Funny that she’d said the other day that she was ugly. Yes, her nose was long and crooked, but so was Meryl Streep’s, right? No one called Meryl ugly. But I’d been thinking of our childhood days together, and while I mostly remembered my own contentment, there were flashes of Hannah’s misery. Her hunched posture to hide her height. How she’d been a cheerleader for exactly one practice before quitting and weeping into her pillow. She’d had a boyfriend in college, but she’d never had a serious relationship since. I assumed it was by choice, since she projected confidence and success. Each year, she took a vacation in January, somewhere exotic like Kauai or Thailand. Unless Beatrice went along, she’d go alone, or on one of those women-only tours.
Could my übersuccessful, superclassy sister be lonely?
“Beatrice,” I said as Beth came into the room and handed me a drink, “Beth was wondering if she could tour your closet, get some ideas for her wardrobe.” I knew Beth would leave with an armful of castoffs. Beatrice was French. She didn’t keep things that weren’t perfect for her.
“Bien s?r! Elizabet, come, come! Perhaps you will do me this favor and take some of the things I must part with, yes? Hannah is so blissfully tall, the clothes do not fit her, and Lillie is delightfully petite. You, though, are the same size as I, so voilà!”
“Oh, thank you,” Beth crooned. “I’d be delighted.” She threw me a gleeful smile.
“Do you need any makeup? I have just been sent Chanel’s new line . . .”
“This is better than Sephora,” Beth said as they went up the stairs, Beatrice glancing back.
“Take your time up there,” Mom said. “I have to talk to my daughters.”
Was it my imagination, or was there an emphasis on the word my?
I took a sip of my drink. I wasn’t puritanical. More of a lightweight. I drank wine, didn’t I? Mom and Beatrice, though . . . a cocktail or three every night, a bottle of wine with dinner. Hannah seemed to keep up, but I had never seen my sister drunk, either. She was the very portrait of self-control.
Silence settled around the three of us. Hannah and I looked at each other. She shrugged.
“Well, there’s no easy way to say this,” Mom said. “Beatrice and I are getting divorced, and she’s moving back to France after Christmas. Sorry, Hannah.”
My mouth dropped open. I glanced at my sister. Shit. Her face was white, and her red lipstick made her look like a stunned vampire.
“What . . . what happened, Mom?” I asked. “You’ve been married so long.”
“So we’re too old to divorce, then? Isn’t that ageist, Liliana, or is divorce reserved for you and that idiot you married?” She rattled the ice cubes in her glass. “Any questions?”
“Yes! A thousand,” I said. Hannah’s eyes were wide. “What happened? You left Dad for her. She’s fantastic. Did you cheat on her, too?”
My mother rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’re so provincial. Is that the only reason people divorce? It’s simply time for us to part ways.”
Brad had said the same thing, and he was cheating. I took Hannah’s hand and squeezed it.
“Excuse me a minute,” she said. She went upstairs. A door closed.
I looked at my mother. “Anything else you’d like to share?” I asked.
“No.”
“Why is Beatrice going back to France? This is going to ruin Hannah.”
“Well, maybe Hannah shouldn’t have imprinted on Beatrice quite so hard. No one told her to crawl inside Beatrice’s uterus and become a clone.”
“She’s not a clone, Mom! She’s . . . she loves Beatrice. It’s hard not to.”
“You managed to avoid it. I need another drink. You?”
I’d barely touched mine. “I’m fine. I also love Beatrice. Just not in the same way.”
“Right. You’ve had Vanessa Fairchild to worship for the past twenty years. How’s that going?” She got up and went into the kitchen, and I looked down to see if there was a knife sticking out of my chest.
Beth came down the stairs with an armful of clothes and a Chanel bag swinging from her hands. “Your sister is in Beatrice’s closet, sobbing her eyes out.”
“They’re getting a divorce,” I said. “My mother and Beatrice.”
“Oh, no!” She laid her bounty on a chair and glanced around the living room to make sure my mother wasn’t here. “Can Beatrice get custody of you two?”
I gave a half-hearted laugh. “I’m gonna go upstairs and check on Hannah,” I said. “Can you stay here with the dragon?”
“You bet. I’m sorry, Lillie.” She gave me a quick hug. “Mrs. Silva, do you need anything in there?” She winked at me.
I hadn’t been upstairs in years. They’d repainted, and the hallways were the color of melted butter. I went past the room I’d slept in on visits, past Hannah’s room and Beatrice’s office, and knocked on the master bedroom door, opening it a crack.
“Okay to come in?” I asked.
“Of course, of course,” Beatrice said. The two were sitting on the side of the bed, arms around each other, so I sat on one of the white chairs next to the French doors that led to their deck. It was dark by now, and the lights of a few boats dotted the ocean. A sliver of a moon was just visible.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say, Beatrice,” I said. “I’m very sorry to hear about this.”
Beatrice gave Hannah’s shoulders a squeeze. “As I was telling Hannah, Lillie, my time here in this beautiful place is finished. I wish I had been able to tell you myself, but your mother, she insisted.”
“Mom made her miserable. She can’t take it anymore. Surprise, surprise,” Hannah said, grabbing a tissue and blowing her nose. “You can live with me, Maman. You don’t have to leave the Cape. You know I would love it. It would be a dream come true.”
“Perhaps I will spend some time at your beautiful home, chérie,” Beatrice said. “But there is an ache in my bones for my home. You girls must understand the desire to be close to the place where you were born, where you played.”
I sure did. I’d based my whole life around living on Cape Cod.
“You can spend a month there and then come back,” Hannah said. “Why leave the place where you’ve lived for thirty-three years? What about me?”
“I will visit you often,” Beatrice said.
“How many times is often? Once a month? Once a year?” Hannah cried harder, and the sound broke my heart. I got up and sat on her other side, and Beatrice gave me a sad, sweet smile. I couldn’t remember Hannah ever crying. She was so . . . so together. Now, with her mascara and eyeliner smeared, her lipstick worn off from biting her lips, the misery on her face, she looked utterly lost.
“We’ll get through this, Hannah,” I said, and she looked at me with wet eyes. “I know it’s not the same for me as it is for you, but it’ll be okay. You and Beatrice have a bond that can’t be broken, right, Beatrice?”
“Vraiment,” she said. “Absolutely. And the same is true with you, Lillie,” she added kindly. “And Dylan, I feel he is my grandson.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You’ll always be our family.”
“But you’ll stay through Christmas?” Hannah asked.
“Oui. That is my plan. So let us not cry, Hannah. Let us spend so much time together until then, and we can plan your first visit to my home.”
“You’ve already bought a house?” she asked, sounding like a sulky teenager.
Beatrice nodded. “But I will need your help in furnishing it.” Her face was a study in sadness and love for Hannah, and I abruptly regretted rejecting her so constantly all those years. The truth was, once I’d married Brad, I’d become a Fairchild. My mother was right. I’d had Vanessa as a mother, and Hannah had Beatrice.
“Dinner’s ready,” Beth called from downstairs.
“I have made confit de canard and a tarte tatin,” Beatrice said. “Your favorites, Hannah. And the cheese I bought at the market! You will be amazed.”
“Just let me wash up,” Hannah said. She got off the bed and went down the hall to her bedroom. Knowing Beatrice, I imagined it was fully stocked with high-end products that she’d bought just for my sister.
“I’ll miss you,” I told Beatrice. “You’ve always made my mother easier. And . . . well, you’re a wonderful person.”
“Merci, Lillie. I will miss you as well. But we have months left to enjoy each other’s company, n’est-ce pas?” She linked her arm through mine, and we went downstairs, my stomach a whole stew of feelings.
* * *