They were doing it again. Talking about life and the children. Never about themselves.
But he’d asked her if she was all right. He’d cared enough to ask her.
She thought about what Angie had said about their wedding day and felt a rush of anxiety. They’d been so happy. Tears stung her eyes. “Sean—”
“Have fun. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
Resisting the temptation to call him back, she returned the ring to the drawer in the study, picked up the DVDs and headed downstairs to the living room.
She made herself a tea with fresh peppermint from the garden, slotted in the DVD and curled up on the sofa.
She started right at the beginning, with her mother’s first show.
The Summer Seekers had been one of the earliest travel shows, and its immediate popularity had surprised even its creators. It had run for almost two decades, with Kathleen the face of the show.
As she watched, she saw her mother as others probably saw her—a vibrant enthusiast, hungry to explore all that the world offered and share it with a wider audience.
The show was dated, of course, and in different circumstances she might have been amused by the outfits, the use of language and the places they’d chosen to stay, but even now there was an energy to the show that made its record audience ratings easy to understand. It had been aspirational, and yet somehow still accessible. Her mother drew the audience to her, until you felt as if you were there by her side, traveling with her, laughing with her.
In many ways Kathleen hadn’t changed much. Yes, she had more wrinkles and her hair was shorter now, but she still had the same fierce expression in her blue eyes, and the same buoyant approach to life.
How could she ever have thought her mother would be content in a residential home?
Liza watched several episodes, and then walked across to the shelves where the photo albums were kept. She carried them back across the room, piled them on the floor next to the sofa and started to go through them one by one.
The photographs charted her mother’s life history, from her childhood through to college and the early days of her twenties. Liza was interested in those early days.
When she reached the photo of Ruth, she paused.
Ruth and her mother had obviously been close. Why had they lost touch?
She and Angie hadn’t fallen out. It was more that life had pried them apart and they hadn’t tried hard enough to bring themselves back together. The most likely explanation was that the same thing had happened between her mother and Ruth.
The letters had been mailed in California. So did that mean they were from Ruth?
She put the album down, thinking about herself and Sean.
Not all relationships ended in an abrupt way. For some it was a slow easing apart. In some way that was more dangerous because it could go unnoticed amidst the pressure of life.
She felt guilty for not asking him to come and join her. And guiltier still when she was forced to admit she didn’t want him to join her.
She was a family person. Her family was everything.
And yet here she was, happier than she could remember being for a long time.
Alone.
So what did it all mean?
16
KATHLEEN
OKLAHOMA~AMARILLO, TEXAS
Kathleen sat in the back seat, dark glasses covering her eyes. It was a hot day and Martha had insisted on keeping the roof closed and the air-conditioning on so the car was deliciously cool.
Kathleen stared out the window, taking in the landscape.
What would Route 66 have looked like in its heyday? She wondered what experience those earliest people to travel the road would have had. Nothing like the comfort of this, that was certain.
“Are you all right back there, Kathleen?” Martha glanced in the mirror and Kathleen produced her most reassuring smile.
“Never better.”
She’d been a great deal better, but Martha was already anxious enough and to admit how she felt would stimulate a flow of follow-up questions that she wasn’t able to answer. She’d never been a person who shared each and every feeling. And how could she share something she didn’t understand herself?
Her dizzy spell had shaken her up. What if that had been it? She would have died not knowing what was in those letters. And perhaps that would have been a good thing. What if the contents upset her? The events of that summer had shaped her. She’d made the hardest decision of her life and she’d believed, truly, that she’d done the right thing.
But what if those letters told her otherwise? Without opening them, she had no way of knowing.
She should have destroyed them. If something happened to her on this trip, someone else would open them.
She thought about it. Hands tearing through sealed envelopes. Curiosity. Shock, maybe. Revelations. Those hands would probably belong to Liza, who would never dream of disposing of letters without first reading them in case they contained something important. It wouldn’t sit well with her sense of responsibility.
The secrets of Kathleen’s past would be exposed in a way she couldn’t control. They would reveal a picture she couldn’t yet see. And she knew that no matter what they said, those letters would only be part of the story.
Kathleen knew the beginning of the story, but not the end. There could have been any number of outcomes and the only way to find out was to open those letters.
The thought made her physically uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat.
Brian was the only person who knew the truth. He was the only person she’d shared everything with, and even then it had taken time and gentle coaxing.
Her chest ached. How she missed him. His wry sense of humor. His quiet way, and his wise counsel. He’d been gone for five years and yet she still found herself turning to talk to him in the night.
She’d never fully shared herself with anyone except Brian. Not even with Liza. She’d protected herself for so long it had proved an impossible habit to break.
Until now.
She felt a twinge of guilt that she’d shared more of her past with Martha than she had with her own daughter.
In front of her Martha and Josh were engaged in conversation about where they should stop for lunch and what they should eat.
“Catfish and crispy tater tots,” Josh said and Martha pulled a face.
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“It’s good old Oklahoma food. Cover the fish in cornmeal, fry it. Delicious.”
Martha shook her head. “Not convinced. Not a big fish lover to be honest. And a kitty-fish doesn’t tempt me to change my mind.”