She lifted it out carefully. It had to be fake.
Was it fake?
She turned it over in her hand.
Who had given it to her mother? This wasn’t her engagement ring. Her mother’s engagement ring was an emerald and it was always on her finger.
This ring had been tucked loose under a piece of string holding a bunch of papers.
She checked the drawer and discovered that what she’d thought were papers were letters. The postmark was California, and they’d been mailed at regular intervals dating back to the early sixties. Her mother would have been in her early twenties.
Why hadn’t she opened them? Was there a reason the letters and the ring were together, or was that coincidence?
Her phone rang and she almost dropped the letters.
She slid the ring onto her finger for the time being, returned the letters to the drawer and locked the study door. Only when she’d done that did she answer her phone.
It was Sean.
“I’ve been calling you all day. Where were you?”
“I’ve been out. I forgot my phone.”
“You never forget your phone.”
These days she was doing a lot of things she didn’t normally do.
“I was busy.” She sat down on the edge of her mother’s bed. The ring felt heavy on her finger. Did that mean it was real? If it was real, then it must be valuable. Surely not even her mother would leave a valuable ring loose in a drawer.
“Busy doing what?” Sean sounded tired. “Caitlin is going crazy because she washed her white shirt, which is apparently precious, and I’d left a red cleaning cloth in the machine.”
Liza watched a woodpecker land on the apple tree. “I did tell her to check the machine is empty before she put anything in it.”
“Well, apparently it’s my fault, because I should have noticed. Girls are exhausting. Alice’s hair straighteners broke, and I’m told this is a tragedy. I tried to point out that this does not come under the heading of a crisis, but before I had the door slammed in my face for that remark I was told that I couldn’t possibly understand. The bathroom smells so badly of hairspray and perfume I’m having breathing issues. When are you coming back? How much attention does Popeye need?”
“I’m not staying for Popeye, I’m staying for me. I need a break.” It was the closest she’d come to admitting that something was wrong.
“A break? Knowing you, you’ve probably worked nonstop since you arrived.”
Did he know her? Or had he assumed she was the same Liza she always had been? No one stayed the same throughout life, did they? Things happened. Life happened. And each event and experience sculpted you into a slightly different shape. Maybe when you’d been with someone for a long time you saw the old, not the new. It was important to keep communicating. Keep listening.
But she hadn’t done that with her mother.
She’d assumed the house was too much for her, and that moving would be the best thing. She hadn’t said, What is it you’d like? She hadn’t listened. Instead she’d motored forward with a plan that seemed sensible to her without consulting the person who mattered most.
She assumed she knew her mother, and the unopened letters in the drawer and the ring had reminded her that there was plenty she didn’t know. And she hadn’t asked. She was just one part of her mother’s rich and varied life.
Liza had thought she had all the answers, but now she realized she hadn’t asked the right questions.
Feeling guilty, she stood up and walked to the window.
“I haven’t done much around the house.” Apart from finding something she was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to have found.
“We’ll probably need to get professionals in to have a clear out when she finally decides to sell.”
Liza stared across the garden, at the blur of bright color that tumbled from the pots on the patio. The place was idyllic. The thought of never standing in this room again, never running across the fields to the sea, never feeling the air cool on her skin in the evenings, left her bereft. “I don’t think she should sell it.”
“Really? Why have you changed your mind?”
“I’ve had the time to think.” About many things.
“Good. Your life is a mad rush. Fortunately, we’re going to France in a few weeks. You’ll be able to relax.”
Would she?
“France is a lot of work for me, Sean.”
“What are you talking about? It’s a brilliant family holiday that we’ve done for years. You love it. We always have a relaxed time.”
It was time to tell at least part of the truth. “You all have a relaxed time, because I do all the organization. For me, it’s relaxing for about two hours a day when you’re all enjoying watersports. Here I have time to myself and it’s not limited. I’m staying a little longer.” It was the first time she’d given thought to what was going to happen next. “I have things to sort out.”
There was a pause. “Is everything all right, sweetheart?”
A breath caught in her chest. The kindness and warmth in his voice sounded like the old Sean. This was her chance to tell him the truth. To be open about all the things she’d been feeling. But was that really a conversation to have on the phone?
No. It had to be face-to-face. She’d do it, but not yet.
“I’m tired, that’s all.”
“After spending this week with the twins with no help, I can understand that.” There was humor in his tone. “I’m going to need a month to recover. What about you? If you haven’t been clearing the house, what have you been doing?”
She thought about Finn. About her shopping trip. About her painting.
For some reason she didn’t understand, she wasn’t ready to tell Sean about it yet.
She looked at the DVDs. “I’ve been trying to find out a little more about my mother. I don’t think I’ve paid enough attention to who she is or what she wants. I’m about to watch her old shows.” She didn’t say anything about the letters she’d found. Nor did she say anything about her painting. “I bumped into Angie.”
“Your old friend Angie? From our wedding? What’s she doing there?”
“She and John divorced, so she moved back here. We had a picnic on the beach together today.” She didn’t mention that Angie was using them as the model for a perfect relationship.
“Sounds fun. I should go—I promised Caitlin I’d try and rescue the white shirt.”