My fans wouldn’t be happy with me for ending my series, but I was ready to move on to something new and different. I longed to write a story with a little more meat on its bones. I wanted to delve into life’s experiences, both the good and the bad. I wanted to write books filled with heartache and love, evil and goodness, death and rebirth—all those highs and lows that made up reality. Some of my readers would follow me along that path; others would mourn the loss of the lighthearted escape reading I’d given them for so many years. But I would be writing what felt right for me now, and I couldn’t wait to get started.
I looked up from my work as I pondered the scene in which Fran realizes she is tired of solving other people’s mysteries. The canal was calm, the tide slack as a sailboat made its quiet way toward the river. Across the water from where I sat, a handful of African-American men were fishing. Were any of them related to the Lewises? I would never know.
I went to see Wanda Lewis in the fall. She was Wanda Jackson now, and she had four sons and countless grandchildren, but no amount of family could make up for the loss of her brother. She had not welcomed me, and I didn’t stay long. I didn’t blame her for the chilly reception, but one thing I’d come to understand was that I couldn’t undo the past. I could only try to learn from it.
The sound of a motor disturbed the quiet morning, and I looked up to see Ethan steering his boat toward the dock from the direction of the bay. Ethan, Lucy, Abby and baby Clare went out nearly every morning while I wrote. Once they came inside, I would put my work away. I was trying to learn to balance my time between work and play. I was not very good at it yet, but I was improving.
Everyone got out of the boat, but only Ethan walked toward the house. Abby and Lucy took Clare into the open side of the dock, holding her hands as they walked with her down the slope into the water that had once held such fear for my younger sister.
Ethan opened the door to the porch and came inside, taking off his sunglasses.
“How’s Granny Fran doing?” he asked. His hair and his bathing suit were wet. I knew he’d had fun this morning.
“She’s on her last legs,” I told him.
He bent over to kiss me and I could smell the saltwater on his skin. “And how’s Granny Julie?” he asked.
As if on cue, Kira Sellers Stroh, who’d been sleeping peacefully in her Portacrib on the other side of the porch, began to whimper.
“Granny Julie couldn’t be any happier,” I said.
This year had certainly been full of surprises. Shannon did go to Colorado with Tanner, but she was there less than twenty-four hours when she called to tell me she was coming home.
“We got to his house and all his friends were there waiting to meet me,” she said, when I picked her up at the airport. “They were really nice, Mom, but the youngest one was twenty-five, and I thought, ‘What am I doing here? What am I doing with this old guy I barely know?’”
Ethan walked over to the Portacrib and lifted Kira into his arms. He kissed her temple and rocked her a little, cooing to her.
“Is Shannon napping?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.” Shannon had been up with the Kira most of the night. The baby had been born at exactly midnight on the twenty-first of December and she’d been a night owl ever since.
I moved my laptop to the floor and Ethan lowered Kira into my arms, then sat down next to me. I snuggled the baby against my chest. I liked it when she was half-awake like this, in that gurgling, not-quite-ready-to-eat state, easily placated by a little cuddling. I pressed my lips to her thick hair and inhaled the scent of baby shampoo. She was a beautiful child, with her mother’s—and her great-aunt Isabel’s—dark eyes, dark hair, and double rows of jet-black eyelashes. She and Shannon lived with us, and although Tanner sent money every month, I contributed as well. Shannon still gave cello lessons at the music store and would be entering the music program at Drew University in the fall, commuting from home. She had a hard road ahead of her. I’d given up analyzing whether I was helping her too much or too little. I was just trying to follow my heart.
Ethan leaned his head against my shoulder, rubbing Kira’s back as we watched Abby, Lucy and Clare splashing and laughing in the dock. Then Lucy hoisted Clare onto her shoulders for the walk up the slope. From upstairs, I could hear the sound of water running and knew that Shannon was up, and the front screen door squeaked open as my mother came inside. In a moment, everyone would be on the porch.
I covered Ethan’s hand where it rested on Kira’s back. “Is this how you thought your life would turn out?” I asked him.
“Are you kidding?” he said. “I couldn’t have dreamed up anything this good.”
I laughed, then returned my attention to the granddaughter in my arms. I wondered what sort of challenge Kira would present to Shannon when she became a teenager. I could imagine Shannon struggling to hold on to her child, trying to rein her in to keep her safe.
And I would be there to help her let go.
QUESTIONS FOR YOUR READING GROUP
Julie carries the responsibility for Isabel’s death throughout her life. How does that impact her and her relationships over the years?
Julie refers to her family’s inability to discuss Isabel as “the elephant in the room.” Do you have experience with “the elephant in the room” in your family or circle of friends? How does that impact your relationships?
Were you more like the adventurous Julie as a child or the fearful Lucy? How did that affect you growing up? How and why did those qualities change in you—if they did?
In part, The Bay at Midnight is about sisters. Discuss Julie and Lucy’s relationship. How do you think Isabel would have fitted in had she lived?
Why do you think Shannon turned to Lucy with her problems instead of to Julie? Is there anything Julie could have done differently to be her daughter’s confidante? Does this situation resonate for you as you think about your own teenage years or your relationships with your own children?
What parallels did you see between the generations: Maria and her parents, Julie, Lucy and Isabel and their parents, Shannon and Julie?
Julie is caught between the teachings of her religion and her own nature. How does this impact her and the choices she makes? Can you relate to her conflict?
Why do you think Ross wanted to reconnect with Maria?
What do you think motivated Julie to maintain a friendship with Wanda and George in spite of her parents’ objections?
Which character garnered the most sympathy from you and why?
How did your feelings about Julie, Lucy and Maria change throughout the story?
The Bay at Midnight is written in the first person from three points of view—Julie’s, Lucy’s and Maria’s. How might the story have been different if it had been written entirely from Julie’s point of view?
Q&A ON The Bay at Midnight
What inspired you to write this story?
This story actually began with the setting. Until I was eighteen, my family owned a small bungalow on a canal in Point Pleasant, New Jersey. I’ve always felt nostalgic about my longago summer home. Since I knew I would never own it again, I decided the only way to enjoy it would be to write about it.