The Lost Hours (42 page)

Tucker stood and moved to press the buzzer on the wall by her bed. “I’m calling Odella. You’re not looking well, Malily. We can continue this tomorrow after you’ve rested.” After murmuring something in her ear, he lifted her as easily as one of his daughters and brought her to the bed. Piper approached and adjusted the pillows under her head and placed a blanket over her legs, her touch soft and reassuring as Lillian had known it would be.

Lillian nodded, feeling the tiredness now in her bones. She welcomed it, this respite from the pain. But there was something new, too. She felt lighter, somehow. As if the secrets that had long anchored her to this world were slowly fraying, like a ship breaking its moorings as it slid out to sea.

She turned her head and blinked at the watery image at the foot of her bed. Annabelle sat there, her knitting needles flying, the ticking of the clock having eased its way into the clicking sound of needles. Blue yarn spilled on the white chenille bedspread, only Lillian knew that it wasn’t the right bedspread.
Always knitting, Annabelle. Always that incessant knitting as we’d waited those last months for news of Freddie. How I’d hated it. And how I hated you for having something to keep you busy besides regret.

She heard Helen whisper in her ear before kissing her cheek. “Good night, Malily. We’ll see you in the morning.” Lillian closed her eyes and the sound of the knitting needles ceased.

Piper took her hand and Lillian managed to hold on to it, pulling her closer. “Stay. Please.”

Piper sat down on the edge of the bed, not releasing her hand. “Okay.”

Lillian waited for Tucker and Helen to leave before speaking again. “I need you to do something for me.”

Piper nodded.

“In the top drawer of my writing desk is an old framed photo. I need you to bring it to me.”

Piper stood and did as Lillian asked before resuming her seat on the side of the bed. “When was this taken?”

Lillian smiled, smelling again Charlie’s cologne and hearing the magic of Josie’s voice. She felt her in the room, too, knowing that if she turned her head she’d see Josie and Annabelle at the foot of the bed, just as she remembered them during those long months of waiting.

“Right before my come-out ball. It was the happiest night of my life.”

“Then why do you keep it in your drawer instead of where you can see it?”

Lillian sighed, not remembering ever feeling so tired. “Because of Annabelle. I didn’t want to see her anymore.”

Piper lowered the frame, letting it rest in her lap. “Why? Please, Lillian. Please tell me why.”

Lillian clutched at the necklace around her neck, her fingers sliding along the charms, finally settling on the key. She wrapped her hand around it, feeling the edges of the charm biting into her skin. “Maybe you don’t want to know. Did it never occur to you that you might not really want to know what some of those shadows are you see in the dark?”

Piper dislodged her hand and stood, averting her head so Lillian couldn’t see the tears pooling in her eyes. “No. Not anymore. I need to know. I need to know because . . .”

Lillian managed to sit up a little, giving strength to her voice. “Because why? Because you want to know what changed your grandmother from an intelligent, vibrant young woman into the timid shell she was when she died?” The sound of the knitting needles began again, frantically clicking against each other.

Piper’s breath stuttered. When she turned around, Lillian expected to see a shattered expression; instead she saw the Annabelle she’d known, the friend who fought until the end. Piper came close to the bed, her eyes bright with tears and confusion. “Maybe that’s part of it. But mostly . . .” She stopped, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. “Because mostly I want to know that I’m different than her.”

The click of needles stopped abruptly, and Lillian listened as the silence was filled with another sound she couldn’t yet identify. Something low and murmuring, reminding her of a moving river, heard from a distance. “But you’re not, are you? Because if you were different, you’d still be jumping fences.”

Piper turned to her, her face rigid with anger. As if Lillian hadn’t spoken at all, Piper asked, “Why did you come to stay with Annabelle for so long? Was it because of your father’s association with the Klan? Or was there something else? And what about the baby in the news clipping? Whose baby was it, and how did he end up in the river? Is that what was in the letter Susan read?”

There was a soft knock on the door and Odella entered. Lillian closed her eyes again, relief and exhaustion washing over her.
So tired.
“You’re jumping ahead again, Piper. Just like Annabelle . . .” She kept her eyes closed, waiting until Piper turned away.

“Wait.” Lillian held up a finger. “The frame. I want it next to me. On the table.”

After a short hesitation, Piper did as she’d been asked. “You’re wrong, you know,” Piper said quietly as she settled the frame on the bedstand.

Lillian smiled, letting the approaching sleep begin to numb her limbs and her mind. “Then prove it.”

Piper stiffened and moved back, her presence by the bed replaced by a bustling Odella.

“Do you hear them, Piper?” Lillian tilted her head, listening to the voices who spoke with words she couldn’t understand.

“The trees?” A line formed on Piper’s forehead as she turned her head to listen. “I don’t hear anything. Maybe it’s just the wind. Or maybe your hearing is going.”

Lillian smiled at Piper’s back as the younger woman retreated, watching as she moved to the door and closed it behind her, unaware of all the ghosts now crowding the room or their silent nods of approval.

I ran down the stairs, ignoring the protest in my knees. I’d been dutifully doing Emily’s exercises and my joints did bend more easily and with less pain. I knew now that I would probably never walk normally again, but the realization came with some relief. Now that I knew the worst of it, I could focus on making it better. Like an alcoholic continuing to drink so he doesn’t have to face the real problem, I’d relied on my limp to show the world physical proof of why I couldn’t ride anymore. And I couldn’t help but think how disappointed my grandmother would be that I had chosen to live that way.

I heard Tucker and Helen talking in the parlor, but I slipped past the doorway, unwilling to speak to anybody after my conversation with Lillian. I was unsettled, suddenly feeling the earth’s gravitational pull, wary that it might stop at any moment.

Because if you were different, you’d still be jumping fences.
Lillian’s words taunted me, and I walked faster as if physical exertion might distract my thoughts. I left a note on the kitchen table telling Odella that I would return the golf cart first thing in the morning, then left out the back door.

It was full dark now, the house illuminated with spotlights, the alley of oaks towering in front of me. I paused by the sundial, feeling silly at my reluctance to continue forward. An owl hooted from a high branch of the nearest oak as I studied the sundial again, recalling the English translation.
Time flies, but not memories
. I wondered if my grandmother had ever paused at this exact spot and contemplated the words on the sundial as I did now, and understood how very true they were.

The cloudless night lay still over the oaks and old house and as I moved forward under the canopy of trees, I pushed on the pedal as far as it would go. I couldn’t shake the feeling of expectation, as if the trees were watching me, and waiting to see what Lillian’s words would make me do.

When I returned to the cottage I put on a pot of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, prepared to make a long night of it. I had one more page to read from my grandmother’s scrapbook, and then I was going to reread everything, making more notes and checking dates. I was determined to discover Lillian’s secrets before she had the chance to make me doubt my reasons why.

I set the coffeepot and my mug next to me and began to read.

 

 

I asked Paul to take a picture of the three of us in my garden—my favorite place in the world. My flowering azaleas and purple wisteria were photo-worthy, so I posed us in front of them, with Lillian standing behind us as Josie and I squatted in front.The flowers have done well despite the heat, and Lillian wore her new coat, ignoring the temperature.We all wore our angel charms and smiled for the camera, and I know it’s a photo we’ll look at when we’re older
,
if only to remind ourselves how far we’ve come.

 

I jerked my head up, staring at my grandmother’s handwriting as if it weren’t finished and the script should continue down the page. My fingers traveled downward toward the black-and-white photo of the women in the backyard, Lillian wrapped in a bulky wool coat and scarf. Pulled over each collar was a chain with an angel charm, the dim sun glinting off of each one like a conspiratorial wink.

I stared at the photo for a long time, trying to see beyond the thick coat, and drawing more than one conclusion. Despite the lateness of the hour, I stood, intending to call Tucker and Helen and tell them what I’d read.

As I reached for my cell phone, it rang. I grabbed it and flipped it open before I realized that I didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Hello. May I speak with Piper Mills?”

I knew then, and I might have forgotten to breathe. “This is she. Is this Alicia?”

There was a brief pause. “It is. I’d like to sit down and talk with you, if you’re still interested.”

I leaned back in my chair, listening to the honeyed tones of Alicia Jones’ voice as she gave me directions to her house, smiling to myself as I realized that I might have a chance to beat Lillian at her own game.