The Lost Hours (44 page)

“We go see Lillian and ask her about Freddie. And then we’re going to ask her what happened to their baby.”

Helen nodded, using a knuckle to impatiently wipe under her eyes. She didn’t look at me when she finally spoke. “I think she’s kept quiet all of these years because of me.”

“Because of you?”

“Yes. She and Tucker have always believed that they needed to protect me. Like being blind made me somehow more vulnerable or worthy of sheltering.” She smiled to herself and smoothed her hands over the soft fabric of her dress. “It’s funny really, because I’ve always thought it was the other way around.”

We drove the rest of the way without speaking, our minds focused on the envelope in Helen’s purse, and the untold story of three best friends and the secret two of them had managed to take to their graves.

George dropped Helen off at the tabby house, where he’d spotted Emily pushing the girls in the tire swing Tucker had recently placed in the towering oak tree in the front yard. Helen invited George to stay, but he’d sensed that he’d only delay the confrontation with Lillian and that he might complicate things. He’d kissed her chastely on the cheek when he’d said good-bye, promising to call her later, and she could still feel her skin tingling.

After determining from Emily that everyone else was up at the big house, she took her cane and began tapping her way down the path toward the gravel drive. She heard Tucker and Piper speaking in the front garden near the stone bench where she remembered Malily planting the azaleas. They’d be dormant now, but for Helen they were always in the height of bloom, with showy purple flowers dancing amid the shiny green leaves.

Mardi bounded over to her as she approached and the conversation ended abruptly. Tucker greeted her, then led her to the bench.

“Did you have a nice lunch with George?” Piper asked.

“Yes, thank you. We went to Firefly Café, one of my favorites. And it would have been the perfect date if he hadn’t kept reminding me how bad cigarettes are for my lungs.” She rolled her eyes. “So I told him fine, that maybe I’ll stop. The girls have been wanting me to quit for forever, so maybe it’s time I did.” She kept her hand on Mardi’s head, scratching him behind his ears, and wondering why Tucker and Piper weren’t saying anything. She pictured them gesturing with their hands and eyes and decided to put them out of their misery. “Go ahead and say it. I can handle it.”

“It’s not about George, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Piper.

“I wasn’t thinking anything, actually.” She smiled patiently.

Tucker cleared his throat. “Piper told me about your meeting today with Josie’s daughter. And about the envelope she gave you. Do you still have it?”

“Yes, of course. It’s in my purse. Why?”

Again, Helen pictured the gesturing between Tucker and Piper, amused that they seemed to know each other well enough now to create an unspoken language. It had never been that way with Susan. Susan’s attempts at communication, verbal and otherwise, had never appeared to work. Even with her own children, it was as if she were speaking in a foreign language.

Piper spoke. “Because I’d like to see it first.”

Helen surprised even herself with her quick response. She held up her purse. “Take it, and read it. Malily had first dibs and she declined, remember? Even she wouldn’t argue with that.”

Tucker sounded agitated. “You’re not even going to think about it first?”

“You think that I haven’t been thinking about it all afternoon?” She shook her head. “Haven’t you ever wondered,Tucker, why Malily drinks? Or why the blinds at Asphodel are always closed? Why would Malily, who loves the bright flowers in her garden, choose to live in darkness? She’s punishing herself, whether she realizes it or not. That would be a horrible way for her to die.”

Helen reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his. “And I understand your reluctance, too. Because the closer we get to the answers we’re looking for, the more we’ll understand about Susan.” She leaned against his arm, remembering the brother who’d hung three of her paintings in his office and deserved more in his life than grief and unanswered questions. “Ignoring things never made them go away,Tuck.”

“ ‘Never hesitate when it comes to something you want,’ ” Tucker said slowly. “Malily taught us that, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she did.”

Piper took the purse from her and removed the letter. Helen listened as Piper gently ripped the envelope open.

“It’s another news clipping—just like the first.”

There was a brief silence, and then Helen heard Piper sigh.

Gently, Tucker said, “Here, let me have it. I’ll read it out loud for Helen.” He began:“It’s dated September twenty-ninth, nineteen thirty-nine. It reads, ‘The Negro child pulled from the Savannah River three weeks ago remains unidentified. The medical examiner has confirmed that the male infant was a newborn and apparently born healthy. Cause of death remains inconclusive, although the examiner’s report indicates the child died prior to being placed in the river. As an act of charity, the body was given into the custody of a Dr. Leonard O’Hare for a proper burial.’ ”

Helen remained thoughtful for a long moment. “Why would Josie have sent this to Malily?”

“Hang on,” said Piper. “There’s something else here in the envelope. It’s a handwritten letter.” Helen listened to the sound of crinkling paper and then Piper began to read.

Quietly, Piper folded up the letter and Helen heard her slide it back into the envelope. Her voice shook. “So what did my grandmother do, do you think, that she needed forgiveness for?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Helen said. “Let’s go find Malily and get this over with.” She stood abruptly, not able to reconcile the memories of the grandmother who’d planted a garden for her with the woman who’d never found it in her heart to forgive a friend.

Tucker took her arm. “Are you sure you want to do this? It might be hard to hear.”

She yanked her arm away from him. “I’m not a child,Tucker. And just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I’m not strong. I was the one you came to when Susan died, remember? I grieved for her, too, but somebody had to be strong for the children and I was happy to do it. But don’t treat me now as if I can’t handle this.”

He stepped back. “Go then.” He softened his voice. “You’ve never really needed me anyway.”

Helen reached out in her darkness for her brother, and he grabbed her hand. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, remembering the little boy who’d been afraid of thunderstorms. “Yes, I have. And I always will. But in case you haven’t noticed, my life has managed to be far less complicated than yours. Why don’t you focus on you for now? I wouldn’t mind a complication or two in my own life now and again.”

She pulled away from him and turned toward Piper. “Come on. You and I are going up to Malily’s room.” She held up a staying hand to Tucker. “I think it should be just Piper and me. You know how Malily has always said that history is best translated by women. I also don’t think she could stand to see the disappointment in your eyes.”

“Or yours,” he said.

She allowed herself to smile. “But that’s where you’d be wrong. She doesn’t think I can see anything.”

“Fine, then. If that’s what you want. Just . . . call me when you’re done.”

Piper stood and placed the envelope in Helen’s hands. “I’ll let you give this to her.” To Tucker, she said, “Go see the girls. If you don’t mind helping them tack up, they’d love to show you a few of the things they’ve learned this week. I’ve already told them I’m Miss Piper now—because I wanted my nickname back.”

After a brief hesitation,Tucker said,“Sure, I’ll do that.” He started to walk away but turned back. “Go easy on her. She’s an old woman.”

Helen shook her head. “She’d hate to hear you say that. But, yeah, we will.”

Piper took her arm and led her inside. They walked more slowly than usual, as if each realized that Pandora’s box was about to be blown wide-open.

Lillian sat up in her bed propped against plumped pillows covered in the best Egyptian linen. Still, she couldn’t get comfortable, and had rung for Odella so many times that Odella had parked a chair outside of the bedroom door to save herself the trouble of climbing the stairs again and again. This was the first time in Lillian’s life—not counting when she’d had her children—when she hadn’t gotten out of bed. She was too tired, all the thoughts in her head and words on the scrapbook pages warring in her brain, sapping her strength.

Annabelle’s last scrapbook pages lay on the bedside table next to her, but the photo of the three of them in the garden at Dr. O’Hare’s house on Monterey Square was now propped against the photo of her debutante ball. She’d had Odella pry the photo off the page using a nail file, the photo popping off the old glue easily. The edges of the photo curled inward like her memories, as if neither one could move forward past that time.

“Were you pregnant in that photo, Lillian?”

Startled, she looked at the doorway where Odella stood behind Piper and Helen. She’d known better than to ask Odella to prevent entry. The Annabelle she’d once known wouldn’t have been deterred, and neither would her granddaughter.

Lillian leveled Piper with a stern gaze. “Yes, I was. I was in my seventh month then.”

Odella raised her eyebrows, but Lillian waved her hand and she left, closing the door behind her. Not that it mattered; Lillian knew Odella would have her ear pressed to the door the whole time. Lillian watched as Piper drew a chair close to the bed and seated Helen and then did the same for herself.

Helen spoke first. “We visited Alicia Jones today—Josie’s daughter.”

Lillian raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Helen opened her purse and took out the envelope. “She gave me this. It’s from Josie. Alicia contacted you after Josie died to let you know that she had it, but you never wrote her back.”