Miriam trying to prevent her from falling in love with Tony in the first place. She knew. She knew what she was trying to save Evelyn from. She thought she knew better by not letting her marry the fisherman. And Vivie—Miriam just wanted to be sure, before she let Joseph say yes, that her youngest daughter was making a smart choice and not falling in love with the New York equivalent of a longshoreman. She couldn’t have known what that would do.
Evelyn shook her head, realizing that everything she knew about her mother was only a half truth. That she really believed she had her daughters’ best interests at heart all along. And honestly, maybe she did. Could Tony have given her the life Fred had?
Wiping the tears from her face, Evelyn took a deep breath. It was time to go home. Not to the Main Street house, but to her family. But first, she would go back to the cemetery, the earth still fresh from the clods she had helped to throw, and tell her mother that she understood and forgave her.
CHAPTER SIXTY
When we pulled up to the cottage, Tony was sitting in the wicker rocking chair on the front porch, reading a newspaper and looking as if he lived there.
“What made you call Tony?” I asked my grandmother, gazing up at this man who played such a pivotal role in her life, yet who hadn’t existed to me a week earlier.
“Who says I called him?”
“Pretty amazing timing if he just showed up here with a boombox held over his head the other night.”
She pulled a compact out of her purse and lifted her sunglasses to apply powder. “What made you go to Joe’s? I’d imagine it was all the same reason.”
I thought of the kitchen counter that night and colored slightly. I glanced over to see her smirking.
“On that note, I don’t think I’ll come in.”
She winked at me and returned the compact to her purse, unhooked her seatbelt, and climbed carefully out of the car. Then she leaned back in the window. “We leave Monday morning.”
It was Friday.
And the reality hit me with the force of a truck that I didn’t want to go.
“Monday—but—can’t we just—”
“Monday.” Her voice was empathetic, but firm.
“Why?”
“Because I have business at home on Tuesday.”
“What business? What could you possibly have left to do after this trip?”
“Darling, I mind my own; you should mind yours.” She straightened, calling to Tony, and walked slowly toward the cottage stairs.
Monday.
She opened the screen door, leaning down to kiss Tony’s forehead before going into the house. He rose to follow her.
Monday.
I pulled out my phone and checked the time, then drove down toward the end of the road. But instead of going to Joe’s, I turned to go back into town.
I parked my car at the top of the hill on Main Street, got out, and crossed the street to stand on the sidewalk in front of the bank. Closing my eyes, I imagined the house from the pictures in my grandmother’s album, its walls rising in front of me. My grandmother running up the steps with my grandfather, dashing back down them to chase after Tony.
Life is complicated and messy for everyone.
I opened my eyes, the house evaporating.
Then a flash of red caught my eye. A cardinal. It flitted from the roof of the bank down in front of me, then swooped around the side of the building and out of sight.
I glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then left the sidewalk to follow it. As I rounded the building, my lips spread into a smile. There, at the back of the bank, stood my grandmother’s pear tree, the bird perched on a low branch, his head tilted as he studied me. I approached the tree and placed a hand on its trunk, the wood familiar beneath my hand, realizing what my grandmother meant when she said this place was in my blood.
“Thank you,” I whispered to the cardinal, who nodded as if he understood, before returning to the car.
Monday, I thought as I sat behind the wheel, not ready to put the car in gear. Monday.
I took a deep breath. The safe thing to do was to end it. There was an expiration date on this relationship—or whatever it was—now.
You have to make a choice, my grandmother whispered in my head. Do you let fear win?
I pulled away from the curb. And like my mother before me, at my grandmother’s prodding, I decided to jump.
We should have gone to sleep early Sunday night. I had a long drive ahead of me with no licensed driver to take a shift. But by the time we tried to fall asleep, neither of us could.
“I’ve got more than a month before school starts. I could come back.”