This Book Made Me Think of You(55)
As she approaches the porch, Tilly catches Ellen’s eye flashing instinctively back to the taxi as if searching. But the car is already pulling away, and then Hank strides out to meet her, reaching his arms out for her case. “Let me take that. Good to see you, honey.” His rough, bearded face brushes against hers as he kisses her cheek.
Ellen is still poised on the step, the big house silhouetted behind her. Before she can move or say anything, three golden retrievers come tearing out from behind her, circling around Tilly, tails wagging and tongues lolling in a frenzy of excitement. She drops her rucksack to better be able to stroke them, soaking up the warmth of their greeting and letting herself get entirely covered in dog hair and dribble.
It breaks something that was holding the air taut, and Ellen steps forward, calling the dogs off and wrapping her arms around Tilly in a brief hug. Then she steps away, looking at her with an expression that is hard to read.
“Welcome back. It’s good to have you here.”
“Thank you, it’s good to be here,” Tilly replies, aware that they are probably both lying.
* * *
—
“I’ve put you in the yellow room at the front of the house,” Ellen says, Hank having disappeared out to the dock. Together Ellen and Tilly carry her bags up the stairs. As they pass Joe’s childhood bedroom, Tilly gets a glimpse through the ajar door. The mattress is dented and the sheets are slightly crumpled as though someone had recently curled up there.
Ellen leads them to the bright room that looks over the lake, the bed neatly made and fresh towels on the pillow. The room Tilly and Joe always stayed in is on the other side of the house facing the woods.
“Thank you, it’s lovely.”
Ellen smooths the bedcovers, then steps over to the window, where Hank is visible down on the jetty, a fishing line trailing in the water.
“He’s been out there a lot ever since…”
It feels suddenly unbearable to be in this house with this woman, their past tensions and their shared loss making the air thick and oppressive. How will they get through the next few days together? And does Tilly really have the strength for it? Then Ellen turns around on the spot, a smile pinned to her face.
“I’m sure you’re tired from your journey. I’ll leave you to rest. We’ll eat at seven.”
When Ellen closes the door behind her, Tilly has the distinct feeling that she’s been banished to her room.
* * *
—
Over dinner Ellen gives no sign of bringing up the talk she mentioned in her messages. They stick to safe subjects: the grandchildren, the recent weather, which neighbors have repainted their houses, and Tilly’s recent travels, Tilly giving an edited account. There’s a moment when Ellen is serving Tilly a second helping of pot roast that it strikes her that Ellen’s eyes are the exact shade of blue as Joe’s, and something inside her softens, wanting to reach out for her hand. But she holds back, Ellen moving the conversation to her upcoming hiking holiday with friends, never betraying any real emotion.
Hank goes up to bed early, kissing Ellen on the cheek and giving Tilly’s shoulder a squeeze, his expression weary. Tilly and Ellen are left alone, cleaning up together mostly in silence.
“Well, good night then,” Tilly says once the dishwasher is loaded and the table is clear, the dogs snoring in their baskets in the corner.
Ellen runs a tea towel through her hand. “Tilly, I…”
“Yes?”
She meets Ellen’s eye, and for a moment her expression softens. But then she stiffens again, folding the tea towel neatly and hanging it over the handle of the cooker.
“Good night. Hank and I tend to go out early for a hike in the mornings. I know that’s not really your thing. So help yourself to breakfast.”
* * *
—
It’s only when Tilly is about to turn off her light after having read a couple of chapters of Letter from New York that she realizes she left her phone downstairs. She pushes the cover off and leaves the room, stepping into the darkened hallway.
She pauses when she sees a light on in Joe’s childhood room. With careful footsteps she edges toward the light. The door is still ajar, and through the gap she can see Ellen, sitting on the bed with a framed photo in her hand. Her eyes are red, and Tilly is about to turn away, when the floorboard creaks and Ellen looks up, her expression momentarily unguarded. Her mouth opens as she spots Tilly.
“Oh,” she sniffs, lifting a hand to her face.
“Sorry, I was just getting my phone from downstairs.”
“OK,” Ellen says quietly, her gaze returning to the photo. Tilly hesitates.
“I always liked that photo.”
Ellen looks up again at the sound of Tilly’s voice. The picture shows the whole Carter family standing beside the family boat when Joe must have been around twelve. “Joe had a framed copy on his desk.”
Ellen raises her eyebrows, her head tilting slightly. “He did?”
“He had loads of photos of you all around the house. He missed you.”
“We missed him,” Ellen says with another sniff. “We miss him.”
“I know. I do too.” So much that it feels as if her heart is being crushed inside her chest. If Joe were here, they probably would have all stayed up late, drinking and talking, because Joe always found a way to smooth things over, even if there had been disagreements. He did it that Thanksgiving, persuading everyone to go for an impromptu and freezing dip in the lake, which broke the tension and ended with everyone huddled around the fire in their pj’s drinking hot chocolate. But Tilly is no Joe, and she hesitates in the doorway, unsure whether to stay or leave.