Chapter Thirty-Two
Donna fed Lucy breakfast. There was no sign of either Richard or Josh this morning. Donna didn’t say where they were and Lucy lacked the courage to ask. Lucy wasn’t really hungry, but she ate anyway. It promised to be a long day.
She had cried for a good while the night before and when she was done, Donna had put her to bed. Surprisingly, she’d slept well. This morning, she was calm, but resolved. Whatever she had come here to do, it was done. You couldn’t go back and rewrite the past, you could only move forward.
“What will you do now?” Donna asked as Lucy shrugged into her coat.
“Go home.” Lucy looked away quickly. She had done enough crying for the time being.
“Are you sure?” Donna fastened her scarf around her throat. “You could stay here. If you wanted to stay.”
“I can’t do that.” Lucy shook her head. “Tell Josh, thank you very much. I left a message on his phone this morning, but will you make sure he gets it?”
“I will,” Donna responded, nodding, and turned her blue eyes on Lucy. Lucy struggled to hold their keen stare. “What should I say to Richard?”
Lucy opened her mouth and then shut it again. She had no idea what to say to Richard.
“You promised me, belle fille,” Donna said softly, “that you would be careful with him this time.”
“I know.” Lucy swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I didn’t know this would happen, though.”
“I think you should talk to him before you go,” Donna suggested. “He will not like it if you leave without saying anything, like you did before.”
“I’ll . . .” The idea of lying to Donna did not sit well. “I will try, but if I don’t, will you tell him something from me?”
“No, belle fille.” Donna shook her head sadly. “If you cannot find it in you to say it to him yourself, then it is not worth saying.”
Lucy nodded and looked down at her feet. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, for everything.”
“Bonne chance, belle fille.” Donna gripped her face between her palms and kissed Lucy on the forehead. The touch of her lips was like a guilty brand on her skin as Lucy opened the door and let herself out into the morning.
Willow Park had thrown out its best this morning. It was a clear, crisp winter day. The sun shone out of a sky so blue it made her eyes water. The fresh, clean snow glittered with millions of points of light. Its pristine beauty tugged at her. See, Lucy, it seemed to say. You can go, but there will always be a piece of you here, with us.
Everywhere she looked, people were out and about enjoying the milder weather and the sunshine. A group of young girls clustered outside Mr. Martin’s store and argued about something, happily and loudly. They were like a flock of chattering magpies, all made up and blinged out.
As she passed Mr. Martin looked up from the service counter and waved.
Lucy waved back.
He was totally immune to the chatter of teenage girls. He had seen them all go from buying Twizzlers to squealing and parading on the sidewalk outside his shop.
A small group of boys parted for her to walk through. About six hundred pounds of testosterone and the same again in attitude, they slunk closer to their target. Sooner or later, every teenager in Willow Park found their way to the old bench outside Old Man Martin’s. Nothing much changed here.
Except for Lucy Flint. Lucy Flint had changed. The woman she was today was not the girl she had been. She was not even the woman who’d driven in on a blizzard a few short weeks ago.
Past the bank she went. Somewhere in there, Guy Lewis would be working, Guy who she’d used and abused merrily for a short while. He’d cried when she made her amends and hugged her and told her she was still the most beautiful girl in the world.
Lucy smiled and looked through the window of the bookshop. Not such a success. Mr. Baker was not inclined to forgive Lucy’s attempt to get sexist literature burned. They had been learning about the sixties at school, feminism and banning the bomb. Lucy had gotten carried away. Mr. Baker still nursed a grudge.
Across the street, the old restaurant had changed hands. Lucy worked there in her final year of school. The former owner had been her kind of boss, never around to check on her, but always there before closing for a drink. She had not managed to track him down. Apparently, he was drinking his way through liver failure. It made her sad and it reminded her of why she was still at this, one day at a time.
Nope, not much changed in Willow Park. She went through her mental travelogue, ticking off the made amends as she walked. For the most part, people had been kind and overwhelming in their generosity of spirit.
In the bakery, she caught sight of Brooke and her son. His little-boy death stare tracked her motion past the shop. Brooke caught sight of her and looked away as quickly. Sometimes, there was no going back.
The house was silent as she strode down the deck toward the front door. The ghosts were still there, hanging around the corners of the house, but they had lost the power to frighten her. The front door jammed. Lucy tugged it slightly toward her, turned the handle, and then shoved. The door opened.
“Lucy?” Her mother appeared at the top of the stairs. “Oh Lucy, where have you been?” Tears glistened in the depths of Lynne’s faded eyes.
“I was with Donna.” Lucy took off her coat and hung it up. “Didn’t she call you and tell you?”
“You should have called.” Lynne sniffed, and hunted up the sleeve of her cardigan for the Kleenex always tucked there. “Your father has barely slept all night.”
“You’re right, Mom. I should have called.” Lucy pulled a Kleenex out of her pocket and handed it to her mother. She was done with tears for the moment.
“What are we going to do?” Lynne took the Kleenex and mopped at her eyes.
“Nothing.” Lucy reached over and gave her mother a hug. “We are not going to do anything. As much as can be done, has been done.”
“Your father had a very bad night.” Lynne tucked her hands up the sleeves of her cardigan. “He is very disappointed in you.”
Lucy paused in midstride and then walked past her mother and into the kitchen.
“I’m disappointed in myself. I let myself down when I was drinking.” Her mother opened her mouth to say something, but Lucy cut her off. “But I’m not drinking anymore and I don’t need to keep crawling for forgiveness. Not from anyone.”
“Well, of course, we forgive you, Lucy,” her mother insisted.
“Really?” Lucy looked at her mother. She almost laughed. “From where I’m standing, your forgiveness feels a lot like judgment. But it doesn’t matter,” Lucy continued. “Because I forgive myself.”
Making amends to Richard had been hard. This one was like swallowing razor blades. Carl sat in his new chair—a brighter, more colorful version of the old one—and gloated at her triumphantly.
“I’m on my way, Dad,” Lucy said to him. “I came to say good-bye.”
“So, now you’ve said it.” Carl sniffed, and turned the sound up on his remote.
You can be right or you can be free, Lucy reminded herself sternly.
“Um, Dad, could you turn that down?” She motioned to the television. “I wanted to say one more thing before I left.”
“I don’t have any money for you.” Carl didn’t look away from the television. He pointedly put the remote down on the arm of the chair.
So be it. Lucy stepped into the room and raised her voice slightly. “I wanted to say I was sorry, Dad.”
He kept his eyes glued to his program, but there was an almost unnatural stillness as if, for once, she had truly surprised him.
“I am sorry for all those times I worried you or embarrassed you. I want you to know how truly sorry I am for any harm I have done you. I was a confused and angry little girl and I didn’t always think of what my actions would cost other people. I know better now and so, I’m going to do better.”
Carl stared straight ahead of him. His mouth moved as if he were chewing something over silently.
This was for her peace. At the end of the day, it was all about that and now it was done. This was about being able to hold her head up high, free of the guilt and free of the anger. It was time for Lucy Flint to step out of the shadow of her past and into the sunlight.
“I really am sorry, Dad. I’m going to make it up to you, in any way I can.” And there it was, lying in the ether between them. The one, true instance of honesty they had ever shared. Father and daughter, locked in an eternal battle, constantly circling each other like a pair of bristling dogs.
“Hmph.” Carl pulled down the corners of his mouth as he watched the television. “Is this what they teach you in those meetings of yours?”
“It’s what I have to do to be free of the stuff that could make me drink again. I need to be proud of myself again and to do that, I need to break free of the past.”
“That easy, huh?”
Lucy had to laugh. “Trust me, Dad, this is not easy.”
Carl shook his head sharply and then he smiled, a small quirk to the side of his mouth. “No,” he said, and gave a gruff chuckle. “I am sure it’s not. You always did have your share of pride, but you came by it honestly. I was never one to apologize easily.”
An answering smile tugged at her mouth. The silence stretched between them as Lucy stood there, reluctant to let go of the brief flicker of accord.
In the background, the television blared hockey statistics.
It was as good as it was going to get and it was enough for now. “I’ll see you around, Dad.”
“See you, Lucy.”
She turned to go, but he stopped her before she left. “You got everything you need, Lucy?” She didn’t turn. He wouldn’t like her to see him unbending. “For your studies and all, you got everything you need?”
“Yes, thanks, Dad. I have.”
“Hmph.”
“Bye, Dad.”
Lucy closed the door quietly behind her.
Lynne waited on the other side wringing her hands anxiously. She blinked slightly when Lucy gave her a calm smile.
“I think he’s ready for his lunch,” she said. “I’ll go and finish packing up.”
“Did you upset him?” Lynne wanted to know.
“No.” Lucy shook her head. Amazingly, she hadn’t upset her dad.
“Where the fuck have you been?” It was the first time Lucy had ever heard Mads yell. “I have been having a purple shit fit over here.”
“Hey, Maddie Mads.”
“Don’t you ‘Maddie Mads’ me. I am so mad at you. I have been going crazy trying to find you.” Lucy heard Mads haul in a ragged breath. “Are you all right?”
“I am, now?”
“What does that mean?” She could hear Mads trying hard to get over her temper and be rational.
“It means, I was shit, but I’m all right, now.” Lucy looked around her bedroom, checking to see if she had left anything. “You saw the pictures?”
“Yes.” Mads went quiet, briefly. “Do you know how they got on the Internet?”
“I do and now they are off again. For what that’s worth.”
“Fuck.” Mads drew a ragged breath. “Why are you so calm about this?” she demanded suddenly.
“Can you think of a better reaction?” Lucy gave a dry laugh. “I didn’t drink, Mads.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Mads huffed indignantly, “because that would be the most fucking stupid thing you could ever do. Even more stupid than disappearing on your sponsor.”
“I really am sorry, Mads.”
“I’m still sulking, but I’ll get over myself in about a year or two.”
Lucy smiled. Her face felt stiff with the effort it took.
“So, are you coming home now?” Mads asked softly.
“Yes, Mads.” Lucy blinked away a tear. “I am coming home.”
Lucy drew the zipper around her suitcase. She reached over and straightened the heart-shaped pillows. She would leave the room as she had found it. Elliot had called it right, it was a shrine to a girl who had been. That girl still existed, she hadn’t disappeared, but she had grown up and grown stronger and she wasn’t hiding anymore.
Lucy unpinned a picture of her and Richard. She couldn’t even remember where it was taken, but he was looking down at her with his heart in his sky-blue eyes and she was laughing. The pain almost made her double over and she tucked the picture into the side of her suitcase. Later, she promised herself.
It took Lucy about twenty minutes to disentangle herself from Lynne. Now that the car was loaded and Lucy all ready to go, Lynne started to fuss. Did Lucy have her ticket? Yes, Mom, it’s all electronic now. Did she have a passport? No, Mom, I don’t need one, just my driver’s license.
And then, Lucy must call her as soon as she arrived and wasn’t it good the weather was so clear. It gave Lucy something to concentrate on other than the growing ache in her chest.
Carl did not appear to say good-bye and Lucy didn’t look for him.
The walk had still not been shoveled. Richard had not been by.
Lucy shook off the thought as she left her mother inside the front door. More promises to call as soon as she got in and to come back soon.
She was so intent on getting out the door that she didn’t notice Brooke until she almost barreled into the other woman.
Brooke had her little boy with her and he stood by his mother’s side, clasping her hand with a huge, red mitten. All Lucy could see over his scarf was a pair of pale-blue eyes that matched his mother’s.
“Brooke?” Lucy prompted when it didn’t look like the other woman was going to speak.
“Lucy?” Brooke wore her zebras again. Her gaze shifted from Lucy to the boy by her side. “This is my son, Brad-Leigh.”
“Hello.” Lucy dredged a warm smile up from somewhere.
The boy blinked back at her.
“You’re leaving?” It was more of a statement than a question and Lucy merely nodded.
“I needed . . .” Brooke stopped and took a careful breath. “I didn’t know what Ashley would do with those pictures,” she said, the words tumbling out of her. “They were sent to me a few years ago, because Jason had left me as a forwarding address.”
Brooke shook her head in confusion. “I don’t know why he did that, but he did. Anyway, he left them behind him with some other things and the owners of that apartment sent his stuff to me. I threw everything else away, but I kept those.”
“Well.” Lucy took a slow breath.
Brooke’s little boy stared up at her warily, as if sensing the tension in the air.
“You got what you wished for, Brooke,” she said eventually. “You made me crawl.”
“It doesn’t feel like I thought it would.” Brooke frowned and blinked her eyes rapidly. She shook her head abruptly, as if clearing it, and looked up at Lucy again. “I have two children now with my husband, Christopher.” She paused again and her eyes gleamed with moisture. “I wanted you to know that I am happy, now.”
“I’m glad, Brooke.” Lucy looked down at the child again. It was easier than looking at his mother.
Inside some of the pressure eased. It must have taken all she had for Brooke to come here like this. She was not Ashley, neither of them was, because both she and Brooke had within them the capacity for forgiveness. Lucy took Brooke’s hand. “I’m truly glad you are happy.”
“Good.” Brooke nodded and returned the pressure on her hand before releasing it. “Take care, Lucy Flint.” The other woman turned to go. “And be happy. I wanted you to know that I wish that for you, too.”
Brooke helped her son down the steps and loaded him into a shiny SUV. She waved as she drew away from the curb.
Lucy quickened her steps toward her car.