tired. “Because of Annabelle. I didn’t want to see her anymore.”
Piper lowered the frame, letting it rest in her lap. “Why? Please, Lillian. Please tell me why.”
Lillian clutched at the necklace around her neck, her fingers sliding along the charms, finally settling on the key. She wrapped her hand around it, feeling the edges of the charm biting into her skin. “Maybe you don’t want to know. Did it never occur to you that you might not really want to know what some of those shadows are you see in the dark?”
Piper dislodged her hand and stood, averting her head so Lillian couldn’t see the tears pooling in her eyes. “No. Not anymore. I need to know. I need to know because . . .”
Lillian managed to sit up a little, giving strength to her voice. “Because why? Because you want to know what changed your grandmother from an intelligent, vibrant young woman into the timid shell she was when she died?” The sound of the knitting needles began again, frantically clicking against each other.
Piper’s breath stuttered. When she turned around, Lillian expected to see a shattered expression; instead she saw the Annabelle she’d known, the friend who fought until the end. Piper came close to the bed, her eyes bright with tears and confusion. “Maybe that’s part of it. But mostly . . .” She stopped, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. “Because mostly I want to know that I’m different than her.”
The click of needles stopped abruptly, and Lillian listened as the silence was filled with another sound she couldn’t yet identify. Something low and murmuring, reminding her of a moving river, heard from a distance. “But you’re not, are you? Because if you were different, you’d still be jumping fences.”
Piper turned to her, her face rigid with anger. As if Lillian hadn’t spoken at all, Piper asked, “Why did you come to stay with Annabelle for so long? Was it because of your father’s association with the Klan? Or was there something else? And what about the baby in the news clipping? Whose baby was it, and how did he end up in the river? Is that what was in the letter Susan read?”
