she could make out a rocky path. But she could hear the lapping of the ocean.
He turned the chair next to him in invitation, and she sat down. “So what brings you to Wiscasset in September?” he asked, reaching for his beer. “We’re pretty much a summer town.”
For a moment, she considered just spitting it out, the whole story, but again she had that nudging feeling that she shouldn’t, that this was Joy’s territory, that this was equally Joy’s story, and she shouldn’t be telling everyone Joy’s personal business.
“Hypothetically?” Rebecca asked, taking another bite of her cake.
He glanced at her and smiled. “Sure.”
But instead of saying anything, she burst into tears, the image of her father, frail in the hospital bed, his lined face, the strange expression in his eyes, suddenly overtaking her. What was the expression? Not guilt, not really. “Let’s say someone’s father dies,” she rushed to say, “and right before, he confesses something, that he had another child and that this child is now an adult, just a couple years younger than, say, you are.”
He reached over to the napkin dispenser on the table behind them and handed her a few napkins. She dabbed under her eyes and clutched the white scratchy paper.
“And let’s say,” she continued, “that your own life is just sort of—I don’t know the right word exactly. Just sort of not . And something in this news, this startling piece of news, that you have a sister out there somewhere, means something to you, really means something. And you go in search of this sister and you actually find her and she wants nothing to do with you.”
“Ah,” he said, staring out at the darkness. “I would think she needed some time.”
“Really?” she asked, turning to face him. “Even if she said we’re not family, that there’s no there there, basically?”
He nodded. “Yup, time is the answer.”
Rebecca let out a deep breath and took another bite of cake, which sat in her stomach.
“My own father checked in and out pretty much my entire childhood,” Theo said. “If a kid of his came knocking on my door and said, ‘Hey, I’m your brother,’ I wouldn’t feel much of a connection. Not at first.”
Rebecca nodded. “I can understand that. I guess I feel the connection because I did grow up with my father. His other daughter is part of him. But she doesn’t have that. She doesn’t have anything to go on. I’m a stranger.”
“Hypothetically a stranger,” he said, tipping his beer bottle at her.
She smiled.
“Theo, dear, I’m ready to leave.”
Rebecca turned around to see one of the elderly square dancers smiling at them from the doorway. She wore a long, quilted down coat even though the temperature was in the low 60s.
“My grandmother,” he whispered. “Roommate of the birthday girl.” He closed his hand on Rebecca’s for a second and added, “Time works. Sometimes even a half hour is enough.”
And with a last smile, he was gone. In one fifteen-minute conversation, he’d managed to make her feel better than she had in a week.
Finch’s Seaside Inn turned out to be quite fancy, a huge Victorian on the water, but since it was closed for the season, the restaurant and the spa and housekeeping were shut down. Marianne Finch, the friendly faced proprietor, said she would drop off linens in the morning, but Rebecca had to change her own sheets. Oh, and she had to put up with some construction noise from the new deck and back porch she was having built. For this, her room rate was less than fifty bucks, and what a room it was. Spacious, with a dark wood four-poster bed andwhite, fluffy down comforter and a marble bathroom and a balcony that overlooked the beach.
It was close to midnight, but Rebecca pulled on a sweater and her L.L.Bean wool socks and headed out onto the balcony with the leather box of letters and the liter bottle of Diet Coke that Arlene had given her as she left Mama’s. For a few minutes,
He turned the chair next to him in invitation, and she sat down. “So what brings you to Wiscasset in September?” he asked, reaching for his beer. “We’re pretty much a summer town.”
For a moment, she considered just spitting it out, the whole story, but again she had that nudging feeling that she shouldn’t, that this was Joy’s territory, that this was equally Joy’s story, and she shouldn’t be telling everyone Joy’s personal business.
“Hypothetically?” Rebecca asked, taking another bite of her cake.
He glanced at her and smiled. “Sure.”
But instead of saying anything, she burst into tears, the image of her father, frail in the hospital bed, his lined face, the strange expression in his eyes, suddenly overtaking her. What was the expression? Not guilt, not really. “Let’s say someone’s father dies,” she rushed to say, “and right before, he confesses something, that he had another child and that this child is now an adult, just a couple years younger than, say, you are.”
He reached over to the napkin dispenser on the table behind them and handed her a few napkins. She dabbed under her eyes and clutched the white scratchy paper.
“And let’s say,” she continued, “that your own life is just sort of—I don’t know the right word exactly. Just sort of not . And something in this news, this startling piece of news, that you have a sister out there somewhere, means something to you, really means something. And you go in search of this sister and you actually find her and she wants nothing to do with you.”
“Ah,” he said, staring out at the darkness. “I would think she needed some time.”
“Really?” she asked, turning to face him. “Even if she said we’re not family, that there’s no there there, basically?”
He nodded. “Yup, time is the answer.”
Rebecca let out a deep breath and took another bite of cake, which sat in her stomach.
“My own father checked in and out pretty much my entire childhood,” Theo said. “If a kid of his came knocking on my door and said, ‘Hey, I’m your brother,’ I wouldn’t feel much of a connection. Not at first.”
Rebecca nodded. “I can understand that. I guess I feel the connection because I did grow up with my father. His other daughter is part of him. But she doesn’t have that. She doesn’t have anything to go on. I’m a stranger.”
“Hypothetically a stranger,” he said, tipping his beer bottle at her.
She smiled.
“Theo, dear, I’m ready to leave.”
Rebecca turned around to see one of the elderly square dancers smiling at them from the doorway. She wore a long, quilted down coat even though the temperature was in the low 60s.
“My grandmother,” he whispered. “Roommate of the birthday girl.” He closed his hand on Rebecca’s for a second and added, “Time works. Sometimes even a half hour is enough.”
And with a last smile, he was gone. In one fifteen-minute conversation, he’d managed to make her feel better than she had in a week.
Finch’s Seaside Inn turned out to be quite fancy, a huge Victorian on the water, but since it was closed for the season, the restaurant and the spa and housekeeping were shut down. Marianne Finch, the friendly faced proprietor, said she would drop off linens in the morning, but Rebecca had to change her own sheets. Oh, and she had to put up with some construction noise from the new deck and back porch she was having built. For this, her room rate was less than fifty bucks, and what a room it was. Spacious, with a dark wood four-poster bed andwhite, fluffy down comforter and a marble bathroom and a balcony that overlooked the beach.
It was close to midnight, but Rebecca pulled on a sweater and her L.L.Bean wool socks and headed out onto the balcony with the leather box of letters and the liter bottle of Diet Coke that Arlene had given her as she left Mama’s. For a few minutes,
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