Elizabeth leaned back in her seat. Dozens of vague childhood memories made sense suddenly. The closed door to Mama’s bedroom; the sound of crying coming from within. “That’s why she was depressed,” Elizabeth said aloud. Her whole life seemed to settle into place, a puzzle with all the pieces finally where they belonged. It felt as if it should matter more, as if she should feel more betrayed. But she’d never really known her mama; that much was painfully clear. “That’s why Daddy wouldn’t talk about her. He was ashamed.”
“You know your daddy; he thought he was better than other men. The whole danged town treated him as if he owned the patent on fresh air. To have his wife run away was one thing. He could handle that because she came back. He could laugh with his friends about how spirited his little filly was, but when he found out that she’d fallen in love out there—and with a woman—well, there was no handlin’ that for Edward. So he shut it up tighter than a drum. Pretended it had never happened.”
“How did you find out?”
“Twenty-year-old bourbon. Your daddy got liquored up one night and spilled the beans.”
Elizabeth sat back. It all made sense. The silences, the lack of photographs, the missing family stories. Mama had inflicted a terrible blow to Daddy’s self-esteem. No wonder he clung to Anita so tightly.
“But why don’t I have any memories of her? She didn’t die until I was six.”
“She loved you, Birdie, somethin’ fierce, but after she got back, she was broken inside. Lost. She couldn’t care for you. She would hold you close one day and then lock herself in her bedroom and ignore you for weeks at a time. It almost killed your daddy. ’Course, she was on serious medications. Back then, a woman who did a thing like that was crazy. Everyone would have thought so—especially her. And she was from a good, church-going family, don’t forget. Good girls just didn’t have sex with other women.”
That sparked a sudden memory. On the day after her fourth birthday, Elizabeth had gotten up early and run into Mama’s bedroom. She found her mama sitting on the floor, with her knees drawn up to her chest, crying. Elizabeth couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said, but she remembered Mama’s answer. Don’t you be like me, little Birdie. Don’t you be afraid.
Anita reached out, touched Elizabeth’s hand. “Your mama found what she wanted in life, but she turned away from it. She let family pressures be more important than what was in her heart. She walked away from her love and her talent. And it killed her. I know you, Birdie. You were up in your bedroom, thinking of quitting, telling yourself you were a fool to think you had talent.”
Elizabeth felt transparent suddenly. “When did you get to know me so well?”
“Don’t you dare give up on Elizabeth Shore. You’ve come too far and worked too hard to go back to your old life because you’re scared. If you give up, you’ll be making the same mistake as your mama. It might not kill you, but it’ll break you, Birdie.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. She wanted to deny it, but there was no point. She knew.
What had she said to Kim that day? For years, I failed by omission. It was true, and each untried thing had left her emptier.
Now, at least, she’d tried and failed. But she’d tried. She could take pride in that.
She managed an uneven smile. “You’re something else,” she said softly, remembering so many times Anita had reached out to her and been turned away.
“You, too, Birdie.”
“All these years I thought I had no mother,” Elizabeth said. “I was wrong, wasn’t I? I had two. I love you, Anita. I should have told you that a long time ago.”
Anita’s mouth trembled. She made a don’t-you-worry-about-a-thing gesture with her hand. “Your daddy always told me you’d figure that out someday.”
In the hotel ballroom, waiting for his turn to speak, Jack couldn’t think about anything except Birdie. It surprised him, actually. Every time he tried to consider his great new job offer or the upcoming People magazine shoot, he wanted to pick up the phone and call his wife. None of his triumphs were quite as sweet without her beside him, saying softly, You did it, baby.
That was the thing about sobriety. It cleared the mind, scrubbed away all those blurred edges, and left everything standing in a bright, true light.
Since his conversation with Warren, that light had been particularly unflinching. He saw the whole of his life.
Every day had been a search for more. Nothing had ever been enough. Not even Birdie. He could admit that now. There was no point in lying to himself anymore.
Because of the man he’d been, he was alone now. A husband estranged from his wife, a father estranged from his daughters. Except for work, he had no responsibilities beyond the ones he chose.
But freedom wasn’t what he’d thought.