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Kelly paced the great room of her grandmother’s house, her insides in turmoil. How dare they? How could they possibly know what she was feeling? They knew nothing—nothing! —about her. They hadn’t even seen each other in more than twenty years. They had no right to tell her she belonged in this country bumpkin town in the middle of nowhere, filled with danger everywhere a person turned.
Packing. That’s what she needed to do. She stalked to the bookcase. Books were easy. Flat with edges. No need to protect them from breaking. She squatted down. Yellow piano books stared back at her.
Jerking upright, she looked around. Emotional time bombs. Everywhere.
The kitchen. That was it. Difficult to pack, but most of it would be going to a yard sale. She’d hire someone to do it after she left and donate the proceeds to ART. That should satisfy the women who’d once been her friends.
Whirling, she marched to the kitchen and began with the far cupboard, pulling things out and stacking them on the counter. Once she had a fair number, she began to sort. She didn’t even know what half these things were. Her grandmother must have been very talented in the kitchen.
She grabbed a box and sorted through what she had pulled down. Placing a few items of interest in the box, she moved the remainder to the kitchen table, trying to lay things out in some sort of order so she could maximize the space.
Then she repeated the exercise with the next cabinet. And the next. Robotic movements. The only time she stopped was to slide a disc of the Metropolitan Opera’s latest version of Aida into the CD player and crank it up.
Darkness finally descended around nine o’clock. Exhausted, she hauled herself to bed and tumbled into a deep sleep, not stopping for a shower, pajamas, or even a glass of wine.
# # #
HER MUSCLES ACHED THE next morning when she finally roused herself after eight. She dragged herself into the shower, dressed, then returned to the kitchen to search for breakfast. If things weren’t as they were, she’d head to the store to see what Elaine had on the grill.
Instead, she started the pot of coffee and searched the mess for a mug.
The day was blooming bright, so she took the mug to the porch, along with a throw kept in the mudroom for that purpose. Wrapping herself in it, she drew her knees to her chest and stared at the beauty beyond.
As she gazed, a memory by Melpomene’s cabin began to focus. She’d seen something there once. Two people kissing.
Two people who shouldn’t have been kissing.
There was only one person who could tell her whether or not her memory was accurate.
It was about time she talked to her mother anyway.
“Are you coming for Thanksgiving?” her mother asked almost immediately.
“I haven’t even thought about the holidays,” Kelly said. The previous year she’d bowed to Cynthia’s wishes and brought the children to Boston for both the long weekend and Christmas holidays. With John so recently gone, the trips had made more sense than rattling around the house with the ghost of her husband.
“Well, you need to plan, you know. It was so late last year, it was amazing we got those plane tickets at all. Peter will already be here, so it will be easier this year.”
Easy sounded nice. But she wasn’t going to get to easy until she finished with the retreat center.
“I’ll figure out what to do by the end of September.”
“That’s too late,” her mother protested.
“Nonetheless, that’s when it’s going to be.”
“Oh.” Her mother seemed taken aback.
“Mom,” Kelly began, unsure of how to begin the conversation. “I know you said we stopped coming to Montana so I could participate in important things in Boston, but was there another reason?”
“You mean other than Henrietta and I never got along?” Cynthia’s tone was sharp.
“Yes.”
Cynthia sighed. “There wasn’t much to do in Promise Cove. Great if you’re a kid, but not as a teenager. Besides, you were never there in winter. You never knew how deadly boring it could become. Anything you wanted to do outside meant snow and cold. Brrr.”
Kelly had to laugh. “I get the point.”
“I wanted to contribute to the arts. When I graduated, I worked for the Boston Museum of Fine Arts for a while, but then I met your father, and he convinced me I could have more impact by serving on boards. With his income, there was no need for me to work. And he was right. Is that what you needed to know?”
“Somewhat.”
“There weren’t any other reasons.” Cynthia sounded wary, which spurred Kelly to ask about the memory that had surfaced.”
“I remembered something,” she began. “I need to know if it was true. No judgment on my part, but I want to know the truth.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That last summer we were here. I seem to remember ... well, I thought I saw you kissing someone. Did you?”
Silence.
Kelly waited. If one of her children asked her the same question, she would have to think about how to answer as well.
“Ah. I guess you’re old enough now. It was someone I’d known—dated—in high school. Your father and I were going through a rough spot. I saw this man I’d had a crush on in high school, and all my old feelings took hold. It was stupid. It didn’t get very far. I realized what I had to lose and ended it.”
“That’s really why we never went back, isn’t it?”
“No, no. I did it for your sake,” her mother protested.
“Truth, Mom.”
“That is the truth. Maybe the other was an influence. I didn’t know. I’ve never been into the deep self-analysis you seem to be intent on doing. Tell me. Why is it so important?”
Good question. Why was it so important?
Then she realized. Her mother had physically separated herself from temptation. Kelly was about to do the same, except in her case, she was running away from the potential pain of living near someone who didn’t want her.
“This is about Ryan, isn’t it?”
“What? How did you know about Ryan?”
Her mother laughed. “I always knew about Ryan. The two of you were like open books; you only thought you were hiding how much you cared about each other from the rest of us. It was a cute puppy love. At least at first. But as you two got older, it only intensified. You weren’t interested in dating any of the boys you knew in school. I began to worry. I wanted someone better for you.”
“Like Dad.”
“Your father’s a good man.”
“So is Ryan.”
“Yes. He was a good kid. It seems he’s grown up well. His quilts are famous—there’s one on display at the fine arts museum right now.”
“How did you know it was him?”
“It wasn’t hard. How many Ryan Svobodas from Montana can there be?”
Kelly had to chuckle. “You’ve got a point.” But then she sobered. “That’s why you didn’t come back.”
“Like I said, I did it for you. You needed to be exposed to everything life has to offer you, not only a pretty lake in the middle of the forest in summertime. Life can get rough. Winter shows up. You needed someone by your side who was dependable.”
John had been that, almost to a fault.
“Maybe I was wrong. I don’t know. I let my past experiences prevent me from letting you have your own. But I did what I thought was right.”
“I know, Mom.” Cynthia’s good intentions had shaped her life up to this point. But now it was Kelly’s decisions that mattered.
“So are you and Ryan in a relationship?” Cynthia asked.
“No. We ... I thought ... but no.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Really?” Kelly asked.
“Like I said, he was a good kid. He might be right for you now.”
“But that would mean moving to Montana,” Kelly pointed out.
“He won’t go to California?”
“Nope.”
“I guess that answers that. A woman shouldn’t uproot her life for a man.”
“Definitely not,” Kelly agreed.
“That doesn’t only mean going somewhere to be with a man.” Cynthia’s voice was wistful. “It also means not twisting yourself in knots to avoid one. I wish ... well, never mind. That decision is in the past. Only today counts now.” There was a pause on the line. “How’s Lisa doing?”
After a few pleasantries about the children, they ended the call, leaving Kelly more unsettled about her decision than before.
# # #
KELLY PULLED INTO THE post office parking lot. She had only fifteen minutes to pick up her mail and get the postage stamps she needed before the small office closed. When she got to the desk, she was surprised to see someone other than Betsy behind the counter.
“Is Betsy okay?” she asked the man filling in.
“Yep. Better than okay. Her son’s been found.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Is he okay?”
“A little worse for wear, but seems to be. He got himself trapped up behind the fire lines and couldn’t find a way back. Then when he did, he was so upset that he’d lost everything, he just wandered around for a bit.”
“Oh, that’s not good.”
“Betsy’s got him. She’ll fix him up good. I’m going to fill in for a bit so she has the time.” The man stood up a little straighter, as if proud to be of service to the community.
“Thank you,” Kelly said and took her stamps. She headed out but stopped when Maggie entered the small space.
“How was your trip?” Maggie said as she slid her key into her box. “Did you get everything?”
“Pretty much. The rest I can order online. Good news about Betsy’s son.”
“Almost.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tom told me the feds think he might be responsible for the fire, that he committed arson to see the flames or something like that. They think he’s mentally ill.”
“That’s horrible! It can’t be true.”
“I hope not. It’s such a terrible thing. I thought they had Gregg in their sights, but they shifted as soon as Henry surfaced, and they went after him.”
“Sounds like they’ve got some bias.”
“Yep. We’re going to start a fund for his defense.”
“Count me in,” Kelly said. “See you. I’ve got to get home and get stuff unloaded before it gets dark.”
“Bye.”
As she walked out, Ryan’s truck pulled into the remaining space, and he got out.
There was so much to say, but she wasn’t ready to say it.
Instead, she waved.
He nodded and continued on his way into the post office.
