“I don’t have a car anywhere. I walk.” Or drive golf carts, or take cabs, Uber, or limos.
Miles fiddled with his keys. His voice softened. “I still miss her, Ted. Every day. Every single day. I still can’t believe she’s really gone.” Then he looked at me. “But you should also know, Violet’s an angel. I love her very much.”
After high school Violet went off to Kent State or Kenyon or maybe Kentucky and stayed or moved somewhere else. I had no idea. She hadn’t even been a peripheral person in my life until she and Miles had connected a few years ago after she’d returned for a reason I’d never asked about. At first, Shay had mentioned that she’d gone somewhere with her dad and Violet. A picnic, I think. Or maybe it was a ball game. Then it had been that her dad and Violet were dating. Shay’s texts were full of “we,” and “they,” and “all of us.” Then it had been the bombshell that they’d gotten engaged. It didn’t matter. Not really. I wasn’t here to disrupt anything, change anything, or offer my opinion. I was here to take pictures and spend time with Shay, catch up with old friends, and then go back to my real life. “I’m happy for you. And for Shay. I’m sure Violet is lovely.”
“I know you’re thinking about Cee. It’s harder to forget about her when you’re not on the other side of the country.”
“You think I’ve forgotten her?”
“Not completely, no.”
Miles had no idea when or how or what I thought about Celia. He never asked; I never told. I didn’t infringe on his grief or his time or his privacy and I didn’t invite him into mine. I tempered my breathing, moved my hair off my neck so the sweat would evaporate.
“Do you really want to talk about this now?”
“Not really, but Shay’s asking a lot of questions lately, more than ever before. I want you to be honest with her, tell her whatever she wants to know. Within reason. She’s twelve. And whatever you do or don’t do while you’re here, do not leave without saying good-bye to Shay.”
“I would never—”
“You mean never again.”
I wished my phone would buzz or my hair would catch fire.
“So, seven-fifteen?”
“Promise me you won’t do anything to upset her.”
“Of course I won’t. What aren’t you telling me? I know I only see her once a year, but she asked me to come back, and I’m here.” I thought that would count for something.
“A fancy weekend once a year doesn’t take the place of being there day after day for a kid. No matter how much she likes your shopping sprees on Michigan Avenue.”
“I know that.”
Miles’s tone was so calm that he sounded rehearsed. “Shay’s not a baby anymore, but she’s still dazzled by you. You’re the fancy one, the one who got away, the one who spoils her and lets her leave her life behind for a weekend. And I’m glad. But now you’re here, and this is our world. Shay’s world. Everything here is very real. Including her mother.”
“What do you think I’m going to do to her? I’m here because of Shay, Miles. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here taking pictures at your wedding unless she’d asked me. She made an excellent case for me coming back and doing this; she only used about a third of the guilt she could have. That kid should be a lawyer.”
“She wants to be an artist.”
“Of course she does.” I looked down. “It’s not easy for me to be here.”
Miles stared out the windshield again. “I realize that.”
“So let’s agree I’m here because Shay asked me to be here. Whatever else I’ve done or haven’t done, can we just table it for now? Please?”
Miles nodded and I opened the car door before I inhaled all the oxygen.
“Hey Ted,” Miles said as I stepped out. “Don’t you wonder what Celia would have thought of your leaving? I mean, I think she’d be very proud of your success, but—”
“No, I don’t wonder.” I shut the door, careful not to slam it.
I didn’t have to wonder.
I knew.
*
The door was unlocked, but there was no one to greet me: no registration desk, no sleek computerized check-in, no key card or concierge. This was Nettie’s on Lark, which meant that I was met by an envelope propped up on the walnut mantel in what had once been the parlor. It was still a parlor of sorts, with a mauve velvet settee and chair that looked decidedly uncomfortable. A key tied to a grosgrain ribbon dangled from a coat tree on hiatus for summer.
Welcome, Teddi Lerner.
The wireless code is Nettie6.
You have the house e-mail and phone number.
Texting or e-mail is the best way to reach me.
Welcome back to Chance,
Nettie
Anyone who owned Nettie’s was called Nettie. According to the booking site, the current owner lived in Columbus, but wanted a reminder of an uncomplicated, small-town childhood. Chance was definitely small town. “Uncomplicated” was subjective. The new owner would have learned before his (her?) purchase that Chance residents, committed to maintaining town history, had the inn proclaimed a historic landmark in 1952. The name couldn’t be changed.
It was just a town tradition to call the owner Nettie.
The Garden Suite was at the end of the hall. It was as if I’d entered a champagne cave—the color, not the bubbly wine. The tacky brass bed I remembered had been replaced by a four-poster draped with an ivory lace canopy. The fringed pillows and bedspread shimmered with shades of iridescent pink. A small oval table flanked by two wing chairs had been positioned between the floor-to-ceiling windows. One dresser had drawers, but its mate had been repurposed to hold a marble sink. Underneath the sink, on a shelf, sat a small black refrigerator, as if this were a dorm room in a time-travel novel. A bookcase held well-read versions of classics, as it had when I’d borrowed them in college, reading the books I’d pretended to read in high school. I skimmed the spines for my favorites: Austen, Hemingway, Bronte, Orwell. I didn’t look in the bathroom but imagined no new owner would have removed a claw-foot tub. I held on to hope that something here had remained the same.
My visit felt like a layover in an alternate universe. Perhaps unpacking would ground me. One by one I removed my dresses from my suitcase, smoothed the skirts, adjusted the shoulders and necklines, and slipped each one onto a wooden hanger in the small, not-renovated closet. I stored my almost-empty suitcase under the bed, and placed my camera bag on top. I plopped next to it and fell back.
I pulled out my phone and Bluetooth headset.
“Hey,” Annie said. “How were your flights?”
“Fine. They’re always fine. Tell me what’s going on there.”
“Nothing. How’s your homecoming so far?”
“Come on, tell me. What have I missed?”
“You’ve been gone less than twenty-four hours. We are still standing tall without you.”
“What about the Thomas retreat? Do they want full coverage and social media shots?”
“Two days.”
“Two days? That’s not enough. Who talked to them?”
“Devereaux.”
“Are you kidding me? He couldn’t upsell his own grandmother.”