We went down to the waterfront at dawn and drove my mother’s car straight off the docks. We stood together, watching it sink down and disappear into the frigid waters. No one knew that he had come to see us, and the car was the only evidence that could link us to the crime. Later on, around midday, I got the call from my mother. She ordered me to come to her side immediately, so I climbed onto the old Triumph for one last ride.
My mother was there at the hospital waiting for me. She had watched over my brother through the night. I wanted to see him, but she wouldn’t allow it. I planned to confess right then and there, no matter the consequences, and return the painting that she loved so dearly, which would only come as a small consolation, of course. But my mother never gave me the chance.
She ordered me to stay quiet and listen.
“Go. Leave the country and never come back. Leave now, before it’s too late. I lost my son last night. I don’t want to lose my daughter to a life in prison. Don’t look so surprised. I know everything; I’m your mother. When the nurses told me that two women had brought Edward to the hospital, I feared the worst. All it took was one look at you, and now I see everything. Remember, on the phone: I told you to come to my side, but I didn’t say where I was. And yet, here you are. You’ll have to get rid of my car, if you haven’t already.”
With that, my mother left, dignified in her heartache, leaving me shattered and alone in her wake.
After the hospital, I stopped by the loft, but May wasn’t there. I decided to go to the bank to cash the check that my mother had given me to buy me off and put me in my place. At the bank, I ran into Rhonda’s husband and had him open a safety-deposit box in my name. I knew my mother’s precious Girl by the Window would be safe there. He had me fill out the papers, no questions asked. I refuse to take the painting with me. Despite how beautiful that girl is, I can’t look at her any longer without thinking about what the painting has done to our lives, without thinking of my brother . . .
After leaving the bank, I went to buy a plane ticket and put what money I had left into an envelope. I will leave it on the nightstand for May to help her cross the border into Canada, in hopes she’ll find a fresh start with the new life that awaits her there.
This is the last time that I will write to you, my love.
I went back to the loft a second time and found you there waiting for me. I told you of my decision. We spoke at length, and then shed tears without saying a word. You packed your bag and then mine.
I left while you were still sleeping. I didn’t have the heart to lie to you and say we might see each other again one day, and I simply couldn’t bear the thought of having to say goodbye for good.
I left all the bonds on the nightstand so you could build a new life from the ashes of the one I had destroyed. The child you now carry, my love, may not be of my own blood, but he carries with him part of my story, a past I’ve now left behind. The day will come when you will need to tell your child the truth.
Don’t worry about me, my love. There’s someone I know in London who I can count on, or at least I hope so. I think you know who he is. It’s his fault you had to listen to those Beatles records around the clock, which I know must have been torture for such a huge Stones fan.
This is the last time I’ll be able to write to you. I don’t want any more secrets or lies, or any more cheating. If the man in that faraway land can bring himself to forgive me for being away such a long time, I will devote my life to his happiness, giving him every last ounce of love I still have left in my heart.
I hope that you, too, will have a happy life together. Fill your child’s life with the joy I know you can bring. Some of the best moments of my life have been spent by your side. No matter what becomes of us, you will be in my heart for the rest of my days.
Sally-Anne
It was the very last page in the diary. Day was breaking. George-Harrison handed me a sweater and jeans, and the two of us went out for a walk in the forest.
39
ELEANOR-RIGBY
October 2016, Magog
I called to check up on Michel, missing him more than ever at that moment. I managed to slip in a question, asking if Mum had ever mentioned a bank where she might have hidden a painting. Michel was confounded, finding the whole thing nonsensical. Why store a painting in a safe, when it was meant to be hung on the wall? My explanations just weren’t up to snuff. He asked if I’d be back soon, and I told him I would come as soon as I could. Then, Michel asked if I had found what I was looking for. Yes and no, I told him, smiling as I looked to George-Harrison. Maybe, as it turned out, I had found what I wasn’t looking for. Michel confirmed he had read that such things were known to occur. Many scientific discoveries were a simple matter of chance. Although chance, in and of itself, was not scientific at all, he clarified. Michel then told me there were two people visiting the library, and with that kind of “crowd,” he should probably get back to work. He promised he’d send Maggie and Dad my love, then made me swear that I’d call up and do it myself anyway.