CHAPTER 54
Piper climbed onto the stepladder she’d just carried up two flights of stairs and, feeling slightly winded, reached up to unscrew the bulb in the rafters. “Oh my goodness! I’m more out of shape than I thought!” She screwed in the new bulb and discovered that having her arms over her head made her feel even more out of breath. “We need to get out running again,” she told Chloe—who had followed her up the stairs and was now nosing around the dusty, cluttered attic. She climbed down and pulled on the string, and the new bulb flickered to life. “And there was light!” Piper said, smiling.
She set the dead bulb on a table near the door and made her way through the maze of boxes to her mom’s hope chest. She lifted the top and the familiar scent of cedar drifted out. She carefully removed the tray of beads and the stack of letters tied together with faded red ribbon, picked up the stack of sweaters, and lifted out the old photo album. When she opened it, the photo of the five of them in front of Nauset Light—the one in which they had their arms around each other—was on top. She gazed at it and then put it on her dad’s old mission chair. She closed the album and started to put it back, but then a small white and blue baseball cap tucked down between the sweaters caught her eye. She pulled it out and ran her fingers lightly over the faded red felt B stitched on the front.
“Mom? Are you up here?”
In the back of her mind, Piper heard Elias coming up the stairs. “Hey,” he said, standing in the doorway. “Do you know where the . . . Sheesh! There’s a lot of stuff up here.” He started to pick his way through the boxes. “Mom?” he said softly. “What’s the matter?” He came up behind her and looked over her shoulder. “Hey, that’s a cool cap. Whose was it?”
Piper swallowed. “It was Easton’s.”
Elias frowned. “Your brother’s? He was a Red Sox fan?”
She nodded, pressing her lips together. “He was. He loved baseball . . . and he was wearing it that night. . . .”
“The night he died?” Elias asked.
Piper nodded again, the memory of the long-ago night rushing back to her as if it were yesterday . . . the memory of standing on the beach, shivering and crying and feeling utterly lost while her father and sister screamed in anguish.
“Did you know it was up here?”
Piper shook her head, fighting back tears.
Elias picked up the old photo she’d put on the chair and studied it. “Is this you?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Look how cute you were,” he teased, trying to get her to smile.
She laughed and brushed back her tears.
“And is this Easton?” he asked.
“It is. I always thought you looked like him when you were little.”
Elias nodded. “It’s such a great picture. I love how Aunt Sailor is making bunny ears behind Aunt Remy’s head—that is so typical,” he said, laughing.
“It is typical,” Piper agreed with a chuckle. “So Sailor.”
“What are you going to do with the cap?”
“Put it back,” she said, tucking it back in her mom’s hope chest.
Elias watched as she piled sweaters and letters and trays of beads on top of it and then shook his head. “My psychology professor would call that a classic example of literally burying a memory.”
“I’m not burying a memory,” Piper said defensively. “I just don’t have time right now. We have a lot of people coming this weekend.”
“Which reminds me—I came up here to see if you know where the trimmer is?”
“It should be in the shed or in the garage. Did you ask Dad?”
“He’s not here—he had to run up to the sanctuary.”
“He did? Doesn’t he know I need help here, especially since you guys are going to Boston tomorrow.”
“He said he’d be right back,” Elias said, picking up the album that was still sitting on a box. He slowly turned the pages. “Are these pictures of Grandma and Grandpa?”
Piper looked over his arm and nodded.
“How come you never showed them to me?”
“I don’t know . . . because I avoid coming up here.”
“I thought I got my height from Dad, but look at Grandpa—he was pretty tall.”
“Six-foot-two,” Piper said, nodding.
“Where’d they get married?” he asked, studying the beautiful, old wedding photos.
“In Boston.”
Elias looked at her thoughtfully. “Mom . . . how come you and Dad never got married?”
Piper smiled. “I was wondering if you were ever going to ask that question.”
“I’ve always wondered—it’s kind of odd to have parents who love each other and who’ve lived together but never married. All of my friends think you are married.”
“And how come you never told them we weren’t?”
“They never asked.”
“They never asked . . . and you never volunteered the information because you didn’t want them to know.”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug.
Piper nodded. “Well, my dear, life is complicated . . . as are relationships—as I’m sure you’re figuring out. Your dad did ask me to marry him . . . on a couple of occasions, in fact, but I wasn’t ready. I guess I found the idea of being wholly committed to one person a bit frightening because . . . what if something happened? What if I lost him?
“But then, when I was pregnant with you, something changed—I felt that I was ready. I was so full of love for you . . . and he was part of you, and as I felt you growing inside me and my love growing for both of you, I began to think I was ready to take a chance, but then, your dad never asked again—I guess he was tired of being turned down.”
“How come you didn’t ask him?”
“That’s a good question,” she said, smiling, “and I don’t know the answer. Why don’t we go see if we can find that trimmer?”
Elias nodded, still holding the album. “Is it all right if I bring this downstairs so I can look at it some more?”
“Of course,” she said, tucking the black-and-white photo under her arm to take down, too.