The Four Seasons (39 page)

“Of course it is. This whole thing is going to take a lot of time. Months, even years. For all of us. Dennis doesn't even know yet.”

“That's another thing. I want to tell him.”

“Absolutely. Whatever you want to do.”

She nodded, setting it straight in her mind. “And I don't want the family to know yet. Not even Rose.”

“More secrets, Birdie? Is that a good idea?”

“There's a difference between privacy and secrecy, Jilly. This affects our lives, mine and Dennis's. It affects our marriage. And this affects Hannah. We'll know when the time is right to tell her.”

“What do I say when Anne Marie asks who her father is?”

Birdie smiled wearily and shrugged. “I don't know. That's for you and Dennis and me to work out later. Okay?”

Jilly nodded in agreement. “Okay. I guess we've covered enough ground for one weekend.” She looked at her sister, worried. Her face looked so pale and frail. So unlike Birdie. “Are you okay, really?”

“I'm pretty good, considering.”

Jilly chuckled. “I feel pretty raw. Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

Birdie shook her head. “No, Hannah would worry. I'd better go. Good night.”

Jilly opened the door, but privately she wanted to close it
and tell her to stay. She didn't want her to leave yet. There was still so much more they needed to say.

“Good night, Birdie. Sleep tight.”

“Don't let the bedbugs bite.” Birdie smiled her crooked smile and in that moment Jilly took heart catching a glimpse of the feisty eleven-year-old again with bangs in her eyes.

“If they do, hit 'em with a shoe.” Jilly closed the door, smiling.

 

Jilly was gathering the teacups, bits of paper and tissue from the coffee table when she saw it. She paused, stooped over the table with her hand outstretched. Mother's letter was still lying where she'd placed it against the lamp, partially obscured by a napkin carelessly tossed. In the excitement, they'd forgotten all about it.

Setting down the cups, Jilly reached to pick up the letter and brought it close. Her mother's Palmer Method handwriting on the envelope sparked a pang of recognition. To her mind, the loops and swirls were unlike any other woman's. She weighed the letter in her hand as she wondered whether to call her sisters back so they could read it together. She stepped toward the phone, then stopped, deciding it was much too late, and they were much too tired for more drama tonight. They could wait until morning.

But she could not. They'd forgive her, she thought as she slipped her finger under the seal. The old glue gave readily. Tugging out the cream colored paper, she couldn't imagine what Mother might have written to her daughters thirty years ago. Please God, she thought as she opened the letter, don't let it be an accusation.

Hours later, Jilly lay in bed rereading her mother's letter through blurred eyes.

“Oh, Mother, there's nothing to forgive!” Jilly exclaimed in anguish and frustration. Except perhaps for the silence. So much had been left unsaid between them. Why hadn't her mother told her that she'd felt this guilt? Or at least that she didn't blame them for letting Merry get hurt. What good was it to scribble it all down on a piece of paper and seal it away in a box? Nothing was solved and they had all suffered.

She could only imagine the guilt her mother felt. It was no wonder she drank so much. It was the only way she could escape. Poor Mother, she thought, clutching the letter to her heart, torn apart by the years lost. So many years wasted in heartache and misunderstanding. She missed her mother with a vengeance, wanted her back so she could say all the things she should've while her mother was alive. It might have made such a difference in both their lives.

Jilly cried in the darkness, for what might have been and for what was. When she was done, she calmly wiped her eyes, accustomed to the tears she allowed to flow freely now, then smoothed out the wrinkles from the letter with her fingers. Closing her eyes, she brought the letter to her lips and imagined she was kissing her mother good-night.

“Tell you what, Mom,” she said, folding the letter neatly and tucking it under her pillow. “I'll make you a little deal. Just
between you and me.” She smiled, feeling in her heart that her mother heard. “I'll forgive you all your secrets—if you'll forgive me all of mine.”

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
, the Season sisters woke up knowing their lives had changed. They were forced into motion by the mundane realities of having to pack up their things and check out of the hotel, but that only served to punctuate the one big reality.

The quest was over. Anne Marie had been found. Merry's last request had been honored, and in doing so, she had at last been mourned and the past laid to rest.

Jilly lay in bed a few extra moments and stared at the textured ceiling, considering all this and wondering what path her life would take now. She'd come flying, driving, swimming over miles and years to reach this dawn. Her future was just beginning.

When I grow up, I want to be an actress. I dedicate this to you
.

This was the future she'd dedicated to Merry when she was a child. Her sisters thought she'd achieved this dream. More's the pity. She thought of the seventeen-year-old girl who left Wisconsin, swearing she'd survive. She'd created a make-believe character complete with wardrobe and props. But it was all pretend. She'd been living a lie.

One truth emerged from all the deception, however. She'd given birth to a daughter, who in turn gave birth to another daughter, and so the cycle continued. That was
real
.

The secret to survival was in seeing the world through the eyes—and heart—of a child. That was Merry's lesson to her sisters. To treasure life, and most of all, to love. Simply, unconditionally and with joyful abandon. To love without demanding or expecting anything in return.

Jilly decided to rededicate her future to Merry on this fresh new morning. She'd work to discover new truths in her life, rather than deception. Rose had told her, “When I act brave, I am brave.” Wasn't this the purest form of acting? To call on one's inner strengths even when afraid or unsure? To be true to one's own convictions. She would be this very best kind of actress, she vowed.

 

Birdie's arms arced as she cut through the cool pool water. She'd been swimming for more than half an hour, stroking back and forth across the length of the hotel's pool. Her soft arms were shaky and it was a struggle to keep herself afloat but she wouldn't stop—couldn't. The need to keep going drove her mercilessly on.

She'd awakened early after a fitful night. She had dreamed again of being in a pool, swimming and swimming and not being able to catch her breath. Behind her lurked all the mistakes she'd made over the years, and if she could just make it to the other side she knew she could climb up, catch her breath and be safe. But danger was right behind her, like a ghost shark snapping at her heels. So she pushed and clawed most of the night and awoke with her sheets tangled around her like seaweed, feeling like she was drowning, gasping for breath.

She'd climbed from her bed with a savage churning inside
of her. Dressing quickly, she went down to the lobby shops and found one clothing store just opening up. She picked a swimsuit from the rack, paid for it, then went straight to the pool without slowing her pace. She hadn't swum in a pool in twenty years, not since her father died. After that, she didn't see much point. She'd only swum for him, to triumph in the water for him.

This time, she was swimming for herself. She pushed hard and steady, ignoring the pain building up in her shoulders. Was it madness or did she feel that with each stroke some of the pressure and poison was leaching out into the dark water? As she completed lap after lap she forced herself to keep on kicking, to keep on reaching out. She had to reach the other side of wherever it was she was going. Water slapped her in the face. She swallowed some and coughed, crying now, but she plowed on through the cool, unforgiving water.

“Birdie!”

She jerked her head up and her arm flopped into the water. Was it her imagination, or had someone called her name?

“Birdie!”

Dog-paddling, she turned in the water and saw Dennis.
Dennis!
She felt a surge of joy and with new energy began swimming straight for him. Now her swimming had a focus. To Dennis. Her arms felt like lead and her muscles screamed in pain, but if she could just reach him she knew she'd be safe. Her nightmare would be over.

His arms reached out and helped pull her up like a clumsy seal from the water. He wrapped her in a towel and brought her close, holding her tight against his chest. Her legs felt wobbly and she shivered, but she clung to him. As he held her, she let go at last and sobbed, knowing he was strong enough to withstand the tsunami wave.

“You're here,” she said at length with a shaky voice.

“I came up last night. I had to be here. I didn't know what hotel you were at so I stopped after two, checked in, then started looking for you again this morning.”

“Dennis,” she said, pulling back to look him in the face. “Anne Marie…she's your child.”

His face revealed his shock and he looked off across the pool for a long while. Then he looked at her warily. “How do you know?”

“Jilly told me.” When she felt his arms tighten in anger she said quickly, “To spare me. She knew I'd have figured it out myself. Anne Marie has a cleft in her chin like yours.”

Dennis's eyes were intense as he struggled to digest the news. “Are you okay with this?”

She shrugged. “It's been hard. But yeah, I think so.”

“And Hannah?” His eyes darkened with worry.

“She doesn't know. She won't know until we tell her. Jilly's agreed.”

“Good,” he said with relief. He paused, then shook his head with a short laugh. “It's a lot to take in all at once. I worried about this all along, worried what you would think if she turned out to be my child. When you told me on the phone that you were going with Jilly to meet her, I knew I had to come. I couldn't just sit at home and wonder what was going on up here. But now I don't know what to say.”

“It's something we have to handle, together.”

His brain seemed to process this and his face sagged in relief. “I'd like that, Birdie. I want that.” Then his dark eyes shone with intensity and he said in a low voice filled with emotion, “But first we have to talk about us. Our issues are
not
about my past. Our problems are about our present. Between you and me.”

She nodded, eager to show she was willing, more than willing, to talk. They sat down together at a white garden table
by the pool. She wrapped the large towel around her shoulders, looked into his brown eyes and shivered. He glanced at her spiky short red hair and smiled. And they began to talk, slowly and awkwardly at first, then with feeling. They talked and listened, their gazes locked and their ears attuned. When Dennis reached out to hold her hand, Birdie felt a sudden warmth and knew they were going to be all right.

 

When I grow up, I want to be an explorer. I dedicate this to you.

Rose read the small slip of paper, then took a deep breath and tucked it back into her coat pocket. “Oh, boy, Merry,” she whispered. “Stick by me now.”

She and Jilly had entered the parking lot of the mall and circled near the west entrance where Danny had agreed to meet Rose. Most of the shops weren't open yet and Danny thought they'd be able to find each other more easily without a crowd. She looked outside the window as Jilly pulled into a space several rows back. Few cars filled the lot and there was no one standing at the door.

“How're you feeling?” Jilly asked.

“Like I'm going to throw up.” Then, seeing the worry on her face, she said, “Not really.” She'd been so nervous she couldn't eat and she had been repeating like a litany all morning, “I'm brave, I'm brave.”

And what a morning it had been, she thought as she leaned against the door. Jilly and Hannah had spent over an hour cajoling her to put on a hint of blush and a whisper of mascara. Then Birdie shocked them when she came into the room holding hands with Dennis and asked them if they could drive Hannah home. Birdie was going home with Dennis on his motorcycle.

“Do you see him?” Jilly asked, turning off the engine.

“I don't see anyone,” Rose replied, anxiously peering out the window. “Oh, God, is this what it feels like to be stood up at the altar?”

“We just got here and it's not even nine-thirty yet. Take a deep breath, honey.”

Rose took her literally and began breathing deeply.

“Relax, Rose. It's not like a blind date. You
know
him.”

“That makes it worse. I already know I like him. But will he like me? Will he think I'm pretty?”

Jilly faced Rose squarely. Her face was no longer jovial but serious. “You're beautiful. Yours is a quiet, even regal beauty. The kind that men marry and that other women admire. You know, all my life I wondered why Daddy never gave you a nickname.”

“Oh, I know why,” Rose said, blushing faintly. “It's because I'm so shy and plain.”

“No,” Jilly replied, looking at her intensely. “He was right not to give you one. You have a rare purity that stands alone, like a rose. A nickname for you would have been equivalent to gilding the lily.” Jilly cupped her sister's chin and looked into her eyes. “If this guy doesn't see how beautiful you are, dump him. You deserve the best.”

“It's just that I always believed there was someone special out there for me. I hope and pray it's Danny.” Rose's eyes widened. She clutched Jilly's hand and pointed. “There's someone there.”

Jilly swung her head toward the mall and saw a figure stepping out from the entrance.

“That's him,” Rose said on a breath. Her hands went to her hair, smoothing the long locks that fell like water down her back.

“How do you know? You can hardly see him from this far away.”

“I know.”

The man in the distance was average height, slender, with
brown hair worn short. He was wearing khaki pants and a light brown jacket. She watched him peer out over the parking lot. Drawn to him, Rose unbuckled her seat belt and put her hand on the door handle. Beside her Jilly undid her seat belt.

“You go on,” Rose said, stopping her with a hand on hers. “I don't need you now.”

“But, what if…”

“Really, I don't want you here. I love you, but try to understand. This is something I have to do alone.”

“Are you sure? You don't really know him. I'll stay here for a little while, just in case you change your mind. What, five minutes?”

“He isn't some stranger. He's Danny. And besides…” she said with a smirk. “What can happen in a mall over coffee and a cinnamon bun? Go on now. I'll call you on the cell phone if I need you.”

“Call me in exactly one hour to tell us when to pick you up. Sooner, if it doesn't go well.”

“Don't worry.” Then Rose smiled. “But thanks.”

Jilly leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Have fun.” Then, pulling back, she added, “But not too much fun.”

Rose stepped out into the morning air, then closed the door with a confident swing. At the sound, Danny looked her way. He stood still, watching. She lifted her hand and offered a brief wave. His hand came up to wave back and she saw that he carried a single red rose.

She walked toward him with slow, steady steps, as he did toward her. With each step she saw more of him. He had the look of a country boy. His body was lean and wiry, his face was tanned and weathered, and his hair was tawnier than brown and fell loosely at his temples. His shirt was a pale blue, open at the collar. Closer still, she saw only his eyes. They were the
same pale blue as his shirt and they shone out from the tan as though backlit.

He was searching her face with the same intensity and she didn't shrink back from his scrutiny. His eyes were filled with wonder and appreciation and the gentleness of spirit that she immediately recognized. It was DannyBoy. She could have picked him out from a crowd.

Walking toward him, she felt sure that this was what it felt like when people talked about dying and heading toward heaven—just walking toward the light.

 

Jilly had one more stop to make before ending the quest. She drove out of Green Bay toward Du Pere to visit Anne Marie once more before leaving town. The directions were clear and the streets well-marked. It wasn't long before she pulled up in front of a small yellow brick bungalow with pale blue shutters. Even though most of the houses on the block looked the same, Jilly would have picked this house out as Anne Marie's even without directions. This house had window boxes spilling over with freshly planted annuals and a white picket fence bordering it. A wreath of dried flowers hung on the door.

Anne Marie answered the door and Jilly was relieved to see that the bloom was back in her cheeks. Lauren didn't hang back behind her mother's skirts as she had the first time they'd met. She ran into Jillian's open arms to deliver a kiss. Kyle was at work and Susan was at home, so the atmosphere was more relaxed.

Jilly spent a pleasant hour looking at photo albums of Anne Marie and Lauren while they sipped coffee. It was just long enough to tie and knot the tenuous bonds they'd established. They didn't have a relationship yet. That would take time, effort and honesty. But they did have a beginning.