Thank heavens Lise had been my roommate. I wondered when I’d hear from her again. If anyone could dig up information about Gregor Easton, it would be Lise.
After we finished dessert Violet took me on a tour of the house. Every room was as beautiful as the living room and foyer. “Llŷn,” I said as we walked back into the living room. “That’s Welsh, isn’t it?”
Violet nodded. “It is. It means ‘lake.’ My mother’s parents were from Wales.”
Roma was looking at a large photograph that was hanging in the dining room. It was a street shot of the downtown by the lake, from, I guessed, at least fifty years ago. Violet joined her as Roma tried to pick out old landmarks. I sat beside Rebecca on the sofa.
“Violet’s a wonderful cook,” I said to Rebecca.
“She is. Even when we were girls she would take a recipe and change it just a little to give it her own unique touch.”
“Have you been friends a long time?”
“Forever. From the time we started school. Violet’s like my sister.” She settled back against the arm of the sofa and folded her hands in her lap. “I had two older brothers who teased me constantly. Violet was an only child. But she was fearless.”
Rebecca shook her head, smiling at something she’d remembered. “We weren’t allowed down by the lake,” she said, lowering her voice so we wouldn’t be overheard. “But we used to sneak down all the time. My brother Stephen told on us. The next morning when he got up his shoes were filled with wet sand—the pair he wore for school and his good pair for church.” She laughed at the memory. “It was Violet, but to this day I don’t know how she did it.”
I glanced toward the dining room. “It’s hard to picture Violet as a rebellious girl.”
Rebecca rubbed a hand over the sofa cushion between us. “I know she comes across as very reserved. Some people think she’s cold, but she’s not. Life has just made her seem that way.” She looked around the room. “Violet grew up in this house. She was only twenty-five when her mother and father died within six months of each other. Ten years later she was a widow with two little boys. If she seems unfeeling, well, is it any wonder? But inside she’s warm and loyal. I’ve always been able to count on her. I’d do anything for her and she’d do anything for me.”
“That’s what my mother calls sisters of the heart,” I said.
Rebecca glanced over toward Violet again. “I like that,” she said. She turned back to me. “You come from a very colorful family, Kathleen. How did you end up in Mayville Heights?”
Andrew’s face suddenly filled my memory—his big smile, his deep blue eyes, his blond hair that curled down over his collar when he was overdue for a haircut. Maybe it was what seemed like Rebecca’s genuine interest, or maybe it was two glasses of Ruby’s wine. Whatever it was, I answered honestly. “I ran away.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened. “From what?”
“From my life at the time. From my family—I love them, but they can use up all the air in the room.”
Rebecca nodded her understanding.
“And from the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with.”
I looked away for a moment. Violet and Roma had a photo album out now.
Rebecca leaned over and squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Do you mind my asking what happened?”
I twisted my watchband around my arm instead of looking at her. “He married someone else.”
“Then perhaps you’re better off without him.”
“That’s what my friend Lise said. She also called him a no-good, scum-sucking elephant turd.”
Rebecca was silent for a moment. “I think I’d like your friend Lise,” she said finally, a bit of a smile playing on her lips.
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” I said.
“I’m listening,” Rebecca said.
“Andrew—that’s his name—wanted me to take a leave of absence from my job and see the country. All of it. With him.”
“I take it you didn’t want to.”
“No, I didn’t.” I rubbed a finger over my thumbnail. “Rebecca, I lived in a lot of places growing up. Small towns, big cities, and everything in between. I’ve already seen a lot of the country. I want to stay in one place. I want to belong somewhere. The way you and Violet and Roma do.”
I looked around Violet’s welcoming living room. “Violet grew up in this house. The two of you have been friends almost your entire lives. I don’t know how many different places I’ve lived, and my whole childhood is in one cardboard box in a storage unit in Boston.” I twisted my watch around my wrist. “I just want to belong somewhere.”
“Your Andrew didn’t understand that.”
I looked over my shoulder, through the front window to the darkened street. “No, he didn’t. He went on a two-week camping trip in Maine after I said no. He came back married.”
“After two weeks?”
I nodded and tried to clear the lump in my throat. “Married. I went to work the morning after he came back, saw Everett’s notice about the job here and applied.” I held out my hands. “And here I am.”
Rebecca studied my face. “You miss him, though.”
“Sometimes. But it’s over. Time only moves in one direction: forward. So no matter how much I might want to change things sometimes, I can’t.”
Rebecca got a faraway look in her eyes. “There’s something special about first love,” she said. “But you’re right, it’s important to move forward. And your Andrew’s loss has been our gain.” She smiled at me. “I hope you’re starting to feel you belong here.”
Before I could answer, Roma poked her head in from the dining room. “Rebecca,” she said. “What used to be on the corner opposite the market?”
“Anderson’s,” Rebecca said at once. “They sold fabric. He was a tailor.”
Roma tapped the side of her head. “Anderson’s. Of course. Thank you.” She turned back to the album Violet was still looking at.
Rebecca looked at me. “Would you like to see what Mayville Heights looked like back in the good old days?”
“I would,” I said. We walked over to join Violet and Roma. The framed black-and-white photograph was remarkably sharp and detailed. Rebecca walked me down the street in the old photo, pointing out each building and sharing stories about herself and Violet.
“You know, the downtown really doesn’t look that much different,” I said. “I would have recognized the hotel and all those little stores.”
“That’s because the buildings were built to last,” Rebecca said.
“How about another cup of coffee?” Violet offered. “It’s decaf.”
“All right,” Roma said. I nodded, as well. I probably drank too much coffee, but as vices went it wasn’t that bad.
“How about another piece of blueberry tart?”
“A sliver,” Roma said, holding up a thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.
“Kathleen?” Violet looked at me.
“Don’t make me eat alone,” Roma said. Something in her smile seemed forced.
“A tiny, tiny piece,” I said.
Rebecca took the album from Violet. “Why don’t you take that into the living room?” she said. “I’ll be right in.”
“Could I help?” Rebecca asked.
“Show Roma and Kathleen more of the old photographs. I can get the coffee.”
We settled on the sofa on either side of Rebecca, who laid the album across her lap. “Look,” she said, pointing to a picture of a somber-faced girl in a dark dress with a white collar and cuffs. “That’s Violet, senior year of high school. You know the building that’s the River Arts Center now? That’s where we went to high school.”
I leaned in closer to look. “She looks so serious.”
“Look at this one,” Roma said, putting a finger on a snapshot on the adjacent page. It was Violet in some kind of party dress with a little purse and a very unfortunate bubble hairdo.