“YOU ARE AN odd man, Xander Costas.”
Gloved hands wrapped around a warped board, Xander grinned as he pulled it free and tossed it onto the growing pile beside the shed he was tearing down.
“Why’s that?” He glanced over his shoulder and found Calliope standing nearby, two tall glasses of iced tea in her hands.
“I assumed you’d just use a sledgehammer and knock it down. Done. But you’re pulling it apart piece by piece.” She inclined her head as if trying to decipher a complicated puzzle.
“That’s how it went up, isn’t it?” He wiped his forehead on his arm. He hadn’t exactly come dressed for construction work, but at least he’d traded in his silk shirt and tailored slacks for jeans and a new T-shirt that he’d apparently forgotten to cut the price tag out of. “Reminds me of when I worked construction in college. I used to drive my brother and father nuts, examining how every piece went together, how things connected. There’s a lot Hildy can work with here if she decides to rebuild the shed.”
“How about you take a break?” She gestured with one of the glasses. “That way you can ask me all those questions you’ve got spinning around in your head.”
“You’re a mind reader as well?” He pulled off his gloves and dropped them on the ground.
“Minds, no. Faces? Some people are easier to read than others. Besides, you’ve earned it.”
“Well then, if you think so.” He motioned to the white Adirondack chairs a few steps away. “You’ve got a lot going on, don’t you, Calliope?”
“No more than most people.” She settled in her chair and slipped off her sandals to sink her bare feet into the thick grass. He could almost hear her sigh the way most people did when they sank into a pool of cool water.
“What’s wrong with your mother?” He took a long drink, sat back and waited. Whether she answered or not wasn’t the goal. Getting her to lower some of those walls she’d built around herself would be nice, though.
“The official diagnosis is borderline personality disorder, although she doesn’t fit any one profile. She’s spent most of her life untethered from reality. Well, most of my life. My grandmother believed it started when my father abandoned her.”
“That’s rough. How old was she?”
“Nineteen. He was…older.” Calliope closed her eyes as if drifting on a memory. “A summer fling that resulted in me. Gran was not thrilled. About him, I mean. She adored me.” She turned her head and smiled. Xander’s heart skipped a beat. She was stunning when she smiled. “Mama had mood swings, got into a lot of trouble. You name it, she did it. She’d run off, call Gran, then come home. It was a cycle I could predict by the time I was seven.”
“Must have been scary for you.” What words could possibly make a difference?
“It was my reality. I had my gran. She raised me, protected me. Might even say she saved me.”
Xander sipped at the sweet tea, tasted the hint of raspberries and mint. “Do you believe that? That she saved you?”
“Oh, yes.” There was that smile again, except as Calliope blinked open her eyes he saw the sadness hovering in the amethyst depths. “Everything I am is because of her. And thankfully I get to pass that on to Stella.”
“Who really is your sister.”
Calliope’s lips twitched. “You aren’t the first to wonder. As if I’d ever deny her being mine. But yes, Stella is my sister. In one of Emmaline’s more lucid periods, she fell in love with a wealthy businessman. For whatever reason, they didn’t get married, not that we ever got the real story, but when she came home she was eight months pregnant. By the time Stella was born, Gran had uncovered enough information about the father to let the family know they had a grandchild on the way.” Calliope held up a finger. “To this day it astonishes me just how much money some people are willing to throw at a problem to make it go away. Weeks later, Stella was born. And Mama…sort of disappeared after that. The time she spent in hospitals increased and that was with consistent therapy and medication. We found her good twenty-four hour care, but she hovers between worlds, never completely in one place. Aren’t you glad you asked?”
“Yes, actually.” If he owed Calliope nothing else, it was gratitude for reminding him how much he appreciated his own family. No matter how much upheaval and turmoil they’d been through over the past year, it was nothing compared to the pain and uncertainty Calliope had weathered. “So Stella doesn’t know her father?”
“No. Oh, she knows the circumstances. She knows his name and I’ve told her if and when she ever wants to find him, I will help her. So far she’s shown no interest in doing so.”
Xander wondered if that would ever change. “So Emmaline lives here now. With Hildy and her family.”
“Even before Gran died I knew I wouldn’t be able to care for both Mama and Stella for long. I met Hildy at a midwives’ conference years ago The dementia care facility she’d been working at for more than a decade had closed so she was looking into other options, but she was limited because of Joshua. She needed the flexibility to stay home with him. I took that as a sign. She and Eddie accepted Mama. Thanks to Stella’s father, I could afford to make some changes to their home, improvements they couldn’t afford. And it’s a blessing for Hildy and Eddie that they can tend their son as well. They don’t have to make special arrangements for him and most of the time, Joshua and my mother are great friends. It’s all worked out for the best.”
“It must be hard, though,” Xander said. “Not having her with you. I mean, I know it’s probably easier in some ways—”
“There was no other choice.” Calliope’s hands tightened around her glass. “She’d lost control, become chaotic. Disconnected.” She tilted her head against the back of the chair and looked at him. “Dangerous.”
“Physically? She hurt you?”
“No.” Calliope shook her head. “But I’d come in from the garden and found her yelling at Stella for no reason. She’d lost her sense of reason and in the moment who Stella was, maybe who she was herself. That was when I knew I had to make the hardest decision of my life. So now Mama lives here.”
“Calliope.” Xander wrapped a gentle hand around her arm. “I am so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Xander.” She looked down at his hand as if it was a puzzle to be solved. “Everyone has their bumps in life. We aren’t special.”
All evidence to the contrary. Some people were very special. “I’d call what you’ve been through more than bumps.” He’d never understood just how lucky he’d been in his life. Suddenly the bickering over his family business seemed so petty. And yet here Calliope Jones sat, looking serene and settled as if life had never thrown anything more than a gentle breeze her way.
“Calliope?” Joshua called to her from the back door. “Stella needs you.”
“I’m coming.” Calliope pushed to her feet in a fluid movement. “We won’t stay much longer.”
“I’m not in any hurry. Take whatever time you need. Besides—” he finished his tea and set the empty glass on the table “—I’m not done with what’s left of the shed yet.”
“A man who finishes what he starts. That’s good to know, Mr. Costas.”
Xander watched her walk barefoot back into the house. Mr. Costas. There was something teasing, something familiar in the way she said his name that lightened his heart. He bent over and plucked her sandals off the grass, dangled them from his fingers like Cinderella’s lost slippers.
He set them on the chair, smiling as he accepted the fact that as long as he lived, he didn’t think he’d ever meet anyone as unique—or interesting—as Calliope Jones.
* * *
“THERE, NOW, POPPET. Dry your tears.” In the hallway upstairs, Calliope kneeled before her sister and used her sleeve to wipe away the dampness on Stella’s face. The frame she’d taken so much time to make for Emmaline had been broken into pieces. “We can fix the frame at home.”
Stella took in shuddering breaths and hiccupped, her chin wobbling. “She doesn’t know me.” She blinked and new streams of tears flooded down her cheeks. “She’s my mama and she doesn’t know me.”
“Today she doesn’t,” Calliope pushed the words beyond the lump in her throat. “But that won’t always be the case. We talked about this, Stella. This isn’t your fault.”
“She said I was evil. That I’d come to steal her soul away.”
Anger burned low in Calliope’s belly—anger she couldn’t allow to consume her. This disease was so insidious, so destructive, it attacked everyone connected to its victim. “That’s her illness talking, not Mama.” Not five minutes ago she’d told Xander that Emmaline could no longer hurt Stella. But she had. There were changes that would have to be made. “It’s okay to be angry with her, poppet. You feel whatever you need to feel. There’s no purpose in bottling it up.” She rubbed a hand over Stella’s stomach, the same spot where knots had reformed in her own belly.
“I want to go home.” The plea in Stella’s eyes struck Calliope like an arrow to the heart. “Please, can we go home? I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“Of course we can.” She looked over her sister’s head to where Hildy stood outside Emmaline’s door, her eyes glistening with tears. “How about you go outside and see how Xander is doing with the shed? As soon as he’s done, we can go home. Okay?” She stroked her hand down the side of Stella’s face. “The tears will soothe. Let them fall.”
Stella nodded, sniffled and wiped her nose as she headed for the stairs. Calliope remained where she was, kneeling on the hardwood floor, hands clenched so tight her nails nearly punctured her palms.
“You were right. This is getting too hard for Stella.” Her whisper was loud enough for Hildy to hear. She couldn’t continue to put Stella through this, not when Emmaline was only going to become worse. Getting her hopes up that this time would be different, only to break her heart and have to put it back together again. Calliope sank back on her heels and looked up at her friend.
“I know.” Hildy held out her hand and helped her up. “It’s what I was trying to tell you before. Emmaline’s beyond you both now. You can’t wish her well, Calliope. Your insights and gifts have their limits.”
“That’s not what Gran used to say.” Calliope looked down the hall to the door to her mother’s room. “She told me I could do anything I set my mind to.”
“If that were the case, you’d have been able to cure your mother years ago. And it’s not just what this is doing to Stella. It’s hurting you, too.”
“I made a promise.” To her Gran. To Emmaline. To herself.
“What good is a promise if it does irreparable harm? Do you want to see her?”
“I don’t want to.” Calliope straightened her shoulders. “But I think I need to.” She took a hesitant step toward the door.
“I’ll be right behind you.”
“I know.” Calliope clenched her fist again before she placed her hand on the knob. Calming herself, tamping down the anger and pain to where she couldn’t find it, she knocked softly and winced at the innocent, innocuous “come in.”
Calliope pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was cool from the open window and the breeze billowed against the curtains. Emmaline Jones sat in her mother’s Boston rocker, eyes closed, face lifted to the sun. She clutched her fingers around the pendant she always wore—an owl with wide, wise eyes.
“Ma—” Calliope cleared her throat as Hildy touched her arm. “Emmaline,” she corrected herself.
“Yes?” Emmaline turned her porcelain face and smiled up at her daughter. Her mother had always reminded Calliope of a china doll, fragile and elegantly presented, with soft red curls framing her round face. Her flowing flowered dress with a lace collar gave her an old-fashioned appearance, as if she didn’t belong in this time. There was no trace of the disease that had stolen her away, nothing in her amethyst eyes other than stillness. “Hello. Do I know you?”
“We’re friends.” Calliope walked over slowly and when she reached the chair, she dropped down beside Emmaline. Tears blurred her vision, but beyond her mother, outside the window, she saw Xander stoop to talk to Stella, and motioned for her to help him with what was left of the shed.
Calliope’s heart swelled at the sound of Stella’s laughter. It was a balm of sorts against the bruising she and Stella had been taking for these past years.
“What is your name?” Emmaline asked. “Friends have names.”
“Callie.” Calliope purposely chose the nickname her mother had used when she was a child. “I just came to see how you were doing. And to tell you I won’t be by to see you as often.”
“Have you been here before?” Emmaline blinked. “Have we known each other long?”
“I brought Stella to see you. Do you remember Stella?”
If Calliope had any doubts as to her mother’s deteriorating state, they vanished under the shadow that crossed Emmaline’s face. “She’s a trickster. A liar.” Emmaline lurched forward, pointing toward the window and Stella beyond.
“No! That’s not right, she’s—” The sharpness in Calliope’s voice startled even her. A glance outside told her Xander had heard her, but before Stella could look up at the window, he distracted her by pointing to a nearby shrub. Calliope stood up and pulled the window shut. “No, Mama. Enough. Enough, please.” She kneeled in front of her mother, just as she had in front of Stella, and caught her mother’s face in her hands.
Every ounce of energy coursing inside of her, every positive feeling, she pushed out through her palms, willing the madness swirling inside Emmaline to subside.
But her mother’s eyes remained vacant. Cold. Closed.
“Calliope.” Hildy moved in behind Emmaline and whispered, “This isn’t going to help. She’s not there.”
“I know.” Calliope nodded and two tears plopped onto her cheeks. “I know. Oh, Mama. I’m sorry.”
“Such a pretty girl.” Emmaline’s eyes brightened as she lifted her hand to Calliope’s face. “Such a pretty…”
Calliope wanted so much for her mother to touch her, to hold her, to recognize her, but it didn’t come. She didn’t think it ever would now.
“Goodbye, Mama.”
“I’ll call you tonight,” Hildy told her as Calliope backed out of the room.
“Tomorrow,” Calliope whispered. “Please. Tomorrow.”
Hildy nodded, a sad smile of understanding on her face. “Go home, Calliope. I’ll take care of her.”
Calliope made it into the hall and closed the door before the first sob hit. All these years, all the pain and heartache she’d withstood, and it came down to a broken picture frame. She covered her mouth, squeezed her eyes shut and bent over, the pain rolling inside her.
“Calliope?”
Xander.
She gasped and stood up as his hands gently grasped her arms. She stared at him, almost as if she was seeing him for the first time. His face was so kind, his eyes so concerned, but there was also strength. A strength that had eluded her, a strength she longed to have. “She’s gone. Just…gone.”
His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She reached to let him fold her into his arms. For the first time in her life, she held on to someone else.
And let go.