“Do you remember a woman named Carol Silver?”
Monica gives me a soft smile. “Your mother?”
My pulse stops. I nod.
“Yes,” she says. “I knew her. We met in the summer of 1992. She used to come here to mail packages back to…” Monica looks to me. “To you,” she says. “To her daughter.”
I see Carol in the lobby that first morning.
“She used to send photos, for a while, after she went back home. When you two decided to take your trip this summer, she got back in touch with me. I knew she was sick; I just didn’t know how ill.”
Monica touches my arm. I think about Nika’s sweetness, the powerful woman before me she’s grown to be. How was it just yesterday that she was twenty-five years old?
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” she says.
“Thank you.”
“You know,” Monica says, “when I first saw you, I knew there was something so familiar about you. It was almost like I’d known you before.” She pauses. She touches my cheek. “You really must take after her.”
Chapter Thirty
I take Eric upstairs to room 33. When we get inside, I notice it has been made up. There’s a new quilt on the bed, fresh towels in the entryway.
“I feel pretty gross from the plane,” Eric says. “Is it all right if I shower?”
“All yours.”
I gesture to the bathroom. “I’ll be on the balcony,” I say.
He sets his bag down, unzips it. I see him take out all the familiar toiletries. His Old Spice deodorant. Electric toothbrush. The Burt’s Bees face cream I buy him at Whole Foods.
He gives me a little wave and heads into the bathroom.
I go to the safe and take out my cell phone. And then I walk onto the balcony and dial the most familiar number in the world to me.
He picks up after the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Dad,” I say.
“Katy!” His voice, lately devoid of warmth, immediately lifts. I hear the familiar rumble in it, the energy of his personality behind every syllable.
“Hi,” I say. “How are you?”
“Oh, you know, getting by.” I hear a clattering of something—plates?
“It’s late. Are you in the kitchen?”
“Indeed I am.”
“Dad,” I say slowly. “Are you cooking?”
“There’s this corn salad she used to make that I miss,” he says. “How hard could it be?”
I look out over the late morning. Everything bathed in a bright yellow light. Blue. Green. Brilliant.
“Dad,” I say. “Why did no one ever tell me that mom left? When I was a baby, why did no one ever say she came here?”
There is silence on the other end of the phone, and then I hear him inhale. “Who told you that?”
“Someone here at the hotel,” I say. “They remembered her.”
I hear my father clear his throat, then: “She loved you so much. Immediately. I’d never seen a bond like the two of you shared. But we… It happened fast, Katy. And I think she got lost in the shuffle. It was all too much for her, and she needed some time.”
“What did you say when she wanted to leave?”
My father pauses. “I told her to go,” he says.
The wind picks up. From somewhere in the marina, I hear music begin to play. I think about my mother here, mere hours ago. I think about the sacrifice of my father. I think about Eric in the shower.
“How did you know she’d come back?”
“I didn’t,” he says. “That’s how I knew I really loved her. I knew already, but that changed our marriage for me. Ultimately I think it let her come home.”
“What do you mean?”
“Because she knew it, too. She felt that freedom. It felt like love. The best thing I ever did was letting your mother go. No one is perfect, Katy. Perfect doesn’t exist. What we had was pretty fucking good, though.”
I’ve never heard my dad swear. Never, not once. And for some reason, this makes me laugh. I feel the bubbling in my belly, and then my shoulders are shaking, right on the balcony.
“Eric is here,” I tell my dad, gulping in breath.
“I know,” he says. I hear the lightness in his tone, too. “He called me. I told him to go.” He pauses. “Did I do the wrong thing?”
I hear Eric, out of the shower. I see him in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist. “No,” I say. “You didn’t.”
“Katy,” he tells me. “History is an asset, not a detriment. It’s nice to be with someone who knows you, who knows your history. It will get even more important the longer you live. Learning how to find your way back can be harder than starting over. But, damn, if you can, it’s worth it.”