Chapter Twenty-eight
Bee has been quiet since finding out her father’s secret, and it is breaking Everett’s heart, on so many levels, to have added to Bee’s already heavy burden.
He had always carried this naive hope that when he was able to return to Nantucket, to see Nan again and apologize for everything, she would welcome him back, understand that he did it because he was a desperate man, a different man from the one standing before her today. Although he knew forgiveness might be hard, he had no doubt that forgiveness would come.
He never thought about what it would do to Bee. His beloved Bee. Throughout her entire life he has tried to protect Bee from harm, but now he has seen her being hurt by one blow after another. First there was the separation, then she found out her husband is gay—not that that was any surprise to Everett, who suspected it the first time he met Daniel—and now she has found out her own father told a most terrible lie, one that he tried to bury as he built his new life.
Bee has avoided him since finding out. Of course she has been around, has tended to him, fed him, helped him dress, let him play with the girls, but she hasn’t been able to look at him, hasn’t engaged with him. When he has tried to talk to her, she has shaken her head, said she isn’t ready, disappearing into her bedroom for hours at a time, the only sound her tapping on the computer.
Today he takes Lizzie and Stella down to the children’s beach. They play on the playground for two hours, Everett pushing the girls on the swings for far longer than either their mother or father would, buying them sandwiches, ice cream, giving them his undivided attention, which they lap up like kittens.
Over to the whaling museum for crafts—today they make scrimshaws out of large, oval bars of white soap—then finally back home when Everett can put it off no longer, for the girls are tired and want their mother.
He walks in to find Bee in the kitchen, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, is in fact days, Bee looks directly at him.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she says. He puts his arms out, and Bee walks over, allowing herself to be hugged.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “It was just such a big shock. I needed time to adjust, to think about everything, to take it all in.”
“I’m sorry too,” he says. “I’m sorry for lying to you, for not telling you the truth, and I’m sorry that this was the way you found out.”
Bee sighs. “This feels like a dream, or a movie. Like something that happens to other people, not to me. Not to us.”
Everett says nothing, just looks at his hands.
“I have a brother!” Bee says. “Well, half-brother. Remember how I always begged you and Mom to have another baby because I wanted brothers and sisters?”
Everett smiles at the memory of Bee, golden curls and big eyes, chubby cheeks, as she climbed on his lap and asked him if there was a baby in his tummy because she had asked Santa for a baby and she thought maybe he was cooking one for her.
“I can’t believe I have a brother,” Bee says, almost to herself.
Lizzie and Stella are chasing one another around the kitchen island. “Girls, how would you like to watch a movie?” Bee asks them. “I have The Wizard of Oz.”
“Yay!” The girls cheer as Bee takes them into the other room and settles them in front of the television to enable her to talk to her father in peace.
“I’ve been thinking so much,” Bee says to Everett, once the girls are absorbed. “I know this might be . . . unexpected, but I think we should stay here awhile.”
“Nantucket?” Everett is shocked.
Bee nods. “There are a number of reasons. I . . . to be honest I can’t bear the thought of going back home and being the subject of gossip. Everyone will find out about Daniel, and I can’t bear it, I just can’t bear the thought of going home.”
“You can’t run away forever,” Everett says wryly.
“You would know,” Bee says softly. “Maybe it is running away a little, but I feel at peace here, at home in a way I never did in Westport. I’ve even started writing.”
“Oh Bee!” Everett’s face lights up. “You were always such a wonderful writer. I could never understand why you gave it up when you got married.”
“I didn’t feel I had stories to tell,” Bee says. “Now, I guess one of the hidden benefits of all this turmoil is that I’ve suddenly found I have so much to say.”
“Do you mind me asking what you are writing?”
“A memoir,” Bee says carefully. “I started off just journaling, writing about what I’ve been going through with Daniel, then since the other night, when I found out about you, I haven’t been able to stop.”
“I’m delighted,” Everett says quietly, tears welling in his eyes. “You always had a passion, and a talent, for writing. I’m thrilled you’ve found your passion again.”
“So am I. I had forgotten how much it meant to me, how cathartic I found it. I’ve been writing about my marriage, meeting Daniel, those early days. The more I remember, the more I can’t believe I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t see the signs,” Everett says. “I can understand that. Don’t punish yourself for that.”
“But I did see them. Of course I saw them. They were as clear as day.” Bee sighs. “I just chose to ignore them; I pretended that if I didn’t think about them, didn’t acknowledge them in some way, they would simply disappear.”
“I think that’s called burying your head in the sand,” Everett says and smiles. “I’m something of an expert on that, so we know where you get it from.”
“Then there’s you,” Bee says. “And Nan. Michael. I feel excited about writing again, about finding out about this family, and about you, who you really are. I feel . . .” She pauses. “I feel alive again. I feel like I’ve been underwater for such a long time, and suddenly I feel alive, excited . . .” She trails off.
“So you want to stay to write?”
“Yes. To write, and to be by the sea, and to get to know who you are, who you really are, and where you come from. I think you should stay here with us too.”
“It’s an interesting proposition,” Everett says. “But I’m not wanted here. Both Nan and Michael—” he chokes slightly saying his name—“made that quite clear the other day.”
“They have just found out,” Bee says, laying her hand on his arm. “Their reaction was entirely natural. Give them space, give them a little time to adjust, and they will want you here, I’m sure of it.”
He nods. “Thank you, Beezy. I do know what you mean about feeling at peace here. I have dreamed of Nantucket for years, but even in my dreams I had forgotten quite how magical it is to be here. I also feel a sense of peace, now that I’m home.”
“This is your home, isn’t it?” Bee says. “I mean, your real home.”
“It is. Generations of Powells have lived on this island, have had a hand in most of the building or renovation of what you see here today.”
“Will you tell me about my family?” Bee has tears in her eyes. “My grandparents. Do I have aunts and uncles? Who are we? Where do I really come from?”
“I’ve been waiting to tell you all your life,” he says, suddenly realizing that it is true. He thought he could lose his identity, reinvent himself all those years ago, but he could never lose who he really is.
For the first time in years, no longer living a lie, he feels like he can breathe.
“Where’s Jess?” Daniel startles Daff, deep in thought as she paints a delicate watercolor of the house.
“She’s gone into town with Nan,” Daff says. “I think they both had a craving for ice cream.”
Daniel shakes his head and grins. “What an unlikely friendship. Who would have thought a teenager would feel comfortable with Nan?”
“I think in theory it’s unlikely, but I get it,” Daff says. “I remember being a teenager. I hated my parents, but loved other adults who treated me as an equal, who stopped to listen to me, who valued what I had to say.”
“Nan definitely treats her like an equal. I think she has no idea Jess is only thirteen. By the way, what would you think about Jess doing some babysitting for us?”
Daff cocks her head.
“Bee just phoned me. She wants to go out with her dad this afternoon—I think he’s going to show her around the island, tell her about his family. She wanted me to have the girls but I have an engagement.”
“With the lovely Matt?”
“We’re just friends,” Daniel says quickly.
“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.” Daff looks away then looks back at Daniel with a grin. “But he is lovely, and there’s nothing wrong with being just friends.”
“Unless one of you wants more.”
“Which one? You?”
Daniel looks sheepish.
“So what’s the problem? It seems like he adores you.”
“He wants a relationship and he doesn’t think I’m ready.”
“Are you?”
“I don’t know. He thinks I’m too new to this, that I need to play the field before I settle down, and if he gets involved he’s going to get hurt.”
Daff nods thoughtfully then shrugs. “It doesn’t sound unreasonable.”
“I know.” Daniel sniffs. “It’s just damned hard, and it gets harder every time I see him.”
“Because you just want to jump his bones?” Daff laughs.
“Jump his bones?” Daniel barks with laughter. “Well, yes. I guess.”
“So . . . babysitting. Jess should be back in about half an hour. I think that’s a wonderful idea. She adores Lizzie and Stella, and she’s responsible. That could be just what the doctor ordered this summer.”
“That’s what I thought. Do you want to phone Bee and talk to her about it?”
“I will. Just as soon as Jess gets back and I talk to her.”
“Real babysitting?” Jess is dubious. “For money?”
“Of course,” Daff says. “Nobody’s asking you to work for nothing.”
“The girls already adore you,” Daniel says encouragingly. “Lizzie asked me yesterday if you could be their new big sister.”
Jess’s eyes sparkle with delight.
“I spoke to Bee,” Daniel said, “and she said she was thinking, if you were interested, of offering you a job, Monday to Friday, every afternoon for four hours.”
Jess almost squeals with excitement as Daniel turns to Daff to explain, “Bee’s writing again, and although her dad wants to look after the girls while she’s working, she thinks it’s too much for him, given his health.” He turns back to Jess.
“Bee will be in the house, so it’s really just playing with the girls. Taking them to the beach or the lake, looking after them while she works. She’s thinking of five dollars an hour.”
Jess does a quick mental calculation. “A hundred dollars a week?” She gasps. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” Daniel says.
“Oh my God!” Jess starts to jump around, grabbing her mother in excitement. “That’s so much money! I never had a proper job before!”
“Is that a yes?” Daniel is unsure.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Jess says. “When can I start?”
Daff laughs along with her, loving seeing her daughter in such a good mood. It is like having the old Jess back, the real Jess; and babysitting is a wonderful idea—she wishes she had thought of it herself.
She turns as she hears the crunch of gravel outside, and sees Michael walking across the driveway to the car. She wants to run out and talk to him, but he has been so distant these past couple of days that she now feels awkward about seeing him. She knows that something must have happened, something has changed.
Last night she sidled up to him in the kitchen, and asked him, in a low voice so no one else could hear, whether he was coming to her room later.
“I’m not feeling so good,” he had replied, barely able to meet her eyes. “Not tonight, I think.” He had quickly looked away, moved off, busied himself somewhere else, while all the disappointments of her youth, those teenage letdowns, the number of times she had had her heart broken, came flooding back as she stood there trying to understand what could possibly have changed.
It has been an extraordinary afternoon for Bee. She had driven her father into town, stopping along the way as he pointed out sights, showed her where he used to play as a child, told her stories he hadn’t thought about for years.
They went to the museum, where he showed Bee her ancestors and a painting of her grandmother Lydia, who looked exactly like Bee. He told her everything he could remember about his childhood. He barely took a breath, there seemed to be so much to say. The more he talked, the more memories came flooding back, Bee eagerly drinking them in, asking for more.
The cranberry flats, the Sankaty lighthouse, his school, their church.
Everett was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. He saw a number of people he hadn’t seen for almost forty years, but he knew them, and he also knew there was a very good chance of them dropping down dead from a heart attack were he to remove his hat and glasses, allow them to see his true identity.
But he wanted to. Oh how he wanted to. Arthur Worth. Goodness, how old he has got, his hair now entirely white, his face leathery from the sun, the same twinkling blue eyes. Sally McLean. Remember how beautiful she had been? They had played together in kindergarten, he had loved her from afar throughout elementary school. Now she is large and dowdy, barely recognizable were it not for her wonderful voice which, judging from the brief conversation he overheard her having in a store, hasn’t changed at all.
“You didn’t have a crush on her!” Bee said in delight as they left the store. “No!”
“I did,” he confessed. “She was my first love, and she was a tiny slip of a thing, so beautiful. Long, silvery blond hair and big green eyes. We all loved her, every last one of us.”
“Don’t you want to talk to her?” Bee asked.
“I do,” he said. “I want to talk to all of them. Arthur Worth was my best friend for years. We were roommates at school. He taught me how to fish. I have spent my life missing him, but I need to be re-introduced slowly, if at all. I suspect people will find out, eventually, however hard we try to keep it a secret, for Nantucket is not known for being good at secrets. I imagine most will have a similar reaction to Nan’s. They will hate me for it and they will be furious.”
“Even people who loved you?”
“Nan loved me once upon a time,” he said slowly. “It doesn’t seem to mean anything now.”
They get home and the girls are in heaven. Jess has played with them, given them piggyback rides for hours, has even fed them.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I can’t cook so I gave them peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner.”
“That’s okay.” Bee smiles. “It’s entirely my fault. I had no idea we’d be gone for such a long time. How was it? Were they good?”
“They were amazing.” Jess beams.
“Girls? Do you want Jess to come back tomorrow?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” they chorus, dancing around Jess and flinging their arms around her legs as she giggles. “We love Jess!”
“Dad, will you stay here while I drive Jess home?”
“Of course,” he says with a smile, and Bee and Jess head out to the car.
Michael sits at the bar in the Tap Room, nursing a beer and watching the television numbly. He knows he ought to say something to Daff, tell her what he heard, tell her that he knows she and Mark Stephenson are somehow working together and she is getting a cut of this deal. He just doesn’t know how to.
What kind of person would do that? How could he have got it quite so wrong again? He thought his days of choosing women who were bad for him were over. He was just beginning to congratulate himself on having found someone so real, so normal, so honest and calm, before he heard that furious, whispered conversation.
If someone is dishonest, withholding from the beginning, what hope is there for an honest relationship, and what can a relationship be if it doesn’t start with trust?
He shivers at the thought of what he has revealed these last few nights, lying in bed with Daff into the early hours, telling her all the things he hadn’t thought to tell anyone for years, his feelings about his father, now he’s discovered he’s alive.
He can’t keep running away, this much he knows. He tried to run away from Jordana and look what happened. At some point he’ll have to deal with this. He knows she’s watching him, a look of sadness and confusion on her face because she feels him withdrawing, and she doesn’t know he knows.
He’ll deal with it soon.
Just as soon as he can.
Bee loves the mornings when she wakes up first. Most mornings she is woken up by footsteps pounding down the hall, and a yell of “Mom! She’s being mean to me, Mom!” Not what Bee needs to hear first thing in the morning. Unsurprising that she has a tendency to start her day off on the wrong foot.
Those days when she wakes up first, to peace and quiet, and can pad down to the kitchen and make herself a fresh cup of coffee, set the table for breakfast, sip her coffee as she reads over what she’s written the night before, that is perfection, the perfect way to start the day.
She was up late last night, scribbling notes about what her dad told her, not wanting to forget a thing, and she sits down at the table this morning, rereading, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.
The girls come in, and she gives them bowls of Rice Krispies, cracking four eggs in a pan as she sends Lizzie to go and get Poppa.
“He’s sleeping,” Lizzie says, coming back to the kitchen.
“Okay, darling. There’s one extra egg, then.” The girls fight over who gets the extra egg.
“He must be tired,” she says to the girls as they clear the table. “Poppa never sleeps in like this. I’ll go and wake him up.” And she goes to his room.
“Dad?” she says quietly. “Time to get up. Coffee’s ready and you missed breakfast. Dad? Dad?”
She walks over to the bed and starts to shake as she looks down at the inert figure lying there, his eyes closed, his last breath having left his body some hours before, in the middle of the night.
“Dad?” Bee starts to cry. “Dad? Daaaaaaaaaad!”