Page 70 of Enemies to Lobsters
“I’m sorry.” It isn’t my apology to offer, but I can’t stand this.
She's quiet for a little too long. “Do you think any part of what she said is true?” She lowers her voice. “Did my grandparents… push my mom out of my life?”
I don’t know. I think back on the interactions I’ve had with the Yorks, and there’s no denying that they like a certain level of control in the lives of the people they love. The fact that Diana is standing there wearing a wedding dress, married to a man she used to despise is incriminating.
But there was something off about Charlotte’s accusation. My instincts tell me not to trust the woman who has made no effort to connect with her daughter in over a decade. I don’t care what her parents threatened to do, a loving person wouldn’t abandon her child like that. Did the Yorks force Charlotte away?
“My gut says no.” I take her hand, turning her toward me. “But talk to your grandparents. They love you. We both know that.”
Some of her warmth returns at the words, and she almost smiles up at me. “They love you, too, you know.” She links ourhands together. “I can’t believe my grandma taught you to fox trot.”
Chapter 33
Diana
I’m still wearing last night’s make-up when I climb the stairs to the top of the lighthouse. It’s barely dawn, but Ike has already gone to work. The days leading up to the reception were full, and he has catching up to do. But when I tug the front of his stolen flannel around myself it’s like he’s here. I want him here, but I also need some time to think. I sigh, remembering Ike and our dance last night.
I hardly slept. I could smell Ike’s cologne in my hair, and his voice was in my head all night.I want this to be real.I can’t believe he laid it all out there like that, but that’s Ike. I grin at the memory of our dance. He learned to fox trot for me.
What do I want? I really, really like my husband. Maybe I’ve even fallen for him, too. Butmarriage? It’s so final. Just the thought of it is… a lot.
Everything about last night was a lot. I didn’t know it was possible to feel so many opposing feelings at full strength in such a short span of time: Love, shock, grief, joy, betrayal. They were all there, and they exhausted me. I needed lots of sleep last night. Now I need time to process these feelings. And it’s impossible to be properly dramatic in the lighthouse with ahandsome man around trying to make everything better, right? This is good. I can work this out on my own.
My mind spins as I near the lantern room. My mother’s face pops into my head. I hope she was lying about my grandparents. I also hope she wasn’t lying. Either scenario is painful. Either my mother abandoned me, or my grandparents pushed her out of my life. Lose-lose. My heart hurts.
Forty-three.
Forty-four.
Forty-five.
“Ugh.” I groan, fighting to catch my breath when I reach the top of the stairs. This lighthouse hasn’t gotten any shorter or easier to climb, but at least I made it up here without my knees knocking together. Our new staircase is sturdy. It has proven itself.
The morning light is pink in the lantern room when I take in the wide view of the Atlantic. Huge clusters of coral and orange cumulus clouds roll toward Cape Georgeana in the wind, and the sunrise makes the fall colors on the coastline fiery.
An old weather-related proverb runs through my head:Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.
Why has something so useless stuck with me for so long? I don’t sail, and weather apps exist. But I could’ve used some red warning clouds yesterday—some indication that things were going to turn stormy. I can’t believe my mother showed up after so long. I can’t believe she called me a WASP-y Stepford Wife. That barb dug deep. She knew exactly where to strike.
I look down at Ike’s red plaid flannel, my mismatched pink shorts, and tall wool socks. Except for the ring on my finger, I’m not dressed like a Stepford Wife. Why did that accusation hurt so much? I stand at the salty window, glaring out at the sea feeling annoyed at my mother. Why did she leave me? If she didn’t wantto conform, fine. Couldn’t she have taken me with her? Or worse, did she leave me here without being coerced?
Everything hurts. I need to talk to my grandparents.
But first, Puccini. I need to sing through these big feelings.
I squeak out the first lines of “Nessum Dorma,” but my voice fades. I have an out-of-body moment, seeing myself alone and singing at the top of this lighthouse year after year. I’ve been so alone for so long. The Witch of Cape Georgeana. The woman who can move away from her apartment in the biggest city in North America without leaving a friend behind. Humiliation floods through me.
My own mother left me.
The person who should love me more than anyone in the worldleft me. What does that say about me?
Tears prick my eyes. I try to gulp down the tightness in my throat. Am I supposed to sit here in a lighthouse and process this pain with only the sound of the wind? It hurts too much.
“Why?” I scream until my voice fills the tower. “Why did she leave me?” I yell until I empty my lungs. I gasp for breath, and it turns into an aching sob.
Someone clears their throat near the bottom of the stairs. “Diana?”
Of course. Ironically, I’ve learned that I’m never alone in the lighthouse when I think I am.
