“Sayre?” someone says from behind me.
It’s Red. I recognize his voice before I even turn around and when I do, I discover he’s standing there with someone else.
Another man.
A man whose tired face is grave under the brim of his cap, a man who stands back a ways, with his hands in his jeans pockets as if he’s not sure he’s welcome.
A man who is seven hard years older and whose dear, steady, hazel gaze shines with tears, and in that split second of realization the heartbroken wail that’s been waiting inside me all these years comes out as one small, yearning, whisper.
“Beale.”
Chapter 27
“I’M SORRY,” IS THE FIRST THING I say to him, and the tenth, and the twentieth because when we finally end the tight, tearful hug and step back, I can see by the lines of his face and the shadow of pain in his eyes that what we did to him seven years ago was not easily overcome, and will never be forgotten.
For me, either.
Red embraces us both and leaves, called away to bring comfort to someone else.
We sit, Beale and I, knees turned toward each other.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” he says, glancing down at our joined hands, and when he looks up, his eyes fill with tears again and all he says is, “Why, Sayre?”
And that is the question. It has always been the question.
I tell him that, and more.
A lot more.
I tell him all I know about my family, about our real life before him, and then about it afterward, and he listens hard without interrupting, he hears the story beneath the story and when I’m finally done, he looks at me, shaken, and says he could use a cup of coffee. I’m forced to tell him I don’t have any money, and he hugs me again and in a gruff voice says he’ll buy, and so side by side we leave the end-of-life wing and head down to the bright, bustling cafeteria.
He buys breakfast sandwiches, too, and we find a table in the back where we can talk undisturbed, and as we eat he tells me what it was like, coming home that day and discovering that my mother had not only abandoned him but had stolen from him, too.
“I knew it wasn’t you,” he says, even before I can ask.
My eyes fill with tears. “This was all I managed to save,” I say, touching the ruby velvet blazer’s lapel.
“My mother made that,” he says, swiping a quick hand across his eyes.
“I know,” I say hoarsely. “It’s my family heirloom.”
We sit silent a moment, remembering.
“I tried to see you, you know,” he says, glancing at me from beneath the brim of his hat. “It took me a while to find out where you’d gone but once I did, I went out there every week, but no matter when I got there you weren’t around. And then it got pretty nasty between her and me—”
“I know,” I say, becoming very busy neatening my side of the table. “I mean, I didn’t know about you coming by—”
“What?” he says, sitting up straighter. “She didn’t tell you?”
“No, I never knew. She never said anything about it until, like, two weeks ago, when we had our big fight.” I can see by his astonishment that he still doesn’t understand the way it was. “I had no idea you ever came to that cabin. I just thought you, I don’t know, gave up on me, I guess. I mean I wasn’t your kid, so what could you really do? Nothing.” I catch his wounded gaze and say, “I’m not saying that to be mean. It wasn’t that I didn’t hope you would come because I did, every minute of every day. I waited and waited but as far as I knew you never showed up, and I thought it was because of how we left and that you couldn’t even stand to look at me again.” The tears in his eyes are killing me. “There was no one I could ask, Beale. We never talked about you or Ellie or Aunt Loretta after we left. Never. I wasn’t even allowed to say your names! The one time I did, she slapped me right across the face and told me never to bring it up again.”
“Jesus Christ,” he says softly, “I didn’t know.”
“I know,” I say, and reach across the table for his hand. “And I know what she threatened you with, too, and I don’t blame you at all for never coming back. I swear.”
“She told me that you were the one who thought it was weird, me still trying to see you,” he says, averting his gaze as if embarrassed. “She made it sound like you thought I was some kind of pervert, and that she was gonna call the law to report me and protect you and that was just . . . too much. I . . . I couldn’t . . .”
“All lies,” I say, releasing his hand and sitting back.
“Dear God,” he mutters, shaking his head.
The silence stretches.
“The gravestones are beautiful,” I say finally. “And Ellie’s picture . . .”
“Yeah,” he says, and then with affectionate regret, “little baby girl.”
I stare down at the table, trying hard not to cry.
“I got your card,” he says, looking at me. “It meant a lot. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say and try to smile.
“Did you see what I brought you?”
I frown. “No, when? After Thanksgiving?” And when he nods, I say, “No, I haven’t gotten the chance to go back yet. What is it?”
“If I tell you it’ll ruin the surprise,” he says, with the ghost of his old grin.
“I know, but what if it’s not there anymore? What if somebody stole it?”
He gives me a good-natured look that says he knows what I’m doing, but tells me anyway. “Well, I remembered you only took that one picture off the fridge when you left, so I printed you out all of them, everything I had from that year and made up an album for you.”
He looks so pleased with himself that I laugh through my tears, and run around the table to hug him. “Thank you,” I whisper, burying my face in his neck and breathing in his familiar, woodsy smell. “That’s the nicest thing anybody ever did for me.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, and wipes his eyes when I pull away and sit back down. “And damnit, now I have to admit that putting them in the album was Terrie’s idea. My wife. You’d like her, Sayre. She’s a vet tech out at the Scranton SPCA and she wants to rescue every animal she sees.” He smiles. “She’s got a real good heart.”
“I’m glad,” I say, plucking a napkin from the dispenser and blotting my cheeks. “So then you guys still live up on Sunrise Road, right? You kept the farm?”
“Well, it was touch and go for a while,” he says, tilting the brim of his cap up and leaning back in his seat. “I almost sold it. Too many bad memories.”
“So why didn’t you?” I say, toying with an empty coffee creamer.
“Too many good memories,” he says quietly and gives me a small, sideways smile. “It took me a while to remember that, though. It was pretty bad until Terrie bought Miss Mo’s old place. I thought she was nice and all but I wasn’t looking to get involved with anyone, so we were friends for a while, getting to know each other, and one day I just woke up and realized I couldn’t imagine my life without her.” His smile widens. “Turns out she knew it way before I did.”
“Good,” I say and it’s all right this time, having two violent emotions at once, being over-the-rainbow thrilled that the person I love more than anyone left on earth has found happiness, but at the same time knowing that his happiness can’t include me. I’m yesterday, and at best, the bearer of bittersweet memories. His new life is tomorrow, a bright and beautiful future stretching right out ahead of him.
The door to the past we just managed to open is slowly clanging shut again, and I am powerless to stop it.
“So, enough about that,” he says, studying my face. “You still in school?”
“Graduating in June with all As and Bs,” I say and manage a smile. “I work, too, down at the Candlelight busing tables.”
He nods, impressed. “What abo
ut home? Where are you living now?”
“I have no idea,” I say and tell him about Harlow and my unfortunate exit. “Which reminds me, I have to stop back there. I left a stray kitten and a coffee can with my seventy-three dollars in it under his trailer.” I try to keep my voice light but it isn’t working, and I can hear the worry setting in. “Not that he knows it, of course. He’d shoot the kitten and take the money if he did.”
“And this is where you’ve been living,” Beale says in a flat voice.
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” I say, shrugging. “I turn eighteen in five months, though.”
“Where are you going to go until then?” he says.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll think of something.” I give him a weak smile. “There’s always good old foster care.”
“All right, that’s it,” he says abruptly, thumping a hand down on the table like he’s come to some kind of a decision. “I don’t know what you’re going to think of this now, seeing as how you’ve gone through some pretty hard times these last years, or what you’re going to think of me for the way I handled it, but . . . what the hell. There’s no point in waiting. Remember back when you and your mom moved up to the farm, and she insisted on paying me rent?”
“Yeah,” I say, puzzled.
“Well, I knew there was some animosity between you two, so I never told her what I did, but I didn’t need that rent money, Sayre. The farm was doing fine, so I went down to town and opened a savings account in your name, and put it all in there. I figured it could go toward your college—”
“Because I was such a genius,” I whisper, my eyes flooding with tears.
“And because that’s what my father did for me, opened me a secret savings account and just kept dropping extra money in so that when I graduated high school and went out into the world I’d have a little something to fall back on.” He clears his throat. “So that’s what I did for you, Miss Sayre Bellavia, and I, uh, added a little here and there over the years, so . . . It’s not a fortune, right around six thousand dollars or so, but it’s there, and you can have it right now if you want.”
I nod and fumble for his hand because I can’t speak, can’t do anything but pluck handfuls of chintzy little napkins from the dispenser and wad them up to stem the flow from my eyes.
“You know what?” he says when it becomes apparent that I’m a lost cause. “This place is starting to get to me. Let’s take a little break. What do you say to a quick ride out to the farm? It won’t take long. I just want you to meet Terrie and, uh, see what I’ve done with the place.”
“Sure,” I manage to say. “I have to come back, though, and visit Evan. I told you, the guy who went over the cliff so he wouldn’t hit me.”
“Tell you what,” Beale says, rising and stretching. “Why don’t you run up and see him while I go get the truck, and I’ll meet you out front in fifteen minutes? I want to call Terrie and let her know we’re coming.”
“So she knows who I am?” I say hesitantly.
“Of course,” he says with a gentle smile. “She knows pretty much everything.”
“Okay then,” I say, blotting my face and blowing my nose into the tissue. “Fifteen minutes. And, Beale?” I wait till he turns back to face me. “Thank you.”
He reaches out and gives me a quick, solid, one-armed hug. “Anything I can do, Sayre. I mean that.” He steps back, and cocks his head, studying my face. Nods to himself, and breaks out in a wide grin. “Okay. Fifteen minutes.” Pulls his keys and his cell from his coat pocket and heads out the door.
I stop quickly in the bathroom to wash my face and smooth my hair. My mascara wore off ages ago and my eyes are swollen from the wind and the snow this morning and all the crying today. I know I look awful but I don’t feel that way.
Patient information tells me that Evan’s room is on the third floor but when I get there, the curtain around his bed is closed. There are voices coming from behind it, though, and so I knock on the door frame and call, “Evan?”
There’s a scrambling sound and panicked, he calls, “Uh, wait. Uh, who is it?”
“Sayre,” I say. “From this morning?”
“Now?” he yodels. “Oh, come on, God, are you kidding?”
I fall back a step, hurt, and then an elderly, gray-haired nurse’s aide pops her head out from behind the curtain, waves a wet washcloth at me, and says with a grin, “He’s a little busy right now. We’re getting him all cleaned up for surgery and he isn’t exactly fit for mixed company, isn’t that right, Ev?”
“Your timing is killing me, Sayre,” he says with both frustration and laughter in his voice.
“God, I hope not,” I say, smiling and leaning against the door frame. “You sound pretty good. How’s the knee?”
“Heading for surgery,” he says, and then the bed squeaks and he yelps. “Whoa, that’s cold! Here, let me do it. Hey, Sayre, I’m on some pretty potent painkillers, can you tell?”
“Yeah, but don’t make a habit of it, okay?” I call, only half joking.
“I won’t,” he says, sounding suddenly solemn. “Did you, um, see your mom?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “She’s going fast.”
“Aw man, I’m sorry,” he says, over the sound of splashing water. “That really sucks.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “Well, I guess I’d better get going. I’m really glad you’re feeling better.”
“Hey wait, listen,” he says and then to the aide, “Is she still there?”
The aide pops her head out, then back in. “Yup.”
“Sayre?” he says and now his voice sounds a little funny. “Uh, I know you’ve got a lot going on right now and if you can’t, I totally get it, but, uh . . . could you maybe come back later and hang out for a while? I mean if nothing happens with your mom and all. Or even if it does, and you just want to talk or something. My surgery’s not till four and I uh . . . look a lot better now than I did last night.”
I straighten and clap a quick hand over my mouth, hiding the sudden, astonished smile. “Well, that’s a relief. Um, sure, I can probably come back. And if I can’t, I’ll call and let you know, okay?”
“Okay,” he says, in a voice that sounds way too happy for a guy going under the knife. “Then I’ll see you later.”
“ ’Bye,” I say, and whirling, take off down the hall as fast as I can because it’s weird and strange and totally inappropriate but there’s a brand-new bubble of delight rising inside me and when I start laughing I really don’t want him to hear it.
Chapter 28
BEALE’S CELL PHONE RINGS WHEN WE’RE halfway out of town.
He takes it, and I sit there, still as a stone, listening to him say, “Uh-huh, yes. I see. I will. I know. Thanks, Red. Good-bye.” He hangs up and turns to me, his face solemn. “That was Red. Your mom passed away seven minutes ago, at eleven thirty-four this morning. She went peacefully. Candy was with her, and is taking care of the arrangements.” He reaches across the front seat and takes my hand. “I’m so sorry, Sayre.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying to decide how I feel.
I don’t know.
She was so sick for so long, and now her pain is over.
But her life is over, too.
I’m actually an orphan.
Sometimes I’ve felt like one and once I wished I was one, and now I am one.
Bellavia, an unconnected name for an unclaimed person.
“You know, we don’t have to go out to the farm right now,” Beale says, glancing over at me. “It can wait. We can go right back to the hospital and I’ll help you with whatever paperwork you need to do.”
“No, let’s keep going,” I say, because that’s what I need to do. “Candy’s there, and she knows more about my mom than anyone, even me.”
“You sure?” Beale asks, gently tugging my hand so
I look at him. “Because it’s no problem, Sayre. I don’t want you to worry about stuff like that. I meant it when I said if there’s anything I can do, I will, okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper, with tears in my eyes. “Thank you.”
We drive in silence for a while.
The snow is coming down hard and Sullivan’s plow trucks are out in full force. We’re heading slowly up Sunrise Road to the top of the mountain and I quick clean the condensation from the window with my hand, staring out as we pass Miss Mo’s house nestled in deep drifts of snow. The sidewalk isn’t shoveled and the carport is empty. It looks dark and deserted, and that makes me sad because that’s where it all began for me, with her kindness, in that cozy little house.
I turn to ask Beale about it but we crest the hill and there’s the farm spread out before me, acres of raspberry canes and fruit trees blanketed in snow, and then the house, golden light shining from the windows, a pine Christmas wreath on the front door, and smoke coming from the chimney.
I knit my hands together in my lap and glance over at Beale.
“It’ll be fine,” he says, pulling into the driveway and parking the car.
I follow him up the steps and for a moment, a ghostly strain of “Stormy” drifts through my mind, and suddenly I don’t know if I can do it, don’t know if I can walk into this house when I don’t belong here anymore.
He notices my hesitation, slides his arm around me in a quick hug, smiles, and opens the door. A warm rush of apple-and-cinnamon-scented air greets us. “We’re home,” he calls, ushering me into a foyer that is familiar yet thankfully different at the same time.
It feels strange being here, but good, too.
Welcoming, in a long-lost friend kind of way.
“You changed the wallpaper,” I say, blinking hard to clear the tears and glancing around. “It looks nice.”
“Yeah, we redid a couple of things,” he says, shrugging out of his coat, hanging it on a hook and doing the same with mine. “Terrie is pretty good at—”