Carolyn didn’t. “No, but then I don’t know everyone in town.”
Susannah pushed the hair away from her forehead. “Like I said, I haven’t told Joe about this. I feel so guilty, as though I’ve been unfaithful, but I haven’t done anything. I wouldn’t risk my marriage over this. I’m just curious, you know?” She looked nervously at Carolyn.
“And you want to find out what happened to Jake.”
Susannah slowly nodded. “Yes. I want him to be happy and to let him know that I am, too. I’m not interested in starting an affair.” She smiled. “As Erma Bombeck once said, I don’t have the underwear for it.”
Carolyn laughed.
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I have to tell you it feels good to discuss this crazy idea.” She paused, staring into the distance. “All I want is five minutes with Jake. Even a phone conversation would satisfy my curiosity. Is that so terrible?”
“No.” Carolyn understood, but although she didn’t say it, she agreed with Joe. Susannah’s discontent—apparent in this sudden urge to find her high school boyfriend—was somehow connected to her father, to his death. She knew that the relationship between Susannah and her father had been a difficult one; this was a huge loss in Susannah’s life, whether she accepted that or not.
Once more her friend made a circular motion with her straw setting her ice cubes clinking. “You were always the kind of friend I could talk to. I would never have made it through those last five months in France without you.”
“We were good friends,” Carolyn said simply, thinking Maybe we can be again.
The waitress came by and they ordered fresh drinks. “I should head back to Mom,” Susannah said reluctantly, “but I don’t want to leave. Talking to you has really helped. I don’t feel nearly as guilty or alone as I did earlier. Thank you for that.”
“Do you know how long you’ll be in town?” Carolyn asked. Her friends were few, and she had little life outside of the mill. She gardened, fed the deer that ventured on to her property, did a bit of needlepoint and worked fifty-or sixty-hour weeks. That was the sum total of her activities.
“I’ll be here for two or three weeks,” Susannah told her. “It all depends on how things go with Mom.”
The waitress returned with their Diet Cokes.
Carolyn picked up her drink. “If you get a chance, stop by the mill and I’ll give you the grand tour.” It would be fun to show her friend the improvements she’d made, even if Susannah didn’t understand their importance.
They talked for another fifteen minutes, and Susannah tested her French, which after all these years was surprisingly good. Carolyn remained fluently bilingual. Toward the end, Carolyn’s mother had spoken exclusively in her mother tongue.
“I remember that my conversational French improved according to how much wine I drank,” Susannah said, laughing.
Carolyn grinned. “Mom made me learn French as a child. I grew up speaking both languages.” She rarely used it now, but she certainly didn’t regret having the ability.
“Have you gone back to Paris since high school?” Susannah asked.
“A few times. My grandparents died in the war and I only had one aunt, who never married. My mother didn’t want me to lose my heritage and I’m grateful for the time I had there, but my life is in Colville.” Carolyn knew why her mother had insisted she study in France. She’d been hoping her daughter would meet a nice French boy and fall in love with him. Unfortunately, Brigitte hadn’t realized how closely the nuns watched over their charges at the boarding school. Any chance of meeting boys inside—or outside—those convent walls had been virtually nonexistent.
Susannah checked the time. “It’s nine o’clock. I’d better go. Mom’s probably waiting up for me.” She took a deep breath, then said, “I’ve made arrangements to take her to visit a couple of assisted-living facilities tomorrow.”
“She doesn’t know yet?”
Susannah shook her head. “I thought I’d broach the subject over dinner, but I couldn’t do it. Mom was so pleased to have me with her and so excited about going out to a restaurant, I didn’t have the heart to upset her.”
“She misses your father, doesn’t she?”
“Dreadfully. Which is understandable—they knew each other their entire lives. Mom’s completely at loose ends without him, but that’s not the worst of it.” Susannah shook her head. “As we were driving back to the house, Mom got very quiet. She said she had something important to tell me. She claimed that my father had come to her earlier this week.” Susannah closed her eyes for a few seconds. “Her neighbor had already told me about this. But to hear Mom describe it…”
“She’s missing him so much that her mind must be conjuring him up,” Carolyn suggested.
“That was my reaction at first, too, but then Mom told me he walked her home. This wasn’t some momentary visit, some trick of the mind. Her hand nearly left bruises on my arm, she was so adamant. My mother says she spent at least half an hour with my father.”
Shocked, Carolyn couldn’t come up with anything to say. Except that Mrs. Leary was obviously in bad shape, and Susannah already knew that.
CHAPTER
6
The next morning, Susannah walked through her mother’s garden, seeking a moment of peace. It was something she often did at home during the summer, wandering through her own garden, assessing the state of her flowers, inhaling their fragrance, making plans for the day. She noticed that Vivian’s plants and flowerbeds were in reasonably good condition—better than she’d expected.
Afterward, she returned to the house for coffee, hoping there’d be some milk or cream. She opened her mother’s refrigerator and was appalled at what she found. The cheese had grown moldy. A tomato had shriveled up and shrunk to half its original size. Containers filled with leftovers crammed the shelves, most of them several days, if not weeks, old. Along with that, Susannah saw a number of small tinfoil packages; she assumed these were bits of meat. She had no intention of finding out. Almost everything should’ve been discarded long ago.
The coffee perked in the old-fashioned pot behind her. Of course she hadn’t discovered the carton of milk she’d wanted but the door of the fridge held many small bottles and jars, some of them unopened. Just how many types of mustard could one woman accumulate? Susannah counted twelve different varieties—at least eight more than she’d seen during her visit in March.
“I didn’t hear you get up,” Vivian said, coming into the kitchen. She tied the sash of her housecoat around her waist. Susannah noticed that her mother had taken to shuffling her feet, as if her slippers were too heavy for her. She took tiny steps and looked so much older than she had even a few months ago.
“Good morning, Mom,” Susannah said cheerfully.
Her mother brought down a cup and saucer from the cupboard and set them next to the coffeepot. “Did you sleep well?”
“Very well.”
Her mother nodded. “Do you need something?”
Susannah glanced back inside the refrigerator and remembered her father shouting at her as a kid to close the refrigerator door. “I was looking for milk,” she said.
“I have lots of milk.” Vivian seemed surprised that Susannah hadn’t found it. “I’m positive I got some just the other day.”
Susannah moved a number of plastic containers onto the counter and sure enough, an unopened milk carton rested at the back of the top shelf. Bringing it out, she placed