Ivy stood with her mother and Bennett at the San Diego airport, waiting for the flight the concierge had arranged for Maya.
“That’s her,” Carlotta said, waving to a taller, more angular version of herself. She clasped her hands to her chest in anticipation.
Ivy put her arm around her mother, who was quivering with excitement. Carlotta’s eyes were bright with emotion. Seeing the joy on her mother’s face was worth the effort Ivy had put out. She only hoped that after all these years, the reunion wouldn’t prove a disappointment.
While they waited for Maya to reach them, Ivy wondered how the rift between the two sisters had grown over time. She couldn’t imagine being estranged from Shelly or Honey.
As Maya neared them, Carlotta held her arms wide. Joyful tears glimmered in her eyes. “Maya, mi hermana.”
Her sister choked out a single word, “Carlotta.”
For a moment, the two women stared at each other, searching for the familiar and willing the years to fall away. In an instant, they fell into each other’s arms, the past a memory and the future theirs to create.
With Bennett standing next to her, Ivy was overcome by what this meant to her mother. She was eager to hear more family stories, especially about Pilar, the middle sister.
On the drive from the airport, Carlotta and Maya sat in the back seat of Bennett’s SUV, catching up on what time had stolen from them. This was the aunt Ivy hadn’t seen since she was a very young girl, and she was surprised at how different Maya was from her mother. While Maya was a little older than Carlotta, she seemed weary, not only from the trip, but from life in general.
To Ivy, watching the long-estranged sisters greet each other had been like opening a journal to her mother’s life, with a view to a past that Ivy had almost forgotten existed. She had expected the tearful reunion, but what lay ahead intrigued her even more.
“Do you remember visiting Summer Beach?” Carlotta asked Maya as Bennett turned onto the main road. “Papa brought us here one time.”
Peering from the window, Maya grew quiet. “I never thought I would return. It has changed little.” Her aunt’s voice trailed off, and she seemed lost in another thought.
“We’ve tried to retain the community’s original character,” Bennett said. He turned onto the beachfront lane in front of the inn.
Ivy touched her aunt’s hand and nodded toward the grand old home. “Welcome to the Seabreeze Inn, Aunt Maya.”
Bennett drove past the front of the home. Shelly’s seasonal profusion of summer flowers, from blushing pink to riotous reds this year, lined the front walk. Towering palms stood guard at the entryway, swaying in the ocean breezes.
Maya’s eyes widened, and her face paled. “This is your inn?”
“We’re in the process of an ongoing renovation,” Ivy replied, nodding. “We like to call it shabby beach chic. Shelly has done wonders with the garden, and the former owner left some priceless antiques that came with the house. You’ll have her lovely suite, which has an incredible view of the ocean.”
Blinking, Maya touched her forehead. “What was her name?”
“Amelia Erickson,” Ivy replied. “She and her husband Gustav were art collectors from San Francisco.”
Maya pressed a hand to her mouth. “I had no idea… I don’t know if I can stay here.”
Confused, Ivy looked to her mother, but Carlotta looked just as perplexed. “We’ve taken extra care to make the room comfortable for you. It’s quite cheerful.”
“Perhaps it is.” Maya squeezed Carlotta’s hand. Nevertheless, the color drained from her face, and she stared at the house, sadness pooling in her eyes.
Ivy couldn’t imagine what was going on in her aunt’s mind. What had come over her?
Bennett turned into the car court behind the main house. “I’ll take up the bags if you’d like to make your aunt a cup of tea.”
“That’s just what we need,” Carlotta said, patting Maya’s hand. “Traveling can be exhausting. We also have fresh squeezed orange juice. We can sit on the patio and take in the sea air. It’s quite invigorating.”
“I’ll tell Diana you’ve arrived.”
Maya stepped toward the sketch Ivy had discovered, her attention riveted on the drawing.
“You found it,” Maya said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ivy touched her shoulder. “You’ve seen this before?”
Maya drew a breath and nodded. “Not in many years.” Her expression melted with compassion. “It looks so much like her.”
“Who is that, Aunt Maya?”
But Maya only shook her head.
Carlotta crossed the parlor and stood beside her sister. Together, they gazed at the sketch as if entranced. “Is it really her?”
Maya nodded. “Ivy favors her a great deal. I noticed the resemblance at the airport. She has her eyes.”
“It’s Pilar, isn’t it?” Ivy gestured at the sketch that captured her expression. In art classes, she had attempted a self-portrait. Drawing her own eyes had been the hardest part for her.
Shelly and Poppy stepped into the room, looking quizzical at the somber mood.
“Pilar was our middle sister.” Maya smiled sadly at the young woman whose image gazed back at them through time.
“Where did this piece come from?” Carlotta asked.
“I found it downstairs,” Ivy replied. Quickly, she explained how she’d discovered it.
Maya gazed at the portrait. “I was there the day he began drawing.”
Carlotta looked perplexed. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Times being what they were.” Maya raised a hand and let it fall as if that explained everything.
In studying the portrait, Ivy saw such an expression of love in Pilar’s eyes. She turned to her aunt. “You met the artist?”
Maya pressed a hand to her chest as if a secret so great constricted her ability to breathe. “It was her young man. Flavio.”
Ivy peered at the signature. “I can’t make out the name very well.”
“Flores.”
Carlotta tilted her head. “Flores de…?”
Maya nodded. “Bourbon. The families were quite close in Spain. You were probably too young to recall much.”
Sadness washed across Carlotta’s face. “He must have been devastated, too. Did he return to Spain after the accident?”
“He did,” Maya said.
“Were they engaged?” Ivy asked.
Averting her gaze, Maya hesitated. “A marriage was out of the question for them due to prior commitments.”
“Poor Pilar.” Carlotta kissed her fingertips and pressed her heart.
Shelly looked between her mother and aunt. “I’m not following any of this. If that’s your sister, what is her sketch doing here?”
“Amelia was a collector and patron of the arts,” Carlotta said. “I imagine she acquired the piece. Yet it seems sad that it was here all this time; I know our mother and father would have loved it to remember Pilar.”
Shelly was right. This explanation didn’t make sense to Ivy either. “But Aunt Maya, you said you were there. You knew Flavio. After Pilar died, wouldn’t he have kept the sketch or given it to your parents?”
“Maybe he needed the money and sold it to Amelia,” Shelly said.
“Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Maya’s face flushed, and she reached to a chair for support. “I must rest now.”
While Carlotta helped her sister up the stairs to her room, Ivy threw a look at Shelly and Poppy. “Aunt Maya knows something she’s not sharing.” She approached the sketch and leaned in, searching for answers or clues. “What are you hiding, dear Pilar?” The eyes gazed back at her, and a sweet smile curved her lips but revealed no secrets.
“Maybe we’re approaching this all wrong,” Poppy said. “What information would an older sister conceal to protect a younger one?”
“You might be onto something.” Ivy turned toward Shelly, who was fidgeting with the edge of her blouse. “What secrets would I have kept from you—fifty years ago?”
“You have to consider the family, too,” Poppy said. “They were very traditional.”
A thought occurred to Ivy, but before she could speak, Shelly blurted out, “I have to check on Daisy.”
Ivy watched as her younger sister darted from the parlor just as Maya had. She stepped closer to the sketch and picked up the board the paper was mounted on.
“Where are you going with that?” Poppy asked.
Ivy shifted it onto her hip. “I want to take a closer look at Pilar, and the light is better in my studio.”
Poppy trailed her and helped move an easel to a bright window open to the sun.
Ivy picked up a magnifying glass and pulled up a stool to inspect the sketch, the thick paper, and the decorative veneer board it was mounted on.
Poppy hovered nearby. “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know. Something that looks unusual. I’m trying to think as Amelia would have.”
“It’s a shame that an accomplished woman like her deteriorated in the clutches of Alzheimer’s,” Poppy said. “I’ve read that science is making advances now.”
“That’s right. But it wasn’t only her disease.” Ivy peered closer. “The war affected her on a psychological level. Think about how she rescued the masterpieces in the basement and offered sanctuary to others in her attic. Amelia grew accustomed to concealment and was committed to helping people.”
“Do you think she knew Pilar?” Poppy asked.
Ivy recalled what her aunt had said when she arrived at the house. “I don’t know. But I think she’s been here before. A long time ago, maybe when it was Las Brisas del Mar.”
“That would mean she knew Amelia.”
“Maybe.” Ivy paused with the magnifier in mid-air. “Or maybe my grandmother knew her. Both were accomplished and active in the Southern California community.”
“Did she ever say anything?”
“I was so young I wouldn’t remember anyway. Even so, I believe Maya is hiding something.”
“She doesn’t seem malicious.” Poppy eased onto a stool beside her. “What if she thinks it’s something that would hurt the family? This might be like Pandora’s box.”
“You mean, once opened, it might unleash revelations we’d wish we didn’t know?”
“It’s possible.”
Shelly appeared at the doorway. “What are you doing with that sketch?”
“Taking a closer look.” Ivy turned. Shelly hadn’t been gone long. “How’s Daisy?”
“Still asleep. For now, anyway.” She took a step forward. “What were you saying about Pandora’s box?”
“I’m convinced Maya has been here before.” Ivy told Shelly what their aunt had said in the car. “I think this sketch has a history she’s not sharing.”
“Or she’s not quite ready to,” Shelly said. “Sometimes people don’t know how to talk about sensitive topics.”
“Especially if they’ve been keeping a secret for a long, long time,” Poppy added.
Shelly coughed into her hand. “And if it might affect other people.”
“That’s a real consideration.” Ivy angled the sketch toward a shaft of bright light and examined it under the magnifying glass. A heart-shaped pendant or locket with an engraved rose hung from her neck. But there was something else. “Well, what do we have here?”
Poppy and Shelly leaned in.
Ivy pointed to a faint line. “The pencil dust has gathered there for some reason. Maybe something brushed on top of it, but I have another idea. There’s a razor blade and a sharp knife in my tray. Would one of you bring them to me?”
“On it,” Poppy said. In a flash, she was back, carefully wielding the sharp instruments.
Using extreme care, Ivy slit an edge of the thick paper that was affixed to the wood. She slid the flat blade under the old paper until she felt something. Working carefully, she coaxed out a corner of a paper. Faint writing covered one side.
“Is that the provenance?” Poppy asked.
Ivy glanced at it. Pilar’s name was at the top. Under it was another brief entry. “More than that, I think.” She stood and tucked the note into her pocket. “I’m going to get some answers.”
Shelly sucked in a breath. “I’ll go with you. I can bring Daisy.”
“Me, too,” Poppy said.
Ivy shook her head. “Let’s not overwhelm Aunt Maya. But I promise to tell you everything.” She still had to pass on her mother’s stern advice, too. “Mom wants us to show Diana and Aunt Maya more respect. They’ve been through a lot that we might have misinterpreted.”
Shelly and Poppy traded sheepish looks and nodded in agreement.
Ivy climbed the creaky wooden stairs to her old bedroom, the one that had once been Amelia Erickson’s, too. As she lifted her hand to knock, she recalled the strange shadow she’d once seen in the room and wondered if Maya would sense a presence there.
Ivy lifted her chin. Not that she believed in that sort of thing, but she was willing to admit that some people might be attuned to such things. Her mother certainly was.
Still, she had an inn to run, and if something like that got out… Besides, she had more important questions for her aunt. She tapped on the door. “Aunt Maya, may I come in?”
Carlotta opened the door. “Come in. Maya is resting,” she said quietly.
Her aunt was leaning against the decorative pillows Ivy had positioned against the headboard. “Is there anything I can bring you?” Ivy asked, acutely aware of her mother’s eyes on her.
“No, dear. But I’m glad you’re here.” Maya patted the edge of the bed. “Do sit down.”
Ivy glanced at her mother, and she nodded her approval. As Ivy eased onto the white duvet she and Shelly had arranged, she sensed an energy in the room. But it wasn’t Amelia; it was a heaviness, a burden, that seemed to surround Maya.
“We’ve been talking, mija.” Carlotta sighed. “We missed so much in these past years.”
“It was my fault.” Maya folded her hands in her lap. Her eyes contained a deep sadness. “I have something to share with you, Carlotta. It’s probably better with Ivy here.”
Carlotta sat next to her sister and smoothed a hand over her shoulder. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you. If you’re ill—”
“Nothing like that.” Maya grasped Carlotta’s hand. “Many years ago, I swore to my mother that I would protect you. And our family honor. I was already married, but you were young. We couldn’t risk telling you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Carlotta drew her brow together. “We had no secrets in our family.”
When Maya hesitated, Ivy spoke up, “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have,” Maya said. “But we’re jumping ahead in the story.” She picked at a thread on the duvet. “Carlotta, you were too young to understand. But when Flavio visited with his mother, he and Pilar fell in love. Our parents separated them, and Flavio returned to Spain. He had a duty, a marriage that was already arranged.”
“In the portrait, I could see the love in her eyes,” Ivy said.
Maya nodded. “They had a great love and continued writing to each other. Before long, Flavio returned to California to look for her. I was the one who told him where she was.”
“What do you mean?” Carlotta asked.
“In those days, young women were usually sent away for...” Maya raised a hand and let it drop. “Pilar was pregnant. Our mother knew Amelia Erickson, so she asked if Pilar could stay here. In those days, pregnancy was a stain on the entire family. That would have ruined our youngest sister’s chance of marriage.”
Carlotta’s lips parted with surprise. “I never knew she was pregnant.”
Yet, that made sense to Ivy. “Amelia had helped others during the war and after.”
“Amelia Erickson was a brave woman who didn’t care what anyone thought of her,” Maya said. “I only met her once, though it was rumored that she was suffering from dementia. Her devoted staff ran the house and looked after her and her guests. It wasn’t unusual for Amelia to take in visitors for extended periods of time.”
In listening to Maya, Ivy was beginning to see her aunt in a new light. Her mother had been right. “Were there other girls here?”
“Only one that I knew of,” Maya replied. “I wasn’t supposed to know where Pilar was, but I overheard a conversation between our parents. I missed her so much that I just had to see her. And I wasn’t the only one.”
The years melted from Maya’s face as she spoke, and Ivy was transported into the story. “Flavio was with you?”
“He was desperate to see her. Oh, he was so handsome, and he loved her so much. I picked him up along the way, and he showed me the ring he’d bought for her to propose.” Guilt-ridden over her revelations, Maya looked down. “I drove the new car Papa had given me for my birthday. The convertible.”
Carlotta drew in a sharp breath and passed her hand across her forehead.
“That day, we sat on the patio in the sunshine, and Flavio sketched Pilar.” Maya smiled wistfully at the memory. “I left them alone, and when I returned, he had proposed. I’d never seen Pilar look so happy, though I knew our parents would be furious. Flavio was engaged to a young woman from a very important family. Their fathers were in business together, so Flavio’s father and Papa had both been quite dismayed.”
Maya gestured toward the car court. “Pilar suggested we run away right then. My car was parked down there. I thought she was joking. But she slid behind the wheel—she barely fit with her huge belly—and turned the key I had left in the ignition. Before I knew what was happening, the car lurched forward. I jumped into the car and tried to stop her. Flavio wasn’t fast enough.”
Maya squeezed her eyes against the memory. “Pilar didn’t know how to drive, so when she stomped on the gas pedal, the car shot out onto the street like a bullet. She was happy and laughing, and the wind was slapping her long hair across her face. I pleaded with her to stop, but a split second later, she swerved to avoid hitting someone. She lost control of the car and it slammed against that rock at the edge of the beach. The car flipped…I don’t know how many times. I was thrown free, but she was trapped behind the wheel.” Maya gulped back a sob. “It all happened so quickly,” she whispered.
“But I always thought you were driving,” Carlotta said, clutching her hand.
With shaking hands, Maya reached for a glass of water from the nightstand and gulped it down. Tears rimmed her eyes, and she brought her sister’s hand to her heart. “That’s what I told our parents. For me to let Pilar drive would have been beyond reckless—it would have been unconscionable. She’d never been behind the wheel, but Pilar thought if I could drive, she could, too. I don’t think our parents believed me, but I felt so guilty that I had to claim the responsibility.”
Ivy slid her fingers along the old piece of paper she’d tucked into her pocket. She hardly dared ask the question, but she had to. “And the baby?”
Tears slipped down Maya’s cheeks. “By the time I awoke in the hospital, Pilar and the baby were both gone. We never knew if our dear sister carried a girl or a boy. The nuns who staffed the hospital told us it had been impossible to tell after the accident. The thought of that was so sad.”
“I think I can answer that.” Ivy brought out the paper. “I found this tucked in back of the sketch.” She read the date, and Maya nodded. Then she read the rest. “It says, baby girl.”
Maya gasped. “They knew and didn’t tell us?” She embraced Carlotta, sobbing against her shoulder.
Ivy rested her hand on her aunt’s narrow back. “Perhaps they only meant to ease your grief.” Maybe the nuns thought if the baby did not have an identity, the loss would be less painful over time.
Learning this story and watching her mother and her aunt—even now, still grieving for their sister—Ivy blinked back tears of her own.
Maya clung to Carlotta. “If only I hadn’t left my keys in the car or if I’d tried harder to stop her. I was utterly devastated—it was the end of my life as I’d known it. I couldn’t face you or our parents without thinking about the pain I’d inflicted on all of you.”
“It was simply a tragic accident,” Carlotta said. “That’s what I was told.”
“But there was so much more.” Maya shook her head. “The tighter I held this secret, the worse it became. I couldn’t bear to talk about it or face any of you. If I never saw you, I could pretend none of it had happened, but it gnawed at me every day until my insides were raw. I prayed so hard for forgiveness, yet I never felt deserving of it. In the end, I robbed you, my dear Carlotta, of both your sisters. And my children hardly knew their grandparents or the rest of the family.”
Maya’s deep sobs were heartbreaking, but Carlotta embraced her sister and waited until her grief was spent. Ivy sat beside her aunt with her hand on her shoulder, offering her the support she needed until, at last, Maya was quiet.
“You’ve suffered enough,” Carlotta said, gazing into her sister’s eyes. “If you’re ready, I would love to have you back in my life. Let’s not waste the time we have left.”
“I’d like that,” Maya said, sniffing. “I’ve missed you so much, but I worried that you’d think I was a horrible person if you knew what I’d done.”
Carlotta smoothed wisps of hair from her sister’s face. “I might have been the youngest, but I remember how impetuous Pilar was. Had I been in your place, I’m sure I couldn’t have reined her in either.”
Ivy eased from the edge of the bed. “I’m looking forward to spending a lot more time with you, Aunt Maya.” She smiled and added, “Tia Maya.”
Maya held out her hands and beamed at Ivy. “I always thought your mother was bragging about you, but now I see she was entirely justified.”
Ivy embraced her, grateful for the chance to be reunited. Maya was a woman she wanted to know better now.
Ivy excused herself and left them alone to catch up on the time they had lost. Her mother had been determined to reunite with Maya, but neither of them had suspected the secret she had harbored for so many years.
Ivy made her way downstairs. She could hear Shelly tending to Daisy with Poppy and Sunny in the kitchen. Wanting to see Pilar’s sketch with fresh eyes, Ivy made her way to her art studio at the rear of the house.
She slid onto a stool and gazed at Pilar’s expressive eyes. This time, in the young woman’s shy gaze, she saw courage and hope. Knowing the story behind this sketch and the love Pilar had for Flavio and their unborn child gave Ivy a deeper appreciation.
She touched the edge of the thick paper. Finding Pilar’s portrait had been a stroke of luck, and in a sense, served history. Learning that the child Pilar had carried was a little girl meant a lot to Maya and Carlotta.
“Thank you for keeping this secret safe,” she said softly. Amelia Erickson’s actions might have become odd as her illness grew, but what she treasured, she kept as safe as her mind could grasp.
Ivy wondered how life might have worked out for Pilar and Flavio if they had been allowed to follow their hearts and marry. That had been a time of forged alliances and arranged marriages in certain families—and it hadn’t been that long ago. Young women—hardly more than girls—might have been viewed as mere chattel to bind families and merge businesses. Ivy sighed at the thought, which she knew was not entirely outdated.
She arranged the portrait on an easel and stepped back to admire it. The only thing left to do was to share her aunt’s story with her sisters and others. Honey and Shelly, and Poppy, Sunny, and Misty. Pilar’s heart-wrenching life was part of their history, and they all deserved to know how she had lived and died.
Ivy opened the door and paused. Happy laughter echoed through the house now. Her mother and sister had been reunited, and her aunt had unburdened herself. Ivy didn’t want to put a damper on the festivities. Surely this sad story could wait a little longer. What difference could it possibly make? She shut the door to her studio.