Sea Glass Summer (22 page)

Gwen began stirring scrambled eggs in a pan over a low heat in the way that good woman had taught her as a young, undomesticated bride. She was still smilingly convinced that she wouldn't yet have achieved the level of boiling water, if not for that patient tutelage. Sonny elbowed around the kitchen with a knife and fork he had lifted from the table. She had mixed feelings about telling him about Sarah Draycott's anticipated visit this afternoon. Until he had mentioned her and Sid Jennson half an hour ago it would have been reasonable to assume he had forgotten them. So much slipped in, to have life only in the moment, and then be lost unless quickly reinforced. But as with Twyla he had connected Sarah with someone loved in the past. And in her case it had definitely been the physical resemblance – to Rowena – that struck the chord. And if this had given him a possessive feeling toward her he might resent her coming not to see him, but to take Jumbo for a walk – there might be eruptions. As it turned out, not all that surprising, he'd gone to take his nap when Sarah arrived at one o'clock as promised, bringing the cake with her.

‘Oh, my dear! You shouldn't have, but I have to admit I'm delighted you did. Flourless chocolate is one of my ultimate favorites. Do you have time to stay for a moment before taking my boy on what for him will be such a welcome treat? I'd like to tell you about an unbelievably blessed result of what happened with Sonny, the car and you.'

‘Of course.' Sarah, still wearing the worn jeans and elderly sweater, was only too glad to be back in the friendly old house with Gwen.

‘Do you mind sitting here in the kitchen?'

‘Not in the least.'

‘I've a fresh pot of coffee ready, and it would be time-wasting to traipse into the book room with cups. That's if you would like one?'

‘I'm a coffee fiend.'

When they were seated at the table Gwen explained that Twyla had been providentially guided to Sonny and herself by Nellie Armitage. ‘We had such a good visit. My dear, it seems like a miracle. I really think he will accept and even warm to her as he so quickly did to you. His playing the piano for the first time in months while you were here speaks volumes.'

‘I responded to him too,' said Sarah warmly, ‘in a way that went beyond feeling sad for him. I'd like to spend more time with him, if I wouldn't be a nuisance, getting underfoot.'

‘You could never be anything but welcome.' Maybe it was because the morning rain had cleared that Gwen suddenly felt that summer was on the lark's wing. Her mother had told her she'd thought of naming her ‘Lark' because she was born at 6 a.m., but that her usually amenable father had put his foot down. Summer – always her best-loved season – when the garden came fully to life, re-delivering all that had been banished by winter and only half reborn in spring. Summer that she would always associate with John coming down the path toward her as she bent with the sun on her shoulders tending the rose. Summer offering the eternal consolation of the soil when hands, heart and soul would have been otherwise empty. Gwen drew a sobering breath. So easy for her, as a creature of life's revolving experience, to believe there was no being trapped permanently in darkest winter. But how very different for a child . . . Gwen's expression saddened and her coffee splattered over the side of her cup.

‘Is anything the matter?' asked Sarah.

‘I was thinking how often one's own good fortune comes as a result of someone else's misfortune. In this case Twyla's former patient, who is now in need of nursing-home care and can no longer raise his young grandson Oliver.'

Sarah's face was open to her concern. ‘Nellie told me what was happening with that when she came to see me, and how the boy is related on his father's side to the members of the Cully family.' Sarah smiled impishly. ‘She didn't put it in quite those Gothic terms, but her description of the interior of Cully Mansion sounded pretty grim.'

‘I've never been inside myself,' Gwen mopped her saucer with a paper napkin, ‘and Nellie may be given to exaggeration in deference to dramatic impact. But I'm prepared to take what she says about the Cully Mansion as fact. Those windows have such a sly, watchful look. My dear, I don't consider myself easily spooked, but I can't imagine willingly spending a day, let alone a night, in that place. There must have been many happy times there in the distant past but, from all I hear of Emily Cully, she felt cheated in life by lameness resulting from polio as a child.' Gwen smiled wryly. ‘So melodramatic to suggest that sort of bitter resentment can so permeate a house that it blots out every vestige of joy that went before. It makes me sound – to my own ears – like a very foolish old woman.'

‘I don't think what you're saying is silly.' Sarah shifted her coffee cup aside to lean toward her. ‘I believe all houses have a story to tell – some you can't wait to read and some you'd just as soon not put a finger on, because you know they'll scare you up the wall.'

‘Exactly my feeling. And now the Cully aunt and uncle have taken that nine-year-old boy to live with them there. They may be the most wonderful people in the world, but knowing almost nothing of them, other than the uncle was Oliver's father's brother – indeed only sibling, has to invite concern. They don't know the boy, hadn't ever seen him until a few days ago. How likely is it they can successfully support him through what has to be an extremely difficult transition?'

Sarah visibly searched for something encouraging to say. ‘Maybe they'll seek outside support – a therapist specializing in childhood trauma. And, most important of all, Twyla will be right here, on their doorstep almost, to prevent Oliver feeling cut off from his past. And she'll take him to see his grandfather as often as possible, won't she?'

‘That's the idea. I was even hoping that once Sonny starts to enjoy Twyla's presence, I could suggest to her that she bring Oliver here sometimes. Now I have this doubt that everything will work out as originally hoped with her having easy access to him.'

‘You're not convinced the Cullys will be accommodating?'

‘I was, until Twyla phoned some five or ten minutes before you arrived to let me know she should be back here earlier than planned, because she'd just called and spoken to Elizabeth Cully, asking if she could fetch Oliver from his school in Ferry Landing, and was told arrangements had already been made with a neighbor to take Oliver in each morning and bring him home in the afternoons.'

‘I see.'

‘Apparently this woman has two sons a little older than Oliver who attend a private school a little further out than Ferry Landing, so it's absolutely no trouble for her. It all sounds very reasonable, but wouldn't it have been appropriate, or at least considerate, to have talked this over with Twyla before making the decision? She'd made it clear to the Cullys that she was willing to do the ferrying. And that was what Oliver wanted. It struck me as insensitive at the time, but now – and here comes more melodrama on my part – after talking my thoughts through with you, I'm wondering if this may be an ominous predictor of what's to come.'

‘I've watched those movies on late-night TV. Is this the first of a number of doors that will gradually close one by one, shutting Oliver away from Twyla and even his grandfather?' Sarah sounded embarrassed by what she was saying. ‘But why? Why would they do that?'

Gwen sighed. ‘Possibly a well-meaning, if misguided attempt on the part of two people who know little or nothing about children to center Oliver in his new environment. Any other reason is unfathomable. As is why anyone would name their sons Emjagger and Rolling Stone.'

‘What?' Sarah stared across the table as if unable to believe she'd heard correctly.

‘Sorry, my dear!' Gwen smiled ruefully. ‘That was an abrupt shift into reverse. Those are the names of the neighbor's two boys, the ones who'll be in the car with Oliver on the drive to and from school. When Twyla spoke of them I instantly thought, those poor kids! They'll either be bullied unmercifully or defensively turn into bullies themselves. Why their parents didn't think beyond a desire to be cool is beyond me.' She told Sarah about her mother's whim to name her Lark and her father's flat refusal.

‘But I think Lark's a lovely name,' Sarah's hazel eyes lit up, ‘although I think you were meant to be Gwen. There's a huge difference between the unusual and the weird. I hope those parents are still mad about the Rolling Stones, or they could now want to shoot themselves. But the boys could go by abbreviations. Actually, the name Emjagger wouldn't be so bad – it's the brother's one coupled with it that does the real damage.'

‘I would like to think they get to go by Jag and Stone at school, but apparently such is not the case at home, or Twyla wouldn't have given the names the full treatment as presented to her by Mrs Cully. She's so obviously not a spiteful person.'

‘There were two brothers in my neighborhood when I was in grad school,' volunteered Sarah, ‘called Captain and Lieutenant. Their father regretted not going in the armed forces and they got stuck with his regret. No shortening to Cap or Lew for them.'

‘It might be funny on stage or film. But in life the damage is done the moment the birth certificates are processed. After that it may not make too much difference how much abbreviating is done. In a place as small as Sea Glass word doesn't leak out, it floods.' Gwen paused. ‘It's so good of you, Sarah, to let me talk. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed sitting down with a friend and voicing how I feel about things. But I've been dreadfully selfish; there's no excuse for my taking the helm of the conversation, especially when you've interrupted your day on Jumbo's and my behalf. Do tell me how things have been going settling into your new home.'

Sarah told Gwen about the cat she had taken in that morning and how she had already been out to fetch supplies for it. She asked for the name of Gwen's vet and said she would phone him before five that evening. Then, after a momentary hesitation, she went on to mention a letter addressed to Nan Fielding she had found in the mailbox that morning and that she had decided to enclose it in a letter to the sender at the return address.

‘Quite right, my dear. Very thoughtful. To receive the original one back marked deceased could be a jolt. As you say there's no knowing how close the relationship between Ms Fielding and this person with the initials EB may have been. I will be very interested to know if you hear back.'

Shortly afterwards Sarah left with Jumbo. They were gone a little over an hour and on their return both seemed to have enjoyed what had turned from a walk into a jog after the first ten minutes. By that time Sonny was downstairs and showed definite signs of being pleased to see Sarah again, even agreeing to play the piano for her, before suddenly turning restless. Which was possibly just as well, because Gwen didn't think it fair to delay her unduly.

Twyla arrived ten minutes after Sarah left, and Sonny came wandering up to her. ‘Oh, you came back too. My friend, the one who looks like my aunt Rowena, was here but she had to go home or her father would have been angry. He shouts. She told me that.'

Gwen refrained from shaking her head as her eyes met Twyla's and received the most understanding of smiles in return before Twyla turned to focus fully on Sonny.

Two suitcases were set down at the foot of the stairs. ‘Sounds to me you've found something special there, you and this friend.' The rich voice was like warm honey – nourishing to the mind and body. ‘We go through life sometimes thinking we've met all the people we're ever likely to be friends with, and then comes along this new person and it seems like we've known them all along. There comes that sort of understanding that turns into trust. I sure do hope, Mr Norris, it can be like that with you and me.'

There was something so strongly reminiscent of Mrs Broom in the cadence and putting together of the words Sonny was beginning the process of blending the two women together. That was evident to Gwen in the bewildered tone of his voice.

‘Why are you calling me Mr Norris instead of Sonny?'

No, it would be foolish and unhelpful to expect smooth sailing, but Gwen felt a calm assurance that the introduction of Sarah and Sid Jennson into their lives – that had shrunk to just her and Sonny – had paved the way for Twyla's arrival. She went to bed that night, knowing it was safe for her to sleep deeply for the first time in months. It was her hope that she wouldn't dream at all, have eight hours in which even her subconscious went blank. But it wasn't to be. Again she found herself wandering, as she had done on so many previous nights, in a shadowy maze where iron-barred doors presented themselves at every turn. Behind one of them was a child trapped in desperation, silently waiting to be rescued, becoming less substantial with each terrifying second of her fruitless search, because all the doors opened into the place she was already in. There was one significant difference in that night's dream. Added to the sense of frantic hopelessness was a heart-hammering confusion. Who was she looking for? Sonny or Oliver Cully?

She awoke at 3 a.m. with a dull pain in her chest as she struggled to breath. A panic attack, she told herself. Best to clear her mind and lie completely still until it passed, then turn on the bedside light and read a soothing chapter of
Barchester Towers
. This she did and a half hour later, the physical effects of the nightmare gone, drowsiness claimed her. The next time she woke, at a little after six, she felt well rested and free from any indication that she wasn't in excellent health for a woman of seventy-eight. What became crystal in daylight was that Twyla was as much alone in her worries over Oliver as she herself had been with Sonny until yesterday. Twyla couldn't burden the grandfather with her fear that she might find herself with limited access to Oliver, let alone reveal such concerns to the boy. Two women, she thought, with the same maternal instinct; we can help each other. The ‘how' of her contribution was the question. An answer would come when it was ready. She had no doubt that in the meantime her relationship with Twyla would strengthen so that they could confide increasingly in each other.