Winter Solstice (Winter #4)(33)

“Good heavens,” Mitzi says. “What a nightmare!”

“Nightmare,” Ava concurs. She takes a deep breath and inhales some of Mitzi’s secondhand smoke, which isn’t unpleasant or unwelcome. “How did you do it, handling the three of us?”

“Ha!” Mitzi says. “The worst year of my life was my first year married to Kelley. Do you not remember?”

“Not really,” Ava says. “Bits and pieces.” She tries to hearken back. She was ten when they moved to Nantucket with Kelley. The boys were teenagers. Patrick was fine in Ava’s memory, Kevin less so—until he met Norah Vale. But what memories does Ava have of herself?

“You were afraid of the dark, do you remember that?” Mitzi asks. “You were fine going to sleep on your own, but then during the night you would come into our room and demand to sleep with your father. I had to go to sleep in your room. You wouldn’t sleep in the bed with me, you hated me, and Kelley never said no to you because he felt so guilty.”

Guilty, Ava thinks. Kelley felt guilty because he’d gotten divorced, then met someone new, then quit his high-paying job as a trader and moved the kids out of New York all the way up to Nantucket, which had been a favorite place of theirs in the summer. But living year-round on the island was another story entirely. Does Ava remember being scared of the dark? Not really. She remembers missing her mother. She remembers Kelley taking her to South Station in Boston and putting her on the train to New York by herself. She remembers crying when Margaret took her back to the train to send her home. She remembers coloring books, paper dolls, and then finally an electric keyboard with headphones to pass the four-hour ride.

What does she remember about Mitzi? A standoff over a brown rice casserole. Ava’s refusal to let Mitzi take her shopping for her first bra. You’re not my mother. Ava said that a lot.

“I was awful to you,” Ava says. “How did you deal with it?”

“I cried,” Mitzi says. “I even called Margaret.”

“You did?”

“I called her without telling your father. I asked her what I could do to make you like me. To make you acknowledge me.”

“And what did Mom say?” Ava says.

“She wasn’t quite the wonderful woman she is today,” Mitzi says. “I can see now that your mother felt guilty as well. She had chosen her career, and Kelley had taken her children away, which she had fought at first, then reluctantly agreed to. She didn’t want you to like me or acknowledge me, but she did tell me to hold my ground, to be myself, not to spoil you or flatter you or ingratiate myself to you. She said you’d come around.”

“And I did,” Ava says. “Right?”

“You were always the hardest on me,” Mitzi says. “You were enamored with Bart, so I had that in my favor, but I always felt like you resented my presence in your life, in the family. And now look! You’re in a similar situation and you’ve come to me for advice. I have to say, I find poetic justice in that.”

“I’m sure,” Ava says. “And you have my wholehearted apology.”

“I don’t need an apology,” Mitzi says. “You were a child.”

“You also have my gratitude,” Ava says. “For sticking it out. Not only when we were kids, but two years ago. Thank you for coming back to Dad.”

Mitzi takes a long drag of her cigarette. “When Bart was lost, I was lost,” she says. “Thank you for forgiving me.”

“I love you, Mitzi,” Ava says. A lump presents in her throat. Has she ever told Mitzi this before? “You’re our… well, you’re not our biological mother, but you’ve been another mother, one we didn’t always appreciate like we should have.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Mitzi says. “I love you and your brothers. I always have. Even when we were battling, I always loved you like you were my own.”

Ava sees headlights coming down New South Road; the taxi is approaching. “So what should I do about PJ?”

“In the words of Bob Dylan,” Mitzi says, “‘Keep on keepin’ on.’ Be yourself. Don’t spoil him or flatter him. Just treat him with love and respect and kindness. Let him feel that he can trust you. Let him understand that you’re not going anywhere, that you’re his ally even when he treats you like an enemy. You have a great advantage.”

“I do?” Ava says.

“Yes,” Mitzi says. “You’re the adult.” She smiles as the taxi pulls up. “And who knows, maybe twenty or twenty-five years from now, PJ will be asking your advice.”

“Maybe,” Ava says. The idea of twenty-seven-year-old PJ coming to Ava for advice is preposterous—but not impossible. Mitzi holds the door to the taxi open, and Ava slides in.

She smiles at the taxi driver. She feels much better. She is the adult! She, like Mitzi, will keep on keepin’ on.

“Winter Street, please,” she says.





PART TWO


NOVEMBER





JENNIFER


To meet Norah for coffee, Jennifer had to lie to Patrick. Meaning she has to continue to lie to Patrick.

She said, “I need to go to the Nantucket Sewing Center when it opens tomorrow. They carry a fabric I want to use…” She nearly said in Grayson Coker’s penthouse, but she stopped short of that treachery. Patrick will assume it’s for the penthouse, however, because what else would it be for?