She carried Clementine to the other side of the loft, away from the windows, where it was dark and toasty. She put her back into the crate. It was 2:30, nearly time to leave to meet the others. She’d have to gather tall grass from Mathilda’s yard, arrange it in a nest for Clementine. And food—she’d need to learn what wild rabbits liked to eat. She’d seen families of them in the meadow, hopping through clover. She wondered where she could find clover in late November.
“It will be all right,” Kate whispered. She thought of Lulu and Beth, the ritual of drawing a heart on the back of the painting. She cringed to think of the secrets they had kept from her.
Since July, her heart had ached more than she thought was safe. She’d thought maybe she would collapse. Her sister was gone, and she’d never see her again. The feelings were similar to what she’d felt when her mother had died, when it had seemed that if someone she loved could be taken so violently, there might be no reason to go on.
Sitting with Clementine, feeling sudden and deep commitment to saving her, she saw clearly what she’d known all along—that she’d already been doing that with Sam. She had decided, without putting it into words, that she would be her niece’s person. Less than a mother but more than the somewhat distant aunt she had always been. She might have thought she was shut down, but she had loved as deeply and totally as anyone else all along. She just hadn’t let herself feel it.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she stared through the crate’s open door and watched Clementine watching her. She remembered being eleven, rescuing a feral cat that had lived behind the gallery, the last pet she’d ever had—loving every second with Maggie, feeling her warmth as she snuggled against her side.
After those hours in the basement, Kate couldn’t even look at her sister. She had been too numb to grip her hand, to hold her little sister tight, to bond together and try to dispel the horrors of that day and night.
Kate’s love of her sister had never left her, but after their mother had died, after the brutality of the ropes, she’d stopped being able to open her heart to physical, hands-on caring for any living being. You never knew when they would be taken from you.
She thought about what Lulu had told her. If not for the photos and video, she would have had a hard time picturing Beth with the knife, cutting Moonlight from the frame, and she couldn’t help feeling angry at her sister. Beth had staged a fake crime, reminiscent of what their father had done with the same painting.
“Beth,” she said out loud. Then she closed her eyes and listened. She ached to hear her sister’s voice. After a few minutes, she leaned down to stare into the rabbit’s big beautiful eyes.
“You’re going to be fine, Clementine. It will all be okay,” Kate said, unable to stop herself from reaching into the crate, gently touching the head of her injured cottontail. “I love you more than you could ever know,” Kate said, and she wasn’t completely sure whether she was talking to Clementine or to Beth. She stood up. It was time to meet the others and celebrate Beth’s birthday.
51
Scotty and her family lived in a winterized beach cottage overlooking the boat basin at Hubbard’s Point, and at this time of year, she never felt quite warm enough. The November wind whistled through every window. Most boats had been hauled for the season, but gazing out her kitchen window, Scotty saw that there were still two tied up in their slips. Lobster pots were piled on the bulkhead between them. Late fall and winter weren’t bad times to be lobster fishermen, if you were hardy enough.
Isabel and Sam had gotten off the bus after school, had a quick snack, and were up in Isabel’s room with the door closed. She had no idea what they were talking about. It was time for Scotty and Sam to head to Mathilda’s—Isabel would stay here and babysit Julie—but try prying the best friends apart. It had been the same for Scotty and the rest of the Compass Rose when they were that age.
Scotty walked into the pantry and stood looking at the liquor. She wanted a drink badly. Often she let herself have a small one at this time of day. She used to wait till 6:00, the official cocktail hour, but lately she’d begun telling herself an hour or two earlier didn’t make a real difference. She didn’t drink to get drunk—just to take the edge off.
But other than her two days a week at the food pantry, she didn’t usually have to drive anywhere. She actually missed volunteering on the days she wasn’t there. She knew it would be frowned upon, but every so often she’d take a walk with one or more of her favorite clients and treat them to a cocktail. Why not? They were all adults, and if it brought a little pleasure into their painful lives, she was happy to provide it.
Beth might not have approved of her sharing alcohol with them—many had substance abuse issues. But Beth had understood almost everything else that mattered to Scotty.
They talked about how it felt to have teenage daughters, how unnecessary they’d started to feel. Both Isabel and Sam had found their independence on what had seemed to Scotty the early side—they’d embraced the belief they didn’t need their moms the same way. They had lives of their own, and the last thing they wanted were mothers hovering.
But of course they did need their mothers, more than ever. These were crucial days—that’s how Scotty thought of it: mere days, six hundred or so, before they went off to college. The comfort of years stretching ahead—a seemingly endless time for the entire family to nestle together, for Scotty to savor the closeness with her older daughter—was over.
Beth had thought she had that luxury too. Even though life had changed, with Sam growing up, they were still together, and Sam, although perhaps not in the same way as she had in middle school, needed her guidance and love. Beth had loved that girl, and she had been so ready to love Matthew. It was supposed to last forever.
Scotty shivered, thinking of the terrible loss. Beth, gone from their lives. Today, on her birthday, the emptiness was almost unbearable. She stared at the vodka bottle, then abruptly turned her back on it. She had to stay strong. And sober for today.
Kate and Lulu would be expecting her and Sam, but she knew they wouldn’t mind if two more joined them. She knew in that moment she couldn’t leave Isabel at home on Beth’s birthday, and that meant she’d take Julie along too. Her children were everything.
She paused. The last talk with Beth had been so upsetting. Her sweet Beth, so hurt by the men in her life. Was that why Beth had refused to give either one of them, Pete or Jed, the satisfaction of knowing he was the father? Scotty had no use for Pete, and she couldn’t see much good in Jed. He was an ex-con, probably drawn to Beth for her money and the connections she could make for him in the art world. He certainly didn’t deserve any respect, not after tempting Beth away from her marriage.
Money, clearly. And the prestige of the gallery. Beth must have realized he didn’t have good motives. That had to be the reason Beth wouldn’t tell him whether he was or was not Matthew’s father. Although Jed wasn’t honorable, it wasn’t fair to keep that fact from him. If he was about to be a parent, he deserved to know, and it was terribly unfair of Beth to not tell him. Everyone had loved Beth, but very few had realized how deeply flawed she had been.
There were certain rules in life that had to be adhered to. You simply couldn’t come between a person and his child. That would be selfish and unforgivable. The important thing was to celebrate Beth’s life. To be with everyone who had loved her as much as Scotty had.