I hear the automatic click of the door unlatching, and I step inside, shaking off the rain from my sweater as I climb the stairs. On the second floor, I approach the open door, peering inside cautiously. “Hello, Mrs. Weatherby? It’s Valentina.”
“Yes, yes,” May calls to me from inside. “Come in, dear. I’m just putting on some tea for us. Make yourself at home.”
I proceed inside, to the royal-blue settee by the window, and sit down. The tidy flat feels like a time capsule from the 1950s. I eye the collection of antique ceramic figurines on the nearby shelf. Above it is a black-and-white framed photo of a young man with an older woman, both smiling gleefully.
A few minutes later, May appears carrying a tray with a teapot and two china cups. Her arms teeter a little as she sets it down on the table, then she takes a seat in a blue-and-white, toile-covered Louis XV chair facing me. She’s at least eighty, perhaps older, but she holds herself with the air of a woman who was once very beautiful. In fact, she still is. Her wispy gray hair is swept up into a bun, showcasing her high cheekbones and pale blue eyes. “I’m afraid you caught me in my robe,” she says, smiling. “I don’t get a lot of visitors these days, but you are a very special one.”
“I, uh, thank you so much for having me in,” I begin. “I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead.”
“It’s fine, dear.” She narrows her gaze. “Now, tell me, how can I help you?”
Unsure of how much she might already know, I start from the beginning—recounting my mother’s scavenger hunt and the previous clues that led me here. I pull out the most recent note from my bag and show it to her. “Millie thought it might have something to do with Margaret Wise Brown’s Goodnight Moon. My mother read it to me as a child.”
“Ah, yes,” May says, setting her reading glasses back onto the coffee table. “I have it right here.” She stands up and walks to an old scroll-top desk across the room, then returns with a copy of Goodnight Moon. “I think this is what you’re seeking. Your mother asked me to give it to you. When you came.”
I smile, taking the book into my hands, where I find the next envelope tucked inside. I set it aside—for now—while May eyes me curiously.
“You’re troubled, aren’t you, dear.”
I shake my head, displaying a saccharine smile. “No, no. I’m just fine.”
She nods. “Your mother was, too, when I first met her. Life hadn’t gone her way—far from it—and I suspect that you might feel the same.” She continues before I can protest. “The fact of the matter is bad things happen to good people. They do. All the time. But it’s our choice whether we wallow in them for the rest of our lives, or whether we accept the invitation.”
I furrow my brow, confused. “The invitation?”
“Yes, to begin life’s grand second act. You see, that’s what your mother learned. Once she stopped looking back, she could finally move forward.”
I clear my throat. “Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t think you understand. My mother left me when she came to London. She never returned. I don’t know if that’s what you’d call a ‘second act’?”
She smiles, undeterred. “I had my own second act,” she continues, glancing up at the black-and-white photo on the wall. “See that handsome young man in the picture?”
I nod, my eyes returning to the photo I’d noticed when I’d arrived.
“That was my husband, Charles Weatherby. My, was he a dreamboat. There he is with Margaret.” I reflexively glance at the copy of Goodnight Moon in my lap. “She owned a cabin in Vermont near his childhood home, and sort of took him under her wing when he was a child. But anyway, when I met him the day after my twenty-first birthday, it was love at first sight. The only problem was that I was engaged to another man.” She smiles to herself, letting the memories comfort her like old friends. “I married Charles, of course. How could I not? As you can imagine, it was a terribly painful time leading up to that. I broke someone’s heart and angered my entire family in the process. My mother didn’t speak to me for two years. But that was it for me—my second act.” She watches me for a long moment, and the silence is heavy and uncomfortable. “Eloise didn’t have the same good fortune, dear.”
“So, you’re saying that she didn’t love my father, that she loved…someone else?”
“What I want you to understand is that the human heart can only be pushed so far, and then it takes on a mind of its own. Whatever reasons your mother had for leaving California were big ones, brave ones even. It was her second act.”
I nod blankly. Her words linger in the late afternoon air. They try to penetrate my heart, but I won’t let them.
“Well, enough of me rambling on. Aren’t you going to open the card?”
I hesitate for a moment but finally lift the edge of the envelope as she watches in anticipation.
Dear Valentina,
You’ve arrived at your next clue! I do hope this one wasn’t too hard to track down. I knew it might take some digging, but I wanted you to meet May. When I returned to London, the world felt like such a dark place. May was one of those magical people here in Primrose Hill who lit a lamp for me and helped me find my way. And I did, in time. I can’t tell you how I know, but let’s just say a little birdie told me your world is feeling a bit dark right now. I wish I was there to make it better, and that I’d been there for you in the years you needed me most. But there is no going backward, only forward. So, I’ll leave you with a little cheer: daffodils. Ask Matilda, and she’ll offer you her velvet green blanket, but do keep an eye out for the foxes wearing gloves: They’ll show you the way to the little house.
I’ll be waiting,
Mummy
Los Angeles, California
May 17, 1968
“Welcome home,” Frank said, squeezing my hand as the plane touched down on the runway. I’d never been on an airplane before, so I didn’t know whether the sudden thud was normal or if the aircraft was about to spontaneously combust. Besides, I’d spent the entire flight fighting tears and was now merely going through the motions.
Home. How could a foreign land ever take the title? I blinked back tears as bright sunlight streamed through the window, steadying myself as best I could. I would not let Frank see me cry.
I spotted palm trees in the distance as passengers descended from another plane, clutching their bags and hats. A fashionable woman with hair much blonder than mine cinched a silk scarf around her neck and handed her bag to a handsome man with dark hair and smart-looking glasses. Of course, I thought of Edward, but immediately scolded myself for it.
“You’re going to love it here, darling,” Frank said. “The city is changing every day. Take LAX. It’s an airport for the jet age. The terminal area opened only seven years ago. And in the Theme Building there’s a restaurant in the observation deck with a view of the entire airfield. We’ll have to try it some night.”
I nodded despondently, following him down the plane’s exit ramp as the sun beat down on my pale skin. Squinting, I caught a glance at the city shimmering in the distance. So, this is America. Home of the new.