fester, Mrs. Riley had said. Maybe Grandmother had never really healed from her first betrayal. Matt was the most significant person in her life now, and she the most consistent person in his. I wondered if she saw me as someone like Avril, putting myself between them. Maybe Grandmother was afraid of losing out again.
Well, that was her problem. She was the one whochose to spin her world around one grandchild, rejecting my parents and brothers and me. I rose and climbed the stairs, feeling torn between pity and anger. Then I heard the machinery of the big clock begin to wind. I took the steps two at a time, hurrying past before it could start its dismal tolling.
twelve
Wednesday morning I saw Matt just long enough to ask if I could pick up my e-mail from his computer. When he’d left for school, Grandmother informed me that she had an early appointment. I didn’t ask where, not after yesterday’s reminder about her privacy. She drove off and I went upstairs to retrieve my mail. I had several messages from friends at home, but it was Mom’s letter I was most eager to open. I printed it out, deleted the electronic copy, then sat back to read.
Hi, Sweetheart!
Dad and I loved your e-mail. We felt like we were back on High Street again.
Life here isn’t the same without you. Pete and Dave have both said they miss you, though Ipromised them I wouldn’t squeal (crossed my fingers).
In your note you barely mentioned Grandmother. I know you, Megan, and I worry when you get silent. I’m counting on you to let me know if there’s a problem.
So you found the dollhouse! It was built for Grandmother and her sister. I played with it as a kid, but I can’t find a photo of it anywhere. Why do you ask?
About Aunt Avril. Neither Mother nor Dad spoke much of her. I’ve never even seen her picture—perhaps they were all put away when she died. We weren’t supposed to ask questions about her. Dad said it made Mother sad to think about her sister. I do remember putting birthday flowers on her grave in April—Avril is the French word for that month. In October, too—I think that’s when she died. She had a close friend named Angel, Angel Cayton. Angel’s father was a doctor, and someone told me that Avril was brought to him the night she died. That’s as much as I know.
Everyone’s well here. The Naughtons’ spaniel had puppies. Write soon. And this time don’t leave out whatever you were trying to skirt around in your last e-mail.
Love,
Mom
I printed out my friends’ notes, then logged off. As soon as I got to work, I’d ask Ginny to help me find Avril’s friend.
“Angel Cayton,” Ginny said, stuffing tissue down the arms of a pale silk dress that was decorated with seed pearls. She and I had put the dress on a seamstress form so Ginny could photograph it for an out-of-town client. “I haven’t thought about her in ages. She died fifteen, no, must be twenty years ago now. Angel was a character-very active in town affairs and generous with her money. She started the Watermen’s Fund.”
“Did she leave behind any family?” I asked, though I had little hope of someone remembering stories they were told more than twenty years ago.
“I don’t think so. Evie?”
Evie Brown, one of our elderly customers who came by almost every day, was standing in front of a mirror, trying purses on her arm.
“Evie, do you know if Angel Cayton has any family left around here?”
Miss Brown chewed over the name for a moment. “Nope,” she said at last. “Angel was an only child and never married. Her sweetheart, Sam Tighe, died in the last war.”
“That’s World War 11,” Ginny whispered to me.
“Angel got killed in a car accident, didn’t she-yes, I’m sure,” Miss Brown answered herself. “Out Talbot Road on Dead Man’s Curve. Though Angel was the only one who ever died there. Why we don’t call itDead Woman’s Curve, I just don’t know. The county never gets things straight.”
“I don’t
Well, that was her problem. She was the one whochose to spin her world around one grandchild, rejecting my parents and brothers and me. I rose and climbed the stairs, feeling torn between pity and anger. Then I heard the machinery of the big clock begin to wind. I took the steps two at a time, hurrying past before it could start its dismal tolling.
twelve
Wednesday morning I saw Matt just long enough to ask if I could pick up my e-mail from his computer. When he’d left for school, Grandmother informed me that she had an early appointment. I didn’t ask where, not after yesterday’s reminder about her privacy. She drove off and I went upstairs to retrieve my mail. I had several messages from friends at home, but it was Mom’s letter I was most eager to open. I printed it out, deleted the electronic copy, then sat back to read.
Hi, Sweetheart!
Dad and I loved your e-mail. We felt like we were back on High Street again.
Life here isn’t the same without you. Pete and Dave have both said they miss you, though Ipromised them I wouldn’t squeal (crossed my fingers).
In your note you barely mentioned Grandmother. I know you, Megan, and I worry when you get silent. I’m counting on you to let me know if there’s a problem.
So you found the dollhouse! It was built for Grandmother and her sister. I played with it as a kid, but I can’t find a photo of it anywhere. Why do you ask?
About Aunt Avril. Neither Mother nor Dad spoke much of her. I’ve never even seen her picture—perhaps they were all put away when she died. We weren’t supposed to ask questions about her. Dad said it made Mother sad to think about her sister. I do remember putting birthday flowers on her grave in April—Avril is the French word for that month. In October, too—I think that’s when she died. She had a close friend named Angel, Angel Cayton. Angel’s father was a doctor, and someone told me that Avril was brought to him the night she died. That’s as much as I know.
Everyone’s well here. The Naughtons’ spaniel had puppies. Write soon. And this time don’t leave out whatever you were trying to skirt around in your last e-mail.
Love,
Mom
I printed out my friends’ notes, then logged off. As soon as I got to work, I’d ask Ginny to help me find Avril’s friend.
“Angel Cayton,” Ginny said, stuffing tissue down the arms of a pale silk dress that was decorated with seed pearls. She and I had put the dress on a seamstress form so Ginny could photograph it for an out-of-town client. “I haven’t thought about her in ages. She died fifteen, no, must be twenty years ago now. Angel was a character-very active in town affairs and generous with her money. She started the Watermen’s Fund.”
“Did she leave behind any family?” I asked, though I had little hope of someone remembering stories they were told more than twenty years ago.
“I don’t think so. Evie?”
Evie Brown, one of our elderly customers who came by almost every day, was standing in front of a mirror, trying purses on her arm.
“Evie, do you know if Angel Cayton has any family left around here?”
Miss Brown chewed over the name for a moment. “Nope,” she said at last. “Angel was an only child and never married. Her sweetheart, Sam Tighe, died in the last war.”
“That’s World War 11,” Ginny whispered to me.
“Angel got killed in a car accident, didn’t she-yes, I’m sure,” Miss Brown answered herself. “Out Talbot Road on Dead Man’s Curve. Though Angel was the only one who ever died there. Why we don’t call itDead Woman’s Curve, I just don’t know. The county never gets things straight.”
“I don’t
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