The Lost Hours (32 page)

I nodded, knowing what it must have taken to tell me that one disloyalty. “I think it’s all right to have dreams. As long as you’re willing to put the hard work into making those dreams happen.”

“I’m ready to jump, Miss Earlene. I really am. I can taste it so bad, it hurts.”

I hid my smile and patted her helmeted head. “You’re not ready, Lucy. But we’ll get you there. Promise.”

We’d taken a few more steps toward the ring before Lucy stopped suddenly. “Miss Earlene? Sara left her favorite doll on her raft in the pond. She remembered when we were eating lunch. I told her she could get it after our riding lesson. Do you think she went back to the pond instead? I hope not because she can’t swim. She always has to wear her floaties and she doesn’t know how to put them on herself.”

The summer air seemed to go suddenly still; even the cicadas stopped their eternal whirring.
The pond.
I’d only walked by it, not interested in going swimming if only because a bathing suit gave no camouflage for my scars. But when I thought of Sara, and her beloved doll, I knew she’d gone to retrieve it.

I started to run, adrenaline making me oblivious to the pain in my knee. “Lucy—go find your father and tell him to go to the pond. Now.”

I didn’t stop to see if she followed my instructions, I simply ran harder in the direction of the pond, cold sweat beading on my forehead. I reached the far side of the water, opposite the decking that had been installed on the edge, connected to a jumping platform, where brightly colored floating toys bobbed in the dark green water. “Sara!” I shouted, my panic making me jerk my gaze from one end of the pond to the other without focus.

“Sara!” I shouted again, forcing myself to calm down so I could pay attention to what I was seeing. A flash of hot pink caught my eye on the jumping platform. I might have seen it at first and dismissed it as another water toy, but this time the tiny white hearts on her bathing suit caught my gaze and I began running again, skirting the side of the pond.

Sara was stretched out as far as she could go, reaching for her doll floating on her raft just beyond her reach. “Sara, don’t—I’ll get it.”

Sara looked back at me and smiled, then returned to her mission of saving her doll. I saw her toes flex, absently thinking how her toenails matched the color of her bathing suit right as her supporting arm gave way.

I shouted her name one more time before she tumbled forward into the pond, the small splash seeming much louder in my ears than it should have. I sprinted to the end of the platform but held myself back. Maybe I’d finally learned my lesson about looking before I leapt, or maybe I knew the stakes were so much higher this time. Either way, I stopped to stare at where I’d seen Sara go into the water, peering into the murkiness, where I saw only a hint of disappearing pink. Keeping my eye on that point, I held my breath and stepped into the water next to where I thought she would be.

I opened my eyes beneath the water, the sun illuminating the three feet above my head as my feet touched the bottom. I swirled around looking for Sara, stirring the lazy sediment and stilling my panic. I knew she was near me; I could hear frantic kicking. All I needed to do was hold my breath and still my panic and the voice inside of me that was telling me I couldn’t do it.

I thought of Helen and how she could hear things even before Mardi and I closed my eyes, focusing on what I could hear. At first, I thought it was my own heartbeat, the soft fluttering swish of blood. I closed my eyes tighter and listened for it again, the sound coming from behind me. My chest began to burn, reminding me that I hadn’t taken a big enough gulp of air before I’d jumped in. But I was so close; I could feel her now, her thrashing slowing. I blew air out of my mouth, lessening the burn for a second, then twisted toward Sara. I reached out into the darkness, feeling the cool wash of water on my face, teasing me with a memory.

My fingers closed on a soft Lycra ruffle and I tightened my grasp, pulling Sara toward me. With her cradled in my arms, I opened my eyes and watched the sun push the darkness away from us as I lifted off the silted floor, moving us toward the murky light. We burst through to the surface with a loud gasp of air.

Tucker and Lucy were just reaching the platform, Odella close behind them, running so fast that I thought for a moment they couldn’t stop before they reached the water. Tucker knelt on the edge and reached for Sara as my fingers grabbed hold of the platform to keep me from slipping back into the water. She was coughing and spluttering and clinging to her father as he held her tight and kissed her temple before handing her to Odella, who wrapped her in a large pink towel.

Then Tucker leaned forward and lifted me up, too, as if I weighed no more than Sara, and I felt myself enveloped in his arms, too, exhausted yet exhilarated, remembering the teasing memory I’d had in the sanctuary of the still water: the blind reaching for Sara and the confidence of knowing I had just the one chance gave me the same feeling I got from landing the perfect jump.

I rested my head on Tucker’s shoulder as we both looked at Sara, clutching tightly to the doll that been the instrument of near disaster, and I knew with a sudden clarity that I’d just done something extraordinary.

Lillian walked down the hallway to the girls’ bedroom as fast as her arthritic joints would take her, her cane tapping impatiently on the carpet runner. She threw open the door and went in, blinking at the bright sunlight streaming in from the windows and illuminating the colorful palette on the walls and furnishings.

Sara sat propped up in her bed on large, fluffy pillows with her father in a chair on one side and Earlene on the other. At Tucker’s insistence they’d taken Sara to the emergency room to make sure she hadn’t inhaled any water. Satisfied with her clean bill of health, he’d brought her home and put her to bed to rest.

Now, judging from the rosy circles on Sara’s cheeks and the piles of her favorite dolls and stuffed animals crowded around her in the bed, she seemed no worse for the wear. In fact, if Lillian had to guess, she was enjoying the attention. Even the sodden doll clutched in the crook of Sara’s arm seemed to have a smug look about her, as if finally they were getting their turn in the spotlight.

Tucker stood and offered her his chair, which she thankfully accepted. After leaning her cane against the bed, she took Sara’s small hand in hers and had to fight back tears. She knew what burying a child was like, knew already what needed to be done to survive it. But Tucker was still slipping on the ice of his first great loss, and she closed her eyes in a prayer of thanks that not only had Sara been saved, but so had her father.

“Don’t cry, Malily. Me and Samantha are fine.”

Lillian looked up and smiled, noticing that Sara and her doll Samantha wore matching nightgowns. She squeezed the small hand. “Yes, I know. But you have to promise me that you’ll never go near the pond again without an adult, and never without your floaties. And maybe Samantha should stay inside the next time you decide it’s time for a swim.”

Sara’s blue eyes widened, working out something in her head. “Do you think that’s what happened to Mama? That maybe she fell into the river by accident and nobody was there to pull her out?”

Lillian’s gaze rose to meet Tucker’s, and she was surprised to see calmness where she’d expected the ghost of old grief. Maybe with Sara’s accident he had finally begun to see that life continued after a fall, and that the hands that reached to pull you out didn’t have to be your own.

Tucker pushed Sara’s blond hair from her forehead. “Maybe. But what matters is that Earlene was there and that you’re safe now. Just promise me that you’ll never, ever go near the water again without an adult with you.”

Sara rolled her eyes in such a perfect imitation of Lucy that Lillian almost laughed. “Like I would, Daddy. It’s not like I had any fun or anything. And now Samantha’s hair is all stiff.”

Earlene leaned forward to take the doll to examine the hair closer. “We could try to shampoo it. Or we could call the manufacturer and see what they suggest.”

Sara smiled brightly and reached out her arms for her doll. Earlene stood to tuck the doll back into the crook of Sara’s arm and pull the sheets up. As she leaned over Sara to kiss her forehead, the chain around her neck slid out of the collar of her blouse, and Lillian stopped breathing. The wings of the gold angel charm twirled, teasing Lillian with each twinkle of light it reflected from the window. Her hand reached for her own angel charm, and as her gnarled fingers grasped it, she caught Earlene’s gaze and held it.

Slowly, Earlene sat down, her own hand tucking the charm back out of sight, but it was too late. Lillian had seen it, and along with it saw her own past and the sudden realization that seven decades could be reduced to the blink of an eye, or the reflection of sunlight on the wings of a gold angel.

“Where did you get that?” Lillian asked, her voice sounding horrifyingly normal.

Earlene lifted her chin in a way that was so reminiscent of Annabelle in a stubborn mood that Lillian wanted to laugh at her own stupidity. It had been there the whole time—the familiarity, the unexplained connection she’d felt. The moonflowers. Maybe Lillian had known all along, but like a child opening the door to a darkened closet, she’d been afraid to look inside, not really wanting to know. Because once she saw what was on the other side of the door, she knew what would have to happen next, and she wasn’t at all sure that she was ready.

“My grandmother left it for me when she died.” Earlene’s jaw didn’t waver, but remained set in the endearingly familiar way.

“Perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim,”
Lillian said slowly, her mouth rusty on the old words. “Do you know what it means?” She still held on to a thread of doubt that maybe she was wrong, that maybe this girl wasn’t who Lillian thought she was.

Earlene’s gaze never shifted as she answered. “ ‘Be patient and strong; someday this pain will be useful to you.’ It’s Ovid.”

Tucker looked from Lillian to Earlene and then back again. “Earlene said that it was a fad when you were younger—that lots of girls had them. Right?”

Lillian found herself staring out the window toward the alley of old trees, the stiff limbs reluctantly shifting in the wind, going where they didn’t want to go. She closed her eyes, felt the ache in her fingers, and knew what it was like. After a deep breath, she said, “There are only three that I know of. And they all say the same thing because they were all engraved at the same time.” She looked back at Earlene, who was studiously avoiding Tucker’s eyes. “Which one is yours?”

Lillian saw the old familiar jut of the chin again. “Annabelle’s. Annabelle O’Hare Mercer was my maternal grandmother.”

Lillian nodded, feeling surprisingly calm as if none of this was news to her. “And your real name is . . .” She found herself unable to say it, the unknown darkness behind the door seeping towards her.

“Piper Mercer Mills.” Her chin wobbled just a little as she said her name, the little movement revealing how hard it had been for her.

This time, Lillian did laugh—great gasping laughs of relief, and of the inevitability of everything. Since receiving Piper’s first letter, she’d known this would happen, regardless of her efforts to the contrary. If she believed in such a thing as karma, she would have agreed that this was it, that all past sins would come back to you regardless of how many hours spanned the commission of the sin and the reckoning. And she laughed with joy, as if having this girl in front of her was like having Annabelle back, and knowing that to find the truth, Annabelle would have done exactly what her granddaughter had done.

Tucker gently disengaged himself from the head of the bed, where the now sleeping Sara had been resting against his chest, and stood. Color flooded his face, and even under the circumstances, Lillian found any emotion besides sorrow there a welcome sight.

“Piper Mills? You’re Piper Mills?” His voice was hard, and Lillian wasn’t sure if he was angrier at Piper for her deception, or at himself for his gullibility.

Piper stood, too, and faced Tucker. She reached a hand up to touch his arm, then dropped it when he flinched. “I’m sorry. I never meant to deceive anyone.”

Tucker’s expression was mocking. “Really? Then what exactly were you trying to accomplish?”

For a moment, Piper looked as if she were unsure of the right answer. “I needed to know about my grandmother. I wrote to Lillian three times—the first two letters were ignored and the third was replied to by you stating that your grandmother was too sickly to meet with me and that she didn’t know who my grandmother was.” She lifted her chin a notch. “And I knew both statements were untrue.”

“So you figured you’d just come here, lie about who you are, and try to get what you wanted.”

Piper clasped her hands together in front of her. “At the time, I couldn’t think of another way to gain access to your grandmother.” She shot an apologetic glance at Lillian.