The Silent Sister(90)

Love you, Celia.

The words suddenly popped into my head, and I sat up straight, remembering them from my father’s e-mail. I’d thought he might be having an affair with a woman by that name. Maybe I’d been way off base.

Jumping to my feet, I raced up the stairs to his office, where the computer still sat on his desk—I’d never gotten around to cleaning the drive on that thing. I turned the computer on and typed newbern in the password field, nearly holding my breath as I waited for the old machine to chunk to life. It took me a few minutes to find Daddy’s e-mail and a few more minutes to search for messages signed Celia. There weren’t many e-mails from her, and I read them the way they came up in the search, in reverse chronological order, spread over many years.

May 18, 2012

That is the best birthday card ever. You are amazing! Love you, Celia.

I looked in his sent file to see if he’d sent the birthday card via e-mail, but he didn’t seem to keep much of the mail he’d sent. The next e-mail from Celia was from four years earlier.

February 7, 2008

F, it was so kind of you to send that note. I know you didn’t know Charlie, but he meant so much to J and me—including the fact that he introduced us. It hurt J that she couldn’t go to the service in San Diego, but it was way too risky. We are fine. Love you, Celia.

I remembered that name: Charlie. Grady had mentioned him. He was Celia’s grandfather. Daddy must have been in very close contact with Lisa to know about him and to know that he had died. I searched, but I couldn’t find a single e-mail that appeared to be from Lisa. I had the feeling he’d deleted hers but was less concerned about these few from Celia.

July 26, 2006

F,

J made her plane. She has to change in Charlotte. She’s very upset. Take care of her, please.

Love you, Celia

I stared at that one for a long time. My mother died on July 28, 2006. Suddenly, an incident that had always mystified me made sense.

I’d stayed home with my mother every single day after my high school graduation, turning down a waitressing job because I didn’t want to leave her side. Hospice was involved by then and I knew she didn’t have long.

The day before my mother died—the twenty-seventh—my friend Grace asked me to go with her to the beach. I told her I couldn’t; I needed to stay with Mom. Grace actually cried, nearly hysterical. She said she needed to get away for a few hours. She needed to talk about a problem she was having with her boyfriend. My father said it wasn’t good for me to be cooped up at my mother’s bedside every day and he insisted I go with Grace.

Grace and I lay on the beach for a couple of hours while she told me about a truly ridiculous fight she’d had with her boyfriend. She didn’t sound all that upset about it and I was annoyed that she’d talked me into leaving my mother because she wanted someone to hang out with at the beach. I confronted her about it, angry. I called her selfish, and she finally said, “Don’t blame me! Blame your father! He called me last night and told me you needed a break and I should make up some excuse to get you out of the house for the day.”

I panicked. Was today the day my mother would die? Did he somehow know that and not want me there? I grabbed my towel from the sand. “We’re going home!” I said to Grace, and started for my car at a run.

An hour later, we were back in New Bern. I dropped Grace off at her house, then drove to mine. There was a strange car in our driveway. I parked at the curb and was crossing the yard when Daddy came rushing down the porch steps toward me.

“What are you doing home?” he asked. He was pale, his face drawn as though he’d lost weight overnight.

“Grace told me the beach was your idea!” I said. “Why did you want me gone? What’s going on?” I started to walk past him, but he stepped in front of me, grabbing my shoulders.

“You need a break, Riley,” he said. “It’s not good for you to be here, day in and day out.”

“Who’s here?” I asked, nodding to the car in the driveway. I looked up at my mother’s window and saw a face that disappeared so quickly I might have imagined it. “Who’s that?” I asked.

“Just one of the hospice nurses.” His voice shook. That terrified me.

“Is Mom dying right now?” I asked. Then a fresh fear ran through me. “Is she dead?”

“No, no, honey.” He pulled me close to him. He smelled of sweat. The scent made me think of exhaustion more than exertion.

“I don’t care about taking a break, Daddy,” I said. “I want to be with Mom.”

He looked me straight in the eye. “Listen, sweetheart. You’ve been wonderful with her. You’ve been such a help and she knows how much you love her. But you’ve been here every minute since school ended, and the truth is, your mom and I need a day together. Just the two of us. Please don’t be hurt by that. We just—”

“Oh.” I felt embarrassed that I hadn’t thought of that myself. “I wish you’d told me. I would have understood.”

“I was afraid—”

“It’s okay. I’ll just…” I looked toward my car, pondering my next move. “I’ll go over to Grace’s. What time … when can I come home?”

He pulled his wallet from his pants pocket, took out a couple of twenties, and pressed them into my hand. “You and Grace go out on the town tonight.” He nodded toward the house. “Give Mom and me till ten or eleven. Okay?” He smiled, and I was relieved to see his pallor disappear.