Page 8 of The Fault Between Us
Dad gave her a tired nod. “Good luck, sweetheart.”
She went up the stairs and let herself into Frannie’s room. Her sister was lying on her pink chenille bedspread sniffling, and two flounced pillows lay across the room on the floor. Bridget dredged up a kernel of sympathy, remembering the little girl she and Claire had dressed and walked to school, holding her hand to cross the streets. Why had Claire left Bridget with this mess?
Frannie threw a third pillow across the room. “He hates me.”
Bridget sat down on the bed and smoothed Frannie’s short blonde hair away from her tearstained face. When was her little sister going to stop being such a baby? At eighteen, Bridget had been studying to get her nursing degree, not failing high school and getting arrested for climbing the water tower. Her courses and then working at the hospital had required her to grow up fast and keep her emotions under control. “That’s ridiculous and you know it.”
“It’s true.” Frannie turned her face to the wall and her voice went to a whisper. “I’m the reason Mother left us.”
Bridget stared at the back of her sister’s head, too stunned to answer. They never spoke of Mother. And how could Frannie blame herself for something that happened when she was a baby? She pulled at Frannie’s shoulder, a sudden emotion welling in her chest as her eyes smarted. “Frances Marie Reilly, that is absolute nonsense.”
Frannie blinked and two tears ran from the corners of her eyes.
Bridget swallowed hard. This wasn’t the time to get sentimental and certainly not about something so long ago nobody even remembered it. “Mother didn’t leave because of you or me or Dad or anyone.”
“Then why did she?” Frannie whispered.
Bridget didn’t know. And it didn’t matter. “It doesn’t help to go digging up the past.” It was what Claire always said, and Bridget believed it, too. “And anyway, we’re just fine without her.”
Bridget wiped the tears from Frannie’s face with a corner of thecrisp cotton sheet, then leaned down and kissed her forehead like she’d done when Frannie was small. “Go to sleep now and don’t forget your prayers.” She covered her little sister with the bedspread. “Things always look brighter in the morning.”
When Bridget finally settled down with her book in her bedroom across the hall, the predictable plot and romantic settings didn’t let her escape her thoughts. What had got into Frannie, talking about Mother? Did she really blame herself for their mother leaving, or was it just another way for Frannie to be dramatic?
Bridget slipped the bookmark into the pages and turned off the lamp. She’d take her own advice and hope that things would look better in the morning.
Bridget woke early, washed her face, and dressed in her nurse’s uniform for her last shift at Willmar General. Downstairs, Dad sat in the dining room in his suit and pressed shirt, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. The newspaper was folded in front of him instead of open to the baseball scores.
“Morning.” Bridget grabbed the toast Flo had put out. “Do you need anything at Rexall’s?” She had a list of sundries she needed for her trip, then she had an appointment at the hair salon before her shift started.
“Bridget.” Dad motioned to the chair opposite him.
Bridget glanced at the door. She really had so much to do today.
“It’s important.”
“Is this about Yellowstone again?” He wasn’t going to fuss about her trip now that everything was arranged, was he?
“It’s about Claire.” He pushed an envelope across the table. “Got this in the morning mail.”
The envelope was addressed to her but already opened. She felt a twinge of irritation. She would have shared the letter with Dad, of course, but would it hurt to let her read Claire’s letter first? She pulledthe single sheet from the envelope and a twenty-dollar bill fluttered to the table.
Bridget read through the few lines and glanced up at her dad. “She says she’s fine.”
“I don’t think she is.”
Neither did Bridget. The letter was like the rest they’d been getting for the past six months—woefully short and uninformative. “She wants you to take back the money, of course.” Dad insisted on sending money every week and every week Claire sent it back.
Dad took the letter back, as if he could read something more between the lines of perfect cursive. “When she went out to that place with Millie, she wrote pages of news every week. And sent photos. I only have one picture of my grandchild. And this.” He waved the single sheet. “Something isn’t right.”
Dad always referred to Yellowstone—where Claire had gone to work for a summer with Millie two years ago, and where she’d met Red—asthat place. When Claire came home after that summer, Dad hugged her like she was returning from war and told everyone that she had got that adventure out of her system.
He’d been wrong.
Claire had put her toe in the water, and then promptly jumped in over her head.
Bridget tucked the letter back in its envelope, leaving the money where it lay. “She’s busy with Jenny. That’s all.” She didn’t want him to worry about Claire until she knew what was going on.
Dad picked up a piece of toast, then set it down on his plate without taking a bite. “It’s not right to raise a baby without family, Bridget. You tell Claire that. She needs to come home. I can give Red a job at the store and they can live here until they find a place of their own.”
