‘Why?’
He stared out at the water, wringing his hands. ‘It’s not that I didn’t want to. My mother found out that Kay and I had been seeing each other. She wanted me not to meddle any further-she had to live here, she was the one who had to face everyone. She asked that I remove myself from the situation, as completely as I could. I’m not sure she realized it would be that complete.’
He stifled something, maybe a cough, maybe a sob. ‘But I did remove myself for a long time, until after my mother died. I thought it would be the best thing. Then I looked for Josephine when I was at the Center. It took me ages to find her-Rosemary helped me. I wrote her some letters. Then, I lost her again. After the attacks, all sorts of people did crazy things. I found her again by tracking her down online. Steven gave me some great people-finding sites, although I never told him what I was using them for. I asked Josephine if we could meet. I didn’t tell her much…just that I had been good friends with her mother, but some things had come between Mark and me, and we didn’t speak. I’ve only seen Josephine once before this. It’s just a coincidence she’s in New York this weekend-she’s here for a conference. She asked to see me, but I told her it might not be the right time with all of you here. I said I’d have to see how things went. So when you said you knew that I was talking to her and wanted to see her, I called her.’ He put his head in his hands again.
‘I wrote her such crazy letters,’ he went on, after a moment. ‘At the hospital. It’s a wonder she even wanted to speak to me. I wrote a lot of people crazy letters.’
My eyes stung. The inside of my mouth tasted tart, as if I’d just eaten lemons. ‘Why didn’t you write me any?’
He blinked, taking me in, genuinely surprised. ‘Because you already know everything.’
Do I? I wanted to ask. It didn’t feel that way. I ran my fingers over the edges of the Fair Isle scarf Rosemary had loaned me when she understood I was going to the water to talk to him.
‘I kept this a secret for so long,’ he whispered. ‘I told your mother parts of it, but not everything. Not about Josephine. I felt bad not telling you, but I wasn’t sure if it was right to tell you. How do you even get in to something like this? And do I have the right to inflict this on other people-especially you? How much should I burden you to know? I feel like I’d put you through enough already. And I have a hard enough time grappling with it myself.’
I stared at him. ‘I know,’ I said. And suddenly, I did. ‘It must be hard.’
My father and Rosemary had arrived in Cobalt the day after Stella died. Midway into the day, I remembered Stella’s obituary. I apologized to my father in advance, saying that Stella’s obituary might be crazy, but it was really, really the one she wanted to run in the newspaper.
She’d sealed the obituary in an envelope with a foil-lined sticker. When I opened it, the piece of paper still smelled a little like Stella, her peanut-butter cookies, her Charlie perfume. There was her cramped, loopy script. She never printed, always wrote in perfect cursive, even the hard letters, like Z and Q.
Stella Rogers, age 76, died due to complications of colorectal cancer. She was married to William ‘Skip’ Rogers for twenty-five wonderful years. She is a long-time resident of Cobalt, Pennsylvania, and is survived by her nephews Richard and Peter, her grand-nephew, Steven, and her grand-nieces, Summer, Samantha and Josephine. Services will be held at Grinsky family funeral home in downtown Cobalt. Reception to follow.
I had turned the paper over not once but twice, certain she’d written something on the other side. But she hadn’t. There was no shipwreck or mountain-climbing accident or case of the bubonic plague. The only error was that she had written she had an extra niece, someone named Josephine. Why hadn’t she said she had sixteen extra nieces? Why hadn’t she said she had twenty children and six husbands? Why hadn’t she added that she knew every contestant on Road Rules and housemate on The Real World, that she had aspirations to compete in a triathlon, or how wonderful she was, how utterly, crazily wonderful? I scratched out Josephine’s name, insulted by its paltriness.
My mouth wobbled now. It was upside-down, but then it contorted, turning right-side-up. My shoulders shook in laughter. The tears on my face were confused, not sure what side they were on.
My father pressed his shoulder against mine. ‘I understand this is a shock, honey. It’s weird, I know.’
‘Actually…’ I took a breath. ‘It’s…it’s not that much of a shock. I mean, it is, but honestly? I’m kind of relieved.’