The Rest of the Story(61)

“Second honeymoon,” I said, adding the pillowcases to my own pile. “That’s what he said.”

“They didn’t seem like newlyweds,” Bailey said. I could hear her own spray bottle. “Pretty tense, as I recall hearing. Your mom hadn’t been here since Chris Price died, so there was that, too.”

“She never came back, all those years?”

“Nope.” More spritzing. “Mom said Mimi went to visit her, with Joe, when you were born and a couple of other times. But she was weird about this place. It was like there were—”

“Ghosts,” I finished for her.

“Yeah.” She came out, gathering the towels in her arms and crossing the room to add them to the pile of linens. “She just wasn’t herself, according to my mom. And then when Steph came over, she kind of lost it.”

“Steph?” I asked.

“Roo’s mom,” Bailey said. “It was the first time Waverly had seen her since the funeral. And she’d never met Roo.”

“That, I remember,” Trinity said, turning a page. “Waverly started crying, just standing there watching you and Roo together.”

I plumped the pillow I was holding, then replaced it. “I wish I could remember.”

“This was your mom, though, and she was really upset. Your mind is probably doing you a favor by forgetting.”

“I’d rather remember,” I said. “There are enough holes.”

“But lots of pictures,” Bailey said.

I looked over at her, now standing by the front door scraping what looked like gum off the carpet. “What did you say?”

“The pictures,” she replied, not looking up. “Because of Steph.”

I just looked at her.

“Because she was so into photography,” she continued. “She documented everything.”

“Are you saying there are more pictures of that visit than the one in Mimi’s office?”

“Which one is that?”

I told her about the snapshot I’d seen under the glass my first day, of all of us kids together on the steps. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “Steph definitely took that. She lined us all up, too, while your mom was off to the side watching.”

“Bribed us with candy,” Trinity added, sniffing a perfume insert.

Hearing this, I sat down on the bed, the pillow I’d been about to cover in my arms. I wasn’t sure what compelled me at that moment, but I heard myself say, “My dad wants me to come home.”

It was quiet for a second. Even Gordon, wiping the TV, stopped in mid circle. Trinity said, “You just got here, though.”

“It’s been almost a month,” I pointed out. “That was how long I was supposed to visit.”

“Yeah, but that was when you were just here because you needed a place to stay,” Bailey said, standing up and tossing a paper towel with the gum in it toward the trash bag.

“Isn’t that why I’m here now?”

“No.” She picked up her bottle from the windowsill, then looked at me. “You’re learning your history. Before it was just a visit, yes. But now it’s personal.”

“Sounds like news to her,” Trinity observed. “So maybe not so personal.”

“My history,” I repeated. “How do you figure?”

Bailey sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Hello, what were we just talking about? Filling in the holes in your memory. Getting the rest of the story about your mom. I mean, you didn’t even know about the accident!”

“Bay, where are you going with this?” Trinity asked.

“I’m making a point.” She looked at me again. “You were just saying how you don’t have any memories of the lake before this summer. But you do, because we’re helping you fill them in. Part of grieving is letting go of the past. But how can you let go if you never knew it in the first place?”

Outside, a man, a motel guest, walked by shirtless, his flip-flops thwacking. He glanced in at us, but only briefly, as he passed by.

“People should wear shirts if they’re not right on the beach,” Trinity said, once he was out of earshot. Gordon snickered.

“My mom’s been gone five years,” I said to Bailey, ignoring this. “I don’t think I can claim to be grieving anymore.”

“Of course you can!” She picked up the garbage bag, shaking it. “Look. Saylor. My mom still cries for yours at least once a week. No joke. It’s not like you just snap your fingers and move on.”

Now I felt even worse. I didn’t cry that much anymore. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time. Which, as I thought about it, made me feel close to tears myself. “I don’t want to leave yet,” I said, swallowing. “I’m not sure it’s for the reasons you’re saying or something else. All I know is that I wish some of these were my memories, not just everyone else’s. Like there’s more to the story, but I’m not there yet.”

“You should ask to see the pictures.”

Gordon spoke so softly, at first I wasn’t even sure it was her who had said this. When we all looked at her, though, she blushed a deep red. “What did you say?” I asked.

She cleared her throat. “The pictures. That Roo’s mom took. Bailey said there were tons of them. Maybe they’d help you remember.”