The Time Between (29 page)

Jenn appeared at the table with a basket of hush puppies and our salads, but nobody picked up a fork or lifted a napkin.

Eager to change the direction of the conversation, I said, “It must have been very difficult for you to be so close to your sister, but for you to be in love with two men who in another time might have been friends but could not be then.”

Her lips lifted in a soft smile. “Bernadett said the same thing. I think about that sometimes now, what it would have been like if we had all come to America after the war. If we all could have been a family. And I think, yes, it could have been.” Helena stared down into her salad, and I watched as she breathed in and out, and then I imagined I could hear the sound of a book being shut.

“I am feeling ill. I am so sorry, but you must take me home now. Perhaps we can bring our food home for later.”

Finn placed his hand gently on her arm. “I’m sorry, Aunt Helena. I didn’t mean to upset you. We won’t talk about the past anymore tonight. I promise. We’ll talk about Gigi and make plans to change her favorite color.”

Helena looked at Finn, and a weak smile of determination lit her face. “All right. But let us go ahead and order dessert now so they can wrap it up and we can bring it home.”

The rest of the meal was subdued, each of us buried in our own thoughts, my own occupied with the unspoken question that hovered between Finn and Helena. Our short drive home was mostly silent, except for the crinkling of paper take-out bags and the sound old memories make as they slip back and forth behind your eyes.

Nurse Weber and Gigi were surprised to see us home so early, and Gigi might have even been a little disappointed since she was only in the middle of
Beauty and the Beast
and the brownies were still in the oven. I was happy to see rhinestones drying in glue on two tiaras on the kitchen table.

I gathered my things, preparing to leave, and then went in search of Finn. After looking around the house and porches, I found him on the dock with his telescope, looking up at the night sky.

He looked at me in surprise as I approached. “I’m sorry about dinner. I didn’t mean to upset Helena.”

“It’s not my place to voice my opinion regarding your behavior toward your family members. I’m only an employee.”

His face was in shadow, but I felt him watching me. “Is that how you really feel, Eleanor?”

My heart thudded loudly. “Yes,” I said, afraid to answer any other way.

He went back to his telescope, looking into the eyepiece. “Did you know that the earth isn’t perfectly round? It makes the earth wobble like a spinning top as it rotates around its axis. That means that in about fourteen thousand years Vega will be the North Star, and fourteen thousand years after that, Polaris will be the North Star again.”

He straightened. “I find it reassuring that no matter what, there will always be a North Star to guide us.”

I stepped closer and moved up to the telescope to look into the eyepiece. The bright light of the stars filled the space, the sound of the rushing creek beneath our feet at odds with my proximity to the stars. I was suspended in time, it seemed, floating somewhere between the earth and the sky, where all possibilities seemed endless.

I looked up from the telescope and found Finn standing very close to me. I didn’t move back. “Why wouldn’t you back off with your questions? Couldn’t you tell that Helena was getting upset?”

His eyes glittered. “Because I was the one who found them. Bernadett was dead, and Helena was eager to join her. And I don’t know why, and nobody will tell me, and I can’t just let it go.” He paused. “We’re both like that, aren’t we?”

I thought of all the unanswered questions I’d asked my father since his death, unable to take silence for an answer. “A bit,” I said. I tilted my head back so I could look into his face. “Bernadett stopped playing the piano a few months before she died.”

He didn’t say anything, as if he knew what I was going to say next.

“Why did you stop taking flying lessons?”

“Because Gigi got sick.”

“Exactly. I’m thinking something happened with Bernadett, too. Maybe it’s the romantic in me, but what if she heard from Benjamin after all these years?”

He was silent for a long moment. “I never took you for a romantic.”

“I used to be. A long, long time ago.” I paused. “Now that Gigi’s better, why aren’t you taking flying lessons again?”

I felt his eyes on my face, blending with the light from the moon and the stars. “Because I’ve forgotten why I wanted to fly.”

He kissed me then, our bodies touching only with our lips. His were soft and warm and tasted of a summer night, and I didn’t want him to stop.

I smelled his scent, as if just realizing whom I was kissing, and I pulled back, my hand flying to my mouth. “Oh,” I said stupidly, staring at him. “Oh,” I said again, backing away and trying to put as much distance between us as I could, the odd feeling of having been unfaithful to something or someone pinching at my heart.

“Good night, Finn,” I said, turning around and walking quickly down the dock. The current pushed at the boards, making me sway, and I looked up at the stars to steady me, imagining the earth wobbling on its axis as two stars switched places in the heavens.

Eve

I
pushed back from the kitchen table and held up the jacket to Eleanor’s suit. It had taken me longer than I’d expected, but I’d needed it to be perfect. I’d hand sewn the lining and the hems and inserted darts in the exact places to accentuate her tiny waist. I was glad that Mama had suggested I measure myself for it before I’d even started, because my pregnant body had already disguised my previous proportions completely.

A car door shut outside, announcing Eleanor’s arrival, but I didn’t bother to hide her new suit. It was Tuesday, and I’d made sure that I would be alone with my sister. I took my time folding the skirt and the jacket and placed them on the table as I listened to the sound of her slowly climbing the front steps and then the jangle of her keys in the front door.

She stopped when she spotted me. She looked at the quiet TV and the empty kitchen before turning her gaze back to me. “Where’re Glen and Mama? You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I knew you were on your way, and I’ve got the phone right here.” I patted the phone on the table next to the suit, which she hadn’t noticed yet. “Mrs. Reed picked Mama up about an hour ago to shop for fabric. Looks like Mama and I are designing recital costumes for Mrs. Reed’s granddaughters. And,” I added with a big smile, “thanks to your suggestion and Mr. Beaufain’s introduction, Mama has an appointment with Madame LaFleur next week to talk about recital costumes for Gigi’s dance academy.”

She slid into the chair opposite me and dropped her purse on the floor. “That’s really great—but what does Mr. Beaufain have to do with it?”

“When I sent him that thank-you note to thank him for allowing you the flexibility to take care of me, he called me.”

“He called
you
?”

“Yes. He wanted to let me know that he appreciated everything you’d done for his family, and also gave me his cell number so that if I ever needed anything I could call him directly.”

Eleanor stared at me as if I’d suddenly started speaking another language.

I continued. “You must have mentioned something about Mama and me making costumes at some point, because he asked me if I’d ever designed anything in pink with lots of sequins and tulle. And that’s all it took.”

“I had no idea. . . .” She stopped, and I watched as she raised her hand to her lips.

Ah.
Studying her closely, I said, “He’s a very nice man. And not too hard on the eyes, either.”

She quickly lowered her hand, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have. “He’s my boss,” she said, her tone not very convincing. “Which makes your comment very inappropriate.”

I smirked. “And you’ve always been such a stickler for what’s appropriate in relationships.”

“Stop,” she said, her eyes serious.

I touched her hand and she looked at me with surprise, reminding us both of how little physical contact we’d had over the years, except for the necessary care of a woman in a wheelchair. “I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it. “You make yourself such an easy target sometimes.”

She pulled her arm away. “No, I don’t. I’m just trying to make it through each day.”

I slipped into the unfamiliar role of older sister and found that if I spent a little time altering it, it would fit. “How’s that working for you? When you were younger and people would ask you what you wanted to do when you grew up, you used to say go to Juilliard and play in Carnegie Hall. I don’t think that’s the same as ‘making it through the day.’”

She stood. “I didn’t come home from a long day at work to listen to this.” Snatching up her purse, she headed toward the stairs. “I was going to wait and have dinner here, but I’m going to head straight out to Edisto. I’ll be there all week.”

I watched her retreat. “I liked the Ellie you used to be, and I wish she’d come back. It’s my fault you changed, and I don’t know what I can do to bring her back.”

She stopped with her hand on the banister but didn’t turn around. “What are you talking about? Nothing is your fault.”

I continued, speaking quickly before she changed her mind about listening. “After my accident, when everything was so crazy, it made sense that you would take care of me. Mama was half-crazed with grief and there was nobody else, so you stepped in. And we let you. You wanted to wait on me and serve me from some false sense of guilt, and I let you. I let you not because I thought you deserved it, but because I was so angry with myself for doing something so stupid that I’d break my back, and I wanted to blame somebody, so I blamed you. And you let me.”

She was shaking her head as she faced me. “I wanted to help you; I wanted you to get better. I didn’t want Mama to cry anymore, and I was the only person here to do it.”

“No,” I said softly. “Glen was there, too. But you insisted on playing the martyr, and we let you. And we let you believe that my accident was your fault. But it was wrong of us. I see that now. My pregnancy has allowed me to see my life from a whole new perspective. It’s my second chance, and I want you to have one, too. Because my accident wasn’t your fault. It was mine. But you think you need my forgiveness, so I forgive you. There, I said it. You’re forgiven.” I took a deep breath, knowing that my next words would sting. “I’m the paralyzed one, Eleanor. Not you. So stop acting like you are.”

“How dare you?” she said, marching toward me. “How dare you presume to know everything about me!”

I didn’t flinch as she approached. “But I do. Since the moment Daddy placed you in my arms, I have known you. And studied you. And wanted to be you. You were always so brave—and not just all the crazy physical stuff you did, but the way you always said what you meant, and never hesitated to ask questions. Didn’t you ever wonder why Lucy and I always tagged along and tried to do what you were doing? We wanted to be just like you. Maybe I still do.”

Eleanor just stood there, shaking her head, as if the mere act could negate everything I’d said. But I had to make sure she understood. “Do you want to know where Glen is now?”

She stilled and looked at me suspiciously. “Where is he? Is he all right?”

“He’s fine.” I paused. “He’s out with a Realtor looking for a house for us and the baby.”

She slid back down into the chair she’d just vacated. “A house?”

I nodded. “Just something small—probably a two bedroom—and close by Mama. And a garage. We’ll want to use that as my workroom, and a place where customers can come and be fitted for their costumes.”

She frowned. “But how can you afford it?”

“Glen’s boss quit, and because he’s so near to getting his business degree, they decided to go ahead and allow him to be the operating manager for three of the metropolitan-area rental agencies, and when he gets his degree next spring, they’ll make him the official manager.”

Her smile was tentative. “That’s great, but when did this all happen?”

“We found out about the promotion last week, but we’ve been talking about the house ever since we found out I was pregnant. We just didn’t expect to be able to afford it so soon.”

“Last week? But nobody said anything to me.”

I held her gaze for a moment, hoping I wouldn’t have to point out the obvious.

She lowered her eyes, finally noticing the neatly folded burgundy suit on the table in front of her. Her fingers brushed the soft wool, then withdrew just like she was a child caught reaching for a gift that wasn’t hers. “What’s this?”

“It’s your Juilliard interview suit.”

She looked at me and then back at the suit.

“I promised that I would make it for you.”

“When I was fourteen,” she said softly as her hands smoothed over the fabric.

“Do you want to try it on? I had Mama help me with the measurements, so it should fit just right, but it might need a few tweaks.”

She stood and held up the pencil skirt with the small pleated flounce at the back split. “It’s just like on the pattern cover,” she said, her voice almost reverential. She placed the skirt over a chair, then picked up the jacket, holding it up to the light and seeing the tiny hand stitches and flared collar. Without further prompting, she slid her arms into the jacket and buttoned it, then stood the collar up at the back to frame her face. Just as I’d predicted, she looked stunning.

“It fits perfectly,” she said, her face unsmiling.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Don’t you like it?”

She carefully slid her arms from the sleeves, then laid the jacket on top of the skirt. “It’s beautiful, but I’m never going to an audition at Juilliard.”

I rolled my wheelchair over to her so I could look her in the eyes and make her understand why I’d made the suit. “It doesn’t matter if you never go to New York or set foot inside Carnegie Hall. It doesn’t even matter if you never wear the suit.” I took her hand again and looked up into her face, hoping to see understanding. “I want you to hang it in your closet as a reminder that you
could
do all of those things, that you are smart, and strong, and beautiful, and brave. And that’s never changed.”

Her chin dropped to her chest. “You’re wrong, you know. About everything. You don’t really know the person I am.”

“I’m your sister,” I said.

She closed her eyes as if summoning strength, and when she opened them again, her eyes were bleak. “The day of your accident—I knew you were scared. I knew you didn’t want to climb that tree. But Glen was there and we were so eager to show off to him. So I egged you on, trying to get you to admit that you were scared. But you wouldn’t. No matter how much I teased and tried to get you to climb back down, you wouldn’t. I always admired that about you, you know. Your ability to get what you wanted at any cost. I hated you a little for it, too.”

She held her hands out, palms up, as if to show me she was playing her last hand. “Right before you fell, Glen was looking at you and telling you to be careful, and I saw that he loved you, knew then that he always had even if he didn’t realize it. I hated you so much right then. So much that I closed my eyes and wished with all my heart that you’d fall and die. And then you fell.”

She grabbed her purse and ran out of the house, leaving the beautiful suit behind. I’d wanted to point out that she’d almost died, too, trying to get to me as quickly as she could. But it wouldn’t have mattered. The truth had become like the scent of a moonflower, easily erased by the wind of hindsight and guilt.

I watched her go, hearing the old Gullah woman in my head again for the first time since the accident.
All shut-eye ain’t sleep; all good-bye ain’t gone.
I’d finally come to understand what she’d meant, and I wondered how long it would be until Eleanor did, too.

Eleanor

I sat curled up in Bernadett’s armchair in the sunroom at Luna Point, trying to focus on the art book about artists of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that Bernadett had reserved. It was due on Saturday, and since it didn’t seem that Helena had any interest in it, I figured I should look at it one more time before it went back to the library.

I was having a hard time concentrating, my mind wandering to my sister’s words and my own confession, and to the previous weekend, when Finn had kissed me out on the dock. I didn’t want to dwell on any of it, having long since learned that the past couldn’t be changed no matter how much we looked back. Yet I still found myself touching my lips and remembering the kiss, wondering at its implications. Wondering, too, why I wished I hadn’t backed away.

Happily, Finn was in New York all week, and although it also meant that Gigi was with Harper, I was glad I didn’t have to face him every morning in the office.

Nurse Weber stuck her head into the sunroom. “I just put the broccoli casserole in the oven, and now I’m going to the grocery store. I should be back before it has to come out, but listen for the bing of the timer just in case. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

I waved her off and returned to the book, skimming through the text and slowly thumbing through the pages. I lifted my head for a moment, listening to see if I’d heard Helena or just imagined it, then turned the page, a photograph capturing my attention. I started, recognizing one of the paintings in a photo that took up one third of the right-hand page.

I flipped on the floor lamp behind me and held up the page, the glossiness of the paper reflecting the light and making it hard to see. Impatient, I stood and moved toward the window to see it in better light. It was an oil painting from the eighteenth-century Dutch painter Pieter van der Werff depicting a woman sitting at her dressing table, leaning toward her mirror. She looked at the viewer from the reflected glass as she fastened a necklace, the color of the ruby matching the red of her long velvet dress, which billowed around the bottom of the painting like a crimson dust cloud.

I stared at it on the page for a long time, trying to tell myself that it couldn’t be the same painting that I stared at every time I sat down to play the piano. Using my finger to mark the page, I made my way to the music room. After flipping on all of the lights and pulling back the drapes as far as they would go, I moved toward the painting, my suspicions confirmed before I was halfway across the room.

Squinting, I read the artist’s name scrawled in gold paint in the bottom right of the canvas. I could see the brushstrokes in the paint and the hardened tips of color in the drapes of red velvet fabric. Even the woman’s expression, of wariness and welcome, was exact. If this was a reproduction, it was a very good one.

I scanned down the page to read the caption:
Portrait of Woman with Ruby Necklace, 1712. Believed to be one of the premier examples of the aim of Dutch painters to employ words with their images to transfer knowledge and information about the world, and cannot be taken in from a single viewing point.

I looked up at the portrait on the wall, trying to interpret what I’d just read with what I was seeing, but all I could see was a painting of a beautiful woman in a red gown. My gaze flickered through more description and then stopped on the final line:
From the Reichmann Family Collection. Believed lost in the bombing of Budapest, July 1944.