“Charley, you’re gone,” he reminded her. “You can come with us, you know.”
“You know that depends on a lot of things, mostly Meg.”
“And how is our Meg?” he asked.
“She’s looking so much better. And she’s stronger. I’m filled with hope. But she’s thin and still needs two naps a day, so...”
“I’ll bring Eric in the summer,” Michael said. “In fact, I can’t wait.”
At least he didn’t say he’d send Eric. “I wish you could see it right now,” she said. “School isn’t out yet so the lake is still quiet. You can hear a fish jump now and then. Someone will whistle for a dog or maybe shout the dog’s name. No speedboats but the occasional putter of a motor on a bass boat out in the big lake. It’s so peaceful. Restful. Good for thinking.”
“I’m sorry Meg’s illness was what took you away, but after the shitty way your year started out, this might be just what you need. Has Louise reared her ugly head?”
Charley laughed. “Oh, yes. She tried saying she wouldn’t allow us to come here, but when Meg said she’d have to call the police and arrest us, she tried other tactics. She won’t be joining us. We’re not at all sad about that. But guess who says she’s coming? Hope. She says so, anyway.”
“And Beverly?”
“She says she’s not sure if she’s ready for that much reality.”
“It might be just the two of you all summer,” Michael said.
“I’m perfectly all right with that idea,” Charley said. “Being here alone I tried to remember all the good things that happened when we were children. That’s what Meg’s been doing. It turns out it’s not that hard to do. I’m remembering so much.”
“Too much?” he asked. Because of course Michael knew about that summer romance that went awry, leaving her an unwed mother.
“Actually, I’m remembering that last summer more kindly now. Do you know what never occurred to me at the time? In fact, it didn’t occur to me until very recently. My summer love who ran for his life when he found out my grandfather was a judge—he might’ve been afraid of a statutory rape charge. I was sixteen. He was nineteen. We both lied about our ages. And he said he was from the city, but I heard from one of the other waiters that he wasn’t—he was a local kid. If I’d been near here when I found out I was pregnant I could’ve tracked him down, but I wasn’t, and then they sent me away. When I made contact with Andrea seven years ago, all I could tell her about her father was that he was nineteen and he’d said he was Mack but that wasn’t his real name.”
“You could ask around now,” Michael said.
“You think he could still be around after twenty-seven years?” she said. “Maybe after I’m here a little while.” But what she didn’t want to say, what she couldn’t quite say, was how she still found it so embarrassing. She was made to feel humiliated by the way she was sent away. Thinking about facing the locals to say there was a man out there who should know he has a child who was now twenty-seven, married, with children of her own, was intimidating. Yes, the sophisticated talk show host might be able to spit out something like that in the big city, but out here in the small farm towns, facing old-fashioned Methodists who went to church every Sunday was different. Feeling like a fool had always been her weak spot.
But she vowed she would try. After she got used to the idea.
* * *
The next day Charley put her iPod in the speaker bay she’d brought along and, to the comforting strings of Vivaldi, she folded freshly laundered towels and put them in the linen closet. She hung two fluffy yellow towels in the bathroom. It had been such a relief to sleep amid smells of lemon oil and pine needles rather than the motel’s economy disinfectant that bore a ghastly resemblance to cheap talc.
She went to make a pot of coffee. Just as she turned on the machine she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. She was drawn to the kitchen window for a closer look. There was a young girl sitting across the lawn in one of the freshly painted chairs that Melissa had put out in the yard. She had a small suitcase on each side of the chair. For a second Charley almost felt like she was looking at a memory; the girl’s hair was stringy, her jeans ratty, her T-shirt ragged and grayish, her jacket a cheap, dated corduroy. With a closer look, she realized it was not a girl, but a woman. A small, familiar woman.
“Krista,” she whispered. “What the hell?”
When they were little girls, aged one through six, they looked like towheaded clones, but as they grew older they each took on more individual characteristics. Charley was tall, her face angular, her hair a dark auburn, while Megan was only five-three and when she’d had hair their mother had called it dishwater blond. She hadn’t seen Krista in a long time, a couple of years since she’d visited her in prison. In fact, Charley had only visited her a handful of times the whole twenty-three years. But from the distance of one hundred yards she looked the same as she had the last time she’d seen her, her brows thick and straight, her hair that nondescript and shapeless brown, her mouth harshly set. She was Megan’s height and probably didn’t weigh a whole hundred and fifteen pounds.
Charley wondered, not for the first time, what kind of baggage prison would leave Krista with. She could have visited her more often. But she hadn’t. The whole experience of visiting Chowchilla had been so horrid.
It was odd the way she sat out there, watching the house. What was she doing here? Meg had sent her a note telling her the lake house would be open from June through August but it wasn’t yet June. And Krista was supposed to be in prison, for God’s sake. Last Charley had heard, she wasn’t even eligible for parole.
It was sunny but chilly outside. Charley shivered and found her heaviest sweater. She turned on the oven to begin to warm up the place, then on the spur of the moment opened a can of biscuits, tucked them into a pan, covered them with butter, sugar and cinnamon and popped them in the oven. But the cold air, smell of coffee and hot cinnamon biscuits and sounds of music hadn’t drawn Krista to the porch.
Well, Charley decided, she’s having trouble with this. So I’ll have to bring her in and get her story, find out what she expects of me. I’ve done that for a living for years.
Charley tucked a woven lap blanket under her arm, poured two steaming cups of coffee and went out into the yard. Krista watched her cautiously as she approached but she didn’t move. She neither rose to greet her cousin, nor did she bolt.
Charley knelt before her, placing both coffees on the ground. She unfurled the blanket and wrapped it like a shawl around Krista’s shoulders. Then she placed a warm mug in Krista’s hands. “Krista, why are you sitting out here? Did you escape?” she asked.
Krista shrugged.
“Really?” Charley said with a sarcastic laugh.
Krista’s lips moved into a smirk. “Once I got here, I realized you might not be happy to see me. I was giving you a chance to send me away.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I’m a convicted murderer, maybe?” Krista replied with sarcasm of her own.
Charley put on her impatient interviewer face. “I know you didn’t murder anyone, Krista. How’d you get out?”
“A miracle. Some big-shot lady lawyer got me out. I stopped believing something like that was possible a long time ago.”
“That’s a relief. I’m glad I don’t have to harbor a fugitive.” Krista made a face and Charley smiled. “Wanna come in? Or you wanna sit out here by yourself?”
“So you’re okay with this, then? Me being here?”
“I’m not afraid of you, Krista. I think